©
Matthew Burden, 2001
~20~
It was on the morning of the third day following the
charge that the Sheriff finally found the initiative to confront his men. He had been waiting in fear, dagger ready for
countless hours, but to no avail. He had
seen no sign of Michael since he had set out towards the river that terrible
night. Thus for two days, the knights of
Newcastle had
been all on edge, awaiting the coming discipline for their second failure to
apprehend the brigands. The knights were
all assembled, their arms crossed as they stood watching their commander. The Sheriff paced back and forth before them like a caged animal.
“Sir Thomas, Sir Stephen, remain with me,” he
growled. “The rest of you get out. You’ll be on guard duty until you're relieved.”
The men did not complain,
but marched quickly out of the room, offering sympathetic glances to the two
knights as they filed past.
"Tell me, Thomas,”
the sheriff said, looking directly into his face. “Did I, or did I not order you to wait until
morning to muster the men?”
“You did, sir,” he replied,
his eyes fixed straight ahead.
The sheriff pursed his lips and nodded, turning to walk in front of Stephen.
“And you, Stephen. If memory
serves me correctly, you heard the order as well. Is that not so?”
“You are correct, sir."
“I am Sheriff of the
Newcastle Guard,” he breathed into Stephen’s face. “And I will not have my orders mocked! Is that clear?”
“Most clear, sir."
“Did you not even try to
dissuade Sir Thomas from breaking my order?”
Stephen hesitated.
“Well?”
“I tried at first, sir. But Sir Thomas is a convincing debater.”
“This is not a matter logic,
Stephen, it is a matter of honor and respect!”
“So you disobeyed me. And more, you failed once again to bring
back the Saxon brigands. Isn’t that
right, Thomas?” he turned back to the first knight. “From the men’s report, it is obvious that
out of the four, three escaped, and the other one was dead when you
arrived. Your little parade did
nothing!”
“The brigands fled when they
heard us approaching, sir. Had we not
come, they would have attempted to remain in the house, and one of our own may
have died.”
“It is of no consequence,
Thomas,” the sheriff replied, scratching his cheek with a long finger as he
regarded the two knights. “My order
should have stood, regardless of the circumstances. It is foolhardy to leave an entire castle
defenseless for the sake of rounding up a few brigands.”
Thomas knew more than to
argue the point with his commander, so he merely stood waiting for the
judgement to come.
“So now I am faced with a
dilemma, sirs,” said the Sheriff.
“Although I cannot say that my superiors will approve of your decision,
I am almost certain that they would not look favorably if I simply dismissed
the two best warriors under my charge.
But on the other hand, I cannot allow you to go unpunished for this
offense.”
The two men stood
stalwartly, neither moving at all.
“Therefore,” he said,
placing his hands behind his back and standing straight, “I will give you a task that will relieve you of your duties here
for at least a time. You, both of you,
will take this message and deliver it to my cousin,
Robert of Canterbury.”
He held out the roll of parchment, but neither man made
any motion to accept it.
“Immediately,”
the sheriff growled.
Taking the parchment, Thomas
bowed his head respectfully, although he burned at being given such a menial chore.
“Sir,” Stephen spoke up. “Thomas took an arrow in the
leg only a few days ago. He is not fit for such a long trip.”
“If he had the strength to
go chasing brigands in the dead of night, then he has the strength to ride to Canterbury and back. I’ll expect your return before the end of the
month. That way, we can have this whole
matter quickly straightened out.”
Stephen nodded and strode out of the room, followed by Thomas, clutching
the scroll in his hand.
~ ~ ~
Raymond smiled, shaking
Edward awake by the shoulder. “Rise, my
brother. The sun is already up.”
Edward shaded his eyes from
the dazzling wash of sunlight that issued through the door. He saw the forms of Malcolm and Oswald
outside, speaking in low tones.
Rising from the thin pallet,
he stood and stretched, his weary body complaining against the action. “It feels much too early,” he said with a
grin.
“The storm passed by in the
night,” said Raymond. "Come, let's join your friends."
Malcom noted his approach with respectful nod.
“Good morning, Edward. Hannah
believes this would be a good time to begin our journey to London, and I agree with
her. It’s difficult to tell what sort of
weather will come with the harvest time.”
Edward turned to Raymond,
holding him out by the shoulders. “Will
you be able to manage the harvest without us?”
He nodded. “We do it every year. The boys will be sorry to see all of you
leave, but I have no doubt we will be fine.”
“But what about your
brother?” Oswald spoke up. “Can we
expect any more trouble from him?”
Edward shook his head. “I wouldn’t think so, but it’s difficult to
say. They're after
the robe that I told you about. I have
no idea whether they've fled or whether they still remain, waiting to see if
this thing will appear.”
Malcolm nodded. “I only know what you have told me about
this, Edward, which isn’t much. What’s
our plan for delivering this thing to London?”
“We'll take it as far as York by ourselves. There Hannah thinks we can find the
knight who first delivered it to them.
In London,
her uncle stands under the threat of execution unless we pay to deliver him
from an unjust sentence. The robe, when
delivered into the proper hands, will furnish enough for that.”
“I know nothing of Jews, my
friend,” said Malcolm, “but what I have heard does not favor them greatly. Is it truly worth giving up this holy relic
to save one man’s life?”
Edward sighed and looked at
him. “I think it is a worthy cause. I have learned much of Jews these past weeks,
and it seems that our people may have misjudged them. If this is indeed the robe that Herod gave to Christ before his passion, then it
belongs in the hands of someone who can protect it properly, with the Church or
the Templars, perhaps. The knight from York should be able to
add some credibility to its claim. If
not, we shall have to find some other way to free her uncle. He is the only one she has left.”
The two Scots nodded their
slow approval of the plan, and Edward went back in the house to usher Hannah out
into the sunlight. The sky was blue and
inviting, with only a few puffs of white clouds remaining.
All in all, it was fine traveling weather.
~ ~ ~
Jonathan stooped low,
watching the road carefully. His one
good eye swept back and forth, keeping a close watch on the southbound path.
“We have no idea what
they’re doing, Jonathan,” Alfred said, sounding thoroughly bored. “It would be better to give it up for lost
and return to Northampton.”
The brigand gave a quick
shake of his head. “They will be coming
this way. I know they will.”
“Oh really?” the other
asked. “The girl lives in Newcastle, and my brother is from Scotland. Where did you get the idea they will be
traveling south?”
“They had been planning to
sell it to the Norman
we killed down there, weren’t they? I
think they’ll try again.” He looked up
to where Alfred stood glowering over him.
“One more day,” Jonathan said. “If we
do not see them by then, we can go.
Agreed?”
“Oh, all right,” the leader
fumed. “But just one more day.”
~ ~ ~
Edward sighed, throwing back
his head and breathing deeply of the cool, still air. He turned back to look at the little house,
where Hannah was saying her farewells before leaving for the
journey. Samuel had been inconsolable
when he heard the news that his sister was leaving for yet another trip, and
that had made it especially difficult for her.
Malcolm and Oswald were
already mounted, impatiently awaiting the departure. Hannah rushed out of the house, a smile
lighting up her face.
“Here,” she said,
gently placing the package containing the robe in Edward’s arms. It had been wrapped in a cloth bag along with
several other pieces of clothing that they hoped would allay any suspicion should the
package be taken from them.
Edward tucked the
package into his saddle-bag, helping Hannah mount her horse before climbing
onto his own, a roan stallion that had been provided by Raymond. Malcolm led the way, turning his horse down
the dusty little street that led southward.
It didn't take them long to cross the river and continue on into the
region of Durham, following the road toward the province of York
and beyond that, London.
The sky was a pale blue
dome, the wind now having swept it free of any of the clouds.
The air was cool, despite what meager warmth the sunshine
provided. A breeze was stirring from the
south and it caught them in the faces as they rode at a fair pace towards York.
~ ~ ~
“Can't you see them coming?” Jonathan exulted. “Look!
They've just come across the river.
Didn’t I tell you so only a few moments ago?”
Alfred was silent as he watched
the riders, still approaching from the north. “And how are we to know that they have the
robe?” he mused.
“Why else would they venture
south? Is it possible that they don't know that we already killed their buyer in Northampton?”
“It is possible,” he
allowed, “but not likely. My brother is crafty. I would imagine that he reasoned it out.”
They paused to wait for the
four riders to pass by. After they had
gone past, Jonathan swore and spat on the ground. “Your idiot brother is still with her,
Alfred, and two of his Scots as well. It
will be difficult for us to do anything to them unless we can reach Northampton before
they do.”
The third brigand nodded his
agreement, but remained silent.
“Perhaps it's best to let
them go their way in peace,” Alfred spoke quietly. “We've already lost three men in this
endeavor. How many more can we lose over
this one thing?”
“As many as it takes, sir,”
Jonathan replied, his tone icy. “And do
not forget, one of those three was by your own hand. A good leader never gives up, nor does he
slaughter his men.”
“If you doubt my authority,
Jonathan, we can thrash this out right here. Do not forget by what manner of foolishness you
lost your eye. I can do it to you again. You're fortunate I don't kill you now for
the blow you gave me earlier.”
“Let’s not discuss it
further; we need to go,” Jonathan huffed. “We don't know where they're going, so
we have to follow them.”
“We'll follow them for
now, Jonathan,” said Alfred, gripping the other’s arm in an iron hold. “But I will ponder these things. And if I do decide against it in the end, you
will obey.”
He did not reply, but shook
off the grip and stepped out of the bushes onto the roadway.
“Let's just go and see if we can find some horses to steal," he growled.
The three men walked quietly, trudging along
with their cloaks pulled tight around their bodies to ward away the brisk
wind.
~ ~ ~
After seeing Thomas and
Stephen off, the Sheriff of Newcastle smiled grimly. Robert of Canterbury was a powerful man, and
his letter was more than simply a means of disciplining his two wayward
commanders. It was a plea, a final
hopeful thrust to walk away from the whole dreadful business with his head
still firmly attached to his shoulders.
And as he sent the letter on its way, he did feel considerably renewed
in spirit, as if a great burden had been lifted from his back. This was added to by the pleasant absence of
Michael over the past few days, and the Sheriff fervently hoped that somehow
the Scots or the brigands had made a swift end of the powerful young man.
He wandered through the
village for several minutes after the departure of his knights. Humming a carefree tune to himself, he made his way to a tavern on the northwestern edge of the town called
the Old Boar.
He opened the door and stumped his boots noisily in
the threshold to pound off the mud that was still caked there from his
adventure in the woods earlier that week.
The keeper of the tavern hailed him with a broad grin.
“Worthy Sheriff! Can I draw some beer from the cellars to wet
your tongue?”
“No,” he smiled. “Is Julia here?”
The keeper shrugged. “She’s in the back room.”
But just as the Sheriff made to walk past him into the curtained sections behind, he noticed a dark-shrouded man sitting in the corner of the tavern. Like a wraith in a nightmare, the man stood up slowly and then, with an obvious pleasure in the terror he inspired, he reached up and dropped his hood. The fierce, aquiline features of Michael showed darkly in the dim light.
"Sheriff," he said, and the sheriff stumbled back against a table.
"How...how did you know I'd be coming here?"
Michael offered no explanation, but simply shook his head. "I heard that you've failed me again."
"You simply don't understand," said the sheriff.
"No, I understand too well. You are the most
incompetent servant who ever sought the help of our ancient order. You disgrace us with the filth
of your presence.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” the Sheriff managed to choke out.
“You knew that
those Saxons were after the very prize we seek!
And yet you commanded your men to give up the search for them. Those outlaws may have had the answers we
needed, and you, in your foolishness, let them slip away.”
“Please, Master, I didn’t
know,” the Sheriff said, his hand grasping for the hilt of his dagger. “I thought
they were only—”
“Silence, imbecile!” Michael
roared. “Do you know what we do with men
who betray our trust—who use us for advancement and then foil our plans?”
The Sheriff’s eyes grew wide
with horror. “No, please…”
“I’m sure the next Sheriff
of Newcastle will be more cooperative,” Michael said coolly.
At that, the Sheriff could
take no more. Summoning all his strength
from the wells of hatred stored up inside him, he released a cry of fury, leaping to his feet and plunging the dagger upward. But Michael moved out of his path,
and as the Sheriff’s swing threw him off balance, a thin sword appeared from
beneath the folds of the youth’s black robe.
Before the official could regain his balance, he felt the cold sting of
the blade in his side and knew it was over.
He collapsed with a pitiful whimper, and Michael dispatched him with a final stroke.
“May the gods of
the underworld plague you forever, swine,” the dark-cloaked youth
growled through clenched teeth.