Medieval III - Sword of Liberty Read online

Chapter Eight

  Dysynni Village

  A large crowd was gathering as Garyn made his way to the village square. A public flogging always drew interest but to see the brutal punishment on one so young was a particular novelty. Many of the people crowded around the cart which had carried the boy from the castle. He was tied to a cross-rail as the manacles in the castle had proved too large for such wiry wrists and though he posed a forlorn figure, his demeanour was defiant.

  Garyn ignored the prisoner and cast his eye around the market square, seeking a certain man he knew would be present. For half an hour he scanned the crowd and thought he would be too late but finally he spied the man he sought. The person in question was of little significance at first sight. He wore ordinary clothes and sat at a trestle table drinking ale amongst his peers. Garyn moved closer and as soon as he had a chance, sat on the bench alongside his target.

  ‘Ale, if you please,’ he said as the serving wench walked by.

  ‘Of course Sir,’ said the woman, ‘that will be a copper penny.’

  Garyn put three pennies on the table.

  ‘Just the one, Sir,’ said the girl.

  ‘Bring two tankards,’ said Garyn, ‘and a trencher of bread and pork.’

  ‘Of course, Sir,’ said the girl and scooped the coins into the front pocket of her apron.

  ‘You have a healthy appetite,’ said the man alongside Garyn.

  ‘I have not eaten since dawn,’ said Garyn, ‘and would have a full belly before sampling this afternoon’s entertainment.’

  ‘And a strong thirst it would seem.’

  ‘The second tankard is for you, my friend,’ said Garyn.

  The man looked up at him.

  ‘I do not recall your face, Sir. Do I know you?’

  ‘I do not believe we have met, though I suspect I know who you are, or at least, what it is you do.’

  The man looked down at his back pack on the floor and saw the wooden handle of his whip sticking out of the side. He looked back up at Garyn.

  ‘If it is trouble you want, then you have picked on the wrong man. I have been engaged by the Castellan himself and one call from me will bring his men running. That boy broke his contract and the punishment is a legal decree. He may be young but if we let them get away with breaking the law then all boys of his age will follow his example and then where would we be?’

  ‘I want no trouble,’ said Garyn, ‘indeed, I agree that contracts should be met. However, I wonder at the severity that has been agreed.’

  ‘He is to receive six lashes,’ said the man before draining his tankard.

  ‘A severe test,’ said Garyn.

  ‘It has been reduced from twelve,’ said the man reaching for the full tankard placed before him by the serving girl. ‘However, six is enough for most and I have seen bigger men die of the pain.’

  ‘This is what concerns me,’ said Garyn, ‘it seems very harsh on a boy so young.’

  ‘Don’t fret too much, Sir for the boy is not even English. He hails from France and was sold as a rigging monkey by his family for a tidy sum.’

  ‘Even so,’ said Garyn, ‘I suspect the lashes will prove too much.’

  The man shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘They may, they may not, it depends on my aim and my mood.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘If my aim is true and I hit the same wound, I can cut a man to his core and have been known to break a man’s backbone, however, that sort of attention is reserved for murderers.’

  ‘And if the crime is minor?’

  ‘Then the force of the blows are lighter and spread across the back. The pain is more severe for a short term but the wounds usually heal within weeks.’

  ‘Tell me,’ said Garyn, ‘which style is to be administered today?’

  The man shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘It has not been discussed but despite my trade, I am not a cruel man.’

  Garyn breathed a sigh of relief and pushed the plate of bread and pork toward the man.

  ‘Please,’ he said, ‘share my meal. What is your name, stranger?’

  ‘I do not share my name outside of my family for my trade attracts unfriendly attention but you can call me The Friar.’

  Garyn frowned.

  ‘The Friar?’

  ‘Let’s just say it hails from a past best forgotten,’ said the man.

  ‘Well, Friar,’ said Garyn, ‘I accept that you have an important job to do but I also suspect you take no great joy in it.’

  ‘I have long lost any emotions,’ said the Friar, ‘and now only wield the whip to earn a crust.’

  ‘Then can a man ask if you are open to conducting some business on the side?’

  ‘Why, is there someone you want whipped?’

  ‘On the contrary, there is someone whom I want treated gently.’

  ‘The boy?’ asked the Friar.

  ‘The boy,’ confirmed Garyn.

  ‘I have already told you, the commission has been accepted.’

  ‘I understand, but would request it is administered with compassion.’

  ‘Ha,’ sneered Friar, ‘a compassionate flogging? That would indeed be a double faced punishment. How do you administer such a thing?’

  ‘All I ask is that the blows are spread and are as light as you can get away with without drawing awkward questions from your masters.’

  ‘And why would I do this?’

  Garyn reached across and took a piece of bread from the trencher, uncovering a golden coin. The Friar looked up for a moment before sliding the coin from the wooden board and into his pocket.

  ‘Do we have a deal?’ asked Garyn.

  ‘My arm is indeed weary today,’ said The Friar eventually, ‘and I suspect my blows will not be as strong as usual.’

  ‘And your aim?’

  ‘Is still sharp, the blows will be spread evenly.’

  ‘Good,’ said Garyn. ‘One more thing, if the boy is conscious at the end of his punishment, there will be a similar coin waiting for you at the conclusion of today’s events.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said the man.

  ‘Good. I will leave you now my friend, but would welcome confidence in this matter for I am as generous with my blade as I am with my coin.’

  ‘Understood,’ said the Friar returning his attention to the pork.

  ----

  Garyn joined the crowd and wandered toward the village centre. Midday was approaching and there was one more deal he wanted to make. Eventually he stood at the centre of the village square and watched as the previous occupant of the whipping post was dragged away, a man beaten to within an inch of his life by the family of a woman he had raped. Strangely, Garyn felt no compassion at all for this man as his punishment was well deserved.

  The sound of horns filled the air and a column of twelve men at arms forced the crowd apart to make way for the Castellan. Garyn watched as the extremely fat man made his way to the elevated seats placed upon a platform at the edge of the square. Another man joined him and from the cut of his garb, Garyn guessed correctly he was the emissary of the Sea Captain.

  Garyn watched for several minutes until he saw an opportunity. He approached the platform and passed a note to one of the guards. The guard passed the note to the seaman who looked up with interest toward Garyn. Garyn nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement and watched as the seaman whispered in the Castellan’s ear.

  Fitzwalter laughed and said something back before the seaman descended the steps and walked through the crowd. Garyn swallowed hard and felt for the reassuring feel of his dagger at his waist. This was to be the most dangerous deal of the day. The seaman disappeared around a corner of a house and Garyn followed closely. Finally they stood face to face.

  ‘Are you the man who sent the note?’ asked the seaman.

  ‘I am, Sir.’

  ‘Then I am intrigued. Your note promises riches for a simple deal.’

  ‘It does, and my purse is heavy with coin.’

  ‘Then tell
me what this deal is? said the seaman, ‘but make it quick for there is a flogging to be witnessed.’

  ‘I know of the flogging and therein lies the subject of the deal,’ said Garyn, ‘I want to buy the boy from you.’

  The man paused but then laughed.

  ‘That wretch? Why is he of value to you?’

  ‘My mistress is French, Sire and requires a serving boy who can speak the language. I understand he is from France?’

  ‘Indeed he is, from an island called Corsica, a place famed for its seagoing people, but why your interest in this one?’

  ‘No reason, Sire, except that as you can imagine, French speaking boys are a rarity in these parts.’

  ‘I would imagine so but alas, he is not for sale.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because My Captain wants him flogged and returned.’

  ‘But surely, as a businessman, a heavy purse would be just as welcomed. He could buy another boy and make a handsome profit.’

  ‘That depends on the weight of the purse.’

  ‘Name your price, Sir and I will say whether it can be met.’

  Garyn could see the man thinking furiously, calculating what was in it for him. Finally he settled on an amount that he thought may be in reach of the stranger’s purse.

  ‘Five gold coins,’ he said, ‘and the boy stays here with you.’

  ‘A steep price for a mere boy,’ said Garyn.

  ‘Perhaps so but you don’t know the temper of my Captain. I could well be flogged myself for this but five gold coins may calm his ire and leave me with a healthy profit.’

  ‘I understand, Sir,’ said Garyn ‘and accept your price. However, if I add another coin, will you release him unharmed?’

  ‘Alas, I cannot. The flogging will go ahead but as he will be damaged goods, I will sell him to you when the punishment is concluded.’

  ‘So be it,’ said Garyn. ‘When the boy is cut down, deliver him unto the tavern and I will hand over the payment.’

  ‘And if you are not there?’

  ‘Then you still have the boy, there is nothing to lose.’

  The seaman thought for a moment then held out his arm.

  ‘We have an agreement,’ he said and Garyn grasped the offered wrist to seal the deal.

  ‘I will see you later,’ said Garyn and turned away as the seaman returned to his seat.

  Garyn returned to the crowd and forced his way to the front, much to the annoyance of some of the old women jostling for position. A few moments later the boy was led from the cart and placed against the whipping post. The thongs around his wrists were attached to a rope which was then fastened high on the pole so should he pass out, his body would still be upright. The boy was defiant in demeanour but despite this, Garyn could see fear in his eyes.

  A man stepped forward and cut the jerkin from the boys back and a murmur rippled around the crowd as they saw how skinny he was.

  ‘He is but a puppy,’ said one of the old women, ‘the poor mite will be cut to the bone.’

  ‘He is nought but a frenchy anyways,’ said another, ‘let him bleed, I say.’

  From the side, The Friar stepped forward and unravelled his leather whip, its blood stained surface glistening in the midday sun. A couple of hisses and insults came from the watchers but on the whole, the crowd fell silent. The Friar walked up and placed a leather wrapped stick up to the boy’s mouth. The boy shook his head but The Friar insisted.

  ‘Better to bite on this than your tongue, boy. I have seen bigger men than you bite trough their own flesh. Take it for you own good.’

  The boy opened his mouth and accepted the leather stick.

  ‘Listen,’ said the Friar, ‘I will not lie, it is going to hurt but there are only six lashes to bear. Pant like a dog between each and bite hard as each lands. I will get it over as quickly as I can. Ready?’

  The boy nodded but even from his position ten paces away, Garyn could see he was terrified.

  ‘Friar,’ called the Castellan, ‘enough chit chat, let the punishment commence.’

  ‘Aye, Sir,’ said the Friar and walked away, unravelling the whip as he went. When he was ready, he called out to the boy once more.

  ‘Whoever it is you pray to lad, I suggest you call on them now.’ He flicked the whip twice and drawing it back behind him, let the leather fly to land squarely across the boy’s shoulders.

  The crowd gasped and many eyes turned away as the first lash landed, opening a wound across the boy’s flesh. A muffled scream came from the victim but he remained upright. The Friar looked across at Garyn and saw the look in the man’s eyes.

  ‘A good strike,’ called the Castellan, ‘continue.’

  ‘Aye Sir,’ answered the Friar and sent the second lash whistling through the air. This time the weal appeared a few inches below the first and again the boy cried out. The next three lashes followed in quick succession and by the time the fifth stripe appeared, the boy was hanging from his ties, passed out through the pain.

  ‘Revive him,’ shouted the Castellan, ‘he will not escape his punishment through lack of consciousness.’

  ‘He has had enough,’ shouted some of the crowd.

  ‘Release him,’ shouted others.

  ‘Nonsense,’ roared Fitzwalter, ‘he is a criminal and will be treated as such. Revive him, Friar and add another lash for his impertinence.’

  ‘No,’ shouted the crowd.

  ‘Silence,’ roared the Castellan, ‘or I will have him whipped to death. Friar, continue immediately or take his place.’

  The Friar picked up a leather bucket and poured water over the boy’s head. The boy gasped in shock as the water revived him.

  ‘Stand up, boy,’ said the Friar, ‘let’s get this over with.’

  The victim struggled to his feet and leaned his head on the whipping pole.

  Friar returned to his place and with lightning speed, sent the final two lashes through the air in quick succession. The first made the boy cry out and as he collapsed again, the second caught him as he still fell.

  The crowd ran forward to the pole and caring hands cut the boy down. Wet sheets were carefully placed over his back and he was carried back to the cart.

  ‘The punishment is done,’ roared Fitzwalter, ‘and let this be a lesson to all who would break the law. Justice is equal across all men, irrespective of age. Now, prepare a fire for I have ordered an ox killed and brought to the village to be roasted in this very square. Let it not be said that I do not administer pain and pleasure in equal measure.’

  Approving voices were heard amongst the crowd and as many turned their attention away from the boy, the Friar approached Garyn.

  ‘Satisfied?’ he asked.

  ‘Was that the gentlest you could have been?’ asked Garyn.

  ‘Trust me, any lighter and the Castellan would have known I was withholding my arm.’

  ‘I see the last blow was administered quickly, I suppose that was to ensure a second coin.’

  ‘The quickness of the last lash was for his sake not mine,’ spat the Friar, ‘he could not have taken resurrection a second time. Keep your stinking coin, I want nothing more to do with it.’

  ‘No, wait,’ said Garyn and pressed two coins into the man’s hand. ‘You did your job and I am a man of my word. You have my gratitude.’

  The Friar glared at Garyn but took the money.

  ‘You have made me conscious of my work and for the first time in many years, I felt compassion for the victim.’

  ‘Surely this is a good thing.’

  ‘On the contrary, I hate you for it. This job is hard enough without the weight of guilt it can bring.’

  ‘Rest assured you have done the right thing, Friar,’ said Garyn.

  ‘That is not your decision to make,’ said the man. ‘Now, I am going to leave this place and hope to never see you again.’ Without another word he walked away into the crowd.

  ‘Do you know him?’ asked a voice over Garyn’s shoulder.

&nbs
p; Garyn turned and saw the Seaman.

  ‘No, I was just complimenting him on his accuracy.’

  ‘If you say so,’ said the Seaman. ‘I trust our deal is still on?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Then be at the tavern at dusk. Make sure you have the money.’

  ‘The money is secure,’ said Garyn, ‘but I will not pay for a corpse.’

  ‘Understood,’ said the seaman, ‘I will see you then.’

  ----

  Eight hours later Garyn stood at the side of the tavern alongside Elias, the servant from the sanctuary. Together they watched as a man pushed a handcart down a muddy side street. Behind him strode the seaman and two of his henchmen.

  ‘Do you have the price?’ asked the seaman.

  ‘I have it,’ said Garyn. ‘Does he still live?’

  ‘He does,’ said the seaman, ‘but who knows for how long?’

  Elias pushed aside the sheepskin covering the boy and nodded toward Garyn.

  ‘His breathing is shallow but regular. I need to get him back and apply ointments.’

  Garyn threw a purse over to the Seaman.

  ‘Our business is concluded,’ he said, ‘good day to you, Sir.’

  ‘And to you,’ said the Seaman and returned back the way he had come.

  Elias pushed the handcart out of the village and toward the sanctuary, closely followed by Garyn. When they arrived, Garyn pulled back the sheet, now red from the boy’s blood. The boy groaned as the cloth pulled at his wounds.

  ‘Do you think he will be all right?’ asked Garyn.

  ‘I think so,’ said Elias, ‘I have been trained in the ways of herbs and these are clean wounds.’

  ‘Good,’ said Garyn. ‘Here are some more coins, buy what you need from the apothecary.’

  ‘Sir, can I ask a question?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘What interest do you have in this boy? Is he known to you?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Garyn, ‘but many years ago my brother was also hurt and imprisoned in a foreign country far from home. He was older than this boy but in just as desperate a situation if not worse. I dread to think what would have happened but luckily I found him just in time. This boy’s plight reminded me of him and I thought it a suitable way to repay the good fortune I had in finding my brother.’