Medieval III - Sword of Liberty

by Kevin Ashman

  As soon as the castle was empty, Cynan sent in a group of soldiers with strict instructions. Within the hour they returned with the news he sought.

  ‘Well?’ said Cynan quietly to one of the men, ‘did you find him?’

  ‘Sire, there was indeed an old man in a cell along with the tools of a mason but he was dead and has been for a long time.’

  ‘I feared as much,’ said Cynan, ‘return to your unit.’

  As the men walked away, Robert Byrd approached.

  ‘Sire, it is over, the castle awaits.’

  ‘Let it wait, Robert,’ said Cynan, ‘our road lies elsewhere.’

  ‘Are you not going in?’

  ‘No,’ said Cynan, ‘leave it to the crows and the rats. There is nothing there for us except disease and destruction.’

  ‘But Sire, you have besieged this place for weeks. Surely you want to survey your prize?’

  Cynan turned to Robert.

  ‘You still don’t understand, Robert, this was never about stone and mortar, it was the fact that it was never theirs in the first place. Let it fall into ruin for I have no use for such monoliths. My aim is toward a Wales where such things have no place. What use is a castle in a land where all men are free?’

  ‘So what next?’ asked Robert.

  ‘Next we march northward,’ said Cynan, ‘and test the resolve of Longshanks. The country is awakening, Robert and we can no longer control the beast within. This is but the first step and the flame of freedom is kindled, soon it will rage as does a forest fire.’

  ----

  Chapter Nineteen

  Caernarvon

  Garyn and Derwyn neared the outskirts of Caernarfon on the northern road and were surprised to see so many people heading in the opposite direction. Finally Garyn reined in his horse and addressed an old man on a mule being led by a young woman.

  ‘Hold, stranger,’ said Garyn, ‘why pray do so many people fill the road?’

  ‘Have you not heard?’ asked the old man, ‘Caernarfon is under siege from the usurper, Madog. His troops run riot in all the surrounding area and if you have an ounce of English blood in your veins then I suggest you do the same.’

  ‘Madog has attacked Caernarfon?’ asked Derwyn in astonishment, ‘surely the castle is impregnable.’

  ‘The castle still stands,’ said the old man, ‘but the town walls seem destined to fall at any hour. Already there is more rubble than standing stones and the houses within are ablaze from the fire pots of the siege machines. Do yourself a favour, friend, turn and ride back whence you came. I fear this area holds nought but pain and death for any traveller not allied to Madog.’

  ‘Thank you, old man,’ said Derwyn, ‘but we have one more question. We hear tell of an old fort in these parts, a ruin that was once a stronghold of a race of people called the Romans in centuries past. Do you know of this place?’

  ‘There is such a fortress,’ said the old man, ‘and it is named as Segontium. The stone walls have long disappeared but it is still held in reverence by many locals. It is said the ghosts of the legions are often heard marching on stormy nights.’

  ‘That may be the case,’ said Derwyn, ‘but we will see for ourselves. Where can we find this fort?’

  ‘You would do well to stay away for it is sits upon a hill within sight of the castle itself. Like I said, the place is now a maelstrom of fighting and both sides offer no quarter. I fear travellers such as yourselves will be given short thrift by either side should you be captured.’

  ‘Thank you for your concern,’ said Garyn, ‘and I hope you reach the safety you seek.’

  The two men spurred their horses and rode against the tide of refugees toward Caernarfon. Within the hour they broke free of the mountains and could see the coast in the distance. Looming high above the landscape were the angled towers of Caernarfon Castle and above them, clouds of black smoke pouring from the burning town.

  ‘It would seem the young Prince is a man of little patience,’ said Garyn.

  ‘Should we join him?’

  ‘No, our goal is still the Roman fort.’

  ‘Garyn, you heard the man, there are men at arms everywhere and in my experience, when the blood is raised such men take little time to listen to the explanation of strangers. Should we run into them we cannot explain our presence and we will probably be robbed of our possessions and hung as English spies.’

  ‘We haven’t come this far to stop now,’ said Garyn. ‘We will ride as far as we are able today and lay up in whatever cover we can. Once we know the exact location of the fort, we will wait until dark before getting in close. At least that way, if we are discovered we can use the night as a cloak.’

  ‘So be it,’ said Derwyn and they spurred their mounts toward the smoke filled horizon.

  ----

  ‘Geraint,’ roared Tarian, ‘ready your men. I expect the wall to be breached within the hour.’

  ‘They already chomp at the bit, Tarian,’ shouted Geraint, ‘and just await the command.’ He looked across the field to the city walls. The twin round towers of the eastern gate were still standing though the battlements were damaged beyond all recognition. Behind the walls, fires raged throughout the town as thatched roofs and timber buildings fell victim to the constant hail of fire pots from the trebuchets. Before him, lines of Welsh infantry waited patiently just out of range of the archers upon the town walls but everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the final assault was launched.

  Geraint looked toward the wall to the left of the eastern gate, the main focus of the assault. Six Mangonels had pummelled the structure since dawn and despite the defenders’ desperate attempts to reinforce any damage with timbers, their task proved fruitless and slowly the breach widened. The Mangonel operators lowered their aim and the constant barrage of boulders started to pound the base of the already weakened walls. The attackers held their breath, waiting for the inevitable collapse for when it came, they knew they would be sent through the breach and into the town itself.

  ‘There it goes,’ screamed a man and thousands of voices cheered as the whole section collapsed before them, leaving a breach almost thirty paces wide.

  ‘Mangonels,’ shouted Geraint, ‘change the shot.’

  The Mangonel operators quickly changed their choice of missiles from boulders to fire pots and aimed them through the breach, for although there was little there to burn, the constant rain of liquid fire meant that any defenders were denied the opportunity to form up in a disciplined defensive line.

  ‘Sergeants at arms,’ shouted Tarian, ‘gather your men and look to your weapons. Upon my command we will take the wall and the town beyond. Do not pause at the breach but forge forward while the enemy is still in disarray. Secure a line before the fort walls but beware the civilians for there are nought but English dwelling within the town. Each one is treacherous and will stick you like a pig given half a chance.’

  He looked around and drew his sword.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he roared.

  The throats of a thousand men answered his call.

  ‘Then for God, for Madog and for Wales, advaaance.’

  The first thousand men ran down the shallow slope toward the breach, screaming their aggression toward the few defenders still on the town walls. For a few moments the English remained but the futility of their position soon became obvious and as one, they left their positions and raced back to the safety of the castle.

  Within minutes the Welsh horde poured through the breach and as most spread out to take the town, some turned their attention to the towered gate house, killing the defenders and swinging the giant wooden gates inward to allow the remaining forces into the fortified town.

  Caernarfon was quickly overrun and though Madog voiced his disquiet about the actions of some of the army, he held his counsel, knowing full well that to interfere with the raised blood of a soldier during battle courted nothing but trouble.

  ‘Sire, leave them be,’ said Tarian, ‘they have suffered
enough at the hands of the English over the years, it is only fair that the invader now feels some of that pain in return.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Madog. ‘Arrange for the Mangonels to be brought forward and positioned before the palisade wall at the castle. I also want the trebuchets to create havoc within the fortress before we breach the walls, especially the towers guarding the palisade. ‘

  ‘Of course, Sire,’ said Geraint and sent a messenger back to the master of Trebuchets.

  The three men walked through the burning town, seeing the devastation their siege had brought. All around them, armed men wreaked their pent up frustration against the English population and many civilians died needlessly at the hands of rabid Welshmen. Women were dragged into any buildings still standing and many brutally raped before being put to the sword. Men, women and children were all equal targets and before the day was done, hundreds lay dead in pools of blood. During it all, the faces of Edward’s soldiers could be seen high on the castle walls, each peering down in horror yet unable to do anything to stop the slaughter.

  ‘Look at them,’ snarled Madog, ‘they hide behind their stone walls as their people feed the dogs of war. You would think they would ride out and face us as men.’

  ‘They are outnumbered twenty to one, Sire,’ said Tarian, ‘and they know their only hope is to defend the castle walls.’

  ‘A futile hope,’ said Madog. ‘How long before our siege engines are in place?

  ‘A few hours,’ said Tarian.’

  ‘Good. Once we are ready, rein in our men. The town is all but destroyed but the bigger prize awaits. Our focus must now fall on the castle and tomorrow we must be within its walls or this day will have been in vain.’

  Before Tarian could answer, two soldiers dragged a struggling man across the blood stained square and threw him at the feet of Madog.

  ‘And who is this?’ asked the Prince.

  ‘Do you not recognise him, Sire?’ asked one of the soldiers.

  Madog placed the point of his blade under the chin of the man on the floor and forced him to look upward.

  ‘Well,’ said Madog eventually, ‘if it isn’t our old friend Roger du Puleston.’

  ‘And who might he be?’ asked Tarian.

  ‘He is no other than the Sheriff of Ynys Mon,’ said Madog, ‘a King’s man through and through and hated by every soul who ever lived under his jurisdiction.’

  ‘I have only ever carried out my orders,’ gasped the Sheriff. ‘Is this not a trait you demand of those who pay homage to you? Has the way of things become so distorted that allegiance is seen as a weakness amongst men of power?’

  ‘Allegiance is indeed an honourable thing, Puleston but your actions have inflicted more pain than the sum of all the men now ravaging the town around you. Children have seen their fathers hang and many starved to death as a result. Women have prostituted themselves when faced with their cries of hunger and yet been sent to the stocks for their troubles. Land has been confiscated in the name of the King and you have pursued every penny of unfair tax as if your life depended on it. Allegiance is one thing but brutality against your own people is another thing entirely.’

  ‘They are not my people and my role was to govern them in the name of the King. That is what I done.’

  ‘Indeed you did and I have no doubt the King was grateful for the full carts sent to his treasury but one of your roles is to also administer justice in the name of the people. They looked to you for the fair application of the law yet received persecution in return.’

  ‘I governed with a fair hand,’ shouted Puleston. ‘Yes I had to discipline those who trod outside the law but those who obeyed the decrees of Longshanks had nothing to fear. I was harsh, yet fair, a trait of all good leaders.’

  Madog pressed his sword harder against the Sherif’s throat, drawing a slight trickle of blood.

  ‘If you kill me,’ gasped Puleston, ‘Edward will have your head on a spike.’

  ‘I have no intention of killing you,’ said Madog, ‘I am going to hand you over to the very people you governed for it is they who had to deal with your edicts on a daily basis, not I. If you are seen as the fair man you claim to be then the people will have no problem releasing you. But that, Puleston, is down to them.’ He looked at the two soldiers standing either side of the Sheriff. ‘Give him to the people,’ he said, ‘his fate lies in their hands.’

  ‘You will hang for this,’ shouted the Sheriff as he was dragged away, ‘do you hear me, Madog? Longshanks will see you rot in hell before the spring arrives.’

  ----

  In the last few hours before nightfall, Madog’s army set up their besieging lines before the imposing walls of the castle. Foot soldiers took shelter where they could amongst the rubble while lines of fully armed pike men took turns to watch the drawbridge, alert against any potential counter attack. Madog, Geraint and Tarian took refuge against the rain in one of the few remaining buildings to withstand the attack.

  Inside the candle lit room, a group men lay sleeping on a floor littered with scrolls and parchments. Most of the men were fast asleep, exhausted from the day’s events but some sat quietly, seeing to their own personal needs. One was washing a wound on his arm while another picked away at a half loaf of bread. As the Prince entered, the man with the wound made to get up but Madog bid him stay.

  ‘Ease yourself, soldier,’ said Madog quietly, ‘there is room enough for all.’

  ‘Sire, we only sought shelter from the rain and a place to escape the cold. I can take my men elsewhere.’

  ‘There is no need,’ said Madog, ‘your need is greater than mine.’ He looked around the room.

  ‘What is this place?’

  ‘It is the exchequer,’ answered Geraint quietly, ‘the building where all the town’s records are kept.’

  Tarian opened one of the scrolls.

  ‘This is a detailed list of people who owe debt to the King’s office,’ he said.

  ‘Same here,’ said Geraint opening another.

  ‘This one details the taxes due from each man,’ said Madog studying a parchment on a table, ‘it even lists the recommended punishment for failure to pay.’ He threw it to one side. ‘So much for judgement by your fellow man.’

  The men walked slowly around the room, picking their way carefully between the sleeping soldiers.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Madog and all three men walked over to a framed document fixed to a wall. For a few seconds all read in silence before Madog answered his own question, ‘It’s the town charter,’ he said eventually, ‘setting out the legality of Caernarfon as a legal entity under the direct protection of the King. Under this document the occupants of Caernarfon are appointed burghers of the town and suffer fiefdom to no man other than Longshanks.’ He turned to face his comrades. ‘You know what that means?’ he asked, ‘it means that every serf who lives outside these city walls are beholding to those who dwell within and as the town’s population are made up entirely of English, that means Edward Longshanks, with a single signature has created an entire subclass of citizen based on nationality. The Welsh people who have farmed these lands for generations became lower in class than the camp followers who populated the town when Edward first invaded.’

  ‘It makes me sick to my stomach,’ said Tarian. ‘Shall I have it removed?’

  Madog turned to face the soldier sat tending his wounds.

  ‘Soldier,’ he said, ‘the night is indeed cold and I feel you would benefit from a fire.’

  ‘Indeed, Sire,’ said the soldier, ‘but anything worth burning has either already been fired or is wet from the rain.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Madog, ‘look around you for there is fuel enough for the longest night.’

  ‘You would have me burn the parchments, Sire?’

  ‘They are now of a different time and are no use to me.’ He reached up and tore the framed Charter from the wall. ‘Start with this,’ he said throwing the document across the room and then use whatever you ne
ed to secure the comfort of your men. Burn the scrolls, soldier, burn them all.’

  ----

  Chapter Twenty

  The Roman Fort of Segontium

  Less than a mile away, on a hill above the castle, two men crept through a deserted settlement of wooden houses. Most of the thatched roofs were missing and fires still smouldered amongst the timber ruins. The rain had abated and the clouds broken enough to see the occasional light of a full moon.

  It would seem Madog’s men were diligent in their task,’ whispered Derwyn, ‘the settlement is all but destroyed.’

  ‘No doubt one of many,’ said Garyn, ‘and though sad to see, such devastation is the tragic side effect of war. Walls must fall before they can be rebuilt.’

  ‘The fort must be somewhere near,’ said Derwyn, climbing over a fence, ‘I’m sure I just heard a marching legion.’

  ‘Keep such nonsense to yourself, Derwyn, I hold no faith in such things. Just keep walking for I see ruins in the distance.’

  Within minutes they passed the first of a series of small walls, each covered with the undergrowth of years but following a distinct pattern of straight lines.

  ‘This must be it,’ said Derwyn, ‘which way lies north?’

  Garyn stared at the sky for a few moments, waiting for the clouds to pass.

  ‘There,’ he said eventually, pointing to a far corner. The two men walked over to the taller walls and could see the remains of a more recent building standing higher than their shoulders.

  ‘This must be the old church,’ said Derwyn, ‘so we are in the right place.’

  ‘The mason said the tomb was before the altar,’ said Garyn, ‘so if the entrance is here, that means the altar would be at the far end.’ They walked across the weed strewn slabs until they reached the end of the paved walkway that once formed the aisle. ‘This is it,’ said Garyn, ‘it should be here somewhere. Look for a slab engraved with an eagle.’

  Both men dropped to their knees and drew their daggers to scrape away the grass and weeds. For an age they worked diligently, being soaked by the occasional shower of rain and soon Derwyn heard Garyn’s voice across the roofless ruin.