Ralph tried to keep the thrill of his words from taking root. He didn't want battle of any sort, but when the inevitable came in sight and there was justice to be bought with blood, he had never been good at staying on the sidelines. It had often been a grief to his mother when he was a boy, but his father’s eyes would twinkle and he would say, “That’s the Welsh warrior in you, Ralph. Never lose that.”
The glitter of anticipation in Aleric’s eyes contrasted sharply with the shock and regret in Gil’s.
“Is that the only way?” Gil asked slowly. “That seems extreme.”
“Perhaps it is,” Ralph responded, knowing his perspective would seem harsh but feeling it must be said. “If he would go as far as torture and sending hired assassins after you, then he will not hesitate to tear these woods apart to find you. He is a danger to all in these parts, rich or poor, and is better faced openly than quarreled with piecemeal in the shadows.”
“That may be true.’ Gilbert sighed.
Walter shoved him with his shoulder. “Better to fight now with an army at your back than to wait for him to catch you alone.”
“As if that would happen.” Tiffany’s words were harsh with scorn. Whether it was the thought of the battle to come or something else, he did not know, but her eyes were alight with determination he saw usually only when she was angry . . . yet she seemed not to be so, or if so to be keeping it veiled for some reason or another.
“Is there something amiss, lad?” Ralph asked, turning to Ansel. The boy had been quiet, which was strange in him, and seemed troubled about something.
He nodded slowly, glancing at Gil. “Sir Ranulf will not attack us this week, methinks. ’Tis strange indeed that he would have sent his men today, but this entire situation is absurd if you ask me.”
Absurd was right. Sir Ranulf, if one were to judge by what his nephew and young Ansel had to say about him, was a pinnacle of holiness. But that was not at the crux of the lad’s words this time.
“What do you mean by saying he would not attack ‘this week’?” he queried, watching both Gil and Ansel’s faces. They exchanged a look. Gil spoke first.
“This is a holy week. The Passover tonight, and the festival of Unleavened Bread to follow. It is unlikely in the extreme that he would turn his attention on us before it is over.”
There was that odd quirk of Christianity they held to rearing its head again. If he were more conventional himself, Ralph would not hesitate to call them out as heretics. “You speak again in riddles. Do you mean to say that Easter is tonight? For I can assure you it is not. Do you mean to say you are Jews? That I cannot countenance as fact.”
“I mean only to say that the scriptures call for a feast, and we keep it as the Jews do,” Gilbert said evenly. “Not that we are Jews, but we resolved generations ago to keep the entirety of the scriptures and not merely the half of them, as both Jews and the Church do in their own way.”
“Do you mean to say that I and others follow Christ only half-heartedly?” Ralph asked, a rare angst rising in him. Walter lifted his eyebrows, teasing him silently for his temper, and he rolled his eyes. “I’m just having a discussion, Walt. You needn’t smirk at me.”
Walter laughed aloud. “Surely you do not take issue with a different variant of the faith from your own, Shaft?”
Aleric poked Ralph in the shoulder. “’Ere, now, you can tell ’im ’e don’t need to stick with callin’ ye Shaft arter Miss Tiffany called ye Ralph.”
Tiffany’s cheeks reddened and she looked at him in apology, but he shrugged and smiled. “I’m surprised I have kept it from you so long, Aleric, for you have been a true friend to me, and that longer than these.” He shot the others a glance. “Not to slight you in any way, of course.”
“I don’t take offense that easily,” Tiffany said with a roll of her eyes. Gil nudged her.
“I think he meant us,” he said. She grinned, and Ralph narrowed his eyes at the two. Not that she noticed, but Gil did and took a half step away from her, a bemused smile on his lips. Maybe it was nothing. Ralph blinked to refocus and turned his attention back on the three responsible for getting Aleric and his compatriots embroiled in a battle with the acting Lord of Éochythe, whether he was deserving of the name or not.
“So,” he said, pinning Gilbert with a look that was unnecessarily challenging. “Do you intend to spend the day debating whether fighting your uncle is necessary, or can we move on with making our plans?”
“I would prefer to be celebrating the feast with him tonight,” Gil muttered. “Talk war if you will. I cannot say I will like it, nor that I will not oppose every method you devise. I do not wish death on him, even if he seeks to take my life.”
“Must we do it just here, though?” Tiffany put in, pulling her cloak tighter against the chill of the mist and a breeze that had sprung up as evening drew closer. “There is a perfectly comfortable tavern a stone’s throw away. Or have we not entered the village because it is unsafe as well?”
Walter frowned. “Why are we here? It seems that if we have not come to see the messenger, we have left your castle for no purpose, Ralph.”
Ralph exchanged glances with Aleric and then released a careful breath. “It seems,” he said carefully, enunciating every word, “That our location there may have been compromised. Until we know otherwise, we must lodge elsewhere.”
~~~
An hour later, Walter swirled his cup as they sat in the tavern, watching the wine spin out to the edges and then collapse in on itself when it lost that inertia. Ralph sure had a brilliant way of dragging things out before letting them know that the horses and everything else they hadn’t brought along were now possibly in the hands of the enemy. At one end of the table, he, Gil, and Aleric were talking about men and the fortifications of the castle, and other nonsense. Tiffany was hanging on every word they said and putting in her own two bits from time to time. Ansel sat at the other end, to Walter’s right, frowning at the bit of lamb on his plate. He and Gil had requested the lamb and the wine to remember their feast as best they could, but one could almost see memories of better celebrations playing in the lad’s eyes.
“You need not look so downcast, lad,” Walter said, catching his eye. “Tell me about this feast. Why you keep it and such. Is it as Shaft said? Do you see others as only half-hearted Christians?”
They had reverted again to calling Ralph '“Shaft,” as his name being heard in the village posed a greater threat to them all.
“You really want to know?” The youth looked at him dubiously. “You do not strike me as someone who would care much for how we believe.”
“I do not,” Walter answered dryly. “Which is the more reason you should debate with me rather than with Shaft. Tell me, if you will.” He set his cup down and leaned back, waiting.
Ansel’s spark of humor returned as he teased, “Be careful what you give me leave for, lest I make a convert of you.”
“There is not much danger of that, I think. My mother tried and failed, and my aunt as well. It were as much heresy to admit as your strange ways, but I believe I am wholly outside the church now. Very nearly an atheist, in fact.”
“Well, perhaps I will be the one to persuade you to join my . . . heresy. You recognize the word refers not to whether someone keeps the truth but to whether they conform to what is more widely accepted?”
“No, nor did I realize you were a scholar.”
A wry smile twisted the lad’s mouth. “Sir Ranulf has taught us well. Ironic, is it not? But it is not right to judge truth by a single hypocrite.”
“You have not yet answered Shaft’s claim, and I am still curious to know what you would say.”
Ansel rolled his eyes. “He cannot truly think that we believe that. Every man is responsible for his own faith. In studying the scriptures, we at Éochythe have come to the conclusion that we are called to keep the entirety of the book, not only certain parts, but we would not judge another’s depth of faith based on their depth of knowledge. ‘Ye will know them by their fruits,’ but to ignore the fruit they do bear because it is not quite the same as what we understand we are called to bear is as hypocritical as it is for the Church’s priests to demand payment for the forgiveness of sins freely offered us in Christ.”
Walter laughed along with him, but could not help the bitter twist within. What did it matter that forgiveness might be free in Christ if God had allowed unforgivable things to happen to his people?
A Note from the Author
I went ahead and made this a special Pesach (Passover) edition due to it falling conveniently on the same day that my family and I are celebrating this feast. I know it can seem odd for Christians to keep “Old Testament” things, and I plan to put out an article on my faith-focused blog A Piece of My Mind before the week is through explaining just why my family chooses to, but it strikes me that no matter the time and place in history, this conflict of faith could and would crop up between believers.
In medieval England, there was already a lot of tension between the Jews and the Catholics (I’ve referred to the Catholic Church as “the Church” throughout this story because that is how people then would have referred to it, since there weren’t as many denominations as there are now to distinguish between). The sharp divide between the two would have made anyone who seemed to be a Christian yet following “Jewish” law (Old Testament laws, regardless of additional Jewish tradition) seem even more out of place, and exploring that just a bit in this chapter seemed fitting. Besides, the story is set in the spring, right around Passover and Easter. 😁
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Blessings!
~Lexi
This was a great chapter, Abigail. I loved it. 😊