Paul Doherty - Nightshade

‘You?’

‘Myself 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.’

‘But Gaston did not die?’

‘No, 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, hiswounds 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. ‘I 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. ‘Weeks 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. ‘By 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. ‘I 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 outtowards the fire. ‘The 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.’

‘How many?’ Corbett asked.

‘About 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.’

‘You settled there?’

‘Oh 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.’

‘And yet you were skilled in arms?’

‘Some 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.’

‘And you really are a priest?’ Corbett asked.

‘Of 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 andmonasteries heard about what he’d achieved and were lavish in their generosity.’

‘But he never mentioned England?’

‘Never. That door remained closed and sealed.’

‘And the rest of your group?’

‘Some 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.’

‘But you?’

‘Gaston was proud of me, though I often felt I was a stranger to the vocation I was following. Living proof, perhaps,’ he grinned, ‘that cacullus non facit monachum – the cowl doesn’t necessarily make the monk.’

‘Then Gaston told you the full truth?’

‘Yes, 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. ‘He 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, ‘is in the main, as you say.’

‘Did you intend to kill Lord Scrope?’

‘No, not at first. That was the paradox: because of him, Gaston had remained in Acre and saved us. We hotly debated thequestion. 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, ‘thought 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. ‘I 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. ‘But yes, once the Free Brethren were massacred, I had no choice but to deal out terror.’

‘Even to innocents like the ostler’s daughter and the marketplace fool?’ Ranulf asked.

‘Of course.’ Master Benedict climbed to his feet. ‘Now, I’ve kept my word; you keep yours. Master Ranulf, you want my death.’

‘No, I don’t,’ Ranulf replied. ‘God 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.

‘As I’ve said,’ the chaplain gestured at Ranulf, ‘you want my life.’ He spread his hands. ‘What 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.’

‘You talked about the hideous things you witnessed,’ Ranulf replied softly. ‘So 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 agame 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, ‘bring the arbalest.’