Master Benedict simply pulled a face.
‘I have your word,’ he glanced at Corbett, ‘as a guarantee. Untie my bonds.’
Before Corbett could object, Ranulf drew his dagger and slit the rope binding the chaplain’s wrists. The prisoner did not move; he simply curled the severed rope off, threw it away, rubbed his wrists and squinted up at Corbett.
‘It is as you say, or nearly so, a few small changes here or there. Jackanapes was not as stupid as he pretended. He was greatly mischievous. I patronised him and he was easy to use. I told him to blow the horn then leave it hidden in a secret place and be in the market square at dawn the next morning. I had approached him secretly but he may have known it was me. He could chatter like a squirrel on a branch; he had to die. As for the rest,’ Le Sanglier shrugged, ‘more or less true. I knew about the ford. I practised crossing many times. Those willows at the rear of thereclusorium cannot be seen. Lord Scrope, of course, was lax; he rightly thought if he was attacked it would be at night. He never realised people would plan during the day. As for Dame Marguerite, I was tiring of her.’ He smiled. ‘What really enticed her into St Alphege’s was my plot to loose my arrows. Of course they were supposed to miss, then we’d blame Claypole. Physician Ormesby was to arrive after the attack, be a witness to our terror. I would swear that the mysterious bowman I’d glimpsed was Master Claypole. Our good mayor is constantly in the guildhall or the marketplace outside St Alphege’s. It wouldn’t be hard and,’ he spread his hands, ‘who’d dare contradict a lady abbess and her chaplain?’
‘So her death was swift?’ Corbett walked back to stand over him.
‘Like that!’ Master Benedict snapped his fingers.
Corbett crouched down. ‘But what was the bond between you and Gaston?’
‘Ah, you were correct.’ The chaplain pointed to the wineskin. Corbett handed it over, and the prisoner drank greedily. ‘I’ll be brief.’ He smiled, smacking his lips. ‘I 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, ‘but I don’t think he’ll allow me to live.’
‘Very perceptive!’ Ranulf whispered.
‘Gaston?’ Corbett intervened.
‘You’re right,’ the chaplain replied. ‘Scrope 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 Templarspreferred 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.’
‘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.’