A Gift of Sanctuary Read Free

Owen paused to admire the design of the barbican. Immediately after entering the outer gateway the party was forced to turn right, which would give defenders on the north-east tower an excellent target as an intruder halted, confused. And as they turned right, a pivoting drawbridge was lowered by a man up above in a small gate tower.
    ‘They have little need for a garrison,’ Geoffrey said. ‘This castle defends itself.’
    Beyond the small tower lay yet another drawbridge, guarded by an even larger, quite formidable tower. And again, they must turn sharply to enter into the inner ward.
    ‘Twenty men does seem too many,’ Owen said. ‘A man to control each drawbridge and one for the gate, they have need of few more.’
    ‘What could be so precious here?’ Michaelo asked.
    ‘Passage through the valley,’ Sir Robert said. ‘That is plain.’
    ‘Aye, to one trained in warfare it is plain,’ Brother Michaelo muttered. ‘I see an inhospitable place.’
    ‘This is naught compared with the mountains of Gwynedd,’ Owen said.
    ‘Then I thank God Lancaster has no holdings to the north.’
    As the portcullis rose in a wheezy grumble, a large, rough-visaged man stepped through, better dressed than the rest and with an air of authority, though when he spoke he revealed blackened teeth, unusual in Lancaster’s captains. ‘Will Tyler,’ he said with a bob of the head, ‘constable of Carreg Cennen. I bid you welcome.’ Turning, he led them into the inner courtyard, where he invited Owen, Geoffrey, Sir Robert and Brother Michaelo into a modest room in which burned a most welcome fire. The rest of their company were escorted to the kitchen.
    Owen was on his second cup of ale before he spoke, mentioning Lascelles’s man, John de Reine.
    Tyler gave Owen a look of surprise. ‘Your accent. You are a Welshman?’
    ‘I am.’
    ‘Most unusual.’
    ‘Unusual? In what way? Are we not in Wales, where one might expect a multitude of Welshmen?’
    ‘I am not accustomed to dealing with any on – official business.’ Tyler shook his head. ‘But no matter. As to your question, we have welcomed only you since the workmen arrived from the east. Travellers with English names are ever welcome here, we turn none away.’
    ‘You have had trouble with the Welsh?’ Geoffrey asked.
    ‘Not while I have been here, but we are always ready. And we have no Welsh in the garrison. They are a queer race, barefooted and barelegged most of the time, and the shiftiest shave their heads so they may run through the brush more easily, but leave hair on their upper lips to show it is their choice to be thus shorn. A sly, violent people. There is no telling when they will turn – begging your forgiveness, Captain. But you are Lancaster’s man or he would not have trusted you here, so I doubt you take it amiss.’
    Owen had meant to keep his counsel, but this rotten-toothed man with his foul-smelling breath and rude manner was more than he could bear. ‘You look equally unsavoury to my people, Constable. And as you were never invited into our land, I cannot see why you would expect courteous co-operation. But no, I do not take it amiss, for I am sure that rather than thinking for yourself you merely echo the opinion of others.’
    The constable nodded towards Geoffrey as if to say, ‘You see what I mean about them?’
    ‘My son-in-law is testy after breaking up countless disputes between myself and Brother Michaelo,’ Sir Robert said. ‘But we cannot deny that we English arrived uninvited and robbed the people of their sovereignty.’ Sir Robert raised his hand as the constable opened his mouth to protest. ‘I say this not for the sake of argument, but rather to understand. Is that why your numbers here at Carreg Cennen have swelled? Because you expect the Welsh to turn traitor to us if the French get this far?’
    Looking slightly frazzled by the shifting mood of the group, Tyler replied to Sir Robert. ‘Oh aye. This has ever been a