Medieval III - Sword of Liberty Page 10

  ‘I will take that as a compliment,’ said Gerald, ‘but nevertheless, I have a castle to run. Send someone else.’

  ‘You are quick to turn away my request but have not yet heard the terms.’

  ‘What terms?’

  ‘When he returns, as he will, then I will reveal to you the location of my treasury, making you a very wealthy man.’

  Gerald paused.

  ‘I know you have hoarded away some baubles, Abbot but I am already a rich man, why would I risk my life for more?’

  ‘Because the measly pile you call wealth is but an apple in a barrel compared to what I have amassed over the years. Bring Garyn to me alive and I will reveal exactly where it is hidden, every last coin.’

  ‘How do I know you are telling the truth?’

  ‘I am not long for this world, Gerald and despite these robes, I find myself believing there is nought but darkness awaiting my soul. I have no need of wealth in the grave so would rather exchange it for one last earthly desire, to see the blood of the blacksmith running down the hilt of my dagger.’

  Gerald stared for several moments before replying.

  ‘And there is as much as you say?’

  ‘More,’ said the Abbot. ‘In my life I have had access to more churches than you can imagine and at every opportunity sought tribute in the Lord’s name. In the beginning it was for good cause for we had an abbey to furnish. War was looming and I soon found out that in return for promised salvation, people were willing to give up their most precious possessions to the church. Gold, precious stones, silver coins, religious artefacts, you name it, I received it. The tributes poured in and within a year there was more than even I could handle. I should have stopped or sent them on to Rome but the greed was upon me and always I sought more. Many were the moonless nights when I buried my gains and they lay there still, a wealth no man could spend in a hundred lifetimes.’

  ‘And you would bequeath this to me?’

  ‘In a heartbeat. The second I feel the blacksmith’s last breath upon my face I will give you the location.’

  ‘If so much has been hidden, how do I know it has not already been found?’

  ‘Because no man will dig up a grave.’

  ‘The treasure is buried within a grave?’

  ‘In the graves of many men,’ said the Abbot. ‘I could not risk being seen digging open ground so I used the newly turned soil of the recently deceased to hide it away. In each grave there lies a sack of goods no more than a spade’s depth from the surface, each enough for a poor man to become rich.’

  ‘And where are these graves?’

  ‘Ah, now that information is known only to me but bring me Garyn and I will gladly dictate a list of the dead men sharing their soil with a King’s ransom.’

  ‘You are willing to swear this on your mortal soul?’

  ‘I am, but you can believe me when I say I have no interest in what happens after I die. Bring him to me, Gerald and I will make you one of the richest men in England.’

  Gerald paused and stared at the Abbot, their eyes locked together for several seconds.

  ‘Write your letter, monk,’ he said eventually, ‘I accept your commission.’

  ----

  Chapter Ten

  Dysynni Valley

  Garyn paused at the crest of a hill and looked across the valley below him. In the distance he could see Castell du Bere outlined against the backdrop of a moon filled sky.

  ‘Impressive,’ said Derwyn, his second in command.

  ‘It is well positioned,’ said Garyn, ‘and can be accessed only via the spur to the front. All other approaches are impossible to climb.’

  ‘And the defences?’

  ‘The walls are protected by a ditch and earthen ramparts. A drawbridge is pulled up at night and covers two portcullises. I know not what lies within the walls themselves but there are many arrow slits and I have seen crossbow men along the castellations.’

  ‘It is as good as I have seen,’ said Derwyn, ‘yet you insist we can get inside.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then pray tell what you intend to do for I see no weaknesses.’

  ‘All in good time, my friend for the plan relies on the input of another.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Come, I will introduce you.’

  They turned off the crest and rode down the path toward the village. Just before the bridge leading over the stream on the outskirts, Garyn turned off and rode into the small courtyard of a building at the side of the road.

  ‘What is this place?’ asked Derwyn, looking up at the cross above the doorway, ‘some kind of church?’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Garyn, ‘it is a sanctuary for weary travellers.’

  ‘And our man rests here?’

  ‘He does,’ said Garyn, ‘though it is not a man we seek but a monkey.’

  Derwyn stared after Garyn as he rode around the back and dismounted outside a barn.

  ‘A Monkey?’ said Derwyn catching up with him, ‘I once saw such a beast on a dock in Caerleon. How could such a thing help us breach a castle wall?’

  Garyn tied his horse to an iron ring in the barn wall, as did Derwyn.

  ‘It is not the furry kind of monkey we seek, Derwyn but a different kind, a rigging monkey.’

  ‘And what pray is that?’

  ‘A rigging monkey is a young boy used to scale the masts of sailing ships. They are usually sold into service by their families and hail from places where they farm goats on rocky crags. Such boys are as sure footed as the goats they herd and are valued for being light and nimble between the rigging.’

  ‘And how does this help us?’

  ‘Like you said, the front of the castle is unassailable due to the defences but the other three approaches are only lightly manned. When my path crossed with this boy several weeks ago my aim was just to save him from a tortured life; but I have visited him many times since and developed admiration for his character.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘He is a boy aged beyond his years, Derwyn and during one conversation, expressed a desire to kill Fitzwalter. When I laughed at his ambition he took offence and assured me that not only could he access the castle by climbing the cliff face to the rear but he could also scale the walls.’

  ‘Impossible.’

  ‘So thought I, but not ten days ago he demonstrated on the walls of this very sanctuary. He climbed barefoot, his fingers and toes seeking out the smallest of cracks.’

  ‘And was he successful?’

  ‘He was. All the time I feared he would fall but he soon sat astride the upper wall, laughing at my concern. It is truly a sight to behold.’

  ‘And you think he can access the castle?’

  ‘I do but at first I had no intention of putting him at risk. My plan was to bribe some of the servants and gain access that way.’

  ‘Were you successful?’

  ‘Only partially but the man could not gain access to the mason. I was willing to be patient but events have overtaken us and I find myself limited by time.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Cynan Ap Maredudd has grown impatient and has decided to take the initiative. I have received word he is mobilising his army and intends to take the fight to Longshanks.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘He is no longer willing to wait for the freedom sword to be discovered and rides to strike a major blow against the King.’

  ‘What does he intend to do?’

  ‘His target is a castle,’ said Garyn, ‘and his rallying call is that he intends to take back that which was once ours.’

  Derwyn glanced up at the castle on the hill.

  ‘This one?’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Garyn. ‘Castell Du Bere was built by our ancestors and Cynan has used the pull of history to gather forces to his banner. Men flock to him and I know this village has already been swollen by many of his supporters awaiting his arrival.’

  ‘A noble challenge,’ said Derwyn. ‘There is nothi
ng a patriotic Welshman likes more than a call to arms to oust an English Lord.’

  ‘Perhaps so but I believe the castle is just a cover for his true aim. I suspect his real target is the mason for only he knows the location of the sword of liberty. If Cynan can lay hands on that as well as taking a castle from beneath the rule of Edward then his claim to the Welsh throne will be unassailable.’

  ‘So what do you intend to do?’

  ‘I intend to use the boy to achieve what I could not, get access to the mason. I could not share this with you sooner, for the boy’s injuries meant I had to wait for his strength to recover but now he is well, he strains at the leash to gain revenge. Come, you will meet him in a few moments.’

  ----

  Once inside the barn, Garyn walked past a huge pile of logs and through a dilapidated horse stall before ducking to crawl through a hole in the wall and into a room lit by a single candle, standing in a bowl of shallow water.

  ‘Philippe, are you there?’ he whispered.

  Garyn,’ came a man’s voice, ‘over here?’

  ‘Elias,’ said Garyn, ‘I did not expect to find you here at this time.’

  ‘I now sleep out here also,’ said Elias. ‘It was proving impossible to keep up the pretence with the monks so I told them about your mercy. I know it was supposed to be kept a secret but they suspected me of stealing bandages and ointments. At first they demanded I treat the boy at the Monastery but I said he was diseased so they keep their distance but insisted that I too stay out here until you return to take him away.’

  ‘An unfortunate circumstance,’ said Garyn, ‘but it can’t be helped. Does anyone else know of this arrangement?’

  ‘I don’t think so but I am glad you have returned, the boy drives me mad.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He is a young pup, Garyn and needs to stretch his legs. The confines of a sanctuary are not for him, he has the heart of a lion and the patience of a winter storm.’

  ‘Fret not,’ laughed Garyn, ‘after tomorrow your role in his recovery will be done and I have not forgotten my promise to you. By the day after tomorrow, Rome will be a little nearer for you.’

  ‘Garyn, is that you?’ asked a voice in the darkness.

  Gary smiled at the French accent.

  ‘It is, Philippe, and I have brought a friend. This is Derwyn and I trust my life to him, as can you.’

  ‘Welcome Derwyn,’ said the boy and turned back to Garyn.

  ‘Do we go tonight?’

  ‘Patience, Philippe,’ said Garyn, ‘you have but one more day to wait. Tomorrow night, you can show us what you are really capable of, now, be a good lad and bring something to drink for our throats are as dry as dust.’

  The boy grabbed an empty pitcher from a table and ducked out of the room.

  ‘How is he?’ asked Garyn.

  ‘As strong as ever,’ said Elias. ‘The whip marks play a pretty pattern upon his back and he oft has bad dreams but he is like a caged animal, desperate to be free.’

  ‘Good,’ said Garyn. ‘I will spend a few moments with him but then have to leave. I will return tomorrow for the last time, after that, you will never see me again.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Elias. ‘Is it too much that I ask what it is you intend to do?’

  ‘It is,’ said Garyn. ‘For your own sake you must remain ignorant of our task and if we succeed, nobody will ever know. However, if we fail, then our lives will be forfeit, including yours.’

  ‘Well, whatever it is, I wish you luck,’ said Elias.

  ‘Thank you. Now, please give us some time alone. We will be gone within the hour.’

  ----

  Three hours later, Garyn and Derwyn rode down a dirt track several miles away from Dysynni. The night was now dark and both men reined in their horses as the sound of an owl echoed through the darkness. Derwyn nodded to Garyn and they turned off the track to head for a dense forest a few hundred paces away. Within a few moments a caped figure rose from the grass and aimed a longbow at Garyn’s chest.

  ‘State your business,’ said the armed man.

  ‘Stand down Eric,’ said Derwyn, ‘it is your leader returned from Dysynni.’

  ‘And how fare the poor in the village?’ asked the man without lowering his bow.

  ‘They send their regards,’ said Garyn, knowing full well that any other answer would alert the guard that they either were not alone or were being followed.

  The man lowered the bow.

  ‘Welcome back,’ he said. ‘Ride straight ahead and you will be met. There is food but no fires so cold meat and bread will be your fare.’

  ‘It is sufficient,’ said Garyn. ‘How many men have heeded the call?’

  ‘I believe we have over a hundred,’ said the man.

  ‘A goodly number,’ said Garyn and spurred his steed onward into the forest. Within ten minutes both riders were welcomed back amongst their comrades, the most feared band of outlaws in the land, the Blaidd.

  ----

  Chapter Eleven

  Mid Wales

  The English column led by Fermbaud headed deeper into the mountains of Wales. They had been travelling from castle to castle and during the six weeks since leaving Bristol, had visited many towns and villages, displaying their support for those Lords loyal to Longshanks and administering brutal penalties on any suspected of anything short of total subservience. Word of their actions quickly spread around the country and soon, any men involved in resistance to the King hid amongst the forests until the patrol had passed. Though this oft avoided the physical punishment of such men, Fermbaud was not a stupid man and where the number of women in a village was disproportionately high, he exacted a heavy price on what limited wealth lay within their control. Soon, even his many store wagons were full, so wherever rebellion was suspected, winter stores were destroyed and buildings burned. This was even more prevalent in Mid Wales where nationalistic pride was to the fore and Fermbaud left entire Cantrefs destitute. It was after one such destructive day when Orland once more rode back to speak to the Knight.

  ‘Orland,’ said Fermbaud, ‘you have been gone two days. I was beginning to suspect you had left us.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Orland, ‘I have always been within half a day’s ride. I find this place fascinating and though the terrain can be difficult, there are many easy pickings to be had.’

  ‘Remember, this is a mission of subjugation, not devastation.’

  ‘Is it not much easier to achieve the first aim by applying the second?’

  ‘I suppose so but our time here is limited and I feel the King’s message has been made clear. We will head south and pay our respects to the Castellan of Brecon Castle before re-joining the King at Bristol. To be honest, I for one will welcome the comfort of my own bed rather than the hardness of a cart floor.’

  ‘I trust you have not seen many campaigns?’

  ‘My expertise lies elsewhere,’ said Fermbaud, ‘however, even I can see this has been a success and look forward to relaying my account to the King.’

  ‘I accept your decision, Sire but there is one more thing before we head back. Ten miles to the east there is a village of a few hundred souls. The village has a church at its centre and yesterday I took the opportunity to look inside. It is well furnished with treasures, in fact, embarrassingly so.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘For such a small village to have such wealth may suggest they have been obtained by foul means.’

  ‘Not necessarily, many such villages oft gift their wealth to their church.’

  ‘Perhaps so and ordinarily my suspicion would not have raised but the men of this village have an arrogance about them.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘They roam freely with weapons at their side.’

  ‘This is not a crime.’

  ‘It is not but why would ordinary men of a quiet village need such arms at short notice unless they were men used to trouble. Also, I heard many talk freely of their ha
tred of Longshanks and voicing impatience that a planned revolt is long overdue.’

  ‘Treason?’ gasped Fermbaud.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Orland, ‘and that is why I rode hard back here to relay this information. I submit that our path is clear and we should attack this village immediately.’

  ‘But surely the King should hear news of this rebellion as soon as possible and we should make haste to inform him?’

  ‘Accepted but one more day will matter not. Even if we leave for Bristol immediately our path lies less than ten miles from this village. We can make a detour, inflict the King’s justice on this traitorous people and gain many treasures to help fund the Longshanks’ French campaign at the same time.’

  ‘Did you not say they were well armed?’

  ‘Carrying weapons is one thing,’ said Orland, ‘being able to use them against a tested army is another. Our men are now well blooded and will not have any trouble against these peasants.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘There is no need for subtleties for their allegiance is obvious and they talk openly against the King. I suggest we attack at first light without thought of negotiation. Give the men their freedom to enjoy the spoils of war so when they eventually land on French soil, their desire to fight hard will be underpinned by their previous experiences. They have campaigned hard, my Lord and deserve a chance of spoils. Cut them loose and see what they have become.’

  ‘And the Church?’

  ‘Destroy it for it is no longer a holy place but a nest of vipers. The treasures are spoils of war and will be warmly welcomed by Longshanks. Our parting gift to the Welsh will be the bodies of their kinsmen and the ashes of their poisonous church. The message sent will be overwhelming, bend your knee to your rightful King or suffer similar consequences.’

  Fermbaud’s thoughts rested only briefly on the cost in human life, lingering much longer on the imagined treasures of the church. If they were as plentiful as Orland said, then Longshanks surely wouldn’t miss a few golden goblets or jewel encrusted crosses.

  ‘Agreed,’ he said and turned to his second in command. ‘Godfrey, rest the men at the next river. Get them fed and watered but ensure they are prepared for one final assault. We will approach the village before dawn and attack at first light.’