Jasper Read Free

to.’ Jasper waited while Gabriel considered this. The horse and his sword were probably the only things the man owned of value but he had to take them both. Still some eighty miles from Carmarthen, it was too far to travel on foot and foolish to do so unarmed.
    Gabriel made a decision. ‘I owe you my life, so you’re welcome to her.’
    ‘I will see the monks tend to your wounds, then I must ride west.’ Jasper studied the Irishman, making a judgement. ‘I will also need your sword.’
    ‘I told you, I’ll need to be keeping my sword.’ The Irishman sounded uncompromising.
    ‘You’re in no shape to use it, and I will see it’s returned, you have my word.’
    Gabriel eyed him questioningly. ‘And what would your word be worth, now?’
    Jasper ignored the slur, although it shocked him to realise others would soon be saying the same. He’d had no choice, but his reputation would suffer as a consequence of his escape. ‘I’ll send a man, in two weeks, with your sword and your horse. In the meantime I must ask you not to tell anyone what happened.’
    ‘Bad news travels fast enough without help from me.’ Gabriel winced at the pain from his wound.
    Jasper answered softly, thinking aloud. ‘There are people who will take advantage when they learn of our defeat.’
    ‘How do I explain my injury?’
    ‘We shall say bandits attacked us, which is true enough, for they took my horse and my sword. Bands of outlaws haunt the roads through the Black Mountains, so no one will be surprised to learn we’ve been robbed.’
    At last the distinctive silhouette of Llanthony Priory appeared through the trees. Once one of the grandest priories in Wales, its treasures were now lost, pillaged by both sides in the fighting between the followers of Owain Glyndur and the English. Most of the Augustinian monks left for the relative safety of Hereford, but Jasper sheltered from a storm there the previous winter and recalled a warm welcome.
    Jasper helped Gabriel dismount before tethering his horse close to a water filled trough. He pushed the stout oak side-door of the priory, which opened onto a square cloister. An elderly friar, dressed in a hooded brown robe, appeared concerned as he saw Gabriel’s wounds and the dried blood on Jasper’s face and neck. He muttered something Jasper couldn’t hear before calling for the others to come and help.
    The infirmary was dark and cold, the fastened shutters blocking the light and the empty hearth offering no comfort. Two of the younger monks helped Gabriel lie on a rickety wooden cot while others began lighting tallow candles, filling an iron cauldron with water and preparing a fire in the hearth. The elderly friar answered Jasper’s unspoken question.
    ‘We will be late for Vespers but there are few enough of us here now, and your friend needs urgent care.’ He turned to Gabriel. ‘I shall find our apothecary, who will tend to you.’
    ‘We are grateful for your kindness—and God’s providence.’
    Jasper shivered in the chill evening air as one of the monks examined the cut on his head. He recalled the shock of the blow, the closest he’d been to death, as once on his knees he made an easy target. He thanked God the blow was deflected by the curved steel of his helmet, long since lost in the woods. He never even saw the man who did it.
    ‘Should have been stitched but you’ll survive.’ The monk cleaned Jasper’s wound, using a damp linen cloth to wipe dried blood from his face and neck. He asked no questions about how it happened and seemed satisfied with the result.
    ‘Thank you.’ Jasper lowered his voice. ‘What about my companion?’
    The monk looked across at Gabriel, patiently watching as two younger monks cut Gabriel’s shirt from around his wound. ‘He is in God’s hands now, and those of our apothecary.’
    The flames of the fire were taking hold, brightening the room and already offering their smoky warmth, when the apothecary arrived. A studious, quietly