The next morning, after breaking their fast on porridge and fresh fruit and obtaining provisions for a week from the commissary, they rode out over the wooden bridge over the River Dee and into Flintshire. The men were in full harness, wearing coats of mail and with helmets on heads and shields on shoulders, looking about themselves attentively. Even Owain and Leof had each been provided with a mail byrnie, helmet, shield and sword. Although Flintshire was not hostile territory, the path of the army was indeed clear to see. Perhaps there were no burnt farms or villages as yet, but the passage of a large number of men was obvious to the eye. The village of Buckley hadn’t been burnt, but a quick inspection of the tavern revealed that all food and drink had been requisitioned.
The land on the Welsh side of the border was sparsely populated, with few villages or farms. The fertile land in the river valley was heavily wooded with large stands of oak trees and tangled undergrowth. As they approached the hills to the west of Buckley they firstly met a number of horses carrying wounded men east, and then wagons carrying the more seriously injured. Close to the north could be seen a pall of smoke. Alan assumed this was, or had been, the village of Caerwys.
They came upon the army shortly afterwards in the first range of hills some ten miles west of Buckley and a little less than five miles from the village of Denbigh. The road proceeded down a narrow valley between the hills of the northern part of the Moel Famu, which acted as something of a watershed with streams running away both north and south down gullies cut by the ages through the hills. Both the valley and gullies were thick with vegetation, trees and bushes including gorse and bramble, with just a narrow defined track. In a small relatively clear area of valley were nearly a thousand men, mainly milling around with no apparent purpose or direction. A few small fires had been lit, around which men were sitting, some cooking food.
Alan stopped and asked one of the sentries for details of what had happened. Apparently, several hours before three groups of Welsh warriors had dashed out of the narrow side-valleys on their hill-ponies and attacked the middle of the Anglo-Norman column as it had moved ponderously forward, while at the same time men had appeared at close range from behind bushes, loosed half a dozen arrows each into the surprised invaders and then taken to their heels. The Welsh had come and gone in less than five minutes, leaving about 70 Normans dead or wounded. Alan looked at the sky and mused that unless the leaders got things moving soon the army would be stuck in the hills for the night, in a position that invited further attack as the dense vegetation and hilly terrain permitted stealthy approach at any time.
Alan instructed his men to dismount and eat, and rode towards the knot of men who were clearly the leadership group, although no banners flew. As he moved closer Alan could hear fitzOsbern shouting at a hapless underling. FitzOsbern glanced up to see who was approaching and gave up berating the poor man, who promptly took the opportunity to disappear. Still with a sour expression on his face, as Alan was dismounting fitzOsbern said, “Ho, Sir Alan! Well met! Hopefully now we’ll have somebody who knows what’s going on!”
“Good afternoon, Lord William,” replied Alan as he removed his helmet, pushed the mail coif back off his head and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his left leather gauntlet. “You seem to be having some difficulty.”
FitzOsbern snorted angrily, “The fucking Welsh won’t stand and fight! A little while ago there was a sneak attack on the column from both flanks at same time by men on horses, with the head of the column being hit by arrows coming out of nowhere- they’d let the vanguard go through unmolested. Now that prick, wherever he’s gone now, tells me that in the last hour we’ve lost three men standing sentry, throats cut or hit by arrows at close range!”
“Well, we did know that the Welsh are masters of ambush and raids, and avoid pitched battles against trained men. Unless caught unaware, they fight on their own terms, or not at all. Why didn’t your scouts find them?” asked Alan.
“We’ve stopped sending them out. This is the second day we’ve been on the move and we’ve sent scouts out each day. Hardly one returned- they just disappear. The men won’t go out anymore in less than troop strength. Also, our supply train is being attacked as they move west. We’ve got to put a strong guard on every damn wagon, but going east there’s no problem. I don’t understand it.”
Alan raised an eyebrow. Still this wasn’t his problem- fitzOsbern was an experienced campaigner, although clearly not in this type of campaign, and was being lavishly rewarded to be responsible for what was happening. Alan was just a minor lord here to do his forty days knight service. “Ah… presumably they prefer to spent their time attacking wagons full of supplies, rather than empty ones, or ones with wounded soldiers in them. The more wounded men in Chester, the more effort and resources have to be put into caring for them, and the greater the cost to their lords and England. Dead men require no effort or care, once they’re in the ground! If suitable, Lord William, I’ll take my men and join one of the cavalry squadrons. I think I saw the colours of Roger de Montgomerie’s men, although his lordship himself seems to be absent. I’d assume we’ll be moving soon, if we are to reach Denbigh by dark?”
Alan took fitzOsbern’s grunt of a reply as consent and returned to his men. Moving over to de Montgomerie’s men he found the man in charge of the squadron to be Guy de Craon, who held several manors near Shrewsbury. Guy was less than enthusiastic about having Englishmen in his command, the rest of whom were Normans, Flemings or French, but accepted that in Wales the English would be just as useful as his own men, despite their reputation as poor fighters ahorse, as a set-piece battle was very unlikely. Alan and Guy were very polite to each other, Alan being Guy’s social and political superior, but Guy being endowed with leadership by default due to the mantle of his powerful master.
The column started to move soon afterwards, with most of the men in the column trudging slowly on foot. Alan’s men, together with those of de Montgomerie, were on horseback about one-third of the way down the column. Even there it wasn’t safe. In the four miles to Denbigh the column was attacked twice more from ambush, arrows suddenly flying from close range into the densely-packed Anglo-Normans. The arrows flew for about two minutes, ten to twelve shafts for each Welsh bowman, and then as the Normans reacted and formed up the Welsh melted away into the trees.
“Fuck this shite for a lark!” shouted Edric in Anglo-Saxon English as he brought his sidling horse up alongside Alan, three arrows stuck in his kite-shaped shield. “These stupid Norman bastards are going to be the death of us all if we keep this up! I don’t mind getting a sword in the guts after I’ve cracked a few heads with my axe, but I’m buggered if I’m going to get an arrow in the back from a man I never see!” he roared in frustration.
Alan was shaking his head, trying to clear the ringing sound caused by receiving a glancing blow from an arrow on his helmet- a yard-long arrow thicker than a man’s thumb fired at close range packed a considerable punch. Two of de Montgomerie’s men were lying on the ground and not moving- injured or dead Alan couldn’t tell. His own men were uninjured, but one of their horses had been badly hit and would require to be put down. The rider was already securing the horse of one of the fallen Normans as a replacement mount.
They emerged from the narrow valley through the hills into the broad fertile valley of the Afon Clewyd. Denbigh lay about a mile and a half further on, over a ford through the river. Despite the thick vegetation in the valley there was no further attack as they approached the village.
Denbigh was totally abandoned. All livestock, down to the last chicken, had been removed. Every bale of hay and every sack of grain was gone. Only a few unpicked vegetables remained in the cottage gardens. Inside the roughly-made thatched cottages were only worthless bedding and easily replaced household items- pottery, basic furniture and the like. After scouring through the village some of the men dug through recently turned over soil near the cottages, looking for possible buried caches of coins or jewels, withou
t success.
William fitzOsbern was sitting on a bench at a roughly-made table in the manor Hall, Denbigh being the local commote village, talking forcefully with Bernard de Neufmarche, Guy de Craon, Aubrey Maubanc, Raoul Painel and Osmond Basset. Alan walked up quietly and took a seat, listening in to fitzOsbern giving the rough edge of his tongue to everybody.
After a few minutes he asked politely, “My Lord William, can you please explain to me the objectives of the expedition?”
FitzOsbern blinked in surprise. “Objectives? To punish the Welsh for last year’s invasion and make sure they don’t do it again, of course! I’ve been campaigning in South Wales for the last few months. Bleddyn and Rhiwallon of Powys attacked my town of Hereford, so I’m up here in the north attacking their own lands to see how they like it!”
“Shock and awe,” nodded Alan in understanding. “Godwin and Harold tried that, without any real success in their various campaigns. It didn’t work.” After a moment’s pause to carefully choose his words he continued, “But what is the immediate objective. What are we going to do in the next week? Do we know where we are going? Have we sent out scouts or obtained intelligence about the enemy? Could you show me on the map where we are bound next?”
FitzOsbern looked embarrassed and Alan asked with asperity, “You do have a map don’t you?”
“Not with me,” replied fitzOsbern. “I have one at my castle, but I’ve learned in the last few months not to trust that very much. I’ve got a couple of good local scouts.”
Alan beckoned Leof over, gave him whispered instructions and the youth hurried out to the tent that Alan’s men had erected on the village green. “While we’re waiting, what’s our supply position? You said earlier today that supplies aren’t getting through.”
Osmond Basset answered, as there was no fault to be levied against him. “We marched with each man carrying three days rations.”
“And tomorrow is the third day,” concluded Alan, at which the others nodded. Leof came hurrying back with a rolled piece of parchment. “A peculiarity of mine,” said Alan. “I like to know where I am and where I’m going. This is a very rough map, drawn by a Welshman who never lived hereabouts, but who did campaign here five years ago. Here’s Denbigh. Here’s Buckley, eighteen miles east, towards Chester. We can expect our supply wagons to be attacked for the whole of that distance. Chester’s a further ten miles east. Our options are to go south down the River Clwyd Valley to Ruthin. Why we’d do that, heading into the mountains, and what we’d do after that, I don’t know. But that is one direction we could go.
“We could head west, across open hill-land. Why, again I don’t know, because there’s fuck-all there. Or we can go north, up the Clwyd Valley to St Asaph and Rhuddlan. It’s about eight miles to St Asaph, then about three miles to Rhuddlan. Then the options are to move east to Prestatyn, or west to Betws and Abergele. Going west, we can continue through to the Afon Conwy, which near the coast has to be crossed by ferry. I’m sure we can expect the ferry to be tied up on the other side,” he concluded dryly. “That wouldn’t matter anyway, because in two days you’ve lost one in ten of your men and nearly run out of supplies. By the time we get we get to the River Conwy at the rate we’re going we wouldn’t have enough men left to mount a guard on a privy. Or we can head east, back to Chester with our tails between our legs, which is not something that would appeal to anybody and isn’t required just yet, but again is an option.
“Logically, that gives us one choice for our next move. North. Bleddyn is not stupid and will know that. After that we can head east and home via the coast, or go west and cause some havoc in the direction of Caernafon. Realistically, Abergele is probably as far west as we can go, and there are some coastal fishing towns that way. There won’t be anything to loot and little enough to eat, so what we’d be achieving I don’t know, but certainly no less than we have so far. We can burn people’s houses, which they can rebuild in a few days. We can possibly burn some fishing boats, although if the fishermen have any sense they’ll just sail them up the coast a little way as we approach.
“The main problem is logistics, as in most campaigns. Food for man and beast. You’ve got as much chance of getting a wagonload of supplies through to your men as a chicken has of surviving in a henhouse with half a dozen hungry foxes. We aren’t fighting in a densely populated area with lots of towns and villages where you can demand and expect the population to provide what supplies you want. I suggest that you send a message back to Chester with somebody who looks wounded- several riders in fact. Get them to have a sailing cog off the harbor at either Prestatyn or Abergele, whichever direction you want to go, in three days time. They can have a load of whatever food you want. Then have the boats follow us along the coast. The Welsh have no warships, so the cogs should be safe enough and will be much more effective than trying to bring supplies through the hills.
“Speed. Every Welsh warrior is mounted on a pony and can move large distances every day, even through forests and hills- and move fast. Most of our army is on foot and plods along. Next time I suggest you have every man on a horse, so you can move fast enough that the Welsh can never catch up and don’t know where you are.
“Scouting. I want every man in the army who has been a poacher, gamekeeper or huntsman here in an hour. Most of your men are probably from the towns, so I don’t expect much from this.
“We’ll spend tomorrow here gathering food before we move off. Ah… another thought. If we move west along the coast we do not burn the villages. We’ll then have to return east, and if you really want you can burn them after we use them for shelter in both directions.”
FitzOsbern and the others looked stunned at the stream of information. Osmond Basset said in some perplexity, “But there’s no food here to gather!”
Alan gave a bark of laughter. “Of course there is! There are the vegetables in the gardens, which we can gather. The forests around here will be swarming with deer, boar and wild cattle and wild fruit. The huntsmen can get to work, protected by our other men. There are fish in the river just to the east. I’m sure there will still be a net or two amongst the cottages. And you can’t move a herd of cattle, sheep, swine or whatever very far, and certainly not without leaving a trail. The Welsh can’t make them magically disappear. They’re around here somewhere. I’m sure we’ll be eating well tomorrow. Now get the huntsmen here,” instructed Alan before he strode out to speak to the men in his own tent.
An hour later Alan was pleasantly surprised to find twenty-two men standing in the Hall. Four were his own, including Owain. Most were Englishmen.
“Good evening, Hlaford!” he began. “You’ve just volunteered for special service. As ‘men of the forest’ you have special skills. Firstly, tomorrow you’ll be hunting wildlife to feed the army, since the supplies have just about run out and it’ll be several days before we get more from Chester. Several of you will be tracking the herds that the villagers have tried to hide. They’ll be out there, within a mile or so, in a clearing in the forest. Find them.
“The day after tomorrow we march north up the Clwyd Valley. You’ve seen what the valleys are like here- dense forest with thick undergrowth. And, as we’ve found out so far, a bowman behind every bush. Those other bastards in the army couldn’t find their arse if they used both hands and a map. I’m sick of people trying to shoot arrows in my back. I’m sure you are. It’s time for us to go hunting men- the most dangerous game!
“You’ll go ahead of the army, on foot with several men who you trust to be not too loud in the forest to watch your back. I’m sure you can train them to move quietly, since your lives will depend on it. We’ll have ten scouting groups each of six men, under your command and direction. Small groups of Welshmen you will kill yourselves; report back any larger groups you find for us to send you support. The army will move as fast or as slow as you direct.
“I want every bush checked. I want to know the name of every fucking fox! The only Welshman I want to see is one with yo
ur arrow in his back! Take your time. Do it right. The Welsh will expect it to be easy. They’re used to both us blundering about like blind oxen and won’t expect to be hunted. Don’t you expect it to be easy- it won’t. The Welsh know each valley, every stand of trees and every stream. They already know the names of the damn foxes. We need to move safely across unfamiliar country, but as quickly as we can. But I’m sure that any competent poacher… sorry hunter… can be blindfolded and still be able to tell if there is a warrior within 100 paces.
“We’re going to leave behind us a trail of dead Welshmen who never even knew we were there. Whatever weapons you want are yours. If anybody doesn’t have a bow, let me know. Any questions? No? Good hunting!”
The following morning dawned overcast and soon rain began to drizzle down. Alan arranged for his own ‘huntsmen’, Owain, Wulfric, Leofwine and Swein, to track where the local livestock had been hidden. The hunters were set loose before four in the forenoon- dawn was very early. Apart from Alan’s four men, six others went into the local forests to hunt wildlife.
Twelve other poachers went to hunt men, departing on foot and most taking with them one or two men who they took the opportunity to train to move silently and to whom they could whisper the secrets of the forest.
Those hunting food had quick success. Wildlife teemed in the river and forest. Owain quickly found the tracks to where the swine had been driven. They were a mile or so from the village, feasting on acorns from the oak trees. Two swineherds ran off as soon as the English appeared. A small herd of cattle was found by Leofwine and again the herdsmen decamped quickly. Other hunters found herds of deer or wild cattle, additional men being called in to kill the wild animals before they could escape- unlike the domesticated animals which returned happily to the village and their fate.
Winter of Discontent nc-2 Page 12
