Gwilym and his family rode with Fred back to Huish. They were all looking forward to this for different reasons. Jac and Llawen wanted to see their first mothers; this is what they called Heilin and Heulwen. Bleddyn wanted to visit his mother’s grave and talk to her. Fred wanted to show off his new-found wealth and writing skills to his family. Gwilym was looking forward to talking in some detail to Father Drew.
Fred drove the cart and discussed the last tower project with Gwilym. He sang the saga of the ‘Project Management Guide’ to Gwilym. He had added verses about the Work Breakdown Structure, Defining Activities and Resourcing Activities to it. Gwilym was impressed.
“You could write that song down now that you know your letters, you know, Fred?”
“I only know t’first letters in each word.”
“You have to preserve your knowledge for others to learn from you. Remember that scroll we found in that jar in the cornerstone. I never listened to the man who knew that story but I could learn it hundreds of years later by reading the scroll. You need to do that for people who follow you.”
Fred looked down and Gwilym could tell by the shade of his ears that the man was blushing.
“Did tha put back t’old scroll, Gwilym?”
“Yes. After I had made a copy.”
“Tha copies every scroll tha comes on don’t tha?”
“Aye, Fred. There is much knowledge to gain in this world. I’d love to read every scroll and book there is.”
“How will tha make this next tower better than t’last one?”
Gwilym thought for a while. “It was good to know all the work we needed to do and it helped a lot to know who would do each activity. But men were still stumbling over each other because they wanted to do two different things at one time. Or they were waiting for someone else to finish their job before they could start their own. We need to know WHEN things will happen, in what order. Also, we need to know how long things will take so that people can work around each other. I think if we know how long each task will take and how they are linked to each other, we can figure out exactly when things have to happen.”
“Tha be right there, Gwilym. Will we try that on t’next tower?”
“Aye”
Bleddyn was busy telling the boys all about Huish, the townsfolk, Heilin and Heulwen, their mother, Father Drew and the first tower. Jac and Llawen were wide-eyed with excitement. “Your nurse-mothers are so beautiful!” he was telling them. “But not as beautiful as your real mother,” he hastily added as he caught Gwilym’s eye.
‘Interesting.’ Gwilym thought to himself on hearing Bleddyn’s words. ‘The boy is growing up.’
Fred, too was paying close attention to Bleddyn’s words. “What think tha of Heilin, Gwilym?”
“She’s a beautiful woman, inside and out,” he stated plainly.
“Why do tha not marry her then?” he inquired.
“I’m not ready to replace their mother,” Gwilym replied to Fred. He then noticed that all of his boys were watching him anxiously, eager for an answer to this question that had always seemed taboo to them. The one question they had always felt compelled not to ask.
“Boys. Listen to me carefully. Your mother was one of a kind. She was more than a wife. She was my best friend. We traveled together. We talked about everything together. She understood my mission in life and sacrificed her happiness to help me achieve it. She was a learned woman who I could go to and discuss my struggles and she understood them and helped me work them out. And she was your mother. She gave so much of herself to you. She taught you your letters, Bleddyn. She would have been so proud of you all. It is her beauty and kindness that you have inside you. Her understanding of others. She misses you every day. And I miss her so much.”
The boys were all crying now. Fred wiped away a tear from his eye. Gwilym tried a brave smile.
“So I keep her in my memory. I talk to her at quiet moments, about you boys, about the job, the quest. And that makes my life tolerable.” Gwilym looked at his crying sons. “But what about you three? Have I been selfish by not providing you with another mother? I cannot replace Kaitlyn but perhaps I could give you a permanent mother to always be there for you. Would you like that?”
Jac and Llawen immediately nodded yes but Bleddyn shook his head and said “No, Da.”
His brothers looked between father and son and cried even harder. Jac said, “I want a mother, Da. Bleddyn already had one but I didn’t.” This broke Gwilym’s heart and he gathered all his boys up in his huge arms and cried aloud.
When they arrived in Huish, they were all excited. They were met by the curious children who were always happy to find and announce strangers on the road and were escorted to the center of town amid this laughing, raucous crowd. They dismounted outside the tavern. The whole town gathered around and Gwilym scanned the crowd. Heilin pushed her way through the mass and swept Jac, then Llawen up into her arms and smothered them with kisses.
“Where is your sister, Heilin?” asked Gwilym.
“Heulwen’s a farmwife now, Gwilym. Married farmer Llyr last spring. Come on you!” she motioned forward a shy three year old girl. “Do you remember Iola, Jac? She was your milk sister. Many times she fought you over my breast but you were always the polite one. Say hello to your milk brother, Iola.”
Iola said a quick hello and then turned and buried her face in her mother’s skirts. Heilin laughed and said, “Oh! Now she decides to be shy, does she?”
“It’s wonderful to see you again Heilin,” Gwilym said. “And have you found yourself a nice farmer to marry also?”
Heilin laughed broadly. “No, no! Marriage is not for me just now. This little one may not look it but she is quite the handful.”
Fred bustled into the group and interrupted. “Would tha join us for dinner, then Heilin? We are all famished and we need to decide what to do and where to live and all. And Gwilym was saying that we needed to know what’s happenin’ in Huish now. Tha could tell us.” He blushed, then looked straight at Heilin.
Heilin smiled prettily and agreed. “Then let’s go to the tavern.”
During dinner, Gwilym found lodgings for the few months he would be in town and inquired after all his old friends. Little had changed apart from many marriages and births. Heilin had arranged that she sat next to Gwilym at the table and she took every opportunity to touch his arm when speaking to him or press her breast against him while reaching past him for something at the table. Fred was sitting on her other side, touching her arm and offering to pass her food. Gwilym smiled inwardly at this and took every opportunity to praise Fred for all the problems he had solved, the leadership he was displaying and the Project Management song he was singing.
“Fred knows his letters now!” Bleddyn exclaimed.
“Really?” asked the surprised Heilin and she gazed on Fred with a new respect.
“Aye!” he replied. “Young Bleddyn has been workin’ with me since we started t’last tower in Londinium. And I even know a lot of words, too. Like this is a T A B E L table. And you’re eating B R E A D, bread. What do tha think of that?”
“It’s wonderful, Fred,” she said and started paying more attention to him.
Gwilym winked at Bleddyn and then asked the smith, “Does Father Drew still preach here?”
“Aye,” replied Haearn. “He’ll be happy to have you back in town. He’s been a little starved for intelligent conversation since you left.”
Father Drew was following along with his own Bible and nodded his head.
Father Drew was admiring the collection of scrolls in Bleddyn’s library. “You have put the library I gave you to good use, son.”
“Aye, Father. Would you like to trade some scrolls for copying again? I found some real interesting ones in Airmyn and Londinium.”
“I certainly would. Show me what you have, please.”
Father Drew and Bleddyn bent over the collection for a while and the priest picked one out. “I have a great adventure story in my collection that I have been saving for you, son. I will bring it with me tomorrow.”
Bleddyn smiled, sensed his father wanted to talk with the priest alone, and left the room.
Father Drew turned to Gwilym. “How goes your quest, Gwilym?”
Gwilym blushed momentarily, then laughed and said, “You mean the building of towers? It is hardly a quest, though I’ve been learning a lot about how to do it better. Fred is keeping track of the ideas and Bleddyn is teaching him how to read and write. We plan to write down all our improvements in something called ‘The Project Management Guide’”
“That’s a lovely story, Gwilym but you are concealing from me your true quest. Why is a man who reads better Greek and Latin than I, a man who has traveled to the Holy Land , a man with a huge collection of scrolls, building towers?”
“It’s a living, father. You cannot feed your family on scraps of Greek.”
Father Drew looked long and hard at Gwilym, then released him from his stare. “Let’s resume our talk about the Bible. I have done a lot of studying since we last talked and have a few questions.”
“I’m ready.”
“Which parts of the Bible do you believe are true and which are not?”
Gwilym took a deep breath and prepared his words. “My father came up with three criteria that help you to decide how likely it was that anything in the past actually happened. If something meets all three criteria, it is more likely to be true than if it meets two, one or none of the criteria. I cannot say for sure if it really happened, only that the likelihood is higher.”
“That sounds sensible. What are the criteria, Gwilym?”
“The first is the criterion of multiple attestations. If different people tell the same story, the more believable it is. If one person says it and others copy from that one person, it only counts as one attestation. That’s why my father insisted on separating out the Gospels into the pure sources. When you have done that, you can see if a story is agreed to by Joseph, Mark, Matthew, Luke, John, Peter and Thomas. You can sometimes add in Paul’s letters. See the story of the rich young man. It’s in Mark, Matthew and Luke but the other two get it from Mark so that doesn’t count. Let me show you examples”
“Jesus is baptized by John the Baptist in all three Matthew, Mark and Luke. So we can assume the other two got it from Mark. But all three also have sayings of John they got from Joseph. Plus there’s an encounter between Jesus and John the Baptist in John. Thus 3 sources attesting to John the Baptist. Mark, Joseph and John.”
“Jesus was crucified during Pontius Pilate. Peter, Paul, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, All but Paul say it was during Pilate's reign.”
“Jesus has brothers. Mark, John, and Paul call him James”
“That is a sensible criterion, Gwilym. What is the next one?”
“The next criterion is that of contextual credibility. For instance, if we read that Jesus was jousting around Galilee, it may sound right to the people of this land but we who study the Bible know that there was no jousting 500 years ago in the Holy Land.”
“Similarly, Peter said King Herod executed Jesus. We know the Romans didn't administer Palestine this way. Herod had no such authority.”
“We also know that Jesus spoke Aramaic and that the Gospels were translated from this into Greek. Therefore, certain sentences that make sense in Greek, don’t in Aramaic so they probably were a later addition”
“Look at John 3. Jesus tells Nicodemus that no-one will see kingdom of heaven unless born again or from above. The Greek word onothen is ambiguous. Nicodemus misunderstands it to mean a 'second time'. Jesus meant 'from above'. But that ambiguity only makes sense in Greek. Since Jesus and Nicodemus would speak Aramaic that whole exchange makes no sense since there is no ambiguity for that word in Aramaic.”
Father Drew’s brow crinkled. “Then how can you prove anything with this criterion?”
“You can’t, Father. You can only disprove things that don’t match the contextual credibility.”
Father Drew nodded and his brow cleared. “I agree with that criterion also, Gwilym. What is the third?”
“The third is the criterion of dissimilarity. If one of your parishioners was accused of stealing a horse from the Earl and you told the Earl that you saw him do it, that would be damning evidence indeed. Because you would be saying something that goes against your best interests. But if you tell the Earl how wonderful your parishioner is, that can only make you look better and he will believe it with a grain of salt. So, when we read the Bible, we look for things that the early Christians say that don’t necessarily help their case. For instance, when they tell us that Jesus was the son of God, it doesn’t match this criterion.”
“Are you trying to tell me you do not believe Jesus was the son of God?!” exclaimed Father Drew.
“That’s not what I was saying, Father. I actually do believe it to be true. I’m simply saying that it doesn’t meet the criterion. Just as your parishioner may indeed be wonderful while you tell the Earl so, it simply doesn’t meet the criterion of dissimilarity.”
“Do you have examples of this?”
“Aye. Jesus being the son of a carpenter didn’t help their case to win early converts. It would have been easier to say He was the son of a rabbi. Same with Him coming from a backwards area like Nazareth. So, those items are probably true. Rising from the dead doesn’t meet this criterion although it does meet the criterion of multiple attestations. So we have to look at each passage and run them through the criteria and see what is likely.”
“That is a powerful criteria. Do you have other examples of where it proves the statement to be true?”
Gwilym shook his head and said, “None of them prove it to be true, they only increase the likelihood. But look here for some examples. Jesus was baptized by John. But according to the story, John is Jesus’ spiritual inferior. Matthew even shows some embarrassment in Him being baptized by John. If the early Christians wanted to make Jesus look better, they would have had Him baptized by God. So that is more likely to be true.”
“Also, there is the crucifixion. That story didn't help convert Jews. No Jews expected a suffering Messiah. He was betrayed by one of his own twelve disciples. No-one would make that up.”
Gwilym continued. “Look at Matthew 25. Sheep and goats separated by son of man. But the early Christians didn't believe salvation came from good deeds.”
Father Drew looked up at Gwilym. “Have you done this already? Have you decided which parts of the Bible are reliable and which are not?”
“I have, but remember, just because something doesn’t meet a criterion doesn’t make it false and even if it meets all three, that doesn’t make it true, just more likely to be true. Faith is the most important thing.”
“I need to think about this some more, Gwilym.”
Gwilym and his family spent every sunny day wading in the water and building castles and whole cities out of sand. Jac was a boy who could not sit still and ran everywhere, getting into adventures. Llawen was more content to work on his sand cities, filling moats with water, digging tunnels and building bridges.
Both little boys looked to Bleddyn for advice on how to spend the days. Often Bleddyn would set his brothers to work on different jobs while he transcribed a scroll or worked with Fred on spelling words. Llawen would join in on the latter activity and soon he had caught up with Fred and was spelling alongside him. Jac was busy doing somersaults and handstands during the day.
Late into the warm, summer nights, all the boys would gather in the lodgings and listen carefully as Gwilym read stories out of his many scrolls to them.
Gwilym talked one day with Tirion, the midwife, about his suspicions of Tarrant. “I watched him kill a man and I’m convinced now that he was responsible for your daughter’s disappearance. I’m so sorry that he slipped through my fingers. It won’t happen again. When I find him, I’ll bring him to you for justice.”
“If you discover that he killed my daughter,” Tirion choked out. “Find out where he left the body so I can have some comfort. But don’t bring him back in front of me. Rather, kill him yourself. I don’t want to see that bastard.”
One warm, summer day, Gwilym was playing with his sons on the beach when Tegid approached them. Tegid was a 15 year-old lad who was known for almost never talking. When he came close to Gwilym, the latter greeted him and asked. “How do ye fair, Tegid? Enjoying the day?”
Tegid shifted his weight around on his feet, scratched his face and then murmured, “Stranger in town, askin’ about ye.”
“Thank you Tegid. Where might I find him?”
Tegid pointed in the direction of the church.
“Thank you again Tegid. Would you like to stay with my sons and keep an eye out for them while I find him?”
The boy nodded and squatted down next to Gwilym’s sons.
Gwilym instructed his boys to be careful, listen to Tegid’s words and stay out of the water until he returned. Then he set off in the direction of the church to find the stranger.
On his way there, he was stopped by Reese, the old busybody of town. She told him the same story with less reticence. “There’s a man in town asking about ye, Gwilym. I told him I believed I knew where you were and he seemed very interested. But when I offered to take him to you he said a curious thing: ‘That’s all right ma’am, I’ll go to him presently.’ I told him you were at the beach but he set off down the road to Cornwall
Gwilym saw a figure cresting the hill to the south. An uneasy feeling disturbed Gwilym’s stomach. Was this someone from his past? Or some more of Tarrant’s mischief? It did not bode well that the man had left after ascertaining that Gwilym lived here. When the man was out of sight below the hill’s crest, Gwilym took off at a run and followed.
The road became more wooded in the south and it was easy to follow the man without being seen by keeping to the edges of the wood. He knew this road and only came close enough to be seen when the man reached the crossroads and had to choose between the road to Cornwall
Gwilym was torn about leaving his children but decided to continue following the man to see what mischief was brewing. He’d rather face it now than have it hanging over his head later. He continued following from the edge of the road for three hours.
The road opened up at this point to a crossroads tavern which the stranger entered. Gwilym increased his pace, watching carefully for other people. The tavern was a low-roofed building with a door in the front. About 20 feet in front of the tavern was a well. There was a horse tied by the well with its sides wet and his head down. A knight-errant was lying, propped up against the wall of the well. His clothing and armor were torn and dented, his face stained with blood and mud. “Good yeoman!” he called to Gwilym as the latter approached. “Pray fetch a drink of water for my horse and me.”
Gwilym raised the bucket and poured some into the pitcher held by the knight and the rest into the horse-trough. Both drank it down at once so Gwilym repeated it with the next bucket, all the while watching the entrance to the tavern. The stranger had not stopped at the knight so he figured that this was a coincidence but his defenses were up as he asked the knight. “How came you by these wounds, Sir Knight?”
“A joust with a worthy opponent. I came across him in a meadow near at hand and salewed him. He raised his spear in challenge and charged toward me at great speed. I turned my good horse and he and I thundered together. His spear burst upon my shield and mine on his and we were both thrown from the saddle. I avoided my horse, dressed my sword and shield and challenged him on foot. We fought for nigh on three hours and gave each other such strokes! The blood stained the earth! Finally I gave him such a buffet on the helmet that he fell to the earth in a swoon. I loosened his helm to take off his head when I saw to my surprise that he was a Saracen! I put my sword to his throat and asked him if he had yet been baptized. He said that he must be worthy of such a sacrament and must win twelve jousts before he allows himself such a boon. I ordered him to go to Caerleon at Pentecost and present himself to the King in my name and do as the king wishes. Ahh! It was a glorious battle!”
Gwilym, meanwhile, was watching the tavern to see that no-one exited and listened with only one ear to the tale of the knight. He had also noticed a vaguely familiar scent on the knight: something spicy that he couldn’t exactly place. It was faint but unmistakably there. What was it?
He never understood this blood-lust of the knights, killing each other when they should be banding together to keep the marauders from Britain’s shores. If the other knight had been baptized, he would have been dead. Yet these two had never met each other before and had no reason to quarrel. They were like wild stags, fighting any other that entered their territory. Why didn’t they start by talking rather than by fighting?
Gwilym excused himself from the knight, thanking him for his story and walked up to the far side wall of the tavern where he found a large crack he could peer through. It took a few minutes before his eyes became accustomed to the dark but then he made out the features of the three men inside. The man behind the bar was known to Gwilym. Another had his back to him but was clearly the man he had been following for three hours. The third was Tarrant.
Just as Gwilym became aware of this enemy, he heard a hammering of hooves coming down the road. He removed his head from the crack. Peeking around the corner of the building, he saw the approach of another knight. How tiresome. He knew what would follow, more salewing and challenges and a joust and another fight on foot and, most likely, another dead knight who could have been protecting this land instead.
As the knight at the well rose wearily, the approaching knight leveled his lance and ran the unarmed knight through. Gwilym was shocked into paralysis. This was not the way he had seen it done. This was murder. The new knight dismounted, tied up his horse and walked into the tavern, not noticing Gwilym on the side wall.
Gwilym ran to the knight’s assistance. His blood covered the ground from a wound in his side. “Why?” were his only words as his face turned grey and his eyes rolled up. Gwilym blanched at the amount of blood, knowing the man was dead. He laid the knight down carefully, closed his eyes and smelled that spice again, stronger this time. What was that smell? Almonds, Cloves, Pepper?
He walked back and resumed his post at the crack. The knight was talking with wild gestures to the other two. Gwilym overheard: “Huish? Which way and how far?” and he recognized the voice. All was confirmed when the knight left the table and exposed his face. Palomides! His enemy from childhood. The knight strode out, swung up on his horse and galloped off towards Huish. The color drained out of Gwilym’s face when he realized what would happen if Palomides reached Huish. He ran after him at full speed.
After a few hundred yards, Gwilym saw how fast the galloping horse was outstripping him so he turned back to the dead knight’s warhorse. Standing in front of the horse he pulled the bridle to his face and pleaded to it. “I’ve never been much of a horseman but I need you now. Take me to the murderer of your master and I’ll reward you well.”
He moved to the side of the horse but it turned to avoid Gwilym. He made a grab for the reins and used his strength to hold on to the side. The horse stopped turning and snapped at Gwilym, barely missing his face. He placed his left foot in the stirrup but, as he tried to rise and swing his right leg over, the horse spun again, flipping Gwilym off the other side. Weeping with frustration and anxiety, Gwilym leapt upon the horse’s back, holding tight to his mane and swinging his feet to gain purchase in the stirrups. The horse reared and whinnied, then stomped its front feet while bucking his rear legs, flipping Gwilym over his head and landing him on his back with a whoosh of breath.
Defeated, he started running again for town as soon as he had regained his breath. He heard jeering behind him, glanced back and noticed Tarrant standing in the door of the tavern, shaking his fist.
Gwilym was 10 miles from town, running after a galloping horse. He knew that his old enemy would beat him there by at least an hour. He whispered fervent prayers to God and sent out thought messages to the townsfolk, Father Drew and even Merlin and Grainne to protect his children. And he ran. He ran through the stitch in his side, through the shortness of breath, through the pain in his muscles. He ran to protect his children from this monster. And every so often, he caught that almond & clove scent. Palomides always coated his skin in almond oil and chewed cloves. He hadn’t smelled that for over twenty years but he remembered the smell of Palomides.
The first time he had met Palomides he had been about Bleddyn’s age and traveling with his father, Willem. Thinking of Bleddyn in the clutches of this old sodomite spurred him on to run even faster. For Palomides liked little boys, especially when they were in his power. Why had Palomides come here and was he still seeking him? It appeared so. A stranger had come into town asking about him but had not gone to Gwilym, instead he left town and met with Tarrant. Then the two of them talked to Palomides who had mentioned Huish, asked how far away and had galloped off in that direction.
What Palomides wanted was clear. To keep his mind off the pain of this run, Gwilym remembered everything about his dealings with Palomides and his family.
His father had gone to Mecca to follow up a new theory in his pursuit of the Gospel of Joseph. The thread he was following was that Jesus had started off his quest for knowledge by joining a caravan that plied its trade to the east. Joseph found out about this and decided to follow his nephew. This led him to Mecca
According to the story Gwilym’s father was pursuing, Joseph had left his Gospel in safekeeping with the head man of this trading company. The descendent of this family was Palomides father, Escalbor. Gwilym’s father entered into energetic conversations with this headman and explained his quest. Meanwhile, the twelve year old Gwilym spent time with eight year old Palomides, the sheik’s oldest son. The younger boy worshipped Gwilym. During the days they spent together, Palomides had followed Gwilym everywhere, marveling in the stories and languages and experiences of the older and taller boy. But there was something that the boy ate that stayed on his breath, making him repellent at the close quarters the younger boy always sought.
Gwilym spoke with his father at night who excitedly told his son how close he was to achieving his dream. Willem was convinced that the headman did possess the lost Gospel but he wanted to exchange something of value for it. The sheik worshipped one of the 360 local gods in the Kaaba called El Ah and he wanted to elevate the status of this god to the status of Willem’s God. He hoped that this would elevate his own status from being one of many headmen to becoming the supreme ruler of this city. He told Willem that the line he was pursuing could be ‘bent a little’ to accommodate this.
Gwilym remembered the last conversation he had with his father.
“We shall have to leave our quest and this city tomorrow,” said Willem.
“But father,” asked Gwilym. “I thought the sheik had the Gospel.”
“He has the Gospel. He showed me a few pages of it. But this sheik is not a good man. He wants to use it for evil. He wants me to bend the words of Jesus to suit his purposes. He wants to promote this El Ah as the creator god and make a new religion centered here. He even threatened to take my book from me and use it himself.”
“Why don’t you do it father? You could have the thing you always wanted.”
“No son. This man has the worst ideas of his people. He wants to create this religion to raise armies and crush others. He wants to control women, codify multiple wives, give himself power to set the laws and sentence people to be stoned to death. He is an evil man.”
“Father. We should go now. If he takes your book, he might kill you. You’ve seen how ruthless these tribes are. And he is powerful here.”
“No son. He needs me to promote his religion so he won’t kill me.”
“But when you refuse? Won’t he get angry? It isn’t safe here. We must leave while we can. Let’s climb out the window now and escape.”
Willem had refused. He hid his book as usual, then lay down next to his son and stroked the boy’s cheek to calm his fears. Gwilym had remained awake and watchful to protect his naïve father. But sometime during the night he must have fallen asleep. He woke to an empty bed and a commotion outside the window.
Looking out into the shady courtyard he saw his father’s arms held by two of the sheik’s strong men while the sheik himself raged at Willem. He menaced Willem with a huge scimitar and screamed. “One last chance, fool! Work with me or die!”
The breath in Gwilym’s lungs froze as he watched his father pronounce his own death sentence. “I will never help you achieve power, savage!”
The early morning sun flashed off the scimitar as it arced through the air at his father. At first Gwilym was relieved to see that nothing happened. His father seemed untouched! But then, one of the men holding Willem’s arms grasped his father’s hair and pulled his severed head off his shoulders, releasing a spout of blood from his neck.
The sheik turned to the window out of which Gwilym was staring and ordered his men. “Get the boy and the book.”
In the shock of this terrible moment, Gwilym had focused on three things: His father was dead and he could not bring him back; the book was well-hidden and the sheik would not be likely to find it unless he destroyed this entire room; if Gwilym stopped to retrieve the book now he would surely die.
Gwilym leapt out the door and ran down the corridor to the front door. He didn’t stop running until he was deep in the bazaar, on one of the quiet back streets away from the people, his breath ragged and his lungs bursting. Just as he was now as he reached the crossroads that indicated that he was halfway back to Huish.
Jerusalem Cairo Jerusalem
Gwilym was stumbling and blind from lack of air so he stopped for a few minutes, with hands on his knees, pulling air into his bursting lungs. He willed his body to obey the strident orders of his mind: Get to Huish and protect his sons. As soon as the oxygen returned to his leg muscles, he set off again toward Huish.
Once again, he remembered Mecca, his bewilderment at his predicament: Twelve years old and alone in the Meccan bazaar. He knew the language and customs of this place and knew that, as a headman, Escalbor had power in this town to hunt him down and kill him. His light coloring and height made him stick out, even in this trading town, so he must escape now. But leaving town meant either walking through the desert to the next town or joining a camel train. Both would be expected and he would be easily discovered by the sheik’s men. No. He needed to hide in the bazaar somehow, but not with any of the people that the sheik knew. He had to find someone right now who could protect him yet owed no allegiance to this sheik. He wished he knew enough about the local politics to know which clans hated Escalbor’s people.
Just then he saw the fringed garment and side-locks of an observant Jew crossing an alley nearby. Of course! Here was his chance. He ran after the man and followed him into the building. It was the back room of a trading establishment that bought goods from the caravans and sold them to local Meccans.
The man turned around and looked with surprise at Gwilym. “What do you seek, young man?” he asked.
“Sanctuary, Rabbi,” begged Gwilym and he told the man he was being hunted by Escalbor’s men.
The Jew looked frightened and ran to the doors to see if Gwilym had been seen entering his house. Seeing the vacant streets immediately to the rear of his store he became calm and listened to Gwilym’s story.
He introduced himself as Shebna ben Eliud and he promised Gwilym protection if he would stay inside and not make himself known to anyone else. Gwilym promised. Then the enormity of what had happened this morning hit him: his father murdered, himself hunted, his life and this Shebna’s life being in danger and he ran to the corner of the room and threw up. He burst into tears at the shame of defiling this savior’s house. Then he felt a comforting arm around him, a damp cloth on his face, wiping away his tears and vomit and he was led into a back room by the man’s wife. The woman sat Gwilym on a stool by the table.
The man explained the situation to his wife in Hebrew, not guessing that Gwilym could understand their tongue. “The boy’s father was murdered by Escalbor. He was that crazy Christian who asked about Joseph a few weeks back. We need to protect the boy until we can get him safely out of here.”
The wife nodded and turned to the stove where she produced some soup, ladled it into a bowl and sat in front of Gwilym, spoon-feeding him like a baby, murmuring calming words. Before long Gwilym grew tired and was taken upstairs to sleep.
He stayed with this family for three months, never letting on that he spoke Hebrew for fear of embarrassing them that he had understood their first words. He helped out in the back room, organizing their stores and learning the inventory system. He learned about the camel trade routes from China to Constantinople and Cairo. The two talked about their trades with merchants and customers and Gwilym learned all about how to negotiate the best deal. “Remember, Gwilym,” Shebna had told him, “The most money you make per hour are the last few shekels you add to a deal at the very end.”
In the evenings he talked with the couple and learned their story. They had been married for forty years and their children had long since moved away. Their oldest son lived in Jerusalem
“Why did you protect me?” asked Gwilym of the man one day.
“Our people have been oppressed by others for most of our history and often have received sanctuary from the unlikeliest sources. This is our way of paying back past kindnesses.”
After three months, Shebna told Gwilym that he would be transporting him, along with a shipment of slaves to his son in
Gwilym’s legs were turning to lead from the long run and the lack of oxygen. Again he was forced to rest, holding his exhausted hands behind his head to pull air into his lungs. He knew that Palomides must have reached the village by now and he was miles away, unable to protect his sons. He stumbled to his knees crying, “God help me! Somebody help me! Protect my boys!”
He struggled back to his feet, tears streaming and ran on through the pain, remembering.
Four years after he escaped Mecca, Gwilym snuck back in to retrieve his father’s book. At sixteen he was taller than most adults and his years of hard work had made him a strong and independent man. He watched the sheik’s family compound until it appeared safe and then broke in. Sneaking through the house, he made his way to the room he had shared with his father four years prior.
He moved to the fireplace and shoved the wood to one corner, then brushed away the ashes. With his knife, he worked at the dust between one stone and the others until he had pried it up. Still hidden underneath was his father’s book, wrapped in protective leather. Gwilym filled the hole with ashes and replaced the stone, covering it up again with ashes, then the firewood, just the way his father had taught him. As he walked out of the room he bumped into Palomides.
Palomides was now a twelve year old young man, well through puberty. “Welcome back, my old friend. Have you come to see me?” asked Palomides. His eyes swept up and down over Gwilym, making him uncomfortable. As a lone boy in Jerusalem, Gwilym had been forced to fend off sexual predators and recognized the lustful look on Palomides’ face. His mind raced. The outside door was twenty feet away and he could force his way past Palomides and escape, but he may not be so lucky escaping Mecca this time as last. The family who had harbored him last time had moved to Jerusalem
“Yes,” replied Gwilym. “Your father still wants me dead so I can’t stay long but I wanted to say hello to you while I was visiting your town.”
“Well, give me a kiss then, Gwilym.”
Gwilym clapped his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders and kissed his cheek twice, in the Arab style. Palomides grasped Gwilym’s face and kissed his lips, hard. The almond smell gave way to an unpleasant clove taste on his lips. Gwilym pulled away, wiped his mouth and protested, “Not like that, Palomides!”
A cruel smile crossed Palomides’ face and he replied, “You sneak into my house, assuredly to steal our gold and you have the nerve to refuse my kisses. Perhaps I should shout for my father instead.”
Gwilym’s mind raced through his options. Force past the boy, kill the boy, kiss the boy. None of these options seemed palatable. The last one was nauseating, seeing the look of triumph in Palomides face as he sensed that Gwilym was in his power. But there was something in the words of Palomides that gave him a hint. ‘Perhaps.’ Why hadn’t Palomides called his father immediately? Because he wanted to force himself on Gwilym while he held the power. But if his father were here, Gwilym would be killed. And yet…
“Yes. Let’s call your father and tell him how would like to kiss me.”
Fear replaced triumph on Palomides’ face.
“Or should we keep that kiss of yours our little secret?” said Gwilym and he shouldered past the scared boy and walked out into the street. He left town on a caravan to Damascus.
Racing through the outskirts of Huish, Gwilym grew fearful. Townsfolk were wandering around in a daze. A villager saw him and told him to hide, “There is an angry knight looking for tha, Gwilym!”
“Where are my boys?” Gwilym demanded of the townsfolk as he ran to the beach. He ran past a knot of villagers gathered around a decapitated old man. Reaching the sand, he soon saw the tracks of Palomides’ warhorse making their way along the beach to where he had left his children. He saw the tracks mixing with the destroyed sand-castles and tracks of the bare feet of his boys and another set. Tegid’s? Running in the sand was laborious; he felt like he was being dragged down into it.
Sick with fear, he followed the tracks into the woods south of town. In the distance he could hear a horse stomping around. At each glade he was gratified at not seeing the bodies of his sons. After entering one thicket and making his way around the trunk of a huge oak, he was shocked out of his skin by having his arm grabbed.
He turned around and saw Bleddyn was holding tight to his arm. His boys huddled between a pair of tree trunks with Grainne. He hugged them, assured himself that they were all unharmed and tried to pull them towards town and safety.
Grainne looked at him and with a wry smile said, “We are much safer here. Let’s wait until the knight is further into the woods before we leave.”
“That knight is dangerous. He could come back at any time and we are standing here in the open like a group of frightened partridges.”
“Are you so sure we are in the open, Gwilym? Why don’t you step back and see for yourself?”
Incredulous at her calm, Gwilym released his children’s hands and walked back two steps, watching his family smiling at him. In the near distance he still heard Palomides’ horse, crashing through the undergrowth. One more step back and his family disappeared, replaced by the huge trunk of the old oak he had run around before he was grabbed by Bleddyn. A step forward and they re-appeared, standing in between two smaller oaks. Blood rushed to his head and chills trickled down his spine as the magic became apparent.
He heard a snort and jumped back to the side of his children as the knight crashed back into the clearing and stood looking in their direction. Then he blundered off into another part of the woods. They huddled together until the sounds of the knight lessened as he moved deeper into the forest.
“What happened?” asked Gwilym of his sons.
“We were playing with Tegid and then Miss Grainne came,” replied Bleddyn. “She told Tegid to go back to town and took us into the woods. She said we were in danger. I didn’t believe her at first but then I remembered what she did for your leg and for Ma and then I saw the knight coming, so we ran. The knight was right behind us as we ran into the forest and then Miss Grainne pulled us here and said some words and the knight ran past us. I was surprised like you, Da, when I saw the spell."
“Thank you Grainne! I prayed you would hear me. How did you know to come?”
“I was on my way to visit you, as I had promised in Londinium. As I neared the village I received your sending and came to protect your children.”
“My sending?” inquired Gwilym.
“I saw the vision you sent me of your children playing on the beach and the knight coming to threaten them. I ran to the beach and brought your children to the safety of the oak grove.”
Gwilym’s brow furrowed as he took in these facts. He had somehow communicated a vision to Grainne who had cast a protection spell in this forest and saved his children. He had seen magic surrounding Grainne and it made him uncomfortable while thrilling him inside.While grateful for the benefits, he struggled to reconcile it with his religious beliefs.
“Why does that knight pursue you, Gwilym?” she asked.
“He has followed me for many years. I have a book that he wants for his own evil purposes. It may have to do with the prophesy I told you about this spring. He chased me out of many cities in the east: Damascus , Tyre , Cairo and Jerusalem Jerusalem
Eventually the sounds of the knight faded away as he blundered off into the thickest part of the forest. Grainne waved her arms about with a purpose and Gwilym felt the breeze blowing through the woods again. He hadn’t noticed until then that the protection spell had kept even the wind from their hiding place.
“We must run before he returns!” whispered Gwilym.
"That knight will be lost for a week in those woods. I have taken care of that,” said Grainne.
Re-entering Huish, Gwilym apologized to every resident he saw for bringing this disaster upon them. He joined the townsfolk at the body of the old man and heard the story. Palomides had heard nothing from the townsfolk where Gwilym was so he had held the man’s daughter at sword-point, threatening to kill her if the man didn’t reveal the secret. After the old man had told him that Gwilym’s family was at the beach, the knight had cut off the man’s head and galloped to the beach.
Gwilym saw the look of distrust returning to the townsfolk’s faces when they talked with him. It was the same look he had seen many times when entering a new place and he accepted with sorrow that this town was no longer home for him. He told the townsfolk he was leaving and that they needn’t worry about betraying him.
“Tell anyone who asks that I have gone to Londinium,” he said as he brought his family to his house to pack up. Grainne gave him the box of river jade from Merlin. “This is for your next tower,” she said.
The boys hugged her. Gwilym shook her hand and then pulled her into a hug. “I can never thank you enough for my children’s safety. I was helpless and you did for them what I could not, even if I had been there.”
Grainne winked at Gwilym and said, “I’ll see you at Beltane,” and walked off towards Avalon.
The next morning, as they packed the last of their belongings in the cart, Father Drew arrived to say his farewells. “I have been moved to Glastonbury
“Is it a promotion, father?”
“It is more than that, Gwilym. I have been granted my wish to serve under some of the older priests who follow the original British church: the men who are rumored to resist the influence of Rome over Christianity. Perhaps I can find out more about this Gospel of Joseph for you there.”
“God be with you, Father.”
“And you too, son.” The priest took his leave.
Just then, Fred stepped up with his belongings on his back
“Fred!” exclaimed Gwilym. “I’m not going off to a job site. I’m leaving for parts unknown, with three children and no job. You can’t come with me.”
“Of course I’m comin’ with you. We still have towers to build. I still have words to learn. You still don’t know how to handle a horse. Shove over and give me t’reins.”
“But Fred, what about Heilin? I thought you two were getting serious.”
“Oh we’re serious all right. But a married man needs work and I believe I’ll find it easier with tha than here in Huish. I’ve said my goodbyes and I can visit when I have money for a wedding. So, which way do we ride?”
Gwilym looked shocked but happy. “We take the road to Londinium. At least until we are out of town.”
They took the road south and then east toward Calleva. At those cross-roads, Fred steered the cart north toward Corinium at Gwilym’s instructions. “We must travel to Caerleon to ask of Sir Kay where our next project will be.”
Fred’s eyes grew wide with this prospect.
After two nights on the road, the group lodged their cart, horses and belongings at the same inn they had stayed in last time and made their way through the castle gates to the office of the seneschal. Sir Kay was not there but they met with his squire who told them: “Sir Kay is in the great hall. I will ask him if you can interrupt.”
The boy returned a few minutes later and asked them to follow him. “You can leave the little ones with me.”
“Not on your life, son,” said Gwilym, much to the delight of Jac and Llawen.
On entering the great hall they saw a huge, round table dominating the room. It was so big that the sides touched two of the walls of the room. Bleddyn stifled a laugh as he saw a knight seated within this enclosed arc climb on a bench, then over the table and off again to get out.
Servants were operating within the center of this table. Gwilym had heard rumors of this round table and had assumed that the top was one big circle, not a pair of circumferences that allowed people to stand in the middle. This was convenient for serving, but he wondered how the servants reached the central area from the kitchens. Climbed over it, he suspected. Clearly this table was not made for this room.
The atmosphere of the great hall had changed from the last time he entered. Rather than a squalling cave of men and dogs, it possessed the relative calm of a church at Christmas Mass. There were no dogs and no wrestling men, those eating were doing so with forced gentility and sounds of quiet conversation were all one heard. The bare walls had been hung with tapestries and banners to brighten the space and four large candelabra hung over the table, illuminating everything.
There was no head of this round table, but the most favorable seats, closest to the fire and easiest to access, seemed to be occupied by the head party. King Arthur sat there, and next to him was seated what could only be his wife, Gwenevere: a frail beauty with golden hair and pale white skin. Next to her sat Launcelot, one of the few in the room to notice the family’s approach. Surrounding this group were many knights, some of whom Gwilym remembered from his last visit. Sir Gawain was on Arthur’s right, and next to him was Sir Kay.
“Our master mason has returned!” exclaimed Launcelot with a broad smile. “Welcome to the new Caerleon. A land smiled upon by the beauty of its queen, the lady Gwenevere.” At this he stood and bowed to the queen who blushed and then looked back at her husband, then at Gwilym.
Gwilym was shocked at this flirtation being expressed right in front of the king and wondered if Launcelot was already well into his cups this early in the day. But King Arthur gave Gwilym a blithe smile and also wished him welcome.
“And how is my master puzzle-maker, Bleddyn, this day? I must show you how fast I can build that tower you gave me on your last visit.” The king stood and shook the boy’s hand. He then looked shocked at the twins and asked Bleddyn “Who are these strong young squires by your side?”
Bleddyn struggled to speak through the stretched lips of his smile as he introduced Jac and Llawen to the king. King Arthur made them feel welcome by asking a large servant to bring them sweetmeats and showing them the great hall. “As you can see, this hall is too small for the wedding gift my wife’s father gave me. So we are building a new castle
When he introduced the boys to Gwenevere, Gwilym noticed something disconcerting. While the queen doted on the boys as most women did and the rest of the knights watched the tableau with indulgence, Launcelot used the opportunity to stare hungrily at the queen. A servant approached the queen and the two spoke. He looked at the family and then walked off into the back rooms.
After indulging the boys, the king turned to Gwilym and said, “Welcome back, Gwilym. I have been hearing good reports of your works. Sir Kay thinks highly of you. Is this your foreman?”
Gwilym introduced Fred who shook the king’s hand. “I couldn’t complete the works without him.” Fred blushed crimson and tried to stammer out his thanks.
Gwilym covered up his friend’s embarrassment by asking about the new castle new castle
King Arthur laughed. “Ever the ambitious builder! I did ask Kay about using you for this job but he told me he had more important plans for you.”
Sir Kay had approached at this question. “Gwilym, I have an important watch-tower planned for you to watch for Irish marauders. I had planned to send for you this week so I thank you for saving me the time.”
The king noticed the deflation in Gwilym’s body at this news and sought to console the man. “These watchtowers are the most important buildings you can create for Britain
Gwilym composed himself. “As a young lad, wandering around in the great cities of the east, seeing the majestic temples and cathedrals and palaces, I dreamed that one day I would add my creation to that list. A place that would inspire some other young boy to become a builder. No one looks in wonder at a watch-tower.”
Sir Kay placed his hand on Gwilym’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. Gwilym felt another hand on his other shoulder and one on his back. As he glanced around he saw that King Arthur and Launcelot were touching him in what seemed almost like a benediction.
Kay spoke. “The towers that you build are protecting Britain
Gwilym felt warmth spread through him from the three hands. He felt like weeping but controlled himself. It was not from sadness but the raw emotion emanating from the three knights.
King Arthur broke the silence. “Three more towers and we’ll let you work on something more to your tastes, all right?”
As Gwilym turned to meet the king’s gaze he caught a glimpse of Kay giving a slight shake of his head at the king.
“Have you a charter for the new tower, Sir Kay?”
“I’ll bring it to you in a moment. Why don’t you join your sons eating? These chairs over here will be unoccupied today.”
The family moved with Fred to the empty chairs and sat down. The boys were wolfing down a plate of sweetmeats which they had been given by the large servant. Llawen turned to the man and said, “Thank you very much, Beaumains.” This comment elicited raucous laughter from the surrounding knights.
Gwilym whispered to Fred. “If you want to work on the royal castle I think I can get you appointed to the work.”
“No Gwilym! I stay with tha. Tha are my teacher and my job is to pr…to learn from tha.”
Gwilym was about to ask what Fred was first going to say but the man looked up as a servant brought them steaming plates of food. As the men tucked into their food, King Arthur asked for an accounting of Tarrant. Gwilym told him all he knew.
“I knew not to trust that man when I first met him two years ago. My seneschal didn’t believe me and allowed him to steal from the kingdom.” Kay looked abashed.
Launcelot spoke up. “This knight, Palomides sounds like an untrue knight. Did he indeed lance an unarmed knight standing on the ground? That is not at all chivalrous!”
“He did sir. And he threatened a girl in town, beheaded an old man and chased my children into the woods. I think he would have killed them if they had not escaped.”
King Arthur looked concerned. “What did you do to displease this knight? It is unusual for them to bother with yeomen.”
“His father killed my father to steal his treasure. I escaped with it and now Palomides wants to steal it from me.”
“Most unusual. What is this treasure?”
“It is a religious book that my father created. Palomides wants to put it to evil purposes.”
“I will speak to this knight and teach him British manners. Lance, can you bring him to me?”
“That would be my pleasure, my lord,” replied Launcelot. He kissed the queen’s hand, looked long into her eyes and took his leave from the room.
Sir Kay arrived with the charter for the new tower. It was to be built at Caernarfon northwest of Caerleon to watch the Irish Sea. “It must be complete by Beltane so stay on top of the schedule. I know we are starting late but I believe you can catch up. You are building the tower on the grounds of the local king, Arthfael. He will provide you with the laborers. All the materials should be on site.”
At the name of Arthfael, Gwenevere looked up and met Gwilym’s eye. When Kay was finished showing Gwilym the charter, he looked back at the queen who raised her cup to him and wished him Godspeed. “Have you any advice for me on this quest, my queen?”
“Take care around Arthfael, Gwilym. His son is even more of a pig than his name Arthog would suggest. Perhaps it should be pronounced Art Hog instead.”
King Arthur looked both amused and curious. “Have you had dealings with this family, my love?”
“My father once considered a match for me there. They trade in horses also. The son is a swine.”
“I take fair warning from you, my lady. Thank you.”
At this point servants approached the king and queen with packages that they inspected. King Arthur stood and walked around to the family who stood at
