by Kevin Ashman
‘Lewis London,’ shouted the senior sergeant in charge of the defences, an older man by the name of Watkins, ‘get a message to the keep. Tell them we are under attack. Man the doors in case we are breached but wait as long as possible so we can seek the safety within.’
‘Aye Sir,’ shouted the man and ran off into the darkness.
‘Bowmen,’ shouted Watkins, ‘load the crossbows but hold your fire. I know not their strategy for a night assault is unheard of. Someone waken the servants and have them bring supplies from the armoury immediately. We may be few but by god we will give these barbarians a good account of ourselves.’
As he finished, the first of the Welsh attackers came in range and the sound of arrows flying over their heads made the defenders duck behind the castellations.
‘You two,’ shouted Watkins toward two of the younger men, ‘check the bars on the gates. Ensure the upper and lower bars are also engaged, if they should try ramming them it will take nothing short of a Mangonel to secure a breach.’
‘Aye Sir,’ came the reply and they ran down to carry out their orders.
----
All around him, Madog saw his men running toward the walls with the siege ladders. Their cries echoed across the fields and the darkness was lit by hundreds of flaming arrows splitting the night sky. Behind him a cart brought up a small Mangonel and lost no time in launching its stone missiles and fire pots over the walls of the castle. It was a noisy and impressive sight but any man with battle experience knew it was a futile attempt for without trebuchets or siege engines to master the walls, the attackers had little chance of success. Even the ram now hammering against the giant gates was but an attempt to gain the defenders’ attention. He watched as the few siege ladders they placed against the walls were easily pushed away from the walls by the defenders, casting the men upon them to the floor. Despite this, some of his men were killed by the crossbows from above and he knew he couldn’t keep up the pretence for long.
‘Bowmen,’ he called, ‘keep their heads down. Another few minutes and our job will be done.’
----
Up above, Watkins peered between the castellations, trying to work out the enemy’s tactics.
‘It makes no sense,’ he said, ‘we can hold them back for weeks if this is the extent of their strategy.’ A man came running out of the darkness and crouched down beside him.
‘Sire,’ he gasped, ‘I came as soon as I could. The reserve are deployed on our flanks but there seems to be no activity there. The enemy are focussing their attack on the front walls.’
‘A futile approach,’ said Watkins, ‘they throw themselves at the wall as if knowing they have no chance of success.’
‘A feint perhaps,’ said the soldier.
Watkins’ eyes widened at the realisation.
‘Of course,’ he said, ‘it has to be a bluff. What force do we have on the rear walls?’
‘Nought but a sentry, Sire, they all came running when the alarm was sounded.’
Watkins stood and stared at the far wall to the south of the keep but the night was dark and he could see nothing, not the body of the southern sentry with an arrow through his face, not the siege ladders leaning against the outside of the far wall and certainly not the hundreds of men running through the inner ward, their faces blackened with soot as they raced toward the keep.
‘Something’s wrong,’ he said slowly, but as he drew breath to shout the alarm across to the guard on the keep doors, an arrow smashed through the back of his head, sending his body crashing to the floor.
His comrade shouted in fear but as he turned to face the way of Madog’s diversion, a flaming arrow pierced his chest and he too fell screaming into the inner ward.
At the keep the guard took a step forward to get a better view but as he stared, he was seized from behind and a knife opened his throat.
‘Inside,’ roared Emrys and stood aside as hundreds of men stormed into the keep, killing anyone in their path irrespective of age or gender.
‘You men,’ shouted Emrys, ‘follow me.’ He ran down the mound away from the keep and headed toward the gates of the outer walls. Too late the defenders heard them coming and though they turned to confront them, they were hopelessly outnumbered.
‘Open the gates,’ shouted Emrys as the last of the defenders fell and as the huge wooden barriers swung slowly inward, he stepped through to greet Madog, waiting upon his charger.
‘Sire,’ said Emrys with a grin, ‘your castle awaits.’
He stood aside as Madog galloped his horse between the gate towers and up the hill toward the keep. Already the tell-tale signs of smoke bellowed from the upper windows and he knew the day was already won. Howarden had fallen, the castle was his.
----
Throughout the night, Madog’s men ran riot throughout the castle. Any enemy survivors were put to the sword or thrown from the top of the keep. Stores were plundered and by dawn the entire fortress had been ransacked. Madog had managed a few hours’ sleep during the carnage but now he was on his horse and ready to be gone. The rest of the column was already formed up outside the castle walls, leaving Madog inside with a dozen men.
Sire, we should leave,’ said Emrys. ‘Word would have reached Rhuddlan by now and unless you want a pitched battle with Reginald De-Grey’s army, I suggest we are long gone before he gets here.’
‘Agreed’ said, Madog.’ Get these men to fire the castle. Leave nothing unburned or undamaged. I want nothing left for the English to use, not as much as a tankard, do I make myself clear?’
‘Aye, Sire you do. Leave it to me.’
‘Good,’ said Madog. ‘Once it is done, join us on the road to Dolwyddelan but make haste, fortune has been with us so far but it is only a matter of time before we meet an enemy worth fighting. Without another word he turned his horse and galloped through the gate towers to join his column.
‘Move them out, Marshal,’ shouted Madog, as he emerged, ‘take us to Dolwyddelan.’
----
Chapter Seven
Denbigh Castle
Cynan crested the hill and peered down at the scene below. The slope fell away to a fertile rolling plain, bisected by the main route from North to south wales. Alongside the road lay a wide river, the source of all the drinking water for the substantial town that had been established in this important location. Cynan knew the town was mainly inhabited by English traders and there would be rich pickings for his men should they attack but at the moment his mind was focussed on something greater, the huge circular castle sitting on the hill high above the town.
‘Robert Byrd,’ he said, summoning his second in command, ‘before us lays the prize. What say you to our chances of seizing this bauble from the crown of Longshanks?’
Robert adjusted himself in the saddle and stared for an age before responding.
‘Well, Sire’, he said, ‘I will reserve judgement until our scouts have returned with news of any outlying forces but based on the castle layout alone I feel we have a heavy task upon us. The approach is uphill and though that matters not in the final assault, it means we are disadvantaged when it comes to siege engines. Wheeled Rams are out of the question as are siege towers. The only things that leaves us with are the catapults but the slopes stop us from getting close enough for maximum effect.’
‘And the town itself?’
‘I see no problem with the town walls for they are incomplete and short enough for siege ladders. If we hit them with maximum force we can have our men over before the enemy have chance to string their bows. No, the town walls are of little consequence but the castle is a different matter altogether.’
‘Thank you Robert,’ said Cynan. ‘Sound counsel as usual and not far from my own thoughts. However, despite the obvious risks, this fortress is important to me and I would have it in my possession as soon as possible. I will ride back to the army and have them rested. You will organise your scouts to get as close as they can without being seen. Report to me as soon as you c
an and in any event, no later than nightfall two days from now. I want to know the garrison strength. What are the weaknesses? Who is in command and what is his experience? Anything we can find out will help us in our aim.’
‘It is a formidable fortress,’ said Robert staring at huge castle.
‘Du Bere was formidable,’ said Cynan, ‘but it fell to our fist. This is no different, it is just a bit bigger. I will have this castle, Robert, even if it takes a year or more. Do what I bid and report to my tent two days hence.’
‘Aye, my lord,’ said Robert and watched Cynan ride back down the rear slopes of the hill to return to the dense forests hiding his army five leagues away.
----
Cynan was in his campaign tent with his master of trebuchets when Robert Byrd reported back two days later. He returned the salute of the two guards and ducked under the sodden flap of canvas, glad to get shelter from the constant rain, yet excited by the news he bore.
‘Robert, you have returned at an opportune moment,’ said Cynan as his comrade entered, ‘come into the warm and dry yourself. It has been a wet few days.’
‘That it has,’ said Robert catching the linen cloth thrown toward him.
‘Our Magister here,’ continued Cynan, ‘tells me he can have trebuchets built capable of reaching the castle walls from the flanks of the river. Isn’t that correct Master Reynolds?’
‘Aye, it is,’ said the man, ‘but it will take a few weeks. The few we already have can be altered but in itself that will take several days and the strain will probably push them beyond their limits. It is far better to start anew and I can have my carpenters set about the task first thing on the morrow.’
‘As usual your commitment and knowledge are admirable, Magister,’ said Robert, ‘but your particular skills may not be needed in this instance.’ He turned to Cynan and took the offered goblet of warm wine. ‘Sire,’ he continued, ‘I come bearing great news but spiced with danger. Our spies have excelled themselves and found the people of Denbigh loose with their tongues when plied with ale.’
‘And what have they found out?’
‘One of my men befriended a Mason from Conway within one of the taverns. As the ale flowed the mason regaled our man with stories of his importance and how he had been requested personally by the castellan of Denbigh, a man called Henry De-Lacey, the third Earl of Lincoln, to join a work gang of similarly skilled people to build an extra tower outside his castle walls. Not only this but the Mason and his comrades were then to extend the existing walls to embrace the new tower.’
‘A strange request,’ said Cynan. ‘It seems that the existing wall is of adequate strength and the whole structure would see little benefit from an extra tower.’
‘I agree,’ said Robert, ‘as did our man. Subsequently he asked about the importance of the new tower and after many a coin passed the serving girl’s way in return for full tankards, the mason revealed the importance.’
‘Which is?’
‘Sire, if the walls of the castle are adequate, why build an extra tower unless it was to protect something of great value?’
‘But surely,’ replied Cynan, ‘any building that is to protect the castellan’s treasures would be better built within the walls?’
‘They would,’ said Robert, ‘but though this treasure be greater than all the gold in the world, alas it cannot be moved.’
‘You play games with my mind, Robert,’ answered Cynan, ‘spit out what it is you know. What treasure could possibly be greater than the value of all the gold known to man?’
‘Water, my lord,’ said Robert, ‘the tower is to cover a well.’
For a few moments Cynan stared at Robert as the implications sunk in.
‘Their water supply lies outside the castle walls?’ he gasped in astonishment.
‘Apparently so,’ said Robert. ‘It would seem there was a smaller well inside the inner ward which has long since dried up and though there is plenty of water in a much larger well nearby, it lays an arrowshot away from the outer walls. Thus the need for masons to encompass it within the castle.’
Cynan stood and paced around the tent, his mind racing.
‘If this is true,’ he said, ‘we surely have an opportunity undreamed of. All we have to do is secure the well and hold out until they come forth or surrender.’
‘We could poison it,’ said Robert. ‘A few rotting cattle carcases will render it undrinkable on pain of disease.’
‘No,’ said Cynan, ‘I intend to use the fortress as a rendezvous for our forces in the area and though there is water aplenty in the river, a local source is essential in case of a siege, as the third Lord of Lincoln is about to find out to his cost.’
‘Sire, the news gets better,’ said Robert, ‘just this morning we saw a fully armed column of almost a thousand men muster within the town. They were soon joined by the castellan and his entourage and rode out under full colours. It seems they have set out upon a mission and judging by the number of supply wagons, will be away for many days.’
‘Do we know where they go?’
‘No, Sire but my spies follow at a safe distance. Once they set upon the return journey, a messenger will ride back at full gallop and give ample warning.’
‘Then our path is clear,’ said Cynan, ‘we will attack at first light with full strength. Send word around the camp, tell the men to take whetstones to their blades for by tomorrow night, they will be dulled by enemy flesh.’
----
Word spread fast around the forest as messengers went from tent to tent. Excitement grew amongst the soldiers as once more they felt their blood stirred to battle. Outside one such tent, four men sat around their fire as the message came. Immediately one of them, a man called Griff, reached for his ration pouch and drew out any remaining strips of dried beef and the flask of best wine he had ransacked from Du Bere but had been keeping for a special occasion.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Alun, a newcomer to Cynan’s ranks.
‘If we are to fight tomorrow, boy,’ said Griff, ‘I am not going to risk dying hungry. I’m going to finish all this off tonight and you would do well to do the same. To die is bad enough but to do so whilst in possession of unused wine is surely a crime before god.’
The other two men laughed and reached for their own packs.
‘What ails you friend?’ asked Griff, ‘your face is as white as the snow upon the trees.’
‘I haven’t fought before,’ said Alun, ‘and my stomach turns circles in apprehension.’
‘Fret not, Alun,’ said Griff. ‘You are young and strong. Keep your wits about you and don’t think twice about your strike. If you hesitate, then you are a dead man.’
‘Of course,’ said one of the other men, ‘as an untrained man, you will probably be in the van of the attack. Cynan will keep his best men for the second wave.’
‘But that makes no sense,’ said Alun, ‘surely the best men should go in first?’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Griff, ‘for the first wave always suffers the worst casualties. At that time the defending bowmen are at their calmest and their aim is true but by the time they have killed the first ranks they are more flustered and the aim becomes poorer. That’s where the likes of us come into our own,’ he indicated his other two comrades, ‘we can seek cover behind the bodies of you youngsters and take advantage of the confusion. Makes sense really, don’t you agree?’
Alun stood up and walked away from the fire.
‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ he said and as he walked into the trees, the three men at the fire burst into laughter.
After a few minutes Griff stood up.
‘Where are you going?’ asked his comrade.
‘I’m going to find the youngster,’ he said, ‘perhaps we were too hard on him.’ He followed in the boys footsteps until he reached the area where many of the lancer’s horses were tied. For a few moments he looked around until he saw the boy putting a saddle on a horse.
‘Hold on there
, boy,’ said Griff walking over to him, ‘don’t you be doing anything rash now, desertion is punishable by hanging amongst this lot.’
Alun turned and walked toward Griff.
‘I’m not deserting, Griff,’ he said, ‘in fact, I’m doing quite the opposite, I’m being true to my birth.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Griff but before he could question further, he gasped in pain as the boy’s knife thrust upward, plunging the razor sharp blade up through the older man’s innards and into his heart. Alun’s left arm pulled his victim’s head against his own chest to stifle the cries of pain.
‘What I mean old man,’ snarled Alun quietly, as he twisted the knife, ‘is my true allegiance lies with Longshanks and I have put up with the company of traitors for too long. My job here is done and before this day is out, my countrymen will be aware of Cynan’s designs on Denbigh.
Slowly Griff’s struggles eased and Alun lowered the body to the ground before mounting the horse. Within moments the spy was galloping away from the forest to seek the nearest English outpost.
----
The following evening saw Cynan and Robert Byrd once more upon the ridgeline above Denbigh. The army was deployed amongst the dead ground away from any alert sentries and most took the opportunity to close their eyes as they waited for night to fall.
‘The men are ready, Sire’, said Robert, ‘and are as close as we dare approach lest we are discovered.’
‘It is enough,’ said Cynan. ‘Once we have secured the outer wall, your focus is to be the well only. Ignore any other distraction and head directly for our target. Once there, go firm with in a perimeter defence. Under no circumstance are you to withdraw even unto death, is that understood?’
‘Aye, Sire’, said Robert, ‘leave it to me.’
‘Good,’ said Cynan, ‘then I see no point in wasting any more time. As soon as it is dark, I will lead the infantry into assault positions. At a given signal we will assault the walls and if successful, take control of the gates. As soon as they are open you are to lead your command through the town and up to the well at full gallop. Pause for no man for the well must be your sole focus. We will follow as soon as possible.’
