by K. M. Ashman
‘Master Trystan,’ he said. ‘We seem to have a mixed bag here.’
‘In what way?’ asked the merchant, instantly on the defensive. ‘I can assure you they are all well bred and some even have battle experience.’
‘I can well believe it,’ said Carwyn. ‘But we are both busy men so let’s not waste time in haggling. I will make you an offer and one offer only. If it is not to your liking, you are free to leave.’
‘That puts me in a very unfortunate position,’ said the merchant.
‘We are not brigands, Master Trystan, and the offer will be fair. However, it is obvious some of these beasts are not up to the standard we expect.’ He turned to the scribe. ‘Please share our findings.’
‘My lord,’ said the scribe. ‘Of the twenty-one animals, thirteen are good and another four can be expected to be returned to good health. However, a further three are lame and one is fit only as meat for the dogs. In all, I judge the true value to be no more than two thirds of the asking price.’
‘Two thirds,’ snapped the merchant. ‘That is daylight robbery.’
‘It is a fair offer,’ said Carwyn. ‘Take it or leave it.’
The merchant stared at the steward, trying to see if he was bluffing, but saw only steadfastness.
‘I will take the offer,’ he said. ‘But I will take the matter up with Lord Bevan the next time we meet.’
‘You are free to do so,’ said Carwyn, looking over to the other side of the courtyard where his wife was talking with one of his sons. ‘Now if you will excuse me, I have other matters to attend to. Please arrange the transaction with the purser – my scribe will take you to him shortly.’
‘Of course,’ said the merchant, but Carwyn was already walking away.
‘Branwen,’ he said as he neared his wife. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Branwen. ‘I sent Maelgwyn to ask Morgan if he would dine with us this evening but he says he is not here.’
‘What do you mean, not here?’ asked Carwyn, turning to his son.
‘I went to the barracks,’ said Maelgwyn, ‘but they said he left the manor several days ago.’
‘Where has he gone?’
‘No one knows,’ said Maelgwyn.
‘Has his horse gone?’
‘I am unsure. Perhaps we should check.’
Carwyn turned and saw the groom still by the newly acquired horses. ‘Master James, attend me,’ he called.
The groom turned and ran across the courtyard. He looked nervously between the steward and his wife.
‘Is my son’s horse still in the stable, Master James?’
‘Which son?’ asked James.
‘Morgan.’
‘No,’ said James. ‘He took his horse not three days since. I thought you knew?’
‘No,’ said Carwyn. ‘Do you know where he has gone?’
‘He didn’t say, though he took enough grain to feed his horse for three days.’
‘Where could he possibly be going that will take three days?’ asked Branwen.
Carwyn turned to Maelgwyn. ‘You saw him last. Did he say anything about going anywhere?’
‘Not that I recall,’ said Maelgwyn. ‘We spent most of the night talking about the rebels in the Cantref Mawr.’
Carwyn stared at his son, realising the hotbed of rebels and brigands was almost exactly three day’s ride away. ‘What did he say exactly?’ snapped Carwyn, grabbing his son’s arm. ‘Think hard.’
‘Many things – but he had drunk a lot of ale and I thought he was jesting.’
‘About what.’
‘About joining the rebels!’
Back in Pembroke, Gerald’s column had made good progress in pursuit of the brigands who had ambushed the caravan. The break in the weather meant the tracks in the snow were still visible and, though the perpetrators had a few days’ head start, it soon became obvious that most were on foot and were making slow progress. Encouraged, Gerald pushed his riders harder until soon his scouts returned to tell him there was an encampment no more than a few leagues northward.
‘Is it the men we seek?’ asked Gerald.
‘Aye, it is,’ said the lead scout.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Well, their camp fires spit from the fat of salt-beef and, unless there is a surplus of such treasures in these parts, I suggest it is the cargo from the caravan.’
‘Noted,’ said Gerald. He looked up at the sky. ‘It will be dark soon so we’ll make camp here for tonight.’ He turned to his second in command. ‘Sergeant-at-arms, get the men under cover but I want them ready to move before dawn’s first light.’
‘What about the brigands?’ replied the sergeant. ‘Are they not at our mercy?’
‘Perhaps so but we have ridden our horses hard and I want them well rested for the assault. Besides, if our quarry are so engrossed in their ill-gotten gains, I suspect they will not be headed anywhere anytime soon.’
‘Understood,’ said the sergeant, as Gerald turned to the scouts.
‘You have done well,’ said Gerald, ‘but I want you to return to the enemy camp and set up a watch. I want to be briefed about everything there is to know: strength, armaments, routes in and routes out. Make sure you are not seen and report back to me at midnight so we have time to set our plans.’
‘Aye, my lord,’ said one of the scouts. ‘We’ll just feed our horses and be on our way.’
Gerald nodded and turned to join the rest of the column now dispersing into the trees at either side of the road. ‘No fires,’ he called as he dismounted. ‘Tonight we will eat biscuit only. Let’s not give anyone the opportunity to know we are here.’ He walked his horse between the trees before finding two that were of a suitable distance apart to suspend his canopy for the night. It would not be windproof but it would keep off the worst of the weather should it turn bad.
‘My lord,’ said a voice. ‘Can I help?’
Gerald looked over at one of the younger archers who was standing to one side.
‘Do you not have your own shelter to build?’ he asked.
‘Aye, but I’m sharing with two others and too many hands make a muddle. Usually I would be making the fire but as that is not necessary, my hands are spare.’
Gerald nodded and rolled out the waxed blanket on the snowy forest floor.
‘Take that rope,’ he said, ‘and tie it at head height around that tree.’
The archer removed his arrow bag from his waistband and placed it against a tree along with his unstrung bow. Taking the far rope, he did as he was instructed and waited as Gerald did the same on the opposite end. When the ridge of the cover was taut, they spread out the other three lengths of rope along each side and drove wooden pegs into the ground to form a rudimentary shelter.
‘That will do,’ said Gerald.
‘Is there anything else, my lord?’ asked the archer.
Gerald paused and looked at the young man. He couldn’t be more than sixteen years old but the muscles in his right shoulder and forearm bore testament to the fact he had been taught the art of the bow from a very early age.
‘What is your name, boy?’ he asked.
‘Colin, my lord. Colin of Monmouth.’
‘Well, Colin of Monmouth, you could take my mount over to the horse master and see she is taken care of.’
‘Of course,’ said the boy. ‘Thank you, my lord.’
‘Off you go,’ said Gerald. ‘I’ll be watching you from now on.’
The boy beamed and walked away to Gerald’s horse.
‘Wait,’ shouted a voice and Gerald turned to see the sergeant-at-arms striding from amongst the trees.
The boy froze and stared at the frightening warrior.
‘You,’ continued the sergeant. ‘Your name is Colin, is it not?’
‘Aye, my lord,’ said Colin.
‘And what is your role amongst my men?’
The boy stared at the sergeant-at-arms in confusion. The sergeant knew full well what his role was, as he d
id with every man under his command.
‘Archer, my lord.’
‘Is it?’ asked the sergeant.
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Then where is your weapon?’ snarled the sergeant.
The boy’s hand went to his shoulder before realising it was still against the tree. He gulped hard and stared at the sergeant.
‘My lord, I was . . .’
‘I know what you was doing,’ replied the sergeant, ‘but who gave you permission to abandon your bow? Was it the master here?’
‘N-no,’ stuttered the boy, ‘I just thought . . .’
‘We are on campaign, Colin of Monmouth, and I should have you whipped for your stupidity.’
‘My lord,’ said the boy, his eyes darting between the sergeant and Gerald, ‘my apologies, it will not happen again.’
‘No, it won’t,’ said the sergeant, picking up the boy’s bow and arrow-bag. He tossed them over to land in the snow before him. ‘Pick them up,’ he said, ‘and henceforth they will never leave your side until you are stood down within the walls of Pembroke. Understood?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said the boy.
‘Make sure you do for if you are seen without your weapon again, I will have the hide from your back. Now be gone and make sure your aim is good on the morrow.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ said the boy, and he ran into the trees. The sergeant watched him go and turned back towards Gerald.
‘A bit harsh, methinks,’ laughed Gerald. ‘He was only helping his master.’
‘There is no room on campaign for stupidity,’ said the sergeant, ‘as you well know. You have my gratitude for not contradicting my admonishment.’
‘I am not about to undermine your role, Sergeant, especially on the eve of battle.’ He reached to his belt and retrieved his leather flask. ‘Wine?’
‘Not yet, my lord, I have things to do. I have just come over to check your plans for the morrow. Is there a strategy I need to know?’
‘Not as yet. I intend to approach the enemy camp under the cover of darkness and be in place by dawn but, as far as the details are concerned, we have to wait for the scouts’ reports. How do we fare with the men?’
‘The men are fine,’ said the sergeant, ‘but the horses, less so.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There are over a dozen with leg strains or hoof problems. They will have to stay here.’
‘I suppose that’s what comes from riding through the undergrowth for so long. It matters not. We will be approaching on foot so the horses will have a chance to rest before the journey back.’
The sergeant was about to respond when a noise from the forest made them both turn and reach for their swords. Two men burst from the trees pulling a third between them. The prisoner managed to drag himself free from one of the captors but was knocked to the floor with a mailed fist before he could escape. A kick followed the punch and the prisoner fell into the mud, his nose pouring with blood.
‘Who’s this?’ demanded the sergeant.
‘My lord,’ said one of the men, ‘we were posted as rear guard and saw this man following us through the forest. We hid away and waited to see if he was alone before taking him prisoner.’
‘And was he?’ asked Gerald.
‘Aye, my lord,’ said the soldier. ‘He’s obviously a spy so we brought him straight here so you could question him.’
The sergeant walked over and placed his foot under the wounded man’s chin. He lifted it up and stared into the prisoner’s eyes. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘And why are you following us?’
The man pulled his head away and spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor before answering. ‘My lord,’ he gasped. ‘I am no spy. I am just an honest man looking for work.’
‘Liar,’ snarled one of the guards. ‘He was trying not to be seen but we spotted him through the trees. Do you want us to beat the truth out of him?’
‘No,’ said Gerald before the sergeant could answer. ‘Take him to the supply carts and tie him securely. Sergeant, stand to the men. The last thing we need now is to be caught unawares.’
‘Aye, my lord,’ said the sergeant, and he drew his dagger from his belt. He grabbed the man by the hair and dragged him to his feet. ‘You come with us,’ he snarled, ‘and the slightest step out of place will see my blade in your heart, understood?’
‘Understood,’ said the young man, the fear evident on his face.
‘Good. Now start walking.’
The atmosphere was tense for the next few hours as the column adopted defensive positions around their horses. The silence was total as men peered through the trees, expecting an assault at any moment. One of the sergeants walked quietly between each position, checking his men stayed alert and whispering encouragement to those new to campaigning. When he was done, he returned to the brow of a slope that overlooked a vast wooded valley below.
‘See anything?’ he asked quietly as he dropped beside the two men lying amongst the undergrowth.
‘Not a thing,’ said one of the young men.
‘Well, keep watching,’ said the sergeant. ‘Heaven knows what those trees conceal.’
‘Is that the Cantref Mawr, Sergeant?’ asked one.
‘The Cantref Mawr is all around us,’ said the sergeant, ‘and is no more than a lair for filthy murderers.’ He pointed down the slope to the treetops stretching away before them. ‘That valley there was the black heart of the rebel’s hideout when I was your age so make sure you don’t fall asleep. I would wager a month’s wages there are brigands behind every tree.’
‘Did you ever go down there?’
‘Aye, on many occasions, but we never found anyone. Oh there were camps and smouldering campfires aplenty but any rebels had always long gone by the time we arrived.’
‘How did they know you were coming?’
‘Some people say they had spies everywhere but others said that they were led by a witch.’
‘Gwenllian?’
‘Aye, that was her, but she was no witch, lad. She was a warrior and, though it hurts me to say it, her skills in battle were as good as any man.’
‘You saw her fight?’
‘I did, once, and thank the lord that it was from a distance.’
‘What happened?’
‘I was a guard on a caravan bringing weapons to Pembroke when we were attacked by a column of rebels led by Gwenllian, and I’m not talking about the sort of men we seek now – peasants and murderers – but real men, hardened from battle and each fighting for their country. They were well-trained, fierce warriors but more than that, they fought for their leader, a woman who led from the front with sword in hand. Nobody could match her and, though our numbers were strong, the mere sight of her was often enough to affect a man’s judgement. She struck ice-cold fear deep into the heart of any man laying eyes upon her.’
‘I heard her ghost still haunts these forests?’ said the young man looking around nervously.
‘It’s not the dead you should be worrying about, lad, but the living. You just keep your eyes fixed on those trees down there in case anything moves.’
‘But what if it’s true?’ asked the other man. ‘What if she is still alive and waiting to come back to kill us all?’
‘Trust me,’ said the sergeant, getting to his feet, ‘if she was alive, you’d already have a bloody smile from here to here.’ He drew his hand slowly across his own throat before turning away and heading back down the slope, leaving two scared but wide-awake foot soldiers behind him.
Eventually the tension eased and when a patrol returned to report the area clear Gerald allowed every second man to stand down before bidding the sergeant to bring him the prisoner.
The sergeant ordered two men to drag the captive from a cart and forced him into the clearing to stand before the castellan. Gerald stared at the prisoner for a while, his eyes narrowing momentarily as he saw something in the boy’s face.
‘Have we ever met?’ Gerald asked eventually.
‘I don’t think so, my lord,’ said the prisoner. ‘I am just a poor man out to seek work. I have never been this way before.’
‘Hmmm,’ said Gerald, staring into the man’s eyes. ‘For a second there you reminded me of someone but the name escapes me. Anyway, enough of such things. Whether you are known to me or not, it seems you have been caught in the act of spying. So, I am going to ask you some questions and you are going to tell me the truth. If I suspect you are holding anything back, I will allow the sergeant here to beat you to death. Understood?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said the young man.
‘Good, let’s start with your name.’
‘Geraint, my lord. I am a farmer’s son from Llandeilo.’
‘Why were you following us?’
‘I did not know who you were, my lord, and just thought I had come across a merchant’s caravan. I was hoping I could join it, at least until we cleared the forest.’
‘Why?’
‘This place is known as a refuge to brigands and I thought I would be safer with other travellers.’
‘Where are you headed?’
‘Ceredigion.’
‘Why?’
‘To look for work. I have been told there is good farming on the west coast and strong farmhands are in short supply.’
‘Where are your family?’
‘All dead, my lord. They fell to the ague not two months since and I have not been able to find work.’
Gerald fell silent and stared at the young man. His story was plausible enough but any spy worth his salt would have a believable tale ready to be told in situations like this. He walked a few yards away before stopping and turning back to face him.
‘So what did you see of my men?’
‘Nothing, my lord. I was too far away. If you let me go, I will return the way I came and will say nothing to anyone.’
‘Hmm,’ said Gerald. He motioned to one of the soldiers in the clearing. ‘Give me your sword.’
