A Savor of Clove

by Tom R McConnell

  “Now I think we really need that bath,” said Tristan with a small chuckle as he released Rhonwellt, backed away a step and looked at their stomachs, wet and glistening in the dimming light. Rhonwellt could only blush and feel the heat in his face. He took hold of Tristan’s hand, put it to his lips, planted a kiss on each finger.

  There was a small pool about waist deep, just downstream from the shallows near the bank protected by a thicket of myrtle and willow. The two men slipped into the water, squatting down until they were submerged to their necks to wet themselves, and began to wash. Tristan had brought a small vial of liquid soap of the kind from Castile. They bathed, mostly in in silence, stealing glances at each other, smiling, blushing, splashing each other with water and laughing, and on occasion, just standing and staring openly at each other.

  The sun had nearly disappeared and the moon now bathed the earth in its eerie glow, turning the river into a shimmering silver thread. Rhonwellt smelled smoke.

  “Hewrey?” called Tristan. He sniffed the air and looked at Rhonwellt.

  “Yes, Master,” his servant answered from the other side of the willows. “I brung brychans and towels. You two come out now, Master. No need to take a chill.”

  “Um, thank you, Hewrey,” said Tristan, unsure of what to do, as Rhonwellt momentarily froze in place.

  “I hung the towels on the myrtle by the bank. Now, I go to fetch food for you.”

  “You have made a fire?”

  “Yes, master.”

  “Good lad. Go and get the food. It will be most welcome.”

  “Yes, Master,” replied Hewrey, his voice fading back toward the hall.

  Rhonwellt and Tristan waded out from the water. They grabbed the towels, began to dry off while walking to the fire to warm themselves. On the ground, not far away, neatly folded, were clean hose and a tunic for Tristan. Next to it was Rhonwellt’s wool robe, another clean tunic lying atop it. They dressed quickly in the flickering light, and, side by side drew warmth from flames dancing in a slight breeze that was beginning to rise.

  “When we were lads,” said Tristan, “I wished for nothing more that to grow old with you nearby.”

  “It was my wish too,” said Rhonwellt, his memory drifting back to halcyon summer days, lying in the tall grass of meadows bursting in a brilliant blanket of wildflower, or evenings staring up at the stars secreted among the rocks on top of the tor, safe from scrutiny and folded in Tristan’s embrace. Memories he once fled because of the pain, that could now be revisited.

  “I curse God,” said Tristan, “that it is only when we are old men that we are brought together again. We have missed out on so much.”

  “Cursing God is like cursing smoke from a fire,” replied Rhonwellt. “Damn it all you like, it changes nothing. You cannot stop it from stinging your eyes and catching in your throat. Besides, it was men who tore us apart, not God. I do believe, however, God saved us to bring us back together.”

  “In my life, I have rarely found occasion to believe in faith or salvation or be truly thankful to the Almighty for much of anything,” said Tristan, his words almost lost in the tonsure. “But I know this to be right.” Tristan raised his face and leaned his head back to look Rhonwellt in the eye. “I do thank God for you. And though it may be heresy, I have faith in us, and I believe you will be my salvation.”

  “Heretics are burned, you know,” teased Rhonwellt.

  “Yes. But, because of you, I would die redeemed.”

  “Master!” Hewrey’s voice rang from out of the darkness.

  They released their embrace and stood beside one another as the lad emerged into the light cast by the fire. He carried a tray loaded with bread, hard cheese, cold quail, some dried fruit and two drinking bowls. A wineskin on a long strap was slung over his shoulder. He set the meal down on one of the brychans, and filled the bowls with watered wine from the skin. He disappeared quickly into the dark but they could hear him scuffling through the brush nearby.

  “He has become devoted to you in a very short time,” mused Rhonwellt.

  “By the dry tunic he brought for you,” said Tristan, “I would say he is fond of you as well.”

  “Once Ciaran is here, rivalry may ensue as to who shall care for me.”

  “On the contrary. He likes Ciaran, and I believe they will form a formidable team and care for us well.”

  Hewrey emerged from the darkness carrying an armful of wood for the fire. Rhonwellt watched him work quickly and quietly, on occasion stealing a glance at the two men sitting on the brychan having their meal.

  When the fire was burning brightly again he asked, “Is there anything else you want, Master?”

  “No, lad. You have done well. If you hurry, you might just have time for a quick visit to the herders cottage.” He turned to Rhonwellt. “Seems our Hewrey has taken a fancy to the shepherd’s lass.”

  “Master!” Hewrey protested. “She will be abed. It is too late.”

  “It has never stopped you before. Off with you. But, be not long gone. ”

  “Yes, Master.”

  The lad turned to go but stopped at the edge of the ring of light. He lingered a moment, staring at Tristan and Rhonwellt. His broad grin spread across his face as he bowed, and with a quick nod of his head, disappeared into the night.

  Author Notes

  I am not a historian nor do I claim to be. Although I did a fair amount of research for this project, it was not to recreate real historical events, rather to give enough flavor to put the reader into the time period and make it believable. Having said that, I did stray from historical fact in some places for the sake of the story I had to tell.

  The priory at Kidwelly (Cydweli) was established by Roger, bishop of Salisbury as a satellite of Sherborne Abbey about 1110 (sources vary on this date). Since Rhonwellt was born in the year 1089, I used the fiction writer’s license to make timeline adjustments as he would have been taken to the priory in about 1104 which predates its founding. According to Kidwelly history, it was always one of the smallest Norman churches in Wales, with seldom more than two or three monks in residence. I wanted a community of brother’s for my story and upped the number of monks to about two dozen, and likely increased the population of the town as well. Unable to find any information about the layout or size of the Kidwelly priory, I used a site plan for the priory at Ewenny as a stand-in. It was about the right size and had the components I needed. Although no scriptorium was noted there, I added one on a second floor over the cellarium. I also placed the bell tower at the crossing of the church.

  The remains of Kidwelly Castle are well-preserved for an edifice of its age. But the ruins you see today when visiting Kidwelly are from a structure built in the thirteenth century. In 1134, the castle would likely have been a few more primitive mud and timber buildings located inside a wooden stockade. The town would have been stockaded as well. It appears that around the time of this story (1134), Kidwelly actually functioned as a twin town: the castle town on one side of the river and the priory town on the other side, growing up around a market square, however I decided upon a united, single town for this story.

  Robert, Earl of Gloucester and Glamorgan was a real historical figure as was Maurice de Londres, however the events in this story where they appear are entirely fictionalized and were not meant to altar history. Though I found nothing to indicate Robert spent any time in the Holy Land, I put him there as a young man to establish his connection to Sir Tristan. Tristan’s time in Outremer would have been during the years between the first crusade which ended in 1099 and second crusade which began in 1147. And though he was not there during what is considered an actual crusade, it does not mean nothing happened there during that time. The year Tristan would have arrived (1104) was the year Baldwin captured Acre, a significant event, and a few years later, Tripoli fell to the crusaders in 1109 after a siege of nearly five-and-one-half years. In 1113 the Order of Saint John, the Hospitallers, was formed and in 1120 the Templars were founded. Meanwhile
, the Franks and the Muslims were busy winning and losing land many times over during the thirty years Tristan was there. There was nearly constant bloodshed in the Holy Land for nearly two-hundred years, both during dated Crusades and the intervening years.

  Lastly, my take on homosexuality and the church during this time period comes largely from the writings of John Boswell (1947-1994), a Yale professor and historian who was also gay. He focused on religion (specifically Christianity) and homosexuality and those who existed at the margins of society. In his book Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality (1980) he proposed that the Christian church had openly embraced homosexuality and that the Byzantine Rite of Adelphopoiesis (The Making of Brothers) was actually a same-sex marriage ceremony observed by the church well into the twelfth century. At the Council of Nablus held in Jerusalem in the year 1120, the first punishments for sodomy in medieval law were established and the church began to slowly change its attitude on same-sex relationships.

  About the Author

  tom r mcconnell had been running scared from a beast called writer for more years than he cared to count. Finally, it caught him by the throat and refused to let go until it had squeezed a book out of him. He is recuperating slowly.

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