To Bear Another's Burden

Crumbling Castles, Chapter 11

Jan 08, 2025

sun rays coming through trees — Photo by Christof Görs on Unsplash

AD 1444, Romney Marsh, Kent, England

The soft ground slowly gave way to stone, and the afternoon sun winked down between the trees as Ralph led the group along. The mist was dispersing in the sunlight as the trees thinned, much like the clouds that seemed to swirl and shadow Ralph’s life rolled away now that he had shared his story. He didn’t plan to share the details. There was a delicate balance between a story of hardship inspiring hope and encouraging despair. To revisit the worst moments was only needed in similar times, for past troubles can be the key to overcoming present trials, strengthening you, though they may have tried to break you when they came before.

Ansel, walking just behind Ralph, caught up to walk at his side. Ralph slowed his step, seeing the lad was panting at the pace he set.

“Did you have a question, lad?” he asked.

“Aye, that I did.” Ansel had picked up a light, flexible rod, akin in appearance to Ralph’s unstrung bow, and was using it as a walking stick. “I cannot help but wonder. How did your hands get broken, Mister Fletcher?”

Ralph glanced at him, startled, and a shaft of pain lanced through his hands, as though just the thought of that day could cue the pain. It wasn’t so, he knew, for the pain was nearly constant. The scarring had been caused more by the physician’s work in trying to reset the bone than by the initial injuries, and he had regained the use of his hands as by a miracle, but the pain would always be there, or so he was told. It made fine work difficult, but not impossible.

“That is not something I care to share just now, lad,” he answered gravely. “Methinks it would not be uplifting in any way to our company.”

“Right. Sorry about that. I should have known before asking, but Lord Irving is always saying I am always putting my foot in my mouth. We are quite a company, are we not?” The youth looked back at the others, strung out in a line, each silent in their own thoughts. Even Tiffany had not had much to say since Ralph had told his tale, and that was more than he expected, for she usually had more to say than the chatterbox at his side.

“You know, we would make a good team,” Ansel went on. “You leading us like this, Lord Irving keeping me in line, and Walt and Tiff . . . well, they might learn not to argue all the time, and then we would be a fine group. Where are you leading us, Mister Fletcher?”

“Please,” Ralph said gravely, though tempted to smile. “Call me Shaft. Or did you forget that the reason I told my tale was to better ensure your silence?”

“Right. Sorry about that. I did mean to keep it a secret, but like Lord Irving says—”

Ralph stopped walking. “Listen, lad. You are a bright youth, but you have little discretion. I would answer your questions, but we are in haste. That aside, we have need for silence as we leave the marsh, for enemies are more prevalent where they can tread safely, though rock leaves little sign of our passing.”

Ansel dropped his eyes, embarrassed, and Ralph rested a hand on his shoulder. “You mean well, but I felt my words were necessary. It may be best to leave off titles here as well. Your lord will not begrudge the use of his name here, as he has already said, and ’twill be safest for all if no one knows he is here, given you don’t know your enemy.”

The others had caught up to them at the last words and Ralph looked up to see an odd look on Gilbert’s face.

“You look conflicted, Gil. Have I spoken amiss?”

“Not in your instruction,” Gilbert said slowly. “Rather, in saying that we know not our enemy. I fear I know him better than I know myself, but not as a foe.”

Walter and Tiffany turned startled eyes on Gilbert, and Ralph felt Ansel’s muscles tighten. He dropped his hand and crossed his arms, taking a step back to better see the group. He looked steadily at Gilbert.

“I have led you thus far with but little questioning beyond how and why you came hither and whence you wished to go. You gave me direction, and I said I would lead you thence. But I see something greater troubles you. Who is this enemy?”

Gilbert’s sharp eyes flicked around them, seeming to take in every leaf, rock, and shrub in sight, then met Ralph’s. Confusion and denial warred within them.

“I believe, though I scarcely can, that it is my uncle who seeks my life.”

~~~

As if the events of the last week and Ralph’s story this morning were not enough of a shock, Walter’s mind was sent spinning with this new revelation.

“Not the uncle you speak so highly of?” he queried, incredulity flooding him. “How long have you known?”

Ansel’s face had fallen, his cheer gone, and he turned his eyes on his lord, sober and watchful. Gilbert didn’t answer.

“Well?” Tiffany asked, and Walter was tempted to smile at the impatience in her tone, so much like his own. It was a relief, in a way, to meet someone who nearly mirrored his own struggles. Tiffany was quicker, perhaps, easily angered but easily appeased, and her frustration did not peak so high as his, but they were alike in feeling.

Ansel let out a sigh, still waiting for Gilbert’s answer, and when none was forthcoming, he spoke himself. His voice was subdued, filled with the same feeling and maturity that had been there the day Walter had met them on the road.

“Squire Jameson told me the day that he . . . fell. It was at the first attack. I cannot say how he knew, but there have been other signs since.” He looked pointedly at Walter. “Surely you cannot have missed the jibes of yesterday before you took your stand against the remaining scum who have hounded us since then.”

He had not missed the words said, though his attention was more on the steely-eyed swordsman than his ill-spoken companion, but had dismissed them as mere talk. Gilbert, it seemed, had taken them otherwise, as had his young squire. Walter shook his head to refocus.

“You mean to tell me, Gil, that you asked Ralph to lead us into the teeth of danger?” he asked, realizing now the threat of their destination. “I came with you thinking only to aid you on the road and that your uncle’s men would guard you when we reached your home. What is your intention walking directly in the jaws of the lion, as it is?”

Ralph and Tiffany exchanged a look, then Tiffany said, with unwonted thought, “Because, Walt, he needs to face this danger, not flee it.

Ralph spoke up, “If he flees now, not only will it follow, but his failure to root out the true source of his trouble will eat at him. He will never know whether it could be resolved, but will always be looking over his shoulder, waiting for his past to spring from the shadows and devour him. Such fear leads to bitterness, bitterness to hate, hate to death—whether your own or that of someone else. Better to learn the truth now and face it, whatever it may be, than to go elsewhere.”

Surprise and respect lit Gilbert’s face. “You speak truly, but methinks that is personal experience speaking. Unless you truly are a learned sage?”

Ralph chuckled. “’Tis experience. Any wisdom I have is from such or is the gift of God.” He turned a wry smile on Tiffany. “I know little beyond my trade and what I must to survive. As Tiff so kindly reminded me this morning, she can read—a skill I sadly lack.”

Walter laughed, his good humor returning. “A lack I share with you, friend. My knowledge is rudimentary at best, for I ever spent my time out of doors and not at my mother’s knee as a boy, though she would have had צe learn. I cannot say it is widely taught even among the wealthy, and I have had no need of it.”

Tiffany was fidgeting with the fletching on one of her arrows and her toe tapped impatiently on the stone underfoot. “Are we going to talk about that all day, or are we going to decide how to kill this evil uncle of yours, Gil?”

All eyes turned to her, Gilbert’s smoldering with sudden fire, Ralph’s serious but patient, as though faced with a child in need of correction for yet another repetition of the same offense.

“Did you not hear what I said, Tiff?” he asked before Gil could speak. “It is not revenge he must seek, but resolution. Why does your mind turn so swiftly to vengeance, lass?”

She looked away, pursing her lips.

“I do not seek to kill my uncle,” Gilbert said, his voice controlled, even peaceful. “But I would hear your story, Miss Marsden, since the rest of us have shared ours.”

“As if I would tell you when I have refused it to Shaft and he has known me the longer and earned my trust, small though it be.” Her voice was cutting, cynical, and brooked no argument.

“Perhaps you ought to tell us, Tiff,” Ansel chimed in. “Secrets are heavy when we carry them alone. As the scripture says, ‘Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.’1”

A Note from the Author

I was at a loss on where to go with this chapter because I have future chapters spinning around in my head, and this one is essential . . . but also a bridge chapter. Tune in next week for the next chapter!

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