The Splintered Kingdom c-2

by James Aitcheson

  ‘Mathrafal?’ I repeated, making sure that I had heard him correctly. It did not seem like a word at all, but rather the kind of noise one might make when drawing forth phlegm to spit. An evil-sounding name, for certain.

  ‘That is where the usurpers are mustering their forces,’ Ithel replied. ‘Or at least so they say.’

  I had no fears regarding their honesty. Knowing that their very lives depended on giving us the answers we wanted, these men would not think to lie. ‘How far is it from here?’

  He shrugged. ‘A full day’s march by the old road, I should think, and longer if we strike out across the hills. I have never been there, though I have heard of it, so I cannot say for certain.’

  ‘Then find me someone who has,’ I said.

  The morning’s skirmish had not quenched my thirst for battle, and though I would not admit it I was contemplating riding ahead to this place Mathrafal, if only to see for myself the enemy camp and find out how many they truly numbered.

  One of the captured foemen was soon dragged before me. Unlike most of his countrymen, who took care of their appearance and usually went clean-shaven, he wore a straggling beard, and most of his top row of teeth was either broken or missing, so that when he did speak it was with something of a lisp. He was decked out in mail, although it was too big for his frame, and I guessed he had won it as plunder, for he did not look rich enough to be able to afford it otherwise.

  ‘Who is this?’ I asked.

  ‘He calls himself Haerarddur,’ said Ithel. ‘He was the leader of this war-band.’

  I raised an eyebrow. Their leader he might have been, but he was a poor one if he had thrown down his sword while around him his countrymen had continued to fight. From the way that he trembled as he was forced to his knees in front of me, certainly I would not trust him to hold the shield-wall or to rally a battle-line.

  ‘Tell him to describe Mathrafal for me,’ I said.

  I waited while Ithel put the question to him and the answer was given.

  ‘He says it is some years since he was last there,’ said the ruddy-faced Welshman. ‘As he remembers, though, it is little more than a village. It sits at the bottom of a broad river plain, surrounded all about by pastureland and hay-meadows, with a great hall at its centre.’

  ‘Then why muster there?’ I mused aloud. It did not sound like a place that would be easily defensible.

  ‘It is the stronghold and ancestral home of Bleddyn and Rhiwallon. The heart of the kingdom of Powys, and, some would say, of Wales itself.’

  A natural rallying point, from the sounds of it. ‘This hall,’ I said as my own back at Earnford rose to mind, ‘how well is it protected? Is there a wall, a rampart, a stockade?’

  He frowned. ‘You aren’t thinking of attacking them, surely?’

  ‘Just ask him,’ I said, though I knew that Ithel was right. Regardless of what defences the enemy might or might not possess, we lacked the men to go marching straight into the heart of their camp. Besides, somewhere to the north Earl Hugues’s army would be beginning to march; his scouts would be watching them, waiting for the most opportune moment when he could make his attack. All I had to do was distract the enemy enough to divide their attention and draw them out. That was the task that Fitz Osbern had presented me with, and even though I did not much like it, that was what I had sworn to do.

  ‘A stockade, yes,’ Ithel again came back with the answer. ‘A water channel runs around the entire circuit, fed by the nearby river. There are two gates: one at the southern end and the other at the western side where the road descends from the village.’

  I turned my gaze towards Haerarddur himself, trying to discern whether or not he was speaking the truth. There had been no mention of a tower or a mound, or anything more substantial than that. It was beginning to sound less like the castle that I imagined than a simple holdfast, a refuge in times of need. The trickiest obstacle to any potential attacker would be the moat, and yet depending on how wide and deep it proved, even that need not necessarily pose much of a problem. Still, useful though it was to have, none of that information was enough to tempt me: there was nothing to be had in risking our party unless victory could be all but assured, as it had been today.

  ‘Very well,’ I said to Ithel. ‘Unbind the others and let them go.’

  ‘And this one?’

  ‘We’ll bring him with us. If we discover that he’s been lying to us, then his life will be forfeit.’

  Ithel nodded, then barked something at Haerarddur, who got to his feet, if somewhat clumsily, due to his bound wrists. He lifted his head proudly as he did so, challenging any who looked in his direction with a stare, though I didn’t see that he had much to be proud about.

  I left him to the care of the Welshmen under the serpent banner while I returned to my conroi and to Nihtfeax. Already the crows were flocking in their scores to where we had piled the enemy’s bodies, their savage beaks digging into the open wounds, scratching at skin, tearing flesh from faces and gouging eyes from their sockets, as if they had not fed in a month or more. Others wheeled about above our heads, cawing in chorus, calling more of their kind from far and wide to partake of the feast that in kindness we had laid out for them. Their share in the spoils was our parting gift; they would finish what we had begun, and if we happened to pass by here again some days from now, not one of those corpses would be recognisable as the men they had once been. In death was every man made equal.

  Only when Serlo offered me my banner did I manage to tear my gaze away. Unfurling the cloth, I raised it high for all to see at the same time as Pons sounded the horn and we started on our way. Yet even many hours later, still it seemed as though the stench of that place remained with me, rising off the blood spattered across my helmet and my hair, the blood that even now was congealing upon my mail, soaking through the chain links, staining my tunic, clinging to my skin. And somehow I sensed that, this time, it would take more than water to cleanse myself of that smell.

  We did not make for Mathrafal; not straightaway at any rate. Instead of following the old road north we struck out west along the ridge above the wide river plains, where the brothers had assured me the raiding would be good and we might send further warnings to the enemy. True to their word, an hour after we had left Caerswys behind us we came upon a modest village, perhaps thirteen or fourteen hovels in all, which made it only slightly smaller than Earnford. Around it the fields grew thick with barley, while higher up the slopes sheep grazed: white specks against the green.

  Perhaps they mistook us for some of their kinsfolk, or perhaps they simply refused to believe that any raiding-army would venture so far beyond the dyke, for at first the villagers did nothing. Only once we had ridden down from the ridge and approached close enough that they could see our banners, our hauberks, the devices painted on our shields, was the cry finally raised. All across the valley men abandoned their oxen and their flocks, threw down their spades and their pails, while their wives and daughters scooped the younger ones up into their arms as they scattered, some making for the safety of the woods, others for the collapsed mill that stood by the river: anywhere they could escape our swords.

  No more than half a dozen remained to fight us — the brave and the foolhardy — and they were the ones who fell. They were few and we were many, and whereas they armed themselves with sickles and hayforks and one with an axe, we came upon them with lances and swords and mail. There was little glory to be had in killing peasants and few knights took much pleasure in doing so. Nonetheless, in choosing to make a stand rather than flee with their families they understood that they were also choosing to die. A part of me admired them, for in spite of their meagre numbers and their lack of skill they were fearless fighters, between them managing to unhorse two of our knights as well as wound another on his sword-arm, which was no small feat.

  Quickly, however, they were overwhelmed and we set to work, tearing thatch from roof-beams and pulling up floorboards in search of anything of value th
e people might have hidden there, putting to slaughter the hogs in their sties and the sheep in their folds, laying the torch to storehouses and to the mill. The village was not large and we did not take long to scour it, and when we had finished there was little left of that place save for a trail of animal carcasses, broken fences, collapsed timbers and blackened ruins. Plumes of smoke and ash billowed in the breeze, blowing in my face, choking my lungs, the heat and the dust stinging my eyes and forcing an unwelcome tear that I quickly blinked away.

  The people who once had lived here would not return. Instead, if they had any sense, they would go on to the next village and spread word to their kinsfolk of what had happened here, so that in time Rhiwallon, Bleddyn, Wild Eadric and all their men would also hear and know that we were coming for them.

  Before long broad river plains gave way to steep-sided hills, which in turn became sharp-ridged mountains whose peaks I could not see for the cloud. The going was rougher now, the paths less well travelled and harder to follow amidst the tufts of long grasses and the woods that clung to the slopes. In all my travels across Christendom I had not known country like this. Certainly it was not the sort of place in which I would have liked to fight a pitched battle, for there was not much open ground in which to make a mounted charge, and that which there was was by turns either too soft or too uneven, crossed by small rivulets and riddled with holes where badgers and other animals had made their homes. All the while I kept watching the woods for signs of movement. I never saw anything, but one could not be too careful, and as much as possible I tried to keep our column out of arrowshot of the trees.

  ‘Once we reach the pass at the top of the valley the country will be easier,’ Maredudd assured me.

  Ithel sounded less certain, but being the younger of the two he was content to defer to his brother. I would have asked Haerarddur, who seemed to know these parts well, but the longer the day went on the less I trusted what he said. Indeed now that the threat of death no longer seemed imminent he seemed to have found his confidence again. His earlier fear had diminished, and despite the fact that he was supposed to be our hostage, he kept trying to make conversation with the men guarding him, even at one point sharing what must have been a joke, for afterwards none of them could stop laughing. I soon put a stop to that, instead placing the Welshman with Eudo, under whose charge I hoped he would prove less talkative.

  We came upon a number of other villages that afternoon, and for the most part we left them alone, sometimes harrying their cattle or else stealing sheep that we could kill that evening for meat, but no more than that. An army of several hundred men quickly grows hungry, and what supplies we had brought with us from Scrobbesburh were dwindling, so we had little choice but to live off what we could find. Besides, the more smoke spires we sent up, the more easily the enemy would find us, and I wanted to avoid meeting them in battle if at all possible, for almost without question they would outnumber us. So long as they knew we were roaming, it was better that they did not know our exact movements, since then we could appear to be everywhere at once.

  We raided in the same fashion for the better part of a week, making what I trusted was a great circle west of the valley of Mathrafal. But for all the miles that passed beneath our horses’ hooves, for all the woods we circled, the hills we crossed and the rivers we forded, none of the enemy ever showed themselves. There was growing discontent among our men, many of whom were tiring of wandering with seemingly no purpose in a land they did not recognise, especially since the higher we ventured into those hills and the further from the dyke we found ourselves, the fewer people we saw and the less plunder there was to be had. For, as I had learnt, a man will follow you anywhere so long as he has meat and drink enough to satisfy his stomach and the promise of silver to fill his coin-pouch. Take away either one of those things and he soon grows restless, and a restless ally is often as good as an enemy: dangerous and unpredictable.

  And so it proved then. It didn’t help that Berengar was still seeking to stir up resentment, although many of the barons were beginning to grow tired of his remarks and jibes, which I supposed was reason to be thankful. Whenever we stopped to fill our water bottles I could hear him. No longer content to voice his disquiet behind my back, instead he made sure that whenever he spoke out I was within earshot, as if taunting me. For a while after Caerswys he had said hardly a word in my presence, and I’d wondered if what had happened had finally cowed him into silence. Clearly that had been wishful thinking.

  ‘From what I’ve heard he used to be held in high favour by both the king and Fitz Osbern,’ Wace told me when next I saw him. ‘He won his fame at H?stinges. His was the hand that slew the usurper’s brother Gyrth; the one who rallied the English forces after Harold himself fell.’

  That part of the battle had been among the hardest fought, as I remembered. It had been late in the day; we had managed to force our way on to the ridge above the field of blood, but still their shield-wall had held. Thousands of their countrymen lay dead and yet Gyrth and his huscarls continued to fight on, defending his family’s wyvern banner to the last. Only after he had fallen to the charge did their line crumble and the rout finally begin. But that Berengar was the man who made that happen — round-bellied, pudgy-faced Berengar — I found hard to believe.

  ‘Are you sure?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s what they say.’

  ‘You mentioned that the king used to hold him in favour. What happened?’

  ‘It seems he was rewarded generously with lands and for the next couple of years there he sat, growing ever fatter on the wealth of his estates. The next time he was called upon to fight, apparently his arse was so large that his horse collapsed under his weight. Some months after that he somehow managed to kill his two young nephews in a training match and was made to forfeit most of his lands in recompense. All he has left now is one manor near to Hereford, and not a rich one at that.’

  ‘That still doesn’t explain why he hates me so much.’

  ‘It ought to,’ Wace said. ‘Don’t you see? He’s you, except that you haven’t yet eaten your own weight in mutton or beaten your sister’s sons to death. He used to be the one who was lauded. Now he finds himself ridiculed and shouted down in council, while you’ve taken his place. Of course he hates you.’

  ‘Because of that?’

  Wace shrugged. ‘Men have killed each other for less.’

  He’d been right; none of that brought me closer to working out what I could do to repair the damage that had been wrought. If unpleasant words were the worst Berengar could offer, I wouldn’t have been concerned, but he had slain two of his own kinsfolk, and the way that Wace had spoken of it suggested it was no mere accident. Nor had I forgotten how he had almost killed that mother and child. If their lives were worth nothing to him, what did that say about mine?

  The next day I sent Eudo and Ithel ahead at the head of a party of ten men, with Haerarddur as well, both to explore the land around Mathrafal and, if they managed to get close enough, to catch a glimpse of the enemy encampment. They were gone longer than I had expected, and by the time they arrived back it had already been dark for several hours. We had pitched our tents within the ringworks of an ancient hill fort, and I was pacing their circuit, anxiously keeping a lookout for Eudo’s return, when I heard a shout of greeting from the men on watch by the eastern ramparts. I hurried across the enclosure to find, emerging from out of the black, the dark forms of thirteen horsemen climbing the slope towards the causewayed entrance. The skies were clouded that night, and at first I could not make out their faces, but I knew it was them.

  ‘They’re gone,’ was the first thing Eudo said once he had reached me and let someone take care of his mount.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘We saw the hall with its moat, and the village as well, but the enemy weren’t there,’ he said with a sigh. His shoulders hung low and he looked bone-tired, but then I supposed he must have been riding hard since daybreak. ‘Their ca
mpfires were still smouldering, so they couldn’t have left long before we arrived. A few hours, perhaps; no more than half a day.’

  Not for the first time I wished that?dda were with us. He would have been able to tell us.

  ‘The place looks to be defended by barely fifty spears,’ Ithel added, and there was an eagerness to his tone that I had not heard before. ‘We could storm the palisade and take the fastness; it would not be all that difficult.’

  Eudo snorted. ‘You would try to capture it?’ he asked, as if the mere suggestion was a ridiculous idea, a sentiment that I shared.

  Ithel looked taken aback. ‘We have the numbers,’ he said defensively. ‘Why not?’

  I’d had my doubts before about his ability and experience as a war leader, and what he had said only served to strengthen them. ‘Even if we manage to take it,’ I said, ‘what would we do with it?’

  Eudo nodded in agreement. We both knew that there was nothing to be gained in wasting time and men trying to capture such a place when we had little need of it, when we could just as easily skirt around it.

  ‘It is Mathrafal,’ Ithel replied, as if it were as simple as that; as if that were all he need say. When he saw that we were waiting for more he went on: ‘It has been the seat of their house for a hundred years and more; it is where they hold their court, where their treasure hoard lies. If we strike at the heart, the head will fall soon after. How can their vassals and followers continue to brave the shield-wall for men who cannot even protect their own halls?’

  All this had come out in an excitable rush, and despite his years I saw Ithel now for the youth that he was. A noble youth, for certain, and by no means stupid, but rash nonetheless and as yet lacking in knowledge of how wars were waged. The hour was late and I was too weary to listen to his ramblings.

  Ignoring him, I turned to Eudo instead. ‘Was there any sign of which way the enemy went?’