by Kevin Ashman
‘I expected nothing else.’ said Cynan.
‘When that day comes. Welshman, I assure you there will be no fancy negotiation or deals to be made, it will be battle without quarter until one of us lies dead upon the ground.’
‘A meeting to relish,’ said Cynan, ‘but until that day dawns, I bid you farewell. Ride out, Phillip of Lincoln, go back to England and leave Wales to the Welsh.’
‘This is not over, Cynan,’ snarled Phillip, ‘and I swear by all that is holy, I will have retribution.’
‘Open the gates,’ roared Cynan and watched as the English column left Denbigh town. He turned to face Madog at his side.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘thus another castle falls in Edward’s ring of steel, which, including Dolwyddelan makes four in total.’
‘A tally to be proud of,’ said Madog, ‘but I think we have probably ridden the wave of good fortune as far as we can.’
‘Why say you that?’
‘Because by now word will be spreading like a forest fire amongst the English strongholds. They can no longer ignore us, Cynan, and will realise we are a force to be reckoned with. As we speak, I expect every outpost to be stocking their stores and sharpening steel. No, something inside me says that from here on in, it is going to get a lot harder.’
‘A fair judgement,’ said Cynan, ‘and the truth of the matter will soon be found out.’
‘In what way?’
‘The taking of Denbigh has raised the spirits of my men and I would take it in harness while the fires burn bright.’
‘To what end?’
‘I hear the people of Mold have suffered extensively at the hands of the constable there. It is said he has people flogged in the stocks for the slightest of crimes and hunger is a bedfellow to all.’
‘Mold is low on the list of priorities,’ said Madog, ‘and lacks any strategic importance.’
‘The size of the castle matters not, it is the effect of the ruling classes within. Surely the people of Mold are no less deserving of our attention than those of the town below us?’
‘Accepted,’ said Madog, ‘and I do not deem to question your path.’
He looked down as the last of the English infantry marched out through the town gates. Within seconds the sound of the oaken gates symbolically slamming into place roused the previously quiet Welsh army and the air erupted into deafening cheers of victory.
‘Come,’ said Cynan, ‘I have a castle to inspect.’
‘No,’ said Madog, ‘you carry on. I will rally my command and ride out within the hour. There is much to do Cynan, but in the meantime enjoy your victory and let’s hope there are many more to follow.’
‘The path is clear before us, my friend,’ said Cynan, ‘all we need to do is find the courage to tread it.’
The men grasped wrists in comradeship before Cynan descended from the walls to lead his cheering army up to the castle. As he went, Madog turned to the man alongside him.
‘Sergeant, muster our command, we have work to do.’
----
Chapter Ten
Brecon Castle
Garyn stared into the emotionless eyes of the Abbot. The old man’s face was just above his own and as it slowly eased into an evil smile, a trickle of spittle ran down from the corner of his mouth to drip onto Garyn’s chin. The rotten stumps where the teeth had once been contributed to the fetid smell of the monk’s breath and Garyn gagged at the overwhelming stench.
Father Williams pushed harder on the knife and Garyn gasped as the blade pierced his skin.
‘Ready for hell?’ snarled the Abbot.
‘Do it,’ screamed Garyn and held his breath as he awaited the killing thrust but before the Abbot could drive home the blade, the door crashed open and two men burst into the room. For half a second, everyone paused as they took in the scene and one of the English guards released his hold on Garyn to reach for his sword.
Garyn instantly took advantage and used his free hand to punch the priest, knocking him and the knife to one side. The action spurred the other men to action and Geraint swung his sword in a wide arc to smash into the first man’s head, lodging halfway through the skull while Tarian kicked the second kneeling guard as hard as he could in the jaw sending him sprawling across the floor.
The two other guards at the end of the room sprang into action and drawing their swords, ran at the two intruders.
‘Kill them,’ screeched the Abbot from the corner of the room where he lay sprawled on the floor.
Geraint tried to release his sword from his victim’s skull by driving the heel of his boot down onto the man’s face but it was no good, the blade was lodged tight. He drew his knife and faced one of the other attackers. The English soldier swung the two handed sword in a sideways arc, hoping to cut Geraint in half but the Welshman saw it coming and dropped to the floor, the blade passing within a whisker above his head. For a moment the soldier was unbalanced and Geraint took advantage to thrust his knife upward into his attacker’s groin.
The guard screamed in agony but retained control of his sword. He lifted it up to drive the point downward into the man at his feet but as he raised his hands above his head, Garyn smashed a stool into his face, knocking him backward to land on the floor. Instantly Geraint threw himself upon the fallen man and drove his dagger over and over again into his chest.
‘Garyn,’ he shouted as he caught his breath, ‘help Tarian.’
Garyn looked around and saw the older man struggling with the other guard. Tarian had lost his knife and his sword and the younger man was getting the upper hand. Garyn ran forward and jumped upon the Englishman’s back, throwing his hand around his head and as he yanked it back, Tarian took the opportunity to do something none of them expected, he leaned forward and tore his attacker’s throat apart with his teeth. The Englishman staggered backward with arterial blood spraying everywhere, his hands clawing uselessly at the gaping wound as he fell to the floor. Garyn stared in horror and turned to face Tarian, not knowing what to say. The white haired man spat out a piece of flesh from his blood stained mouth and wiped his sleeve across his face.
‘Don’t judge me, Garyn,’ said Tarian quietly, ‘there are many ways to kill a man. He now lays dead while I am still here. The end justifies the means.’
Across the room, Geraint bent to cut the throat of the man Tarian had kicked when he first entered. When he was done he stood up and all three Welshmen looked at each other in silence.
‘Is that it?’ asked Tarian, ‘are there any more?’
‘Not that I know of,’ said Garyn, ‘except for the monk.’ He looked around but was shocked to see the cell was empty.
‘He’s gone,’ gasped Garyn, looking toward the open door at the other end of the room, ‘he must have taken the opportunity during the fight.’ He started forward toward the door but Tarian grabbed his arm.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Tarian.
‘I need to catch him,’ said Garyn, ‘there are outstanding matters to resolve.’
‘No,’ said Tarian, ‘it is too risky. We need to get out of here, for all we know he could have already raised the alarm.’
‘Look,’ said Garyn, pulling his arm away, ‘I don’t know who you are and I am grateful for your aid but there are things here you don’t understand, that man is responsible for killing my family and I will have redress even if it costs me my life.’
‘I understand your grief,’ said Tarian, ‘but revenge is not worth your life. Let it go, there will be other opportunities.’
‘Why wait?’ asked Garyn, ‘I have just found out that man is responsible for my family’s murder, he paid for my sister to be raped and then he desecrated their graves. The burden is too great and I need to end this once and for all.’
‘What about your family?’
‘I have no family,’ said Garyn.
‘You have a brother,’ said Tarian quietly.
‘My brother died fleeing a situation of my making,’ said Garyn, ‘I even have his blood
on my hands.’
‘No you don’t,’ said a voice from across the room.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Garyn, ‘he died on a ship trying to cross the western sea.’
Geraint stepped forward into the circle of candlelight.
‘Your brother didn’t die, Garyn,’ said Geraint, ‘he survived to live a fruitful life in the north and for the last twelve years thought you dead from a hangman’s noose.’
‘How do you know this?’ asked Garyn but instead of answering, Geraint took another step forward until he was within touching distance of his brother.
Garyn’s eyes narrowed as he focussed on the features of the stranger.
‘How do you…’ he started but fell silent as he recognised the features of the man before him.
‘You look like my father,’ he said slowly, ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Garyn,’ said Geraint, ‘it is me, your brother.’
Garyn raised his hand up to touch the side of Geraint’s face and for a few moments they stared at each other in silence. Slowly, the doubt on Garyn’s face eased as he realised the man was telling the truth.
‘It can’t be true,’ whispered Garyn, unable to take it in, ‘I thought you long dead.’
‘As I did you,’ said Geraint.
Garyn grabbed both of his brother’s shoulders and without another word, dragged him into his embrace as tears fell from his eyes.
‘Lord be praised,’ he gasped, ‘I thought I was truly forsaken and all my family were dead.’
‘It is a strange world we live in,’ said Geraint pulling away, ‘and there is much to discuss but Tarian is right, we have to get away from here before it is too late.’
‘Geraint, you heard what I just said, that Monk is the devil in disguise and has the blood of our family on his hands. We must seek redress.’
‘And we will,’ said Geraint, ‘but now is not the time, there is too much at stake.’
‘If we leave it, he will escape and many more will suffer at his hands.’
I think not, Garyn,’ said Geraint, ‘he is at death’s door but I swear, once this has all been sorted out, we will seek steps to lay our retribution upon him and clear our family’s name. Now come, we have to go.’
Garyn followed the men out and through the passages, heading toward the courtyard. On the way they passed the bodies of two more English soldiers, the handiwork of Tarian and Geraint less than ten minutes earlier. Soon they were moving quietly through the shadows toward the kitchens but just as Geraint thought they would make it unseen, a cry arose from one of the tower windows.
‘Alarm, intruders in the castle.’
Within seconds a bell started ringing and they could hear voices from all around as the garrison responded to the call.
‘Quickly, ‘shouted Geraint, all thoughts of subterfuge gone, ‘the time for stealth is done.’ He turned to the side and ran straight across the courtyard, making a beeline for the kitchen block. The others followed but though their speed was quick, an alert guard spotted them and called out through the darkness.
‘Halt strangers,’ he called.
‘Where are they?’ came another voice.
‘Heading to the north wall,’ shouted the guard.
Confusion reigned for a few moments which gave the Welshmen time to gain access to the kitchens un-hindered and they ran through the corridor toward the cellar. As they passed the kitchen door a large man stepped out with a meat cleaver, wondering what all the noise was about but before he could react, Geraint barged him out of the way and the cook fell to the floor, losing his blade into the bargain.
‘Come on,’ cried Geraint, ‘this way.’
‘What about him?’ asked Garyn, as he passed the cook.
‘Leave him, they know we are here anyway.’
They ran down to the cellar and ducked into the passageway leading from the castle. Minutes later they emerged into the forest and ran as fast as they could through the foliage.
----
‘What do you mean intruders?’ roared Gerald at the messenger, ‘who dares breach my walls.’
‘We don’t know who they were, Sire but it would seem they have released the prisoners from the tower and assaulted the Abbott.’
‘Is the outlaw gone?’
‘He is.’
Gerald threw a gauntlet against the wall in temper.
‘I am surrounded by imbeciles,’ he roared, ‘and swear somebody will hang this day for their incompetence. How did they get in? Where was the guard?’
‘They entered by the old sally-port and were gone before we knew they were here.’
‘Have you stood the garrison to? ‘
‘Aye, Sire and a mounted unit is set to ride out to scour the forest, they can’t have got far on foot and if they have mounts waiting, they will leave a trail.’
‘Do it,’ said Gerald pulling on his jerkin, ‘and assemble a unit of foot soldiers to accompany me within the hour.’
‘To where, Sire?’
‘To Brycheniog,’ said Gerald, ‘if the woman and her son have been set free then you can guarantee that they will have headed back to their own people. I intend to find them and have them hung for aiding the escape of a brigand. Tell me, is the Abbot still alive?’
‘He is, Sire and sits within his chambers attended by the apothecary.’
‘Good, I will have words and when I am finished, ensure the men are ready. I will have my revenge before daybreak.’
‘Aye,’ said the soldier and left the room.
Gerald strapped on his sword and headed through the passageways within the castle walls toward the Abbot’s quarters. Without knocking, he barged in to see a servant girl bathing some scratches on the old man’s face. Beside her the apothecary was mixing a draft to ease the Abbot’s pain.
‘Oh, there you are,’ sneered Father Williams, ‘I thought you would be fast asleep, safe in the confines of your royal bed chamber while all about are threatened by brigands.’
‘Cease the jibes, Monk,’ said Gerald, ‘it would seem you have escaped the worse end of the deal.’
‘There are four men lying dead not a stone’s throw from here,’ said the Abbot angrily, ‘and it is only by good fortune that my body does not lay alongside them. What sort of garrison do you run where it is so easy to gain access to a castle of Edward? How did they even get in?’
‘I know not the detail yet,’ said Gerald, ‘but rest assured the truth will be forthcoming and anyone found wanting in their responsibilities will be dealt with accordingly.’
‘You do that,’ growled the Monk, ‘and in the process, make sure that the blacksmith is captured. His escape angers me beyond belief and I swear to you by almighty god that my fortune will remain hidden from all men forever more unless his head is placed before me before I die. Is that clear, Gerald? If you want to know the locations of the graves then I want that man dead at my feet within days.’
Gerald turned to the serving girl and the apothecary.
‘Get out,’ he said.
‘But Sire…’ started the apothecary.
‘You heard me’ said Gerald, ‘get out and shut the door.’ The man packed his bag and along with the girl, left the room, slamming the door behind them. Gerald turned to face the Abbot.
‘Now you listen to me, Monk,’ he snarled, ‘we had a deal. In return for delivering him into your hands you promised to give me the list of graves. I delivered my half of the bargain so pay up, give me the information.’
‘Look around you, Sir Knight,’ shouted the Abbot, ‘where is he? Do you see him for I don’t?’
‘I did what we agreed,’ shouted Gerald, ‘I placed him within your very hands. It is no fault of mine that you let him slip through.’
‘Really?’ sneered the Abbot. ‘It was your castle his comrades managed to breach, your sentries they evaded, your guard who told them where to find me and your so called soldiers who fell to their blades. You are solely responsible for this disaster, Gerald and I will not pay a sin
gle coin for your absolute incompetence.’
Gerald drew his knife and ran across to the Monk, pushing his chair against the far wall and resting his blade upon the Abbot’s throat.
‘Careful what you say, Monk,’ he hissed, ‘for I have had just about enough of your continued demands. I could kill you right now and not one eyebrow would be raised.’
‘You won’t kill me, Gerald,’ said the Monk with a sneer, ‘I am too valuable. My knowledge is worth a fortune and the greed is too great within you. You need me alive and you will do anything to secure the knowledge.’
Gerald stared deep into the man’s eyes before pulling back and allowing Father Williams upright once more.
‘Don’t presume to know what it is I want, Monk, this whole thing is getting wearisome and I could just as soon kill you now and have my men dig up every grave in every churchyard.’
‘Do that and you will turn every village against you from here to London,’ said Williams, ‘they may be weak individually but give the Welsh a cause to support and they can turn as nasty as any rabid dog. The air is already ripe with talks of revolution and any such action from you will be the catalyst to tear these walls from around you. No, just accept it, Gerald, you fell short but there is yet time. My strength is returning and I feel I may yet have a few months. All you need to do is bring me his head, forget about trying to capture or trick him into returning, that gateway is now closed. All I want is proof his pathetic life is at an end.’
‘Well, Monk,’ said Gerald, ‘I will say one thing for you, once you get a quest in mind you go after it as true as an arrow. Never have I seen any man so obsessed with retribution as you.’ He paused before taking a deep sigh. ‘So be it,’ he said, ‘I will hunt him down with a passion to match your own but if there is any more stalling upon my return, then I will personally gouge out your eyes and watch the dogs tear you apart.’
Father Williams grinned, his blackened stumps visible in his diseased mouth.
‘If your actions match the braveness of your words, Sir Knight, then it won’t come to that, for I will have my revenge and you will become the richest man in Christendom. Now, if that isn’t worth one more effort, then I don’t know what is. Be gone and do whatever it is you need to do, but bring it to me, Gerald, bring me the head of Garyn Ap Thomas before the opportunity is lost.’
