Lord Edward's Archer

by Griff Hosker

  LORD EDWARD’S ARCHER

  Griff Hosker

  © Griff Hosker

  Griff Hosker has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in 2019 by Endeavour Quill Ltd.

  Endeavour Quill is an imprint of Endeavour Media Ltd.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Historical Notes

  Prologue

  The Welsh border during the reign of Henry III

  “Gruffyd, watch the horses!”

  I nodded. I was the youngest archer in the company. I had seen more than seventeen summers, or so I had been told, but I was still a new archer. I was the one designated for every task deemed to be unworthy of the older archers. I was also the youngest warrior, and so the sergeants at arms also put upon me. My father warned me that this would happen. He said it was inevitable and would make both a man and an archer of me. My father had been an archer. He had served King Henry, the son of King John, and he had prepared me for such things. He had told me to watch and to learn. He had told me to keep my head down. I listened to my father. He was not only my father; he had been a captain of archers and men had deferred to him.

  We served in a border castle. We guarded Chester against the Welsh. We had left Denbigh eight days since and crossed into the area controlled by the Welsh. Baron Henry of Clwyd was Norman and wanted both cattle and captives. He was running short of money. He was not with us and remained in the castle; his lordship rarely came to raid or to war. He had good men to do that for him. The baron enjoyed hunting and wenching. I had been told that he had fought. That had been many years since. Now he sent us to do his fighting for him.

  There were twenty-five of us: ten archers and fifteen sergeants at arms. We were led by Hugh of Rhuddlan. He was a grizzled greybeard who had fought as a sword for hire until he tired of lords dying and failing to pay him. He was Welsh, but he fought for pay, not honour. He would fight any foe so long as he was paid. He had chosen Sir Henry. Sir Henry was not warlike, and it suited him to pay Hugh to do his fighting for him. Hugh ruled us with an iron fist. He was the only one with a hauberk. The other men at arms had helmets and they had shields and swords, but Hugh of Rhuddlan was the one who looked like a warrior. Half of us were Welsh and the other half English; these were the borderlands. Disputed and debated land. We raided the Welsh and they raided us. My mother had been Welsh and my father half Welsh. It was said he was the bastard son of a Norman archer who came north with Henry FitzEmpress. Who knew the truth of such matters? My grandmother had died and kept the secret of his birth from him.

  I took the reins of the four horses we had brought and watched as the archers and men at arms made their way up the slope towards the hall. The Welsh lord who lived there, Iago ap Mordaf, was little better than a brigand. He stole from his neighbours as much as he stole from the English. He had many sons and brothers. They were more like a clan than anything; with thirty men and boys, he had warriors he could call upon. They lived in a rambling old hall with a single wooden tower. That was why Hugh of Rhuddlan had chosen this approach. He and the men were scrambling up the side of the stream. It was rocky and difficult to climb, but it had the advantage that the hall hid us from the tower, which watched the valley.

  I tied the reins to the branches of the willows which hung over the stream. I chose the thicker ones - I would be beaten if any of the horses broke free. That done, I strung my bow.

  This was my first raid. It was why I was guarding the horses and not protecting the sergeants like the other archers. Gerald One Arrow, my father, had drilled into me that an archer had to be ready at all times.

  While I was waiting, I chose my best arrow. My father had taught me how to fletch, and I had made all of my arrows. I had stained one of the goose feathers in each arrow red with cochineal. I used that to identify my own arrows and to help me aim. Some of the other archers did not fletch. They bought them from a fletcher. I was happier knowing that each arrow I used would be true. I chose the first one I had made, and I nocked it.

  Although young, I was large for my age. Most of my comrades were squat and broad. I was tall and powerful. Perhaps that was the mix of Norman and Welsh. However, I was able to move silently any time I chose.

  One of the horses raised her head and pricked her ears. That might have meant nothing. Horses can be sensitive creatures, but I was curious and I cocked an ear and listened. There was a noise. It was above me. I did not think it was our men. I sniffed the air. My father was a good huntsman - he had taught me to use my nose. I smelled sweat, and I smelled mutton fat. There were Welshmen, and they were above me. I used the rocks to step silently up the bank. Further up lay ferns and bracken. I would be able to use those for cover. My brown leather jerkin was old and dull, it would blend in. My face, also, was tanned and not white. I was rarely indoors.

  As I neared the top, I dropped to my knees. As much as I wanted to be able to send an arrow at any Welshmen I spied, I needed to know their numbers and their position. I had seen the footprints in the mud by the side of the stream when we had ascended. I had been suspicious, but as no one else had said anything I had remained silent. I now saw that had been a mistake. The Welshmen had been waiting for us. They were going to turn the ambush around.

  I lifted my head above the bracken and edged forward. It was not easy, holding a nocked arrow and a bow. Forty paces from me, I saw the line of twenty Welshmen, crouched and ready to strike. Some had helmets and some had shields. All held a weapon. I was relieved to see that none of them held bows. I could not see our men. I guessed they were edging towards the hall. Should I shout to warn them? Would I be punished by Hugh of Rhuddlan if I did so? My decision was made for me as I saw one of the Welshmen, with a helmet, a shield and a war axe, stand and raise his arm. They were going to attack.

  I stood and brought my bow up in one swift motion. I drew back the string. I had trained for ten years, and it was as natural an action as scratching my ear. I aimed at the leader. As my arrow flew, straight and true, I heard him begin to shout. I was drawing and nocking another arrow as he fell dead. Fortune favoured me, or perhaps it was God, for the men looked, not at me, but at their dead leader. I sent another arrow at the man next to him. Then they saw me.

  From behind them I heard a shout and the clash of metal. I drew another arrow and, as four of them ran at me, I sent it towards the nearest man. It hit him in the chest. This was a test. How fast could I nock and release? There were three of them now. My next arrow hit one in the throat. Two remained, but they were just ten paces from me. The next Welshman to die was so close to me that I could smell his breath. My arrow went through his screaming mouth and out of the back of his head. It was his body that saved me, for the last of the men could not get at me directly. I flung aside the bow and pushed the dying man at the Welshman with the sword and shield. As he fell, I took my dagger from my left boot and grabbed the sword which had fallen from the last man I had slain. I knew how to use a war bow. A sword was a different matter.

  The Welshman grinned. “Boy, I am going to hamstring you first and then have my fun with you! You have killed my brother and you will pay. Your man–sacks will adorn my wall!”

  There was a temptation to shout somethin
g back at him, but I was terrified. He was my size. He had a leather helmet and a long sword. His round shield had a boss. I would have no chance against him. My father had taught me to look for weaknesses. That applied to animals when hunting, or men when killing. This man was overconfident. He came towards me and I backed through the bracken. He laughed and swung his sword at my head. My descending the slope meant he was above me. I jerked my head back. The sword seemed to hum as it whipped past my face. I knew that if I looked down I was dead. I had to move slowly and feel each footstep before I took it.

  Behind him I could hear the battle raging. I had my own battle here on this slippery slope which lead to the stream and the horses. Fate took a hand and my left leg slipped on a rock. The Welshman saw his chance and he raised his sword. Even as I hit the ground I saw the blade coming for me. I am no swordsman, but I am strong. To me the sword was just an iron bar. I held mine above me and the Welshman’s sword rang into it. He looked surprised, for he had not beaten me down. I lifted my dagger and rammed it into his foot. He screamed and made the mistake of pulling his injured foot back; my dagger was embedded in the earth from the strength of my blow . He tore my dagger through his foot. Blood spurted. As he fell backwards, I jumped to my feet and brought the iron bar that was my sword across his head. The skull split and I saw brains within.

  I put my dagger back in my boot and rammed the sword into my belt. I ran up the slope. At the top, I picked up my bow and I ran past the dead men I had killed. When I reached the flat ground, I saw that the battle was finely balanced. I drew an arrow. Even as I aimed at one of the two Welshmen fighting Hugh of Rhuddlan, I wondered why our archers were not doing as I was. My arrow hit one of the Welshman in the back. I saw the other glance to the side, and, in that moment, Hugh of Rhuddlan slashed him across the middle with his own sword.

  I nocked another arrow and saw that seven of my comrades, archers all, lay dead or dying. The other three were having to use their short swords. I aimed at the men the three archers were fighting. As my arrow took the first one, I saw Ralph raise his arm in acknowledgement as he grabbed the bow which lay on the ground. He ran to me. I took another arrow and aimed at the massive Welshman who looked as though he was about to smash his war hammer into Harry Warbow’s head. My arrow went through his neck. It did not kill him immediately. He seemed frozen. Harry took his sword and hacked it down on the Welshman’s skull. He picked up his bow, and he too ran to me. Even as I took another arrow to help David ap Llewellyn, the Welshman he was fighting skewered him.

  Now that Ralph and Harry joined me we had three bows. I sent another arrow into the man who had slain David. I heard Hugh of Rhuddlan shout, “Shield wall!”

  Suddenly Harry fell with an arrow in his leg. They had archers. I reached for an arrow as Ralph sent one towards the archer who was in the tower of the hall. I nocked the arrow and aimed at a head I could see peering out from the tower. Even while my arrow was in the air, I saw the head rise and a second archer raise his weapon. My arrow hit him in the chest and he plummeted to the ground.

  Ralph said, “I think that is the last of the archers. We have to help Hugh of Rhuddlan. He is outnumbered. How many arrows remain?”

  I looked in my quiver. “Eight.”

  “Then use them wisely.”

  Hugh of Rhuddlan had just seven men with him, and there were still thirteen Welshmen left alive. I saw one of the sergeants fall to a billhook. The Welshman hooked the sergeant’s shield and pulled it towards him. Then he rammed the pointed end into the sergeant’s throat. My arrow struck him in the shoulder. Ralph sent his next arrow into the thigh of the next Welshman, whose shield prevented a kill. As the Welshman faltered, I saw a gap between his helmet and his shoulder. My arrow went into the tiny space. It was now six against eleven. Suddenly, Ralph went down as though poleaxed. He appeared to have no wound, and then I saw the boy whirling his sling. I had an arrow nocked, and as I saw the sling release, I dropped to my knee and sent an arrow into the boy. A second boy ran towards me with his sling ready. I nocked and sent another arrow. I plucked him from the air. The two boys had seen fewer than ten summers.

  In the time it had taken me to kill the boys, we had lost another man at arms. I grabbed one of Ralph’s arrows and sent it into the back of a Welshman. I was now beginning to tire. I had to grit my teeth. I took another of Ralph’s arrows and ended the life of the Welshman with the axe, who was about to finish off John of Chester. The sergeant at arms lay on the ground. I had to get closer. I nocked an arrow as I ran. I made sure that I had stopped when I released. My arrow hit another Welshman in the side. I was fewer than twenty paces from him; I could not have missed. Some of these men had mail but that did not stop my arrows. I slew another two before Hugh of Rhuddlan killed Iago ap Mordaf. The five sergeants slaughtered the rest of the Welshmen. They did not give quarter. We had lost too many of our band for that.

  With one of my last arrows nocked, and watching for danger, I walked towards Hugh of Rhuddlan.

  “I thought I told you to watch those horses!”

  I turned to look at him. “Sorry, Sergeant!”

  He was grinning. “I will let you off just this once, but don’t make a habit of it, archer!”

  Ralph sat up. I thought he was dead, but he had a thick skull. He grinned at me when he saw the sword in my hand. “An archer with a sword! Who would have thought! I hope you killed that little bastard who hit me with the stone.”

  “I did!”

  “Good! For that, I shall buy you an ale.”

  We headed back to the castle, purses filled with the captured coins, the cattle, swine, grain and horses from the farm and with the war gear we had taken from the dead Welsh clan. We did not bother with slaves. Hugh was angry at having lost men, and the women and children had fled. The baron would be unhappy. The church now frowned upon the taking of slaves, but I knew that the women and the children who were left would struggle to survive the winter. Life was hard here in the borderlands.

  Chapter 1

  That one battle made me what I became. I was now not only an archer but also a warrior. It had been a costly raid our lord had sent us on, but it had shown me and the men with whom I fought that I could kill. It showed me that I could hold my own with archers such as Harry and Ralph. I was no longer the untried novice. I had used a sword to kill a man. I felt like a veteran. Even Hugh of Rhuddlan began to show me a little respect. I would still receive a cuff and a blow when I displeased him, but I had saved his life, and, for that at least, he was grateful.

  Life was not easy in the castle. We had sentry duty and archery practice. The only day we were not working was Sunday; at least one Sunday in four was allowed for ourselves. On that one Sunday in four we went to church and then had the afternoon off. On each of these Sundays I ran, after church, the twelve miles to my father’s smallholding. It was not a farm. He had a cottage garden which grew leeks and greens. He fished and he hunted. He gathered. I called him foolish, for he would often hunt, fish and gather in the land of the Welsh. We were just over the border. He had laughed at me and told me that he was too good a scout to be caught.

  He lived alone. My mother had me and then left when I was eight summers old. She ran off with a man purporting to be a doctor selling cures. My father was away, and in those days my grandmother lived with us. When my grandmother died, I lived alone when my father was on campaign. That was one reason he had left the service of the Earl of Chester. He wanted to raise me as an archer.

  I headed to his home. It was not far from the castle. I took the woodland way. The woods were his lordship’s personal hunting ground. My father’s home was in the land just beyond his lordship’s. I passed Ada’s cottage. Ada lived with her two sisters. All three of them were widows. Some said that they were witches. They were not. They were just three women who had outlived their husbands. With children fled the nest, they now had a comfortable life, raising goats and making cheese. They had offered to help my father, but he was an obstinate man. He liked hi
s isolated existence. However, each time I passed, I always bought some goat’s cheese and milk. Ada’s cheese was the best in the valley. She used some flavours and ingredients which were a secret. I knew that my father liked the taste.

  “How is he these days, Gammer Ada?”

  “The same as ever, young Gruffyd. I know why your mother left him. Some men cannot abide the company of women. Your father is one such. I think he spent too long at the wars.” She handed me the milk in the jug and the cheese wrapped in dock leaves. I gave her the silver pennies. “But I confess that I like him. He is independent. Still, you will not end like him. You could have any girl in the valley!”

  I blushed, “I have time enough for that, Gammer.”

  She smiled an enigmatic smile. “You will not end your life with a girl from this valley. There is greatness in your future.”

  Father was not in the hut when I arrived. He had chickens and fowls in a pen. There was a female goat he used for milk and butter. Inside the hut was a simple bed. There was a log he used as a table and two small logs for chairs. The hut was conical, and there was no chimney such as the great halls had. There was a fire, which he kept burning in the centre all year around. The smoke kept the wildlife from the thatch. It was a simple existence, but my father enjoyed it, or, at the very least, he did not complain.

  I had bought a flagon of ale from the alewife in the town, and I placed it on the table, along with the cheese and the milk. I would have two empty jugs to take back with me. I knew that he struggled to get bread so I had bought him a four-pound loaf. Even when it went stale he would still eat it. Stale bread in the broth he made each day was nourishing. It had been how I had lived while he was away. With little coin and the nearest bakers twelve miles away, bread became a luxury. There were wild greens and trapped animals which made healthy stews. To hunt game on a lord’s estate could result in death. A lenient lord could take a limb or a nose; perhaps an ear. I knew that my father risked such punishments, but he could outfox the gamekeepers used by Sir Henry. I too had been forced to poach on many occasions. I think it honed my skills as a hunter and a scout. I had learned to move silently and avoid those who hunted me.