He had come to Warwickshire on a quest. As man of arms for the town of Aberfoyle, he had been chosen to accompany the holiest of the holy Brothers of Inchmahome Priory. A plague was decimating his village, and indeed, his family. He was alone now in a world that had used to be full. 

           He carried with him few items. First and foremost, he carried the weapon from which his family had taken their name, the lethal halberd. Generations of Halpert men had guarded the town of Aberfoyle, but they were no match for this current enemy. And now, so far from home, his village was without protection from bandits or thieves. He yearned with all his heart to return. He ached to sit once again beside the still waters of Loch Ard that he might pray for the spirit of his father. But there had barely been time for a cursory prayer over the fresh-turned dirt of his grave. There was not even a moment to twine white silk round the branches on Doon Hill begging for a safe return. Daily the funeral pyres burned, higher and higher.

“Arden Forest approaches,” Brother Tobias had returned from seeking counsel in a roadside chapel. As had been true since they had crossed the accursed border, Halpert had been denied entry into church and chapel for he wore armor and weaponry. His weekly absolutions were accomplished in jerkin and leggings, but time was of utmost importance and it was known that with the ‘creeping death’, bandits were likely to attack even a holy man with few possessions. These two pilgrims had not the luxury to stop and disarm. For this reason, Brother Tobias had become that for which he was not trained or equipped - the voice of Aberfoyle. He who had taken vows of poverty and silence was now the keeper of coins and the beseeching pilgrim.

The man Halpert did not like these lowlands. The buildings were not made of solid stone but wattle and daub. Mud and twigs that would melt and burn before a family could grow old. He did not like these people with their slurry tongues and evil glances. He neither trusted nor respected them. But he certainly feared them. They were well armed and they had a love of the drink. Praises to God that he traveled with a Brother of the Church.... for otherwise  even a sharp halberd would not protect him against these uncivilized savages.

The road upon which they traveled was well-trod. It may once have been a simple cow-path between the hamlets of Nuneaton and Warborough, but in recent decades it had become a common road for lumber carts to Nuneaton’s main market square. The previous night had been spent in the hospice of the Etone nunnery. The Sisters had been kind and had eagerly brought soup and bread to Brother Tobias. The scraps they had saved and, unless they reached Warborough soon, they would have to suffer through this small repast. They had suffered worse.

They were fortunate, their prayers were answered. For on the 16th day of the month of March, they did espy the small village which they had long sought. But prayers are answered in ways unexpected, “Brother Tobias, I do not see the Church spire. My eyes must be weary from the road.” James, son of Halpert, slowed his horse and looked in consternation at the hamlet below them.

Brother Tobias spoke quietly, “They may be without means to erect such. That does not mean they are not god-fearing.”
            The soldier looked at the Lord’s servant in disbelief. Even the rudest village in the Highlands built, before all else, a house for the worship of their Lord and Master .

Brother Tobias spoke again, “I see neither manor nor castle, either. We shall search for the girl in their town square and then continue to the Knight’s Temple.”

Halpert bowed his head. He was here to protect… not to judge these heathen people.

The entry of these strange men into the village brought all commerce to a standstill. The horses alone were an uncommon sight. But a man dressed for war in a land of peace was a sight that these people did not relish seeing. That he was with a man of the cloth brought no ease of mind. Brother Tobias seemed oblivious to the rude stares, but James could not ignore that each man stood by his door holding a crude weapon, be it hayfork, scythe, or boathook. Halpert made sure to keep his mount controlled, his eyes focused forward; no word of the prophecy had mentioned bloodshed.

“Good sir, greetings. May God bless you in these holy days of Lent and may you find salvation in his words.” Brother Tobias had dismounted to speak to a man age-old and bent from hard labor.

“Greetings, venerable sir. You have entered the village of Warborough. Do you seek the Hospitaller of the Knights Templar? My son can guide you through the Forest to their sanctuary.” An astute man, James thought. For why else would an armed man descend on their town?

“I thank you, good man. Indeed we do desire to reach the Temple of Balsall, but we have a….” at this point Brother Tobias faltered. He had come to the crux of the matter and it was not easily explained. “Is there one of the Church in this fair village? Or, God save you, a man of the nobility that we may speak with before venturing on?”

The laborer bowed his head and pointed towards a timbered building near the water. “There lives the local lord, whose family has worked this land since the land was brought up from the sea by the grace of God. He is Lord Beasley and he is a kindly master. Tell him that Bratton sends you with greetings and praise.”

As they dismounted, the soldier Halpert spoke under his breath, “The horses will fetch a good price; I fear to leave them unattended.”

The holy man removed a parcel from the bedroll that he carried. “The Lord has given us this pilgrimage. If he desires us to walk, walk we will.”

The soldier sighed, thirty-nine days by fast horse to reach this point. A six-month to return by foot, if luck was with them. There would be no hearth or home to return to if God had so deemed. James rubbed the forelock of his strong, shaggy chestnut. “Be safe,” he whispered. It would not do good to look down upon God’s designs, but a little blessing never hurt any horse.

The building was low to the ground. Built centrally to the river, it commanded the best location to ford the stream. The house functioned as both office and home. A large central room with a straw-covered floor opened directly onto the main road. Small window slits showed that the building had been built for defense, not hospitality. A long table ran the length of one wall. Doors on the wall opposite were thrown open to admit light and air. Through them, the men could see cook fires and the river.

In the dark room it was difficult to see into all the shadowed niches but after his eyesight adjusted, the soldier was startled to see that the room was actually quite full of people. It was as silent as the Mass at Matins.

Brother Tobias held up his hands in the sign of benevolence. “Praise God and praise the denizens of this home.”

Out of the crowd, a man stepped forth. He was a grizzled old man and he walked with a limp, but this was as nothing to him for he walked with authority. The men and women stood aside before him with bowed heads.

“I welcome you to my home, Holy Father and….” The man examined the soldier circumspectly.
           “And my companion, James, son of Halpert, of the village of Aberfoyle in the county of Perthshire.” Tobias spoke as loudly as he could but his voice did not carry and there was general murmuring after his introduction. “I am Brother Tobias from the Priory of Inchmahome, on the Lake of Menteith, also in the county of Perthshire.”
          “Perthshire!” Lord Beasley’s booming voice carried far and wide. Halpert could feel eyes looking in the window slits and see children’s heads peering around their mother’s skirts. “You are far from home, far indeed. Your accent does betray you if nothing else. I bid you welcome. Anne…bring our guests bread. Kellith…bring fresh water. Let us remove the dust from the road and when you are settled you can tell me your tale.”

As Lord Beasley led the men to his banquet table, the soldier’s eyes were caught by the eyes of a woman looking through one of the window slits. He could just see a sliver of her curly auburn hair. But what gave him pause was that hers were the first eyes he had seen in many a day that were not suspicious or hate-filled. They were wide with joy and excitement. He almost smiled at her.