by K. M. Ashman
‘Aye, my lord.’
‘So if this man who claimed royal blood was indeed the father of the condemned boy, that would make him the steward of that manor.’
‘I assume so.’
‘So you decided that this stranger was lying and sentenced him to death.’
‘I did, my lord,’ said Salisbury, ‘but when we came under attack from the rebels, I realised he may be telling the truth.’
‘Even though he was supposed to be dead?’
‘If you recall, my lord, Tarw’s body was badly smashed from the fall from the cliff.’
‘But he was identified by one of our own men.’
‘One who was descended from Welsh stock. It is possible he had been bribed to say such a thing.’
Gerald heard a noise beside him. Nesta’s hand was over her mouth to stifle any noise but he could hear her gasps of breath through her tears of disbelief.
‘Calm yourself, Nesta,’ said Gerald. ‘This may yet be a mistake.’
Nesta nodded silently but her gaze never left Salisbury.
Gerald turned back to the constable. ‘So what are your thoughts now?’ he asked.
‘In what matter, my lord?’
‘Do you now think he was telling the truth?’
Salisbury felt Nesta’s eyes burning into him. He knew he was in a precarious position for he was being asked to admit he had condemned a Welsh prince to death and that was a power out of his jurisdiction.
‘My lord,’ he said eventually, ‘at the time of sentence, I believed he was naught but a madman and I acted accordingly. However, after seeing the strength of the attack launched to save his life and that of his son, I can only assume he is someone of importance within the rebel camp. Whether he is the prince or not, I cannot say.’
‘No,’ replied Gerald, ‘you cannot for there are few who would recognise him after all this time. The idea sounds like that of a madman but if there is the slightest chance that this absurd story carries even the tiniest hint of truth, then I need to know. However, now you have allowed him to escape, it is possible we will never find out.’
‘There is one way,’ said Salisbury. ‘Send a message to Lord Bevan of Llandeilo. The man claimed to be his steward so Bevan of all people will be aware of his history. Bring him here for questioning and if there is any substance to the story, then he will be the one who knows.’
Gerald nodded, recognising the merit in the suggestion. He turned to his steward. ‘Send an armed column to Llandeilo. Invite Lord Bevan to attend me immediately and if he offers any resistance, have him arrested. Bring him in chains if necessary.’
‘Aye, my lord,’ said the steward and he left the room.
‘As for you, Master Salisbury,’ he continued, ‘I’m still not sure how to assess your actions today. If the man was a commoner, then your ill-thought actions have needlessly contributed to the deaths of our men. On the other hand, if he was indeed the prince, then his escape has the potential to reignite the dormant fire that is the rebellion. Withdraw to your quarters while I consider what is to be done.’
‘Aye, my lord,’ said Salisbury and he turned and left the room.
‘Is it possible? ’ gasped Nesta. ‘Could Tarw still be alive?’
‘Anything is possible,’ said Gerald, ‘but you should not get your hopes up. Even if he is, it will be my duty to arrest him and present him to the king for a trial.’
‘But he is my brother and a true Prince of Wales. Surely that affords him some leniency?’
‘He is also the man responsible for leading a rebellion against the Crown for many years,’ replied Gerald.
‘But he has done nothing of the sort for so long.’
‘That is not an excuse for an avoidance of justice,’ said Gerald. ‘But let’s not worry about that at the moment. We will know more when Lord Bevan arrives. Either he will vouch for this man and prove his innocence or, if not, then there are questions to be answered.’
‘In what way?’
‘If this man was indeed your brother and Lord Bevan was aware of his identity, then he will be complicit in harbouring a rebel from the justice of the Crown. That in itself is a crime punishable by hanging.’
‘Even though Tarw may have turned away from such a life?’
‘Aye. Like it or not, the deed will have been done and will warrant punishment.’
‘But, assuming it is Tarw, you don’t know that he will go back to the way of the rebel.’
‘Don’t I?’ asked Gerald. ‘Men have already died in his name today and, besides, now he has been unmasked, where else could he go? However, it is not your brother who worries me. If this turns out to be true, then it begs another question, one of far more importance.’
‘And what would that be?’ asked Nesta.
‘The whereabouts of his wife,’ replied Gerald.
‘Gwenllian?’ asked Nesta.
‘Aye, Gwenllian,’ confirmed Gerald, ‘for if she is still alive and decides to join her husband amongst the rebel camps, then whether we like it or not, our position in Deheubarth just became a lot more dangerous.’
The Cantref Mawr
December 20th, AD 1135
Tarw and his sons rode hard throughout the day, stopping only to rest and feed the horses. Night was closing in and Maelgwyn was strangely quiet, still processing the information revealed to him back in Pembroke. He led his horse over to a small stream in the copse and watched it drink heavily as his mind turned over and over again, absorbing the implications.
‘Maelgwyn,’ said Morgan from behind. ‘Something bothers you.’
‘Does it not you?’ asked Maelgwyn without turning around. ‘Or are you comfortable that we have all been living a lie, hiding away like chickens from a fox?’
‘Do not allow this revelation to cast a shadow upon your view of our father, Maelgwyn. He is a good man and meant only to secure our safety.’
‘By lying to us for all these years?’
‘Yes. He had become the main target of the king and there was a fortune on his head. Not just his but ours as well.’
‘But you must have only been a boy and me a mere child. Why would the English want us dead?’
‘Because Tarw is our father and thus we are descended from Hywel Dda himself. Henry knew that if we were allowed to grow up into men there was the potential for us to rally the whole of Wales behind us and that was something he could not risk. Rhys wasn’t born then, but as our father already had three sons, he decided to choose our safety over his continued campaign. That is a sign of a good man, Maelgwyn, not a bad one.’
‘But you knew. Why didn’t you tell me when I became of age?’
‘Why? What would you have done?’
‘I know exactly what I would have done. I would have sought men of a like mind to continue the fight.’
‘And that is exactly the reason I never told you. It was too dangerous.’
‘Yet you did exactly that.’
‘I did, and look at the mess it has led us into. I’m not sure what is going to happen now but I do know it has all gone terribly wrong.’ Before he could continue, Tarw rode his horse up behind them.
‘Are your horses ready?’ he asked.
‘Almost,’ said Morgan. ‘How much further?’
‘Another two hours of riding north-east,’ said Tarw. ‘Stick close to the river and eventually you will be challenged by the rebels.’
‘Are you not coming with us?’
‘I can’t,’ said Tarw. ‘There is something I must do.’
‘What is so important that you leave us out here?’ asked Maelgwyn.
‘The lives of the men who fought and possibly died to save us a few hours ago,’ replied Tarw. ‘Hopefully they all managed to escape but I cannot ride on to safety knowing they are still not accounted for. Fret not, you are safe from here on in. We are already being watched so when you are challenged ask for an audience with Taliesin, the rebel leader, and tell him the truth about what happened today.’
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�And about your identity?’
‘Aye. Tell him everything. I will explain more when I reach the camp tomorrow but, until then, tell him I claim the hospitality of a fellow Welshman to look after my sons.’
‘So yet again you postpone telling me the truth,’ said Maelgwyn.
‘I know you are frustrated, my son, but you have to trust me on this. I promise the time is coming when I will answer all your questions. For now, there are men’s lives at risk and I have to be true to my own conscience. Wait at the rebel camp and we will talk there.’
‘It seems I have no choice,’ said Maelgwyn, and he turned away.
‘Go, Father,’ said Morgan. ‘We will be fine. Just make sure you return safely.’
‘Aye,’ said Tarw, and without another word, he rode back the way they had come.
Tarw rode his tired horse as hard as he dared through the night and the following morning he rested in a hay barn on the outskirts of the town. Wary of being recognised, he stayed hidden throughout the day until finally darkness came and he headed down into Pembroke.
Slowly he walked through the deserted alleyways, his feet ankle-deep in the cloying filth that had spread with the melting snow, an overflow from a nearby blocked drainage ditch. The smell caught his breath and, as he walked, he sought out the drier parts of the alleyways, finally finding what he was looking for: a busy tavern. The hour was late and raucous songs echoed from within. If there was news to be had, this would be the place, for no doubt the attack of the previous day would have been the talking point of the town; yet he hesitated to go in lest he was recognised. Even in places like this, the English would have sympathisers and news of his return would be at the castle within the hour.
Frustrated, he watched as two drunken men stumbled around outside the tavern, each hopelessly trying to hit the other, but their pathetic attempt at a fight ended with both sprawling in the stinking mud with hardly a blow landed. One eventually staggered away and Tarw saw his chance. Looking around to check he wasn’t seen, he ran over and helped the other man to his feet. He led him over into one of the side streets and sat him against a wall.
‘Leave me alone,’ mumbled the man, swiping Tarw’s hand away.
‘I am a friend,’ said Tarw, wiping the filth from the man’s face, ‘and just want to talk.’
‘Do you have ale?’ asked the man looking up hopefully.
‘Alas no, but I do have coin and if you answer a couple of questions, there is a penny in it for you.’
The man stopped struggling and looked up at the prince. ‘What sort of questions?’ he asked, his speech far clearer than his drunken state implied. ‘For I am no informer.’
‘I did not say that you are,’ said Tarw. ‘I just want to know what happened at the hanging.’
‘Oh that,’ said the drunk. ‘In that case you have come to the right man. I was right there and saw everything.’
‘Good,’ said Tarw. ‘Tell me, did you see the assault?’
‘Aye, I did.’
‘And did you see the prisoners escape?’
‘Aye. They ran into the streets and disappeared. By now they are probably on a ship to Ireland.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because the word is it was Tarw and his sons. Where else could they go?’
‘I thought they were dead,’ ventured Tarw, surprised that news of his identity had already spread.
‘Apparently not. It seems he had been living the life of a steward somewhere in Llandeilo. Where is this penny you promised?’
‘In a moment,’ said Tarw. ‘So, assuming it was indeed the prince, how does that news sit with the people of Pembroke?’
‘They think it’s good news,’ said the man. ‘Especially with the king lying cold in his coffin. If it was indeed the prince back from the dead, hopefully he will rally the people and drive the cursed English from Deheubarth once and for all.’ He looked up with a glint of fear in his eyes. ‘You’re not English, are you?’
‘Fear not,’ said Tarw. ‘I am as Welsh as you.’
‘Enough talk,’ said the man staggering to his feet. ‘I need a drink and you owe me a penny.’
‘One last question,’ said Tarw. ‘The men who rescued the prince. Were any of them captured?’
‘Not that I know of. Two were killed and one wounded but the soldiers kicked him to death in the square. The rest slipped away into the streets.’
‘Thank you,’ said Tarw. ‘You have been very helpful.’ He handed over the penny but as he did, the drunk grabbed his hand and pulled him close to stare into his eyes.
‘I know you,’ he said, his eyes squinting. ‘I have seen you before.’
‘You are mistaken,’ said Tarw, pulling his hand away. ‘I am just a traveller passing through and will now be on my way.’
‘No,’ said the man, walking backward, away from the prince. ‘I always remember a face. It will come back to me. I’m sure.’
‘Enjoy your ale, my friend,’ said Tarw, and he turned away, satisfied that everyone who was able had managed to escape the clutches of the English. He reached the barn and was tightening the strap around the girth of his horse when he heard something outside in the darkness. Drawing his blade, he walked slowly out of the barn, worried that he may have been followed, but there was nothing. The night was silent.
He returned to his horse but hadn’t gone a few paces when his head was pulled back from behind and he felt the cold steel of a blade pressed against his throat.
‘Don’t move,’ hissed a voice, ‘or you are a dead man.’
Tarw froze, his heart beating rapidly. For a second he considered lashing out and hoping his attacker was inexperienced but the pressure on the blade told him otherwise.
‘Who are you?’ hissed the voice. ‘And tell me no lies.’
‘I am Carwyn of Llandeilo,’ said Tarw, unsure whether to reveal his true identity, ‘and I am here on business.’
For a few seconds there was silence and when the unseen man spoke again, there was a hint of amusement in his tone. ‘Well, Carwyn of Llandeilo, I am about to remove my blade but, be aware, there is an arrow aimed at you as we speak and if you so much as twitch as I step back, it will cut your heart in two before you take a step. Understood?’
‘Aye,’ said Tarw and he felt the pressure disappear as the man stepped back.
‘Turn around,’ said the man a moment later, ‘for if you tell the truth then I need to see if you are as ugly as they say you are.’
Tarw smiled as he recognised the jibe and turned to see his comrade from Llandeilo Manor standing before him with a huge grin on his face.
‘Robert,’ said Tarw with relief. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘We knew you would get yourself into trouble,’ replied Robert, ‘so we came to rescue you of course. Besides, you still owe me a purse of silver pennies from our last game of dice.’
‘We?’ replied Tarw. ‘Who else is here?’
‘I have thirty men at my back,’ said Robert. ‘Each man recruited on the journey here from villages still loyal to your father’s name and each willing to die in their support of the quest I laid before them.’
‘Which was?’
‘To save your son from the gallows.’
‘And not to save me?’ asked Tarw in amusement.
‘To be fair, I did not know about your involvement at the time,’ said Robert. ‘Not until the moment I saw you upon the scaffold, and by then I had become aware that Brynmore had deployed his archers so I had to let the situation play out.’
‘You saw Brynmore?’
‘I did, and we agreed that his men would secure the release of Morgan while our own waited outside of the town to thwart any pursuit by the English.’
‘A good plan,’ said Tarw. ‘So how did you find me here?’
‘That was the easy part,’ said Robert. ‘We had just arrived at the Cantref Mawr after the assault when we were told that Maelgwyn and Morgan had been taken into the protection of Taliesin but you had retur
ned here to seek survivors. We changed horses and rode after you as quickly as we could. I left the men hidden in the trees a few leagues back and fortunately saw you skulking around the tavern like a common drunk. After that I followed you here in case I was mistaken in the darkness.’
‘Hence the knife.’
‘Yes,’ said Robert, glancing down at the blade still held in his hand. ‘Sorry about that, but I had to be sure.’ He sheathed the knife and looked back up at his friend. ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘there’s no harm done.’
‘I’ll let you know in the morning,’ said Tarw, gingerly feeling the slightest of cuts along his neck. ‘That blade is very sharp.’
Robert grinned and held out his arm. ‘Good to see you safe, my lord, but I think we should be getting away from here. It seems you’ve stirred up a right hornet’s nest.’
‘I agree,’ said Tarw, taking his offered wrist. ‘And besides, I don’t think it will be long before that drunk remembers my face.’
‘Then let’s go,’ said Robert. ‘The men are waiting.’
Tarw nodded and led his horse from the barn. Within minutes, the two men were riding away from Pembroke and headed back towards the distant hills.
Half an hour later, Tarw and Robert dismounted and led their horses into a dense thicket. Robert whistled quietly and was rewarded with a similar whistle from deeper within the trees.
‘This way,’ whispered Robert and soon they reached a clearing containing thirty men and their horses. At the centre a small fire burned, carefully sheltered by a surrounding wall of upright logs driven into the ground.
‘You found him,’ said one of the men, stepping forward to greet them. ‘Thank God himself.’
‘Aye,’ said Tarw, ‘he found me and it is I that should be thanking all of you for undertaking such a task. You have my gratitude.’
‘We did not do it for you, my lord,’ laughed another man, ‘but for someone far prettier.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My lord,’ said Robert, interrupting the prince, ‘there is something else you should know. Back in the barn, I did not tell you the whole story. I was not alone on this quest and it was not in my name that these men left their families to risk their lives.’
