by Kevin Ashman
‘Why wasn’t I told this?’
‘We did not want to worry you Sire and expected a column of supply wagons any day.’
‘But you knew our supply lines were under pressure?’
‘We thought it was nought but the actions of brigands and we had the situation under control.’
Fitzwalter stared at the men around him.
‘I am surrounded by imbeciles,’ he gasped. ‘This is a fighting castle of Edward, based in a hostile country. For many years we have been prepared to defend ourselves yet on the very day those preparations are needed, we are found wanting.’ He stood up and walked over to the cook. ‘It was your responsibility to secure the food for the garrison and you have fallen short. How am I supposed to tell my men they are to go hungry because of your incompetence?’
‘Sire, I will have my daily rations halved with immediate effect,’ said the cook, ‘as will my staff.’
‘There is no need,’ said the Castellan, ‘if there is no food to cook, there is no need for kitchen staff.’ Without warning, Fitzwalter produced a knife from his belt and plunged it upward into the cook’s stomach. The cook gasped and grasped both hands around the Castellan’s wrist, trying to pull the knife out but Fitzwalter pressed him back against the wall. ‘One less mouth to feed,’ said the Castellan as the cook slid down the wall. He turned around and stared at the men still in the room. ‘You,’ he said pointing at a nearby guard, ‘select two men from the kitchens. Task them with stretching out whatever food remains as long as possible. Sergeant, gather the rest and place them in the dungeon along with any other servants but allocate them no food for only men at arms will eat.’
‘Sire, they will surely starve within days.’
‘It is of no consequence, this path has been chosen by their countrymen and I will not lose a single moment’s sleep in remorse. In addition, every man is to be put on quarter rations with immediate effect. In the meantime, get me a man capable of descending one of the castle walls on a rope.’
‘To what end, Sire?’ asked the sergeant.
‘Task him with getting to Conway, they are well garrisoned. Tell them to bring reinforcements with all haste or we are at risk of losing these walls. We can last for a few weeks but after that, our fate is in the hands of God.’
‘Yes Sire,’ said the sergeant.
Fitzwalter turned to the rest of the men in the room.
‘Well,’ he shouted, ‘you all have positions to man, what are you waiting for?’
Within moments the room emptied as everyone ran to their stations. Fitzwalter sat back and stared around the empty room, his heart racing as the implications sunk in. Castell Du Bere, for the first time in generations was under siege.
----
Outside the castle walls the forces of Cynan were hard at work. Staying just out of range of the castle’s archers, men set up barriers against any unexpected charge from the castle gates. Branches were cut from trees and sharpened into spikes before being sunk into the ground to form lethal barriers facing the fortress. Temporary shelters were erected fifty paces apart as cover from the welsh weather and fire pits dug to provide heat and a method of cooking food for the besieging soldiers. Due to the narrow approach, the Welsh lines did not have to be very wide and it soon became clear that Castell du Bere’s strengths were also its weakness. There was no need to defend three of its walls due to the surrounding escarpment but similarly it left little option for a counter attack and allowed the attackers to concentrate their numbers on the main approaches.
Behind the attacker’s lines, Cynan’s men went from house to house in the village, demanding supplies and support for the army. Those faithful to Fitzwalter were also exposed and placed in hastily constructed stocks in the village square to be abused by those who had suffered at the hands of the English. Taverns were closed and the ale confiscated and every baker tasked with increasing the production of the village ovens. Riders galloped in every direction to demand support from farms near and far and within days, supplies poured into the village along with those men who had struggled long enough and now sought a share in the fight back.
Before the week was over, a timber palisade had been erected along the entire frontage of the castle and Cynan’s army had doubled in number. Camp fires dotted the approach slopes and though the army had increased, the constant stream of supplies ensured there was food enough for all. Behind the palisade, a workforce had dug into the slope and formed a level base with strong planks, ready to take the enormous trebuchet that had been constructed by Cynan’s engineers in the village.
Finally, Cynan himself walked along the palisade accompanied by his second in command, Robert Byrd.
‘You have done well, Robert,’ said Cynan. ‘The defences are sound and the men look ready.’
‘It has indeed gone well, Sire,’ said Robert.
‘Has there been any communication from the castle?’
‘None, Sire. It has been strangely silent.’
‘Is the trebuchet ready?’
‘It is Sire and it will be hauled up from the village this very night.’
‘What about load?’
‘There are over a dozen carts waiting in the valley,’ said Robert.
‘What have you collected?’
‘The usual filth from the farms, the corpses of rotting animals and even sacks of waste from the army’s latrines, all collected and bound into sacks.
Cynan grimaced in disgust.
‘Keep it away from the men until needed,’ he said, ‘we don’t want our own forces catching disease. Have you got the fire pots I sent?’
‘We have, Sire. Over a hundred have been made ready and await your command.’
‘Boulders?’
‘A constant supply from the rivers. We have pressed the villagers into labour to keep us supplied.’
‘Excellent,’ said Cynan, ‘I see no reason to wait. Once the trebuchet is in place, send over the boulders to break whatever we can within the walls and keep the bombardment up as long as the supply is maintained. At the very least they will be denied sleep and will seek shelter in the deeper rooms. At dawn tomorrow, replace the rocks with the fire pots for some of them will surely find broken wood to feed their flames but as soon as night falls, call up your carts of disease and send the contents over to lie amongst the rubble. I want the pressure maintained for though they have no chance of escape, there is always the possibility of a relief force from Longshanks. The quicker we can do this the better.’
‘Agreed, Sire.’
‘Good, said Cynan, ‘I’ll leave you to it, Robert, as soon as we are able, let the bombardment commence. I have to ride south for a few days, our assault on Builth nears a fortuitous conclusion and I would be there to take possession of the castle. It will send a message to the English like no other.’
‘Understood, Sire,’ said Robert, ‘and perchance, when you return our men will be encamped within Du Bere’s walls.’
‘We will see,’ said Cynan.
----
The following morning, the impressive trebuchet was in place and a line of carts queued on the track behind, each loaded with the enormous rocks capable of smashing a castle’s walls. Most of the army had gathered to see the first strikes from the siege engine. Robert climbed up on a rock so he could be seen all along the attacker’s lines.
‘Magister Tormentorum,’ he called formally, addressing the master engineer in charge of the trebuchet, ‘stand to your task and load the sling. A cask of ale to your team if the first shot lands within the walls at your first attempt.’
‘A prize easily ours,’ answered Master Reynolds, and turned to his team. ‘Load the sling,’ he shouted and four men rolled a giant rock off the back of a cart using long poles as levers. Reynolds ensured it was securely in place and then judged how high the counterweight needed to be to propel the stone over the walls. Using chalk as a marker he indicated the height on the vertical supporting beam. ‘Raise the weight,’ he shouted and behind him, two teams
of oxen were driven away from the siege engine, each straining on the ropes that would hoist the enormous counterweight up the supporting frame.
‘Hold,’ shouted Reynolds and an iron peg was inserted into the ratchet mechanism to hold the counterweight in place. ‘Release the oxen.’
The ropes were released from the counterweight and the Oxen taken to one side.
‘Ready?’ shouted Reynolds.
‘Ready,’ answered a muscular man stripped to the waist and wielding a large two handed hammer.
The Magister turned to Robert.
‘Upon your command, Sire and I wager this first rock will fall on the head of the Castellan himself.’
‘A confident boast,’ laughed Robert Byrd, ‘but perhaps an outcome not even I could hope for. He paused. Then if you are ready, Magister, let the bombardment commence.’
Master Reynolds turned to the trebuchet and his waiting team.
‘This is what we came to do, men,’ he shouted, ‘let’s show these peasants what real weapons can do. Release the widow maker.’
The half-naked man swung his hammer and knocked out the retaining spike from the ratchets releasing the counterweight. Immediately the box containing over ten ton of ballast fell downward, rotating the giant arm around the central pivot and launching the sling through the air. To a great roar of approval, the first rock sailed majestically through the air and over the castle walls to smash violently into one of the inner towers.
The Magister turned to Robert Byrd.
‘Can I ask the ale be served cold, Sire?’ he said.
‘Indeed it will, Magister,’ answered Robert in amazement, ‘indeed it will.’
----
Chapter Fifteen
The Road to North Wales.
Gerald of Essex rode alongside Hywel Ap Rhys, Liegeman of the Sheriff of Builth. Behind them they had a joint force of a hundred mounted men at arms. They had been in the saddle for just over a week and had neared the village of Dysynni before coming across a barricade manned by fifty archers and a sergeant in arms in charge of a hundred pike men.
‘Hold, stranger,’ shouted the sergeant. ‘State your name and your business or find your mounts felled from beneath you by a hail of arrows.’
‘Let me speak,’ said the Liegeman to Gerald quietly, ‘your accent could make this situation worse.’ He turned to face the soldier at the barricade. ‘I am Hywel Ap Rhys,’ he shouted, ‘and am engaged on the business of the Sheriff of Builth.’
‘What business may this be?’
‘We are en route to Dysynni to apprehend an outlaw named as Garyn Ap Thomas. It is believed he frequents the taverns there.’
‘There is nothing for you within the village,’ said the sergeant, ‘and I suggest you return from whence you came.’
‘I hear rumour of a siege,’ said Hywel, ‘and would ask is there truth in such tales?’
‘It is no secret the walls are besieged by My Lord Cynan,’ said the Sergeant, ‘and I would demand you declare your stance in such matters.’
‘We are freshly travelled from the south,’ said Hywel, ‘and know not the politics but I will say this. An attack on any fortress of Edward will not be taken lightly and Cynan will surely suffer the consequences.’
‘That is his worry, not yours,’ answered the sergeant, ‘but you avoid my question, Sir so I say again, declare your allegiance or I will have no option but to assume you hostile, especially bearing in mind the manner of your garb.’
Hywel thought furiously. The column was made up of both English and welsh but despite their strength, they were surrounded by archers and had little chance of victory in any fight.
‘Such clothing is easily obtained in Builth,’ he answered, ‘for as we know, the cursed English Lords in the south favour the merchants who sell such goods. I assure you that should our swords be needed, then our allegiance lies with Cynan.’
The Sergeant stared at the Liegeman before giving the signal for the archers to lower their bows.
‘I cannot judge the honesty of your statement,’ said the soldier, ‘but seek no confrontation this day so will take your word as true. I will, however deny you the road in case my judgement falls short and you are indeed here to offer succour to the castle.’
‘I can assure you we offer no such thing,’ said Hywel, ‘only to seek the whereabouts of the villain known as Garyn.’
‘I cannot help you in such matters but suggest you leave this place with all haste. Return to your manors and brace for war for it is surely a storm upon the horizon.’
‘I appreciate your understanding,’ said Hywel, ‘and will indeed retrace our steps. A good day to you Sir.’ The column turned and rode away, leaving the defenders staring after them.
‘That was close,’ hissed Hywel to Gerald, ‘If he had found out you were an English Castellan our days would have ended there and then.’
‘It doesn’t bode well,’ said Gerald, ‘and this place reeks of treachery. I suggest we take his advice and return home in case the war flows southward.’
‘Agreed,’ said Hywel and spurred his horse to a canter.
----
As darkness fell the column sought shelter for the night and soon found a suitable wood offering respite from the heavy showers.
‘It seems there is already an occupant,’ said Gerald, spying the light from a fire. ‘Let’s see if we can share the flames to warm some meat.’ Within minutes they entered a clearing and saw a small cart near a camp fire. Nearby stood a donkey, a monk and a young boy.
‘Greetings,’ called Hywel, ‘we are friends and seek shelter for the night. This wood is big enough for us all but my comrade and I would request a few minutes at your fire to warm our bones and perhaps cook a morsel or two.’
‘You are welcome, Sire,’ said the monk. ‘Please feel free to share whatever you need.’
Gerald and Hywel dismounted and tied their horses to a tree before approaching the fire. All around them, their men set up camp amongst the trees, setting up oiled leather tents against the weather.
‘I am Hywel Ap Rhys and this is Gerald,’ said the Liegeman. ‘With whom do we have the pleasure of sharing this clearing?’
‘I am Elias,’ said the man in a habit. ‘A freeman of Dysynni on crusade to Rome.’
Hywel stifled a laugh, the man was obviously a simpleton.
‘To Rome, you say,’ said Gerald, ‘and you hail from Dysynni. Surely that is only a day’s ride away, is this a freshly undertaken quest?’
‘Indeed it is, Sire,’ said Elias, ‘it is not two days since we left the village but there need be no undue haste.’
‘But surely you are aware there is war afoot?’
‘Indeed, but the mule is slow. We travel as fast as we dare.’
‘And who is this?’ asked Hywel turning to the boy.
‘A Frenchy given his liberty from the ships,’ answered Elias. ‘He travels alongside me as comrade with the aim of returning to his homeland.’
‘Given his liberty?’ said Hywel in surprise, ‘I hear that rigging monkeys are highly valued and it is unusual for such a boy to be given up so freely. Perhaps he is a runaway?’
‘Oh no, Sire he is as free as you or I, I swear it.’
‘Can you prove it?’ asked Hywel.
‘I have no document to prove such a thing but swear by God that his freedom was bought just three weeks ago in a trade with the ship master. I can also assure you the price was very fair and all parties were satisfied.’
‘Can I ask, what price was considered fair to release such a prize?’
‘Five gold coins,’ interrupted the boy, ‘the trade was fair and I am a free man.’
Silence fell and both Gerald and Hywel stared at Elias.
‘And how would you have five cold coins?’ asked Hywel coldly. ‘The way of a monk is a poor one.’
‘Alas I am no monk, Sire but just a freed servant. It was not I who paid the price, but a kind man who saw the injustice of a beaten boy and sought only justice.’
‘And who was this man?’
‘A stranger who was passing through,’ said Elias. ‘He never gave his name.’
‘Why would a stranger pay a fortune for a runaway boy and then hand him over to a servant?’ asked Gerald, ‘it doesn’t make sense.’
‘It does to me,’ said Hywel stepping forward and facing Elias. ‘I recognise you now for I saw you within the sanctuary at Dysynni. You served our quarry with his meal as I recall and he asked you many questions about the castle. I suspect it was this man who paid such a high price.’
‘I don’t know who you speak of,’ stuttered Elias, ‘I serve many such men.’
‘This one was different,’ said Hywel, ‘and he took a particular interest in you. Fret not, Monk for I already know his name but would hear it from your own mouth.’
‘I already said,’ stuttered Elias, ‘I am no monk and I know not his name.’
‘What was he called?’ asked Hywel stepping closer, ‘the man with the gold coins, I want to know his name.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Elias stepping backward.
‘Oh I think you do,’ said Hywel drawing a knife. ‘I also think that you will tell me in the next few heartbeats or feel my blade between your ribs.’
‘I don’t know,’ shouted Elias as he backed up against a tree, ‘I swear I don’t know his name.’
‘Wrong answer,’ said Hywel and placed his knife against Elias’s midriff, ‘last chance, false monk.’
‘Garyn,’ shouted Philippe in fear, ‘his name was Garyn and he had me climb the wall of the castle to get information, now let him go.’
Hywel stared at Gerald before returning his attention to the boy.
‘Tell me, boy, was this Garyn also known as an outlaw?’
‘I think so,’ said Philippe miserably, ‘but he was very kind to me. He saved my life.’
‘And what information did you find out on his behalf? Quickly now or both you and your friend here will be hung as traitors.’
Philippe glanced at Elias who nodded silently. Philippe spurted out what he knew as the two men listened in astonishment. When he was done, Gerald and Hywel walked away into the undergrowth to talk quietly together.
