Medieval - Blood of the Cross

by Kevin Ashman

  Sir Bennett was livid as he realised he had been outmanoeuvred.

  ‘I will have revenge for this,’ he snarled, ‘you may hide your face under beaten steel, stranger but I will find out who you are and have retribution.’

  ‘My face I will show and name is no secret,’ said the Hospitaller, removing his helm, ‘I am Sir Abdul Khoury, Hospitaller Knight of the order of St John of Jerusalem.’

  Garyn and the Monk stared up in amazement as they recognised the man they had saved at Jabahl Bahra but before they could say anything, Khoury spoke again.

  ‘Brother Najaar,’ he said, ‘get the pilgrims mounted and prepare to move out.’

  ‘What about Dafydd?’ shouted Garyn.

  ‘Garyn, your friend is one of them,’ said Brother Martin,’ there is nothing we can do.’

  ‘But he spared me,’ shouted Garyn, ‘we can’t leave him.’

  Two of the Mercenary Knights dismounted and grabbed Dafydd, dragging him back to the horses.

  ‘Dafydd,’ shouted Garyn, ‘be strong. I will seek your release.’

  Dafydd made to answer but was silenced as Sir Bennett struck him with the back of his chain mailed fist.

  ‘Tie him to his horse,’ snarled the Knight, ‘I want his shame to be evident to all.’

  Khoury spun his horse around to face his men.

  ‘Hospitallers,’ he shouted, ‘withdraw to Acre. We are done here.’

  Within minutes the Hospitallers were galloping back toward the city, taking the Monk and Garyn with them

  ‘What now?’ asked one of the Mercenaries.

  ‘Follow them,’ said Sir Bennett, ‘for this issue is not yet concluded.’

  ----

  Chapter Twenty One

  The Hospitaller Castle in Acre

  Garyn had no knowledge of the first few weeks in Acre as he caught the fever rampant in the city and in his weakened state, fell into unconsciousness. The Hospitaller’s staff nursed him through the illness, bleeding him with leeches and administering potions from the apothecaries but the fever raged through him and Brother Martin feared the worst.

  The Monk stayed in a cell alongside Garyn’s but spent most nights at the boy’s side, mopping his brow and feeding him sips of water. Garyn flitted in and out of consciousness but showed no sign of recovery.

  A knock came on the cell door and a young woman entered with a tray holding a jug and a lidded clay pot.

  ‘Excuse me, Sire,’ said the girl with a slight curtsey, ‘the apothecary is on his way. I have the leeches and some fresh water.’

  Brother Martin sighed and stood up.

  ‘Tell him not to bother,’ said the Monk, ‘the boy is beyond earthly remedies now and his life is in the hands of the Lord.’

  The girl curtsied again and left the room The Monk stared at Garyn, at a loss what to do. Finally he reached beneath the bed and dragged out Garyn’s pack Reaching inside he retrieved the cross and after pausing to stare once more at its beauty, placed it on the boy’s chest before falling to his knees to pray

  ‘Lord in heaven,’ he said, ‘spare this innocent I pray Grant him your mercy and take me in his place. This I beseech you in Christ’s name.’

  For an age he stayed on his knees, praying deeply but finally he stood and poured water onto a rag before bathing Garyn’s brow once more.

  ‘I have done everything I can, ’ Garyn,’ he said quietly. ‘The rest is between you and God.’

  ----

  The following morning, the Monk was summoned from his bed by one of the attendants. He hurried into Garyn’s cell fearing the worst but was relieved to see the boy sitting up, being fed a light broth.

  ‘Brother Martin,’ said Garyn. ‘How are you?’

  ‘How am I?’ asked the Monk in shock, ‘worried sick, that’s how I am. For an age we thought you were lost.’

  ‘Really? How long have I been sick?’

  ‘Ten days,’ said the Monk, ‘which in itself is a miracle. You should have died days ago.’

  ‘Where am I?’ asked Garyn.

  ‘In a Knight’s cell in the Hospitaller headquarters in Acre. It is only an arrow’s flight from The Castle of the King’s constable but we are safe here. Sanctuary is sacrosanct and will not be breached by any man.’

  ‘My brother,’ said Garyn, ‘is there any news?’

  ‘No,’ said the Monk. ‘Sir John refuses to share any information unless we hand over the cross, but enough talk, the fever may have lifted but you still need the healing that rest brings. I will leave now and make arrangements for audience with the Castellan. In a few days we can make the transfer and you can go home.’

  Garyn laid back on his pillow as the Monk left, knowing Brother Martin was right. Even if he could get out of bed, he doubted he could walk.

  ----

  Five days later, all signs of the fever were gone and though he was still weak, Garyn took part in regular walks around the courtyard of the Hospitaller headquarters. He asked about his brother daily but as Sir John was away, there was no chance of furthering his quest. Slowly he regained his strength, exercising in the courtyard before eating the hearty broth supplied by the Hospitallers and resting in his cell. Each night he took the cross from his pack and prayed at the foot of his bed, holding the crucifix before him. There was no doubt the cross was holy but he was under no illusions and knew he had to hand it over if his brother was to live.

  On the morning of the twelfth day since he regained consciousness, Brother Martin knocked on his cell door.

  ‘Garyn, get dressed. You are summoned to the great hall.’

  Garyn donned the clothes he had been supplied and rushed out to meet the Monk.

  What news?’ he asked, ‘is Sir John back?’

  ‘I know not,’ said the Monk, ‘but Sir Khoury requests we join him.’

  Together they crossed the courtyard to the hall and entered to find Brother Khoury sitting at a great table along with several other Knights.

  ‘Brother Martin, Garyn, please be seated,’ said Khoury.

  The two men did as they were bid. It was the first time they had seen the Hospitaller leader since their rescue and stared at him in wonder. The man they had rescued almost two months earlier was no longer evident. In his place was the strong leader who was once Castellan of the greatest castle in the Holy-land. His head was freshly shaved and his beard was carefully tended, an image common to most Knights on Crusade.

  ‘Garyn,’ said Khoury, ‘you are well I hear’

  ‘Getting better by the day, Sir Knight,’ answered Garyn.

  ‘Good. As you are aware we have business to conclude and I have news to that end but first there is something I will say. A year ago, I allowed myself to be tricked into surrendering Krak des Chevalier. I was taken prisoner and suffered at the Infidel’s hands. Though I was shamed, I saw it as part of God’s plan and believed he would lead me from captivity. I admit there were times my faith wavered but he kept me alive for further purpose.’ He paused and stared at Garyn. ‘I now know that you were that purpose, Garyn. God allowed my judgement to falter so that our paths would cross and ultimately be there for you in your hour of need, as you were there in mine.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Garyn. ‘How was I the purpose.’

  ‘For you were the vessel by which the relic was returned to us. Everything that has happened led you here bearing the glory of Christ and for that I will be eternally grateful. God led the Lady Jennifer and I from that killing field in Wadi-al-Ayun and ensured our paths crossed with yours near Al Kahf.’

  ‘Where is the Lady?’ asked Brother Martin.

  ‘She is safe,’ said Khoury, ‘though her mind is greatly troubled. At first she was treated well by the Mamluks but then she was taken away from the protectorate of Baibaars and placed in the custody of a lesser man. Let’s just say she suffered more than any woman should.’

  ‘I hope she finds peace,’ said Brother Martin.

  ‘Misha Ain Alsabar is with her,’ said Khoury, ‘and e
ases her days.’

  ‘The slave girl? I thought she had sought her freedom.’

  ‘The choice was hers but during the journey back, she grew close to the Lady Jennifer and decided to continue with us. She now serves as a free woman. Truth be told, if it wasn’t for her, we wouldn’t have made it back and furthermore, she told us of your arrival in the fishing village. Her network of contacts is impressive.’

  ‘As you would expect of an Ismailis, I suspect.’

  ‘There is talk of Hashashin blood flowing through her veins but I will not question her on her heritage. We owe her our lives, it is as simple as that.’

  ‘So what happens now?’ asked Garyn.

  ‘First I have something that belongs to you,’ said Khoury and led them outside. In the courtyard a Squire held the reins of Silverlight, Garyn’s horse while another held his father’s sword.

  Garyn walked over and stroked the horse’s neck

  ‘I thought I would never see him again,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Khoury. ‘It was your steed that conveyed us to safety.’

  ‘Do we have audience with Sir John?’ asked Brother Martin.

  ‘No, we don’t,’ said Khoury. ‘The emergence of the true cross has sent awareness across Palestine greater than a desert storm. This is no longer a matter for one crooked Knight but a power much greater. The reason it has taken so long to get audience is that you will present your case at the highest level. Prince Edward has returned and will adjudicate on behalf of all parties. Garyn will have his day of justice but it will be before Longshanks himself.’

  ----

  Chapter Twenty Two

  The Castle of the King’s Constable

  Garyn sat nervously in the Hall of Sir John. At last it was coming together and soon his brother would be freed but the last thing he had expected was to have audience with the future King of England. Since the meeting with Sir Khoury two days earlier, he had locked himself away in his cell with only the crucifix for comfort, refusing to open the door to anyone including the Monk but finally he had emerged and was ready for the meeting.

  ‘He looks much calmer,’ whispered Khoury.

  ‘I think he has found peace,’ answered Brother Martin.

  For almost an hour they waited for the Prince to arrive, talking quietly amongst themselves. The hall was filled with Knights, some sat around the many tables while others lined the walls.

  ‘Is he coming or not,’ whispered Garyn

  ‘Longshanks will not be rushed, Garyn,’ said Khoury. ‘He will be here when he arrives and no sooner.’

  ‘How will we know it is him?’ asked Garyn.

  ‘You will know,’ said Khoury simply.

  Another half hour passed before a Squire ran in and whispered to the herald at the far door.

  ‘All stand for Prince Edward,’ shouted the Herald and as one, two hundred men got to their feet.

  The doors opened and a dozen men marched through the hall, each clad in full armour and tabards emblazoned with three Lions, the coat of arms of Edward.

  Garyn bowed as they passed but though the procession of nobles was impressive, his gaze was drawn by the person of Edward. He was half a head taller than all the other Knights and his stride bore a confidence that could only be described as majestic. They reached the top table and took their seats with Longshanks at the centre.

  ‘Be seated,’ ordered the prince. ‘Fellow Knights and honoured guests, you have been summoned here today to see justice served in the name of the King and of Christ himself. Let the one who brought petition stand forward.’

  Sir Khoury stood up and introduced himself.

  ‘My Lord, I brought the petition on behalf of several parties.’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘I am Sir Abdul Khoury, Knight Hospitaller of the Order of St John of Jerusalem.’

  ‘Khoury,’ mumbled Longshanks, ‘there was one of that name who was Castellan of Krak des Chevalier. Was he kin of yours?’

  ‘I am that man,’ said Khoury, ignoring the angry murmurs around the room.

  ‘Really?’ said Longshanks. ‘It is said that you handed over the Homs Gap to Baibaars without struggle. I am surprised that Hugh De Revel has not had you punished for your incompetence.’

  ‘Incompetence is subjective, My Lord,’ answered Khoury, ‘and if there is punishment to be suffered then it will be handed down by God.’

  Longshanks stared at the Hospitaller Knight with distaste but pursued the matter no further.

  ‘To business,’ he said, ‘I am informed that there is one here who claims to be in possession of the true cross. Is this correct?’

  ‘It is, My Lord,’ said Khoury, ‘the Boy’s name is Garyn ap Thomas and he hails from a place called Brycheniog in Wales.’

  ‘I know of Brycheniog,’ said Longshanks. ‘Let the boy make himself known.’

  ‘Stand up,’ whispered Brother Martin.

  Garyn stood and felt every pair of eyes in the room staring at him.

  ‘Who speaks for you?’ asked Longshanks, ‘is it the Hospitaller?’

  ‘No, Sire,’ interrupted Sir Khoury, ‘I will speak on behalf of my own order who also lay claim to the cross.’

  ‘I will speak for the boy,’ said Brother Martin, standing up.

  ‘And on behalf of the house of Cambridge?’

  ‘I will speak for myself,’ said Sir John, also taking his feet, ‘and will prove this peasant is no more than a common thief.’

  ‘All in good time, Sir John,’ said Longshanks. ‘First we will establish the facts from the boy’s own mouth.’

  ‘Sire there is another complainant,’ said a voice and all eyes turned to see the man at the end of the hall.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘My name is Father Williams, said the man, and I am the Abbot of the order of St Benedict based in the Abbey of Brycheniog.

  ‘I have no knowledge of your presence in Acre.’

  ‘No, Sire. I am freshly arrived from England this very morn.’

  Garyn’s eyes opened wide in astonishment as did those of Brother Martin.

  ‘And your stance?’ asked Longshanks.

  ‘I claim the relic in the name of the church and God himself,’ said Father Williams.

  A murmur echoed around the room until Longshanks lifted his hand for silence.

  ‘Are there any others with petition to bring?’

  The room fell silent again.

  ‘Good. Then we will begin. Garyn ap Thomas, take the floor and tell us your tale, the Christian world is waiting.’

  ----

  For the best part of an hour, Garyn retold the story of how he had come about the poem and the subsequent quest to Jabahl Bahra. Sometimes he stumbled over his words and he often had to go back over the story to recount something he had only just recalled. Occasionally there were murmurs of admiration, especially when he recalled the tale of how he breached the walls of Al Kahf but there were also whispers of disapproval. Overall it was an adequate presentation and when he was done, an awkward silence filled the room.

  ‘Do you have this relic with you?’ asked Longshanks.

  ‘I do, Sire,’ said Garyn.

  ‘Then let us see what it is that causes such angst.’

  Garyn picked his pack from the floor and approached the Prince but before he reached the table, two guards lowered their pikes, barring his way. A Squire stepped forward and checked the bag to make sure there were no scorpions or the like before retrieving the hessian wrapped object. Carefully he unwrapped it and his eyes widened as the golden crucifix glistened before him. Many men in the room stood for a better view and voices were raised in wonder.

  ‘Silence,’ ordered Longshanks and the Knights returned to their seats.

  The Squire turned to the Prince and handed it over. Longshanks stared at the Crucifix in awe, turning it over slowly in his hands before gently drawing his finger down the embedded sliver of wood. He nodded to a nearby priest who came over and took
the cross from him before disappearing through a side door.

  Garyn’s brow knitted with doubt.

  ‘Where’s he taking it?’ he asked.

  ‘Silence,’ demanded a Knight, ‘how dare you question the Prince.’

  Longshanks raised his hand.

  ‘It is a fair question,’ he said. ‘Fret not, young man, it has only been taken for examination by the priests. You have to understand, there are many such claims of holiness across the known world and each needs to be checked by men of God. However, while we wait we will hear the petitions. Sir Khoury, take the floor.’

  The Hospitaller Knight walked to the centre and addressed the room.

  ‘My Lord, fellow Knights, honoured guests. First I will say this. We do not doubt the authenticity of the relic. On the contrary, we fully believe it is a fragment of the true cross and should be revered as such. In addition, we also acknowledge the bravery and fortitude of Garyn ap Thomas as well as the Benedictine Monk. Indeed we commend them both for their service in God’s name. However, they set out to retrieve the artefact for one reason only and that was to free the boy’s brother from service.’ He paused and looked around the room. ‘The quest was noble and the outcome something to be lauded. Indeed they should be rewarded not only with the release of the boy’s brother but with sufficient funds for safe passage home and adequate reward for their endeavours. However, make no mistake, blood has been spilt in the pursuit of this relic, men have died and people have suffered, none more so than my comrades.’ He looked around once more before continuing. ‘Over fifty Hospitaller Knights fell in the protection of the Muslim poet prior to his transfer to England, fifty brothers who paid the ultimate price to make available that which has been hidden all these years. For this reason we claim the cross. Let it be handed over in their honour and let Hugh de Revel present it to his holiness in Rome. This way all men can bask in its majesty and the Cross displayed to the glory of Christ and in honour of the men who fell.’ He turned to face the prince once more. ‘Sire, therein lays our claim.’