Copyright Matthew Burden, 2001
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~36~
“Take their swords!” the Count shouted, his booming
voice echoing in the cell. The
other eleven Templars rushed forward, quickly disarming Oswald,
Justin, and Alfred, despite their halfhearted show of resistance.
“Now,” the Count continued, leering happily, “I trust
you have enjoyed your brief reunion, for it will not last much longer." He gazed around the room for a long moment. "I suppose you know why I have done this."
Hannah shook her head. “How did you know that we would be coming
for my uncle?”
He scowled and tugged on his beard. “What a vile, contemptuous race,” he
muttered, spitting her direction.
“Why does she ask how we know these things? We know many things
indeed.”
After a few moments of silence,
he sighed. “The cobbler's daughter was
hesitant to admit what she knew--she even had the temerity to claim that it was
dishonorable to give out such information, as if you had been a friend. But in time,” he
grinned sardonically, “she came to understand my point of view--with a little
persuasion, of course.”
Hannah grimaced. She couldn't blame the cobbler's daughter
for what had happened. If blame was to
be found anywhere, it was with herself, and she knew it well. She should have been more careful than to
speak so openly about their plans, even to well-meaning strangers.
“And now,” the Count continued, pacing proudly before
them, “you will give me the robe.”
Immediately, Alfred began to back away, behind the
protection of his companions.
“Why do
you want it?” Edward asked, walking up to the Templar.
He chuckled softly.
“It is a holy relic. It should be
placed under our protection, of course.
It is not to be in the hands of some devilish thieves.”
The Count sighed and motioned to his men. “Search them.
The large one first.” He pointed
at Alfred, who was still behind the human shield his companions had
created. “Please, my friends,” the
Templar sighed dramatically. “I do not
desire to kill you.”
“You would spill Christian blood for this thing?”
Edward asked. “Even if it is real, is it
worth the price of murder?”
“It is a testament to the passion of our Lord. Any Christian man would give up his life for
it, and so will you if you do not quickly get out of the way.” All eleven Templars drew their swords in
unison at a nod from the Count.
Edward raised his hands in surrender and slowly
withdrew, a worried look on his face.
The Count grinned eagerly as the others also stepped out from where
Alfred had been standing.
“Search him,”
he commanded, and immediately the soldiers were tearing apart Alfred’s tunic.
After a few moments, one of the Templars held up a clutch of fabric,
and the Count snatched it from his grasp. He held it up to the light of one of the
torches, the light of greed dancing dark in his eyes. Then slowly, with an evil tone growing in his
voice, he began to laugh, until the sound filled the chamber.
Folding it carefully, the Count tucked the ancient
cloth beneath his own tunic, then bowed nobly to the prisoners.
“I have what I came for,” he said with a
smile. “Now, as for you, Sir Justin, I
suspect you know what will become of you soon.”
“I have a fair guess."
The Count nodded, satisfied. “And as for the rest of you,” he shrugged,
motioning his men back toward the doorway, “I leave the matter in the hands of
the King.”
As the lock clicked back in place, the chamber
descended once more into darkness.
Oswald
frowned, shaking his head. “All that
work,” he sighed. “It took so long to
bring that robe here, and now, just like that, it’s gone.”
Edward cast a concerned glance toward Alfred, who
shrugged. “I’m certain we can find some
way to manage the situation.”
Justin nodded.
“Of course, there's always a way.
But now I’m afraid it’s out of our hands. We can only put our trust in the Lord. If He sees fit to deliver us, nothing will be
able to stop Him from doing so.”
~ ~ ~
Thomas and Stephen looked up as Malcolm strode in, a
smile on his face. “They’re here. The guard at the prison told me they came for
the girl’s uncle.”
Thomas stood, stretching his stiff muscles. “When?”
“That was yesterday, near nightfall. They were directed to go to the smaller
prison, south of here.”
“Good!” Stephen said, leaping up beside his
captain. The days of inactivity and
waiting had worn down on the two adventuresome men. “We will either meet them there, or on the
road. Let’s go.”
“Yes, we should go,” Malcolm agreed, quickly fixing
his sword-belt about his waist. “Our
friends may already be in need of us.”
~ ~ ~
The
Jail-master sneered down at them, his short sword out and ready to combat any
sign of attempted escape as he opened the door.
“Make room, boys!” he shouted, his voice resounding through the
cell. “You’re going to have some
company!”
As he spoke, a line of prisoners came shuffling in,
their heads bowed in the pervasive despair of captivity. Some of the stronger prisoners were bound
with manacles, and the ones without were in no condition to pose a serious
threat. After about a dozen
of the inmates had joined them in the now-cramped room, the door was slammed
shut, flooding the cell with total darkness
again.
The new prisoners cast themselves to the ground with
groans and grunts, not even bothering to acknowledge their new companions. They were all men, covered in filth and
sweat, with their tattered, knotted beards bearing testimony to the harsh
prison life they had suffered.
Hannah glanced over to Justin, who sat beside Oswald with
a depressed frown on his face. “Is
something wrong?”
The warrior sighed, glancing around the chamber. “I don’t know how we’re going to get out of
here.”
“Do
you think there's any way?”
“When I was in the Holy
Land,” he said slowly, “the commander of my cavalry unit told me
something. He said, ‘You must always
anticipate the possibility of defeat before a battle to become more prepared,
but if that comes upon you, you must never believe it.’” Justin smiled. “There is always a way out. We just have to find it.”
The taciturn Scot beside him nodded his
agreement. “Yes, this is true. Never resign to defeat.”
“But suppose it is the will of the Lord that we remain captives—that we
are chosen to suffer for His name.”
Both men seemed surprised, as if they had not even
considered it. “I suppose it is a
possibility,” Justin allowed after a moment of silence. “But—why would He have provided for us and
protected us every step of the way just to leave us in the hands of enemies
now? We have not even accomplished what
we were coming here to do.”
“No,” she nodded, “but perhaps He has accomplished in
us what He sought to do.”
Oswald cocked his head, his eyebrows raised in
thought. “What do you mean?”
Before she responded, she allowed her eyes to drift
around the cell. The dark and clammy
stones mocked them, the chains hanging from the walls in triumph. In the eyes of the other prisoners there was
only despair, callused indifference to life.
They were empty eyes, without any glimmer of hope or joy in those vacant
depths. They had nothing left that could
promise them a better future, only the grim realities of the prison that
surrounded them.
She turned back to the two men who
were awaiting her explanation. “Perhaps
God did not bring us together so that you could help me. I think now that His purpose was to lead me
to an understanding of his love, offered in Christ, and it feels like that mission is near its completion.”
“And so,” Oswald said slowly, his voice resonating in
the corners of the room, “you believe that this is the end—that we shall go no
further.”
“I have no answer to that. But if I have understood it correctly—every
moment we have, every second we are alive—grants us an opportunity to live for
our Lord. And whether those moments come
in the depths of this jail or in freedom makes little difference.”
Justin sighed heavily.
“I believe you are right, Hannah.
If we survive this, it is by our Lord’s good pleasure, and if we die, we
must resolve to die for Him and for Him alone.”
His eyes danced with fire as he spoke.
“Most of the apostles were martyred for their faith—but until now I had
always thought that the Lord would provide a way out for us.”
Oswald shook his head.
“Edward taught me this long ago: our Lord never promises safety for
us. He often talked of being counted
worthy enough to die for the name of Christ.”
Hannah nodded and stood. “Then until that day comes,” she said with
resolution in her voice, “let us live unreservedly for Him.” She walked quickly over to where Edward
stood, speaking in low tones with his brother.
After waiting patiently until they were done their conversation, she
leaned forward and whispered in his ear.
“I’m ready now,” she smiled, her eyes bright.
Edward looked at her, astonished for a moment as a
slow grin spread over his face. “All right,” he said, quickly
brushing a tear from the corner of his eye.
“Let’s pray then.”
And there, with all the prisoners looking on, they knelt
in the filth of the prison floor and clasped their hands together.
~ ~ ~
Malcolm and the two knights paused in confusion as
they watched the line of Templars exiting the prison. They marched out, one after the other, their
white and brown mantles ruffling in the breeze.
The last Templar to emerge carried himself straight and proud, his chin
upraised with triumph so as to leave no doubt concerning his noble bearing.
“Well, that doesn’t look good,” Thomas muttered. “Weren’t those the ones that chased us from Northampton?”
Malcolm shrugged.
“It’s a possibility. Templars
look all the same to me.”
“So our friends are prisoners,” Stephen said with a
shake of the head. “Why does it always
fall on us to rescue them?”
Malcolm laughed.
“We don’t even know if they are here or not, Sir Stephen. Perhaps we should at least find that out before
we charge the gates.”
“Why did they come here in the first place?” the
knight responded. “They were only asking
for trouble.”
“It’s for the girl, Stephen, and you know that. That uncle is the only family she has left.”
“It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard of,” he said
dryly. “To exchange one of the holiest
relics in all Christendom for the life of the Jew could be considered heresy.”
“But you forget, Stephen,” Thomas interjected, his
voice stern, as if he was giving an order.
“The relic belongs to the girl.
To force it from her would be wrong, and therefore it falls to her to
decide its fate. She has chosen, and we
aid her in Christian love.”
“Yes, sir,” the knight replied dryly. “As long as
we see the robe safely in Christian hands, I shall have no quarrel with the
matter.”
Thomas nodded and turned to Malcolm, who was smoothing
out his wind-blown hair with his fingers.
“It makes me wonder, though, why the Templars cannot be trusted. They are the guardians of many such relics.”
The Scot regarded him for a moment. “I must admit that I don't fully understand
it either. But Justin, the knight who
brought the robe back from the Holy Land,
considered it of utmost importance that it be kept from their hands.”
The three men turned back to the small prison, their
faces set. They all understood well
enough the importance of their next actions.
If it were true that their friends were being held prisoner, then it was of utmost importance that the jail-keepers could not
know of their presence. If it were
discovered that the prisoners had knights set on their release, whoever had
captured them would almost certainly remove them from all hope of aid. On the other hand, if they were not being
held prisoner, there would be no way to ascertain this save by inquiring of the
jail-keepers.
Stephen cleared his throat nervously. “Perhaps I have a solution,” he offered
slowly, cocking an eyebrow to his captain.
“Yes, let’s hear it,” Thomas said.
“When I served as squire to a nobleman in Durham, part of my duty
was to help oversee the workings of the dungeon. This prison may be based on the same
system. On each Wednesday at sundown,
several squires would bring in bags of old grain which would be used to feed
the prisoners.”
“And today is Wednesday,” Malcolm remarked, looking up
to where the sun was positioned in the sky.
Thomas shrugged, pursing his lips in thought. “I suppose it might work."
Malcolm nodded.
“If it’s the best we have, I can see no other option. Now we are left with but one matter—where do
we find the grain shipments to bring to the prison?”
~ ~ ~
Edward and Hannah embraced as they rose, their faces
streaked with tears. As they held each
other close, she whispered into his ear.
“Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank
you for caring enough to help me find this love. You were the only one in a world gone mad who
offered me anything but hatred and despair.”
Edward wished he could respond, but no words came to
him. He merely held her, inwardly
rejoicing at the step she had finally taken.
“They are celebrating in Heaven’s courts
because of you, Hannah,” he smiled.
She laughed happily, oblivious to the curious stares
of their cellmates. “It hardly seems
possible,” she said, “that anyone could
love me that much. But it’s true. I can feel it. And at last I am at peace.”
She let go of the moment to cast a glance
around the darkened chamber. Eleazer was
still sitting, his eyes fixed to the opposite corner of the room, unwilling to
meet her gaze. Oswald was kneeling by
the door, his ear pressed to the wood as if to eavesdrop on a conversation
occurring beyond the barrier. The row of
new prisoners returned her glance, their eyes reflecting the empty hopelessness
of years of suffering.
Just as she was about to turn back to Edward, Oswald
leapt away from the door as if shocked.
“Someone’s coming,” he hissed.
“It’s not the jail-master.”
The lock ground slowly in the great oaken door, and it
swung without creaking on its iron hinges.
Illuminated by light in the doorway stood a young man, his dark eyes blazing
with anger and triumph at the same time.
He held a sword outstretched, its blade ready to strike down
any who dared to make a move toward him. It was Michael.
“You two!” he shouted at Hannah and Edward. “Come with me.”
As soon as the words left his lips, though, Oswald
shouted a Scottish war-cry and leapt through the air toward him. Michael was startled, but he remained in
control of his instincts, and brought the flat of his sword down hard across
the knight’s back. Oswald groaned and
hit the ground, his fists clenched tightly.
“I will not be so merciful next time,” the young Druid
warned, a stern timbre in his voice.
“Now, will you come peacefully?”
Edward nodded, stooping to place a reassuring
hand on Oswald’s head. “We will
come.”
They followed him out of
the cell, wondering where he might be taking them. Their hearts were beating hard in fearful
anticipation, but Edward glanced over and nodded comfortingly to Hannah. “It’ll be all right,” he whispered.
Michael slammed the cell door shut and locked it in
place. Walking up to them, he slapped
Hannah hard across her face. She fell
with a muffled scream, and Edward caught her to keep her from landing on the
stones of the corridor.
“I did not give you permission to talk to each other,”
he growled. “For every sound you make, I will strike her.
Now…follow me.”