âSo her death was swift?' Corbett walked back to stand over him.
âLike that!' Master Benedict snapped his fingers.
Corbett crouched down. âBut what was the bond between you and Gaston?'
âAh, you were correct.' The chaplain pointed to the wineskin. Corbett handed it over, and the prisoner drank greedily. âI'll be brief.' He smiled, smacking his lips. âI accept your word, what else can I do? I could demand to be put on trial and plead benefit of clergy,' he pointed at Ranulf, âbut I don't think he'll allow me to live.'
âVery perceptive!' Ranulf whispered.
âGaston?' Corbett intervened.
âYou're right,' the chaplain replied. âScrope escaped from Acre. When he entered the infirmary, only the sick and the dying were there. A table inside was littered with all kinds of medicines and herbs, including potions and poisons. Some of the Templars
preferred to be drugged against their impending death. Scrope took a cup of wine and mixed the poison; Gaston did not know it. Scrope encouraged him to drink, saying that the wine would dull the pain and that God be his witness, he'd come back for him. Gaston was certain that only Scrope had come into the infirmary. Afterwards Scrope fled; of course he never returned. However, he was hardly out of the infirmary when Gaston was violently sick, spewing up both wine and poison. He then fell into a dead swoon. When he awoke, Acre had fallen. The Saracens showed chivalry to those wounded who looked as if they might survive. The others had been taken out and executed with the rest in the dragon courtyard. I saw that.'
âYou?'
âMyself and all the other children. Everyone who could had retreated to the Templar stronghold: soldiers, merchants, traders, men, women and children. When the donjon was stormed, all adults, male and female, were summarily executed. The children, myself included, were made to watch one prisoner after another being forced to their knees, heads sliced off, until we stood ankle deep in blood, weeping and wailing. We were only saved because our looks would fetch a high price in the slave markets.'
âBut Gaston did not die?'
âNo, he didn't. The Saracen officer who found him was honourable. He was also intrigued. He found the wine goblet, smelt the poison and questioned Gaston. He was very surprised at how one Christian could try and murder a fellow Christian who'd fought alongside him. You know soldiers the world over, they all like a good story. Gaston was seen by Arab physicians, his
wounds soon healed and he joined us children shackled in the dragon courtyard. The officer did what he could to ensure Gaston was given good food, and I suppose that's when we met our hero.' The chaplain paused. âI cannot describe the true horror of that courtyard. Gaston became our protector, our friend. He did what he could for us, shared his food, tended the dying, consoled and comforted everyone else.' He took a deep breath. âWeeks turned into months. Gaston regained his strength. He was powerful; even then I noticed he had the long arms of a born swordsman. He exercised when he could, then seized his opportunity. One afternoon the officer in charge visited him bringing some food; three Mamelukes also appeared. I know they shouldn't drink, that is their religion, but these three had certainly drunk deep of wine. They began abusing some of the young girls. Gaston sprang to his feet. He called them cowards, cursing and taunting them, saying that they would not dare to confront a warrior such as himself. The Mamelukes rose to the bait. Gaston offered to meet all three together in combat, declaring that all he needed was a sword and a dagger. He said that if he killed them it would be a sign from Allah that he and the children should be allowed to go free.' The chaplain took another drink from the wineskin. âBy now the challenge was known all over the donjon. The courtyard became flooded with men. The officer was reluctant but I think he knew what was going to happen. He wanted to allow Gaston the opportunity, so he agreed. Gaston's chains were taken off. He was given both sword and dagger.' Master Benedict shook his head. âI tell you, as God lives, Gaston was a warrior, a skilled swordsman. He killed those Mamelukes swiftly, like a cat with vermin. Fast as a dancer! God was certainly with him that day.' He stretched his hands out
towards the fire. âThe entire garrison applauded him. The officer kept his word. The following morning we were taken down to the port, Gaston, myself and the other children.'
âHow many?' Corbett asked.
âAbout twenty in all. We were shipped to Cyprus and from Limasol taken to Marseilles. Gaston then took us north to Angers, where he was known to the local bishop. He had the highest opinion of Gaston and allowed him to settle in a derelict chateau, a beautiful place on the edge of a forest near rich fields and wellstocked streams.'
âYou settled there?'
âOh yes. Gaston called us his Company of the Holy Spirit. I think it was more of a jest than anything else. He was the finest, the best man I have ever met. He became our God, our Saviour, our mother and father, elder brother and elder sister, priest and confessor. He treated us with gentleness, loved and guided us. He believed he'd been saved just to do that.'
âAnd yet you were skilled in arms?'
âSome of us were. I was the eldest. Gaston explained how in this vale of tears we had to defend ourselves; he taught me how to use the sword, the dagger, and above all the longbow, which he'd grown skilled in when in England. He described the bow's history, its use by the Welsh, though he never talked about his own past.'
âAnd you really are a priest?' Corbett asked.
âOf course! Gaston said I was highly intelligent so I should be educated. I was patronised by the local bishop, sent to a nearby cathedral school then on to Bordeaux and Paris. Gaston had some wealth; the rest he earned or was given. Local nobles, abbeys and
monasteries heard about what he'd achieved and were lavish in their generosity.'
âBut he never mentioned England?'
âNever. That door remained closed and sealed.'
âAnd the rest of your group?'
âSome died, but the others grew strong under Gaston's influence. He did not abandon his faith, only its rules and strictures. The Free Brethren were really his creation. They were tolerated, even favoured by the local clergy, given letters of protection from the papal curia at Avignon. They were harmless, one of many such groups wandering the roads of France.'
âBut you?'
âGaston was proud of me, though I often felt I was a stranger to the vocation I was following. Living proof, perhaps,' he grinned, âthat
cacullus non facit monachum
â the cowl doesn't necessarily make the monk.'
âThen Gaston told you the full truth?'
âYes, he fell ill two summers ago, a malignancy inside him. He called us back to what he called his sanctuary and said he must explain why he'd been in Acre and what had happened. He told us everything.' The chaplain wiped his mouth on the cuff of his jerkin. âHe did not ask for vengeance; that was my idea. Gaston died. I made enquiries. My fury deepened when I discovered how Lord Scrope had grown fat like a hog in its sty, and so our plan was formed. We would punish Lord Scrope and escape by sea. The rest,' he shrugged, âis in the main, as you say.'
âDid you intend to kill Lord Scrope?'
âNo, not at first. That was the paradox: because of him, Gaston had remained in Acre and saved us. We hotly debated the
question. It was the attempt to murder Gaston that was the real sin. We hoped to make Scrope confess, publicly humiliate him, make him acknowledge the evil he'd done, but as you say, we underestimated him. I never,' he whispered, âthought he would do it, even after we defied him; that too was a hot-headed mistake. You were correct. I became genuinely ill with guilt and anger.' He smiled at Corbett. âI thank you for giving their corpses some honour. I came out here secretly to collect any bones. I took them to sacred ground at St Frideswide for burial.' He sighed deeply. âBut yes, once the Free Brethren were massacred, I had no choice but to deal out terror.'
âEven to innocents like the ostler's daughter and the marketplace fool?' Ranulf asked.
âOf course.' Master Benedict climbed to his feet. âNow, I've kept my word; you keep yours. Master Ranulf, you want my death.'
âNo, I don't,' Ranulf replied. âGod does! I will give you a chance, better than you gave your victims. I've heard your story, Master Chaplain, but I still believe you enjoyed the killing. I truly believe that.'
Corbett stepped back, wondering what Ranulf intended.
âAs I've said,' the chaplain gestured at Ranulf, âyou want my life.' He spread his hands. âWhat use pleading benefit of clergy, exile in a monastery? I know your type, Ranulf-atte-Newgate, you'll be waiting for me, if you ever let me live that long.'
âYou talked about the hideous things you witnessed,' Ranulf replied softly. âSo have I, Master Benedict. I've seen men and women stabbed in taverns, my friends hanged for stealing a loaf when they were hungry, and as I listened to you, I thought of a
game we used to play. It was called “Hawks Swoop”. We'd put a club and a hammer on the ground between us. The first to grasp a weapon could smack the other. We'll play “Hawks Swoop” now. Chanson,' Ranulf called across, âbring the arbalest.'
The groom of the stables did so. Ranulf laid the crossbow between his feet, a wicked-looking barb beside it. He then picked up the longbow and one of the arrows from the quiver. He let the chaplain inspect these, then placed them at his opponent's feet. Corbett stared in horror at what Ranulf intended.
âNo one will interfere,' Ranulf warned. âPriest, you are a master bowman, swift and deadly. If you strike me before I strike you, then you are free to go. Sir Hugh?'
âRanulf, this isâ'
âSir Hugh?'
Corbett caught the look in Ranulf's eyes and nodded, though his fingers crept to the hilt of his own dagger. Master Benedict was most skilled. He could notch an arrow faster than Ranulf would ever prime that arbalest.
Master Benedict studied Ranulf carefully and nodded. He stood, body slack, arms down, twisting his wrists to ease any cramp.
âWhen I have recited the Gloria.' Ranulf smiled. âFitting for a murderous priest about to meet his God.'
âSay it and have done with it.'
â
Gloria Patri
,' Ranulf intoned harshly, â
et Filii et Spiritus Sancti â¦
'
The chaplain swiftly reached down, seizing both bow and arrow, bringing them up and stepping back. Ranulf, however, ignored the arbalest; instead he pulled the dagger from his belt and sent it hurtling at the chaplain, striking him full and deep in the chest. Master Benedict staggered back, bow and arrow falling from his
hands. Ranulf drew his sword, snaking it out to catch his opponent in the belly, then, stepping closer, thrust it deeper. Master Benedict flailed his hands, head falling back, choking on his own blood.
âI said,' Ranulf pressed firmly on his sword, âI'd strike you before you struck me, and so I have!' He pulled out the sword.
Master Benedict's eyes fluttered; he gave a deep sigh, and collapsed to his knees then on to his side.
âTrickery,' Corbett murmured.
âJustice!' Ranulf snarled. He squatted before the dead man and plucked out the dagger. âHe was an assassin, a murderer, Sir Hugh. Did you want him to dance away from the hideous crimes he'd committed? Did you want such a man to slink through the shadows of your nightmares? Perhaps return one day to Leighton Manor, stealing in one night to seek vengeance on you and yours? A wounded animal is a dangerous animal. Master Benedict Le Sanglier deserved his fate. I did what was legal and right.'
âRight maybe,' Corbett queried, âbut legal?'
Ranulf stood up, dug beneath his jerkin and drew out a small parchment scroll. He handed this to Corbett.
âLegal,' he declared, âjust, and right!'
As Corbett undid the scroll, his eyes caught the words âwhat the bearer of this letter has done he has done for the good of the King and the safety of the realm'.
âWhy, Ranulf,' Corbett glanced up, âyou are growing most astute.'
âFor the children of this world,' his companion quoted back,
âare more astute in their dealings with their own kind than the children of the light.'
âDo you consider yourself to be a child of the light, Ranulf?'
âNo, Sir Hugh.' Ranulf touched his master gently on the side of his face. âI simply work for them.'