by Kevin Ashman
‘By Jesus,’ shouted a man, ‘there are thousands of them.’
‘Keep firing,’ shouted Geraint, ‘each rank loose two arrows before withdrawing twenty paces behind the other. Keep moving backward.’
‘We’ll never make it,’ shouted Marcus, ‘there are too many of them.’
‘Another half a minute,’ shouted Geraint, ‘cut down their front ranks, it will give our men time to form a line amongst the rocks.’
The archers drew their bows as fast as they were able but despite the rapid rate of fire, the native lines kept coming, screaming their war cries as they swarmed to the conflict. Finally Geraint gave the command to withdraw.
‘Break off,’ he roared, ‘and get to the rocks.’
As one the archers turned to follow their comrades to the safety of the escarpment but they hadn’t reached halfway when it became obvious they would be easily outrun by the lightly clad natives.
‘It’s no good,’ shouted Geraint, ‘we’ll never make it, turn and stand.’ Each man drew their blades and turned to face the inevitable. For a few seconds, their manic pursuers increased their pace, sensing an easy victory but as each archer prepared for his own death, the tables were suddenly turned by the sound of thundering hooves.
From the eastern flank, ten fully armoured Knights galloped headlong into the fray, their lances levelled before them. Behind them the supporting lines of thirty lancers spread out in support and within seconds, the screams of skewered men echoed around the killing field. As lances snapped the mounted men drew their swords and steel hewed flesh apart in a frenzy of undefended slaughter.
The native rush faltered as they stared in disbelief at the unfamiliar sight of large armoured men riding giant beasts of war. Many froze to the spot and were trampled beneath the wide eyed horses as they tore through the transfixed enemy and many warriors were hacked apart by the Knights’ swords before they realised the danger.
The braver amongst the Apalach attacked the horses with their knives and axes but the animals were protected by their heavy caparisons and the mounted Knights soon felled the attackers with swift thrusts of their blades.
‘Get to the rocks,’ shouted Geraint, ‘while they are distracted.’ The archers took the opportunity to flee as the mounted men slaughtered the attacking natives behind them. Within minutes they ran through the lower lines of boulders and between the lines of pike men who had formed steeled lines of defence.
‘Get your archers onto the higher boulders,’ shouted Tarian, ‘the enemy are reforming and the lancers have lost the element of surprise. Prepare to cover them as they return.’
Out on the field the sound of a horn signalled the retreat and the Calvary galloped to join the rest of the patrol. Behind them they left two dead horses and one dead lancer. Tarian strode amongst the defenders, issuing orders to strengthen the defences. As they approached, the riders dismounted and led their mounts up into the rocks.
‘Your arrival was perfectly timed, Sir Crispin,’ said Tarian.
‘We have been here since yesterday,’ said the leader of the horsemen, ‘and patrolled outward in anticipation of your arrival. It would seem God was with you today.’
‘Whatever the reason, your intervention was most opportune and saved the lives of many men. Now get your mounts up amongst the rocks, we can handle it from here.’
‘Are you sure? Their numbers are many.’
‘Yet undisciplined,’ said Tarian. ‘If they attack us head on they will find a wall of Welsh pikes waiting, each wielded with stout heart. The odds have balanced somewhat and whilst the day is young, it will not find us wanting.’
For the next hour or so, Tarian took the opportunity of organising the defences. Rows of archers proved the first line of defence from their high positions, able to drop any attackers at a range of two hundred paces. Down below at a natural choke point in the approach, pike men stood in lines while behind them, men at arms bearing a range of weapons from swords to clubs formed the last line of defence.
Deep amongst the rocks, the squires looked after the horses while the lancers supported the pike men. The Knights separated into two groups as a reaction force and positioned themselves centrally, ready to respond to any breaches of the defences. Finally, Tarian sent Marcus of Builth and a small command of six men up to the top of the hill with orders to protect the rear.
‘Sire, the men are ready,’ said Geraint, joining Tarian amongst the lancers.
‘Good,’ said Tarian. ‘All we can do now is wait.’
They looked out onto the plain where the natives were recovering their dead.
‘It’s a shame we didn’t have chance to recover the arrows,’ said Geraint.
‘How many do you have left?’ asked Tarian.
‘About twenty for each man,’ said Geraint. ‘We brought enough only for hunting and skirmishes, not for full battle. I am told there are more on the ships.’
‘If I recall correctly there are over twenty barrels of arrow heads on the ships but that doesn’t help us here. Tell the men to make every one count.’
‘Yes, Sire,’ said Geraint and returned to his men.
----
Marcus led Spider and five other men to the top of the escarpment and looked back down at the plain below as they caught their breath. The number of Apalach was growing by the minute and the sound of drums reverberated through the air. Many of the warriors had formed lines across the whole front and made false charges toward the rocks, chanting their war cries and brandishing their weapons yet retreating back before they came within range of Geraint’s archers.
‘What are they doing?’ asked Spider.
‘I don’t know,’ said Marcus, ‘but one thing’s for sure, if they all attack at the same time then there is no way we can kill them all. We have to find a way out of here.’
‘But we were sent only to cover the rear?’
‘Achak said there are thousands of these people,’ said Marcus. ‘What will happen if the same number comes from behind? It will be slaughter. No, we will venture a little further and see what lies beyond that hill. At least we will know one way or the other.’ They set out again, heading for a further slope less than a mile distant. At the top they encountered another wooded area but within minutes they broke free to stare down at the sight before them.
‘I don’t believe it,’ gasped Marcus.
At the edge of the treeline, the ground cleared and sloped down before levelling out onto a thinly wooded plain. A mile away they could see the silver glint of the mighty river as it snaked its way toward the sea but it was not the water that grabbed their attention, it was the welcome sight of four magnificent cogs anchored at the water’s edge.
‘Thank the lord,’ gasped Spider, it’s the fleet.
‘I can’t believe our good fortune,’ said Marcus quietly, ‘Spider, take three men and get to those ships as fast as you can, tell them we are on our way. The rest of you, follow me, we need to tell Tarian that relief is at hand.’ The group split up to their tasks and while some scrambled down the slope toward the river, the rest ran as fast as they could back to the column.
Within ten minutes Marcus stood gasping at the top of the escarpment and looked in dismay at the scene below them.
The false attacks had ended and the real assault had started. Thousands of arrows rained down upon the defensive position and though they were poorly aimed, many were finding their mark. Though chain mail coifs and padded gambesons were very effective against the flint arrowheads of the Apalach not everyone had such armour and many defenders fell to the arrows.
‘Why aren’t our men firing back?’ asked one of the men.
Marcus pointed out dozens of dead savages on the plain.
‘It looks like they have,’ he answered, ’they must be out of arrows.’
‘Then it is only a matter of time,’ said the soldier, ‘once that hoard attacks, our men have no chance.’
‘We are not done yet,’ snapped Marcus, ‘come on.’ He leaped off the
rock and scrambled down the crag as fast as he could.
----
‘Archers, support the front line,’ screamed Tarian, ‘use your blades.’
The archers discarded their redundant bows and ran to add their strength to the narrow defending lines. The few shields amongst the lancers were pushed to the fore and Apalach warriors fell against the wall of wood and steel. At first the line staggered backward but the archers added their weight and pushed back against the enemy. Within seconds the tide turned and the defenders forced their way forward step by step until they had regained the ground lost. Half naked warriors hung bleeding from many of the pikes, their bodies impaled on the lethal weapons. For a while the pressure eased as the natives withdrew in disarray but as they walked backward, one warrior remained, facing the defenders with a murderous look in his eye.
‘What’s he doing?’ asked Geraint as the Apalach warrior withdrew a flint bladed knife from his waist band.
‘I have no idea,’ answered Tarian, ‘but it looks like we are about to find out.’
As he spoke the native started to run forward alone.
‘Madness,’ gasped Geraint, ‘what does he expect to achieve?’
Tarian didn’t answer but watched as the wall of shields braced for the impact.
The warrior ran faster but just as it seemed he would run straight onto the blade of a pike, he launched himself into the air and using the body of an impaled comrade as a platform, cleared the defences and landed amongst the shocked archers behind. The unexpected action took the defenders by surprise and before anyone could react, the warrior’s blade pierced the hearts of two men without retribution. A defender kicked the blade from his hands but the warrior knocked him to the floor and ripped open the boy’s throat with his teeth before he was overpowered and fell to the cuts of a dozen knives. A lancer ran forward and plunged his weapon down through the man’s chest, pinning him to the floor before someone finished him off with a sword.
‘Look to your fronts,’ screamed Tarian as the Apalach renewed the attack, having seen the success of their comrade’s actions and within moments many more warriors came over the defensive wall to battle hand to hand with the men at the rear.
‘They are using their own dead as platforms,’ shouted Geraint, ‘we have to drop the pikes.’
‘I will not surrender weapons to the enemy,’ shouted Tarian.
‘Sire, we will be overwhelmed in minutes,’ answered Geraint.
Tarian looked around frantically, looking for a solution.
‘Front rank,’ he screamed suddenly, ‘drop your pikes and advance ten paces. Rear ranks, clear the blades, lancers present your weapons over the shields.’
The men did as they were told and though the platform of bleeding flesh was rapidly denied the attackers, many had already breached the defence and the archers were being overwhelmed by the native assault.
‘Clear the way,’ shouted a voice and within seconds, the ten fully armoured Knights waded into the fray, using their heavy swords to cut through the attackers like a scythe through corn. The Apalach were no match for the trained soldiers and the threat was eliminated within minutes.
Once again the attack faltered but there was no sign of any permanent withdrawal. Geraint pointed to one side of the killing field where several hundred men were running up to join the attack but these men didn’t carry bows, they had spears.
‘We can’t defend against spears, Sire,’ said Geraint, ‘even those tipped with stone. Any finding their mark will breach a gambeson.’
‘I agree,’ said Tarian, ‘but am out of ideas.’
Suddenly a voice echoed around the rocks.
‘Sire, the patrol has returned.’
Tarian turned to see Marcus scrambling down the steep slope.
‘What is it,’ shouted Tarian, ‘are we under attack from the rear?’
‘No, Sire,’ gasped Marcus trying to get his breath back, ‘it’s good news. The fleet are beyond this hill, anchored against the bank not two miles hence. If we retreat, safety is within reach.’
‘Excellent news,’ exclaimed Tarian and looked around at the expectant looks on the faces of the men around him.
‘Geraint,’ he said, ‘get your men up the slopes and back to the ships immediately. They have no more use here. Take whatever surplus men you can, I will lead a rear defence with the lancers and the Knights.’
‘But Sire….’
‘Do as you are ordered,’ shouted Tarian, ‘before the assault is renewed. It is pointless men dying for no reason. The rest of us will hold out as long as we can before withdrawing now get out of here.’ He turned to the rest of the men. ‘I want every shield to the fore and every Knight in support. We need at least ten minutes to give the rest of them a chance to reach the ships, now, stand to your positions quickly before the battle is re-joined.’
‘Sire, a word,’ said a quiet voice and Tarian turned to see Sir Crispin nearby.
‘What is it, Crispin?’ asked Tarian.
‘My Lord, your words are brave but we both know that the men who remain in the wall are doomed to die where they stand.’
‘Perhaps so,’ said Tarian, ‘but my options are few. At least this way, half the patrol will live to continue the quest.’
‘And you?’
‘I will not be found wanting, Crispin. I will remain with my men.’
‘Sire, this quest is of your making and we can’t come this far to fall short. It is essential you stay alive to lead us onward.’
‘I will not condemn my men to die while I flee, Crispin, you of all men know this.’
‘And nor do I expect you to, Sire but there is another way.’
‘Explain.’
‘Sire, my men are from the best blood in wales and are fearless Knights. There is no way we can climb this crag in our armour and even if it is discarded, we won’t leave our mounts to be slaughtered for meat.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘Use us as we are meant to be used,’ said Crispin. ‘Unleash us in the face of the enemy and use the time to lead the rest of the column to safety.’
‘What about the Lancers?’
‘They have no obligation to the code and are free to join you in your flight.’
Tarian stared at the Knight he had known most of his life.
‘Crispin, there is no doubt in my mind that you are the bravest man I know and I am sure you will strike fear amongst the very heart of them but even you know you cannot prevail against such numbers.’
‘Perhaps not but I swear there will be a lot of Apalach widows before the last of my men fall.’
‘I will not sacrifice you for my own safety.’
‘Then sacrifice us for the success of this mission and the ultimate freedom of Wales,’ said Crispin. ‘Before this day is out I will either kneel before my lord in heaven alongside my fellows knowing the quest continues, or I will kneel before him alongside a hundred comrades knowing we died in vain. Grant me the former, I beseech thee.’
Tarian stayed quiet before realising the Knight was correct.
‘Crispin,’ he said eventually, ‘if this mission achieves the success God demands, I will ensure the memory of you and your men is enshrined for eternity.’
‘Then I can ask no more,’ said Crispin and turned to organise his men.
Tarian returned to the men providing the shield wall.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘in a few moments, Sir Crispin will lead his command to glory. As soon as they clear our lines, you will discard your equipment and follow the archers up the cliff. Do not hesitate or pause to look back. They are giving their lives so you may live. Honour them by seizing the opportunity.’
Within minutes the sound of horses hooves came from behind the boulders and Sir Crispin came into site aboard his magnificent charger, accompanied by his Knights and the full compliment of Lancers. To a man, they had volunteered to support the Knights in their task. Crispin had donned a tabard emblazoned with his house emblem over his ar
mour and the visor was lifted on his pointed helm. He looked down at his leader.
‘We are ready, Tarian,’ he said.
‘Then I pray God go with you, Sir Crispin,’ came the answer. He paused a moment more before giving the order. ‘Open the lines.’
The wall of shields swung back against the rocks and Sir Crispin stood up in his stirrups to address his men.
‘Knights of Cymru,’ he shouted, ‘it has been my privilege to serve alongside you but the day for which we were born lies before us. Honour now your name, your code and almighty God.’
He drew his sword from its scabbard and held it high above his head.
‘For honour, for country, for freedom,’ he roared and as fourty armoured horsemen echoed his cry, he galloped his charger through the defensive line to meet his destiny.
----
Chapter Seventeen
North Wales
1276
Garyn and Tom took longer than expected to travel through Mid-wales, taking the lesser known paths through the hills rather than the better travelled routes preferred by patrols of the King’s men. The weather was breaking at last and they knew they were approaching the lands of Gwyneth, the stronghold of Llewellyn. Finally they rode down from a rain lashed hill and headed toward a tiny village at the side of a river. An aged man shepherded a small flock of sheep toward a walled fold and Garyn called out as he passed.
‘Hail friend,’ he said, ‘what village lies before us?’
‘Mynydd-du,’ said the shepherd.
‘Is it a friendly place?’ asked Garyn.
‘That depends,’ said the shepherd.
‘On what?’
‘On which side of the marches your loyalty lies, Llewellyn’s or Henry’s son.’
‘Our fealty lies with the Welsh Prince,’ said Garyn.
