by Kevin Ashman
‘To the Abbot,’ said Geraint.
‘Exactly,’ replied Tarian and turned to Fletcher.
‘You lead these people out of here, while we go and find Geraint’s brother.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Fletcher.
‘No, we have to get these people out of the castle or it will all be in vain. Go back the way we came and make good your escape. If we manage to escape this place with our lives, I feel none of us will be welcome in Brycheniog.’
‘So be it,’ said Fletcher, ‘just be careful.’ He peered through the door and led the released captives back toward the kitchen block.
‘What now?’ asked Geraint looking at Tarian.
‘Now we find out off our friend here where the Abbot’s quarters are.’
----
Father Williams sat in a high backed chair with a sheepskin cover over his legs. To either side of him stood a castle guard and at the rear of the room, another two guarded the exit into a rear corridor. In the centre of the windowless cell, Garyn lay on the floor, bleeding from the beating he had just received from the soldiers.
‘Well’, said the Abbot, staring down at the wounded man, ‘at long last you lay where you belong, Garyn Ap Thomas, below my feet in a pool of blood. Long have I dreamed of this day and though I may not be long for this world, I shall go to my grave a happy man.’
‘Get it over with, Williams,’ gasped Garyn, ‘but rest assured that there will be judgement before god.’
‘God? Who are you to preach to me about god, you are but a mere commoner while I control an entire Abbey filled with people devoted to his service. I think I know more about him in the circumstances.’
‘A habit and a cross does not a holy man make’, said Garyn ‘and you, sir are surely begat from the devil himself.’
‘A simple matter of perspective,’ said the Abbot. ‘You have lived a life of crime and poverty while I have lived a life of plenty and worship. Who do you think our lord will see as the most godly?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Garyn ‘but I know this, I have never set out to hurt an innocent man for the sake of personal gain while you, sir, have made a lifetime of such actions.’
‘All in a good cause,’ said the Abbott, ‘the glorification of god’s name.’
‘If that is the case, what sort of god is it that accepts the gains stolen from the poor?’
‘A rich one,’ sneered the Abbot. He paused before continuing. ‘So, master Garyn, what are we to do with you? Shall I have you beaten to death as we speak, or just have my men run you through and have done with it?’
‘Do what you will, Satan for I will not give you the satisfaction of seeing me plead for my life. Wield your blade or unleash your thugs, my heart is settled and even as the last of my blood stains your floor, I will pity your darkened soul.’
‘Do not pity me,’ roared Father Williams ‘for I am above you in station, morals and holiness. Save your pity for your family who now burn within the fires of hell, your own kin who died because of your failure to meet my expectations. They are the ones who need your pity, Garyn, the parents who died at the hand of an assassin’s blade and your little sister who screamed as the assassin used her as a whore before cutting her throat.’
Garyn gasped as the image sunk in and staggered to his feet.
‘What’s the matter Garyn?’ asked the Abbot, ‘didn’t you know? Oh, it may have been another man’s hand that wielded the blade but the coins in his pocket were from my purse and when he told me how much the girl struggled, I made him recount every sordid detail. So don’t you dare pity me for I am your superior and you are not fit to clean the filth from beneath my shoes.’
Garyn roared in anger and lunged forward but before he reached the Abbot he was pounced upon by the guards and forced to the floor. For several minutes he fought as hard as he could but was eventually overwhelmed and lay on the stone slabs, gasping for breath as he sobbed at the memory of the little girl who had suffered so much because of him.
‘That’s it, Garyn,’ sneered the Abbot, ‘wallow in your own wretchedness, for you see, I may have arranged to kill your family all those years ago but their fate was set by you, a stubborn boy at the time who thought he could defy his betters. How does it feel, Garyn Ap Thomas, how does it feel to have the death of your family on your hands?’
‘No,’ gasped Garyn eventually, ‘you are wrong. You can twist the words whichever way you want, Monk but I will not accept your guilt. The choices I made were for the right reasons and though they led to tragedy, no one could foresee where your twisted mind would lead. Yes, my heart breaks for my family but even out of that there came good, for if I hadn’t have taken the path I did then my brother would also be dead and I would have nothing.’
‘But your brother is dead,’ said the Abbot, ‘drowned at sea while fleeing the mess you caused. You have nothing, Garyn and lay before me stripped of honour, dignity and conscience. My work is done and I can now send you to where you truly belong, the fiery pain of Satan’s fires’. He got slowly to his feet and withdrew a thin blade knife from within his sleeve.’ Hold him tight’, he said, ‘this moment has been far too long in the coming.’
The Abbot limped over to Garyn and held the knife before his victim’s eyes, the blade glinting in the firelight.
‘Behold your demise, Garyn. In a few moments this steel will ever so slowly enter your body and pierce your innards but don’t wish for the swift yet fleeting pain of a wound to your heart, for I would prolong the agony. Your lungs will be punctured and I will watch with great mirth as you die gasping for breath, slowly drowning in your own blood.
‘Just do it, Monk’ said Garyn and stared defiantly into his would-be killer’s eyes.
The Abbot walked slowly around his prisoner, softly dragging the flat of the blade around the flesh of Garyn’s throat.
‘One more thing before you go, Blacksmith,’ he said, ‘one more tale to tell, so your humiliation is complete. You may think that your bones will tomorrow lie in peace alongside the remains of your family but you are wrong. Before the first rays of the sun have bested the morning mist, the dogs will already be fighting over your carcass and whatever is left will be scattered amongst the forests of Brycheniog, quite appropriate really as that is what happened to your family.’
‘I don’t know what you are saying, Monk, my kin lie in consecrated ground by the church.’
‘Oh no they don’t, Garyn. I admit that they once did but after you fled my custody the last time my frustration knew no bounds and I had them dug up and displayed in the village square as the bloodline of a brigand. Don’t worry for they didn’t stay there long, the dogs saw to that but suffice to say their remains ended up as no more than a stain on the shoes of beggars.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ said Garyn quietly, ‘not even you would stoop so low.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Williams, ‘I have reached depths you can’t even imagine.’ He returned to face Garyn once more. ‘Lay him down and hold his arms and legs.’
Garyn was stretched out upon the cold slabs of the room and the monk lowered himself to sit across his stomach.
‘This is it, Blacksmith,’ he said, ‘the time for talking is done.’ He placed the point of the knife against Garyn’s chest. ‘When you get to hell, save me a seat at Satan’s table and tell him I’ll be there shortly.’ The Abbot took a deep breath and leaned forward to plunge the knife into his victim’s body.
----
Chapter Nine
The Walled Town of Denbigh
‘Faster,’ roared Robert Byrd as they galloped through the narrow streets, ‘the alarm has been raised and we must secure the well before they launch a counter attack.’
The riders spurred their horses harder and raced up the slopes toward the castle walls.
‘What’s that?’ shouted Robert as a circular enclosure came into view. He raced over and slid from his horse to peer down into the depths. ‘This is it, dismount and secure a perimeter.�
��
The men climbed from the horses and five of the riders took the reins before leading them back down the hill and into the town. Whichever way went the battle, there was no point in losing valuable steeds.
‘Line of twenty facing the castle,’ shouted Robert, ‘another line in support. The rest, place yourself on a flank and plug any holes in the line should they appear. We need hold out for only a short while for with god’s aid Cynan follows us with the infantry.’
‘Something’s happening,’ came a shout and all eyes turned to see the giant gates of the castle swing open and a troop of horses come galloping out.
‘Look to your weapons,’ shouted Robert, ‘front rank take the horses’ legs from beneath them, second rank, kill the riders as soon as they hit the floor. Take no prisoners, we do not have the strength to keep them.’
‘Here they come,’ shouted a voice and Robert drew his own sword to face the English cavalry racing toward the well.
----
Down below, Cynan was breathing hard as he ran through the streets, leading his detachment toward the hill, knowing it was pivotal to the defence of the castle. Any commander worth his salt would risk everything to protect the precious water source and although he had sent fifty riders to secure the prize, nobody actually knew how many defenders were still within the castle and if it held a strong garrison, then Robert Byrd and his men could be easily cut from the field within minutes. It was important they had the support of the infantry as soon as possible.
Onward they ran, pushing away any civilians venturing outside their homes to see what was happening. Random soldiers or over-zealous citizens who took to arms to defend their town were dealt with ruthlessly, cut down where they stood without question of quarter. Fires raged where other detachments were torching the buildings and as the streets began to fill with smoke, more and more people appeared from the gloom, crying in fear at the sight of the enemy soldiers rampaging through the town. Screams of the wounded echoed eerily amongst the swirling smoke and rivulets of blood mingled with rain water, sending probing fingers of scarlet along the drainage channels.
‘Sire, the advance party is under attack,’ shouted one of his men and Cynan looked up to see the small cavalry troop about to engage Robert’s command.
‘Faster,’ roared Cynan, ‘get up the hill as quickly as you can, if Robert’s men fall, the enemy will hold the high ground.’
The men doubled their efforts and clambered over the low walls at the base of the hill. Cynan knew that sending a small party deep into an enemy held fortification was risky but if the gamble paid off, it would be a massive blow to the castle and one which the English defenders would unlikely recover from.
----
‘Brace’ roared Robert and seconds later he staggered backward as the line took the full force of ten horses, line abreast. Bodies flew everywhere and unearthly screams filled the night sky as some of the animals suffered deep wounds and fell to the ground in agony.
As their riders tried to recover, Robert’s second line of defence ran forward with axes and clubs, smashing them against the armoured helms of those too slow to defend themselves, sending plate steel through skulls and into the soft tissue beneath.
Those still able, jumped to their feet and drew their swords before wading into Robert’s line, delivering deep cutting blows through the flesh and bone of the Welsh attackers. Metal crashed on metal and each man fought frantically, hardly able to breathe or think such was the ferocity of the battle.
Eventually there came a pause as men gathered their breath and the English retreated a few paces to regroup. All were now unhorsed and though they were well armoured, the extra weight meant they tired quickly.
‘Sire, more men approach,’ shouted a voice and Robert’s heart sunk when he saw at least fifty armed men racing from the castle to aid their cavalry.
‘Retire to the well,’ he shouted, ‘place your backs to the wall and defend only the space to your front.’
Slowly the men in the cordon walked backward until they were shoulder to shoulder around the well.
‘Steady your hearts men,’ shouted Robert, ‘for though we lay outnumbered, they fight for coin while we fight for freedom, a value unmatched by all the gold in Christendom.’
The remaining men roared their support and banged their swords against their shields, shouting defiantly toward the oncoming enemy. Within seconds the English infantry crashed into them and once more steel cleaved flesh in a maelstrom of pain and blood.
For several minutes the battle swung in both directions but the tiredness of the Welsh told until finally they numbered little more than a dozen.
‘To the last, men,’ gasped Robert, ‘to the last.’
Wearily they lifted their swords to defend the final assault but just as it looked like they would be overwhelmed, a man smashed into the English line’s rear, taking a soldier’s head from his shoulders with a swipe of an axe.
He was the first of many and within seconds, the rest of the Welsh infantry swarmed over the brow and engulfed the enemy in a sea of steel. Those defenders fortunate enough to be on the outer edges of the English lines quickly abandoned their heavy weapons and ran for the castle while the remainder died where they stood, slaughtered by Cynan’s ferocious assault.
The Welsh numbers increased as they poured up the hill and Cynan’s sergeants set about forming defensive lines. Pointed stakes were planted into the ground, each braced in a lethal defence against further horse charges while archers located themselves amongst the loose boulders across the slope. As soon as the second detachment finished clearing the streets they made their way up the road to the gates and set up even more lines, just out of reach of the castle’s crossbows.
----
Robert Byrd sat with his back against the well, grimacing as one of his comrades tried to remove his chainmail. As soon as Cynan knew they were safe from counter attack, he returned to the well and knelt alongside his second in command.
‘Robert,’ he said, ‘how is your wound?’
‘It hurts like nothing I have ever experienced,’ grimaced Robert Byrd.’
As soon as the chainmail was off, Cynan lifted up the woollen undershirt to see what damage had been done. Robert’s side was black and it was obvious there were several broken ribs.
‘A mere scratch,’ said Cynan, ‘I expect you to be galloping alongside me on the morrow.’
Robert started to laugh but gasped in pain at the effort.
‘Perhaps tomorrow is a bit ambitious,’ he replied, ‘though if I am favoured by fortune, I suspect that I will one day soon be able to beat you in the gallop.’
‘I have a horn of the best wine that says you won’t,’ said Cynan with a smile and turned to one of his men.
‘Go into the town and find a physician. I want Robert bandaged and sent in a cart to the nearest village with proven Welsh allegiance.’
‘Just lay me in one of the houses below,’ said Robert.
‘No, it’s not safe,’ said Cynan. ‘If we are attacked by the Earl of Lincoln we may have to move quickly and that my friend is something you are not capable of at this moment.’
‘Do you think he will return?’ asked Robert.
‘Oh yes, he will return but hopefully, by the time he does, there will be a new castellan within Denbigh.’
‘I’m sure there will,’ came the reply.
‘The siege will be the simple part,’ said Cynan, ‘but without water it is only a matter of days before they feel the strain. The hardest part was securing the well and the actions of you and your men have ensured a successful outcome. All we have to do now is be patient.’
‘What if De-Lacey comes back?’
‘We will be waiting and we won’t give up the town walls as easily as he relinquished them, I can promise you that.’
‘Good,’ said Robert and grimaced again as pain shot through his entire body.
‘Tie him upon a board,’ said Cynan, ‘and get him off this hill. Once he has bee
n seen by the physician, get him to safety.’
‘Aye Sire’, said a sergeant and set about making the arrangements.
----
The following morning the rain had stopped and Cynan’s men set about preparing the town’s defences against any counter attack that may come from De-Lacey’s column still somewhere out in the Welsh hills. Cynan found himself in the unusual position of forming two defensive lines, one facing inward toward the castle in case of any break out and one facing outward, expecting the English cavalry at any moment. The Welsh warlord sent word to all the outlying villages demanding that any fletchers send all stocks of arrows immediately as well as any man fit enough to hold a sword and within two days, the defending garrison had increased significantly. On the third day a sentry sounded the alarm and every defender on the town wall looked to their weapons, suspecting the long awaited counter attack had started.
Cynan ran up the steps of one of the towers and peered out over the plain on the other side of the river. Finally he turned to the soldier at his side.
‘Stand the men down, Sergeant, the column carries the standard of Madog. Open the gates and make our brothers welcome, their arrival could be most opportune.’
‘Aye Sire’, said the Sergeant and descended the steps, closely followed by Cynan.
Minutes later the Welsh column rode in, led by Madog himself. As the prince dismounted, the rest of the patrol were led into the narrow streets to seek shelter and rest after the arduous ride.
‘Madog,’ said Cynan walking up to him, ‘well met. Your presence is unexpected though welcome.’
‘Cynan,’ said Madog removing his gauntlets as a boy took away his horse to be watered, ‘I see you have been busy.’
‘The castle will be in Welsh hands within the month,’ replied Cynan, ‘the defenders are without water and I have a strong line outside the gates to prevent a break out.’
Madog looked up at the town walls.
‘Your wall is well defended,’ he said.
‘I suspect when word reaches De-Lacey that his beloved town has fallen, he will return with all haste but we will not be found wanting.’
