Medieval III - Sword of Liberty

by Kevin Ashman

  ‘So be it,’ said Godfrey and turned his horse to gallop back to the column.

  ‘I will prepare the scouts,’ said Orland, ‘we will lead the charge and take the edge off any immediate retaliation. The only position of strength is the church itself and it is important it’s secured before anyone has chance to rally there.’

  ‘No,’ said Fermbaud, ‘you will sit this one out. If this is to be the last offensive of this campaign then I will lead it myself.’

  ‘But what about the church?’

  ‘I will make it my personal goal to secure it in the King’s name.’

  ‘And the treasures?’

  ‘Are not of your concern. Now, get back to your business and mark out a route easily followed in the dark.’

  Orland stared at Fermbaud with interest. There was no doubt the Castellan was only interested in any spoils to be gained from the sacking of the church but it was also fascinating to see the soft man who had lived a life of leisure behind his castle walls developing a much harder edge. There may be hope for him after all.

  ‘So be it,’ he said.

  ----

  The following morning, almost two hundred of Fermbaud’s men crept along the edge of a river leading through the village, keeping their heads low so as not to be seen above the bank. At either end of the valley, twenty five Lancers waited for the signal to advance and close off any means of escape. At the head of one of the mounted groups, Fermbaud himself waited nervously on his horse. He wore his full armour and sweated heavily, even though the pre-dawn mist was chilling upon any exposed flesh.

  Eventually everyone was in place and all eyes looked eastward at the lightening sky. Finally Godfrey came back up the river and approached the Knight.

  ‘Sire, the men are in place and undiscovered, all we need is your command.’

  ‘Then we will wait no more,’ said Fermbaud. ‘Before this day is done, we will be well on the way home. Return to the men, Godfrey and upon the signal, let them loose.’

  ‘Aye, Sire,’ said Godfrey and returned to the river bank.

  Ten minutes later, Fermbaud turned to a man at his side.

  ‘Soldier, the hour is here, give the signal.’

  The foot soldier lifted a horn to his mouth and sent a deep haunting tone echoing around the valley. Fermbaud drew his sword and held it high.

  ‘To arms, men,’ he shouted ‘and show the mettle I know we share but let your hearts not be weakened by pleas for mercy for on this day there will be no quarter.’

  The twenty five lancers spurred their mounts forward while a mile downstream, the rest of the mounted men approached from the opposite direction. At the sound of the horn, Godfrey stood up from his crouched position below the river bank, as did the rest of the foot soldiers.

  ‘Men at arms,’ he called, ‘take this day as a reward for your service. Leave no man breathing and no building standing. Make no mistake, you are about to face men willing to fight to the death so we will do our utmost to provide them that outcome. Look to your weapons, men and show these peasants who really rules this country. For King and country, advaaance!’

  The line of infantry clambered up the riverbank and ran toward the houses. The need for secrecy was long gone and the sounds of their shouting ripped through the morning mist as they charged into the village.

  High on a hill above, Orland looked down with concern evident on his face.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said, ‘something is wrong.’

  ‘Sire?’ asked the man at his side.

  ‘There is no barking,’ said Orland as he watched the figures racing through the morning mist, ‘where are the village dogs?’

  ----

  Four men at arms ran toward the nearest building, a cottage with stone walls and a thatched roof sweeping down to meet the floor. The first man ran up and kicked hard at the door. To his surprise it swung in easily and they ran into the fire lit gloom.

  Immediately they headed for the sleeping figures in the beds expecting resistance at any second but nobody moved. The first man pulled back one of the sheepskin covers and stared confusedly at the rolled up sack of hay beneath.

  ‘There’s no one here,’ he said turning to his comrades.

  ‘Same here,’ said his fellow turning over an empty cot, ‘what’s going on?’

  The men returned outside and were joined by their comrades as similar scenes were revealed across the village.

  ----

  ‘Where are the treasures?’ roared Fermbaud, storming around the church, ‘that cursed Orland said there would be treasures.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said the man at his side, ‘the church is bare. How can this be?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ growled Fermbaud, ‘but I will hold Orland to account for this.’

  Behind him the church door crashed open and Godfrey ran in.

  ‘Sire,’ we are compromised, ‘the village is empty of all souls.’

  ‘What?’ gasped Fermbaud, ‘is there nobody here?’

  ‘None, sire. It looks like they knew we were coming and fled the village.’

  ‘I am being made a fool of,’ snarled Fermbaud, ‘and someone will pay the price.’

  ‘We should get out of here, Sire,’ said Godfrey, ‘it could be a trap.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Fermbaud, ‘assemble the column but fire the village first. At the very least they will know I have been here.’

  Godfrey ran back out of the church to organise the destruction.

  ----

  Within half an hour the village was ablaze and thick black smoke poured into the morning air. The column was reassembled ready to march out, two hundred infantry flanked by twenty five lancers on either side. Fermbaud mounted his horse and faced the ranks.

  ‘Men, it would seem we have been outwitted on this occasion but fret not for I swear you will have the opportunities I promised. The first village we come across on our journey home will suffer our wrath.’ He turned to his second in command. ‘Godfrey, bring up the rear, I will lead the column.’ He turned his horse and headed to the bridge, followed by his entire command.

  Fermbaud had gone no more than a thousand paces before he raised his hand to stop the patrol. Silently he stared at the scene before him and waited as Godfrey galloped forward, reining in his horse beside him.

  ‘Who is it?’ asked Godfrey, staring at the two Knights blocking their path.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Fermbaud, ‘but there’s only one way to find out. He spurred his horse gently and rode forward to meet the two men blocking the road astride their own chargers. Within moments Fermbaud and Godfrey faced the two unknown Knights face to face.

  One of the strangers was clad in a black hauberk, a lightweight shirt of chainmail hanging down to his thighs. Over it he wore a tabard emblazoned with a single red Lion, rampant upon a yellow shield background. The lightweight fighting armour was complimented with plated greaves upon his legs and a chain mail aventail hanging from his open faced bascinet. A shield hung from his saddle bearing a matching emblem and a sheathed sword hung at his side.

  ‘Sir, you block our path,’ said Fermbaud.

  ‘On the contrary, Sir,’ said the opposing Knight, ‘it is you who block our path for we would return to our village.’

  ‘And who is it I address?’ asked Fermbaud.

  ‘’My name is Cynan Ap Maredudd,’ said the Knight, ‘and I am Lord of this place.’

  ‘And I am Nicholas Fermbaud, Castellan of Bristol castle,’ came the response.

  ‘I know who you are, Sire for your deeds this past month have travelled the breadth of this country faster than the swiftest steed. Pray tell what brings you and your army to our lands.’

  ‘I think you will find this land belongs to Edward and I am abroad on his business.’

  ‘To what end?’

  ‘Bringing a warning to those who would challenge his Kingship,’ snapped Fermbaud, ‘and to remind them that these lands fall under the rule of the English crown.’


  ‘The ownership of the soil beneath our feet is the subject of much discussion and has been for many generations,’ said Cynan, ‘but perhaps that is a conversation for another time.’

  ‘Your words border dangerously close to treason, Sir Knight,’ said Fermbaud, ‘and I suggest you choose them carefully.’

  ‘In my own lands my words will be delivered in whichever way I wish.’

  ‘This is not your land,’ said Fermbaud, ‘it belongs to the King.’

  ‘These Cantrefs belong to the families of Gwynedd,’ answered Cynan, ‘and no matter what brutality you may inflict on those unable to defend themselves, I know of no man hereabouts who has bent his knee to Longshanks.’

  ‘I warn you for the last time,’ snarled Fermbaud, ‘guard your words or you will force me to defend my monarch’s honour.’

  Cynan paused and looked at the black smoke bellowing from the burning village behind the column.

  ‘The King’s honour,’ he sneered, ‘is this the deed of an honourable King?’

  ‘And what is it to you? Do you own this village?’

  ‘I am Lord of many such villages in these parts so take an interest in such things.’

  ‘We had cause to exact the King’s retribution on the people here.’

  ‘Retribution for what, exactly?’ asked Cynan.

  ‘For treason against the crown.’

  ‘And do you have examples of this treason?’

  ‘They were heard talking openly of rebellion. This village harboured traitors.’

  ‘Is not one man’s traitor another man’s liberator?’

  Fermbaud fell silent and the two men stared at each other for several moments.

  ‘I sense your discourse is intended to raise my Ire, Sir and will joust no further. Now, get out of the way for our path lies beyond.’

  ‘This path is not yours,’ said Cynan, ‘it belongs to the Princes of Wales. If you want to use it, there will be a toll to be paid.’

  ‘I will pay no toll,’ growled Fermbaud, ‘and demand for the last time, remove yourself from my path or suffer the consequences.’

  ‘On the contrary, Sir,’ said Cynan, ‘there will indeed be a toll but whether that is paid in gold or blood, only you can decide.’

  ‘Your impertinence astounds me, Sir,’ shouted Fermbaud and I will suffer it no more.’ He drew his word and ten lancers galloped forward but Cynan did not move.

  ‘You had your chance, Fermbaud,’ said Cynan, ‘and could have been back between the walls of your fancy castle within days.’ He lifted his arm and hundreds of armed men rose from the long grass on either side of the road.

  Fermbaud looked around in astonishment, but his anger outweighed his sense.

  ‘You dare to challenge the King’s messenger?’ he roared, ‘how dare you?’

  ‘Sire we are heavily outnumbered,’ said Godfrey, ‘I suggest we seek terms.’

  ‘I will do what I will,’ shouted Fermbaud and stared at Cynan once more. ‘I offer you one last chance, Welshman, get out of my way.’

  ‘I can’t do that, ‘said Cynan ‘so I will make a counter offer. Meet me on the field of combat, man to man as champions of our respective claims. Do this and only one man needs die this day.’

  ‘I do not recognise your claim,’ spat Fermbaud, ‘and will not lower myself to the challenge of a lesser man.’

  ‘Then prepare your men, Sir Fermbaud for if you are to take this road, then it will have to be over the corpses of myself and my men.’

  ‘So be it,’ said Fermbaud and turned to Godfrey. ‘To arms, Godfrey, the men will yet have their day.’

  Cynan turned to ride back toward his own men and gave a signal. Each flank ran inward to form a line three deep across the valley, presenting a wall of lances and pikes. Fermbaud rode back to his own forces, the lines now also deploying to face the enemy to their front.

  ‘They outnumber us two to one,’ said Godfrey, ‘it will be a hard fight.’

  ‘They have no horsemen, Godfrey,’ said Fermbaud leaning down to receive his shield from his squire, ‘and each of our lancers is worth ten infantry men. ‘Our Lancers will lead the charge and shatter their lines. As soon as they do, attack their left flank only. The rest of his men will be too busy engaging the lancers leaving an equal fight on the left. Don’t forget, our men are well blooded and are more than a match for these peasants.’

  ‘I hope you are right, Sire,’ said Godfrey and galloped away to join his command

  ----

  Cynan reined in his horse in front of his own lines and dismounted. A squire climbed into the saddle and galloped the Knight’s horse away to safety.

  ‘William, you know what to do,’ shouted Cynan as he secured his helm strap.

  ‘We are ready Sire,’ answered a Sergeant in arms, ‘let them come.’

  Cynan stared across the field to the deploying enemy.

  ‘They see us as underlings,’ he called, ‘nothing more than servants in our own lands. Well today it stops and we will send Edward a message he cannot ignore.’ He raised his voice so Fermbaud could hear him across the open ground. ‘Do you hear me Englishman, I challenge your false King’s right to this country and swear by all that is holy we will wrest his crown from him, alive or dead.’

  ‘Defend yourself, Welshman,’ roared Fermbaud, ‘for this day will be the last you see of these cursed lands.’ He turned to his own command. ‘Men of England, today we earn our bread, wipe this filth from our path and return to our King in triumph.’ He raised his sword high in the air. ‘For Edward and England, advaaance.’

  The fifty horses, already skittish in the excited atmosphere needed no more urging than the shouts of the lancers and lurched into a gallop across the open field. At fifty yards the riders lowered their lances parallel to the ground and leaned forward to anticipate the impact.

  ‘Ready yourselves,’ called Cynan as they neared the Welsh lines, ‘steady… steady… Now!’

  In one smooth motion the solid line of Welshmen split in the centre and ran toward either flank leaving a gaping hole in their ranks. The unexpected manoeuvre caused confusion in the charging lancers and many swerved to either side, effectively splitting their strength.

  ‘Deploy the archers,’ roared Cynan and as if from nowhere, two hundred crossbow men emerged from a fold in the ground behind Cynan’s lines.

  ‘Take the horses,’ roared William, the sergeant in arms commanding the archers, ‘release.’

  Two hundred metal tipped bolts flew through toward the lancers and within seconds, thirty of the horses fell to the ground, many screaming in agony as the bolts drove deep into their innards. Men were thrown to the ground at full gallop with many incurring serious injuries. Those who were still able, staggered to their feet, confused at what had just happened but before they could gather their thoughts or retreat to the perceived safety of their own lines, the second volley cut them down along with the rest of the horses who had escaped the first barrage. The whole thing was over in less than a minute and Fermbaud’s infantry watched in horror as their most potent strike force was wiped out with not a single casualty sustained by the enemy.

  ‘Reform,’ shouted Cynan and his lines closed once again. Apart from the snorts of dying horses and the groans of wounded men, the battlefield fell silent.

  ‘I am insulted you saw us as mere striplings, Fermbaud,’ he shouted, ‘I am a Knight of Llewellyn and these men defend what is rightfully theirs.’ He drew his sword and held it high. ‘Men of Wales, the time has come to rid the lands of our fathers of the English invader. There will be many days like this but it begins with this one. Account yourselves worthy of freemen for that is the prize before us.’ He lowered his sword toward the enemy. ‘For Wales and Freedom, advaaance.’

  The Welsh lines marched line abreast across the field, picking up pace as they went.

  ‘Sire, we are undone,’ shouted Godfrey, ‘we must take to the hills.’

  ‘I will not flee this man,’ roared Fermbaud, ‘and if I die th
is day it will be serving my King. He turned to his own lines, ‘Men of England,’ he called, ‘advaaance.’

  The English lines walked forward to meet the oncoming enemy, their own pace increasing as they went. Weapons were banged on shields by both sides raising the blood in their veins and within seconds, the insults and shouts of self-encouragement soared to screams of aggression as the armies broke into a run, racing toward the conflict.

  ----

  Up above in the treeline, Orland stared down in horror.

  ‘My Lord, should we not go to his aid?’ asked one of his men.

  ‘I do not fear death, Gesham, but will not throw my life down for a useless cause. That man has written his own death warrant and should have sought terms as soon as he saw the size of the enemy. There are always other days for retribution and all he has done is give these Welshmen a petty battle to celebrate.’

  ‘Perhaps he will surprise us and give a good account of himself,’ said Gesham.

  ‘It matters not,’ said Orland, ‘for this Welsh Knight is playing games with the Castellan.’ He nodded toward a hill on the opposite side of the valley and his comrade could see a huge column of riders passing over the brow.

  ‘There are more infantry massed at the end of the valley,’ said another voice quietly and both men looked downstream to see over five hundred men at arms, standing silently in ranks in case they were needed.

  ‘This is not a petty Lord with ideas of Grandeur, Gresham, but a well-equipped army preparing for campaign.’

  ‘Then the day is already lost,’ said Gesham.

  ‘It is,’ said Orland, ‘and we need to leave this place.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we lay low in case there are survivors who need our help?’

  ‘Fermbaud chose his own fate and nothing we do will change it, besides, Edward needs to know of this as soon as possible or his very Kingship may be at risk.’

  ‘So be it,’ said Gesham and the scouts turned their horses back into the treeline to join their comrades. Within moments they were through the forest and galloping as fast as they could away from Mynydd Fach, leaving the ill-fated Castellan and his doomed command behind them.