by Tony Riches
‘You fought bravely,’ said Hywel, his voice heavy with emotion. The soldier tried to say something but more blood flowed from the wound in his neck and with a final gasp he died. Hywel began digging a grave at the edge of the peaceful clearing where they had fought so savagely. As he was working, he noticed the sword of the Gwyn soldier had fallen in the undergrowth and picked it up. It was a fine old weapon, so he used it to mark the finished grave. After saying a silent prayer Hywel continued on his way. A gentle breeze made something dangling from the handle of the sword flash in the autumn sunlight. It was a small silver crucifix the man had been wearing.
*
Queen Elvina had a difficult decision to make. She was longing to meet Sir Gwynfor but it would be impossible to see him in secret without Bethan’s collaboration. Her dilemma was that she was not certain how far her handmaiden could be trusted. The news that Bethan was from the Du raised a question about where her loyalty would be, if it were tested. It crossed Elvina’s mind that Bethan was an enemy spy, placed deep within the royal household to gather information for her people. She dismissed the idea just as quickly, as it would have been a simple matter for Bethan to remain silent about her past. She had chosen to be quite open about it, even though she must know that the queen could have had her arrested immediately.
They had stopped overnight at one of the king’s farms after a full day of riding. There was no bath and only stubs of old beeswax candles for light, yet Elvina was delighted to experience the simple way her people lived. She had to share a low ceilinged room with Bethan but the bed had clean linen and they both slept comfortably. Elvina woke to the relaxing sound of the farmer taking his cattle out to pasture. She lay for a while, listening to the dawn chorus until the shrill call of a cockerel reminded her it was time to prepare for the busy day ahead. She breathed deeply of the fresh morning air, which raised the invisible golden hairs on the skin of her arms. Bethan must have woken early and opened the ancient wooden shutters covering the window.
She rose from her bed and looked out to the mist covered blue hills that marked the edge of the Gwyn territory. These were her lands now, for as far as the eye could see, and she was not going to let any invaders take them easily. Elvina unrolled the small but detailed parchment map the king had given her and traced their route from Pennard with her finger. She heard a gentle knock at her door. It was Bethan, carrying an earthenware bowl of hot water and clean clothes.
‘Are you ready to dress, my lady?’
‘Thank you, Bethan. It looks to be a fine morning so I would like to leave early.’
‘There is a rider waiting to see you, he asked me to tell you he has a message for you.’
‘Quickly, help me dress so I can hear what he has to say.’ Her heart was beating fast, she could not believe that Sir Gwynfor would take such a risk.
The rider was waiting in the kitchen of the farmhouse. He was a tall man and made the low ceilinged and cluttered room look even smaller. He quickly put down the mug of hot broth he was drinking and bowed when he recognised the queen.
‘I have to speak with this man about a private matter,’ said Elvina to Bethan and the farmer’s wife, who were waiting to hear what had brought the rider at such an early hour. After they had gone and closed the door, she turned to him.
‘Keep your voice low, if you will.’
The rider nodded. ‘My lady, I have a message from your man Owen. He says to tell you he has news of the Du advancing.’
In her hurry to see Sir Gwynfor Elvina had forgotten Owen and the mission she had sent him on. ‘Where is Owen? Did he say where he saw them?’
‘He is waiting there for your orders, close to our border north of here, my lady.’
Elvina was thinking quickly. She knew she should return to Pennard but decided that the message from Owen offered a solution to her problem. Rather than travel directly to the place suggested by Sir Gwynfor, they should continue to the north for a short way to meet with Owen. She would pretend to chance upon the knight on the return journey. There was no need to give anyone reason to suspect the true purpose of her visit to the countryside. She gave the rider a Saxon coin for his trouble and told him to find Owen and have him meet them at the next farm, some ten miles north. After he had gone she could see that Bethan was curious.
‘The message is from Owen. It seems you chose him well, Bethan, he already has news of the Du.’
Bethan looked worried. ‘They are attacking?’
‘Not yet, but I have asked him to meet us north of here, so we must leave soon.’
They had a hurried breakfast, watched from a respectful distance by the farmer’s wife, before setting out on the trail again. Several of the king’s guard rode ahead of them and the rest followed behind with the pack mules carrying their supplies. The land was more densely wooded and Elvina was enjoying the ride in the unexpectedly sunny November morning.
‘I love the colours of the leaves in autumn,’ said Bethan.
‘It is good to see more of the country. I am learning from this journey. The king gave me the impression that the wilderness is a wasteland but it has a wild beauty, I like it.’
They rode on until they reached the farmstead where they were to meet Owen. He had not arrived, so they waited to rest the horses and two of the guards went to refill the water bottles. It was not long before Owen appeared. He had been riding hard but was pleased to have found them. He quickly explained that he had seen the Du a short way to the north. It was only one warrior, who Owen guessed was probably a scout, sent ahead to test their defences.
Elvina felt a sudden surge of excitement as she realised how close they were to danger. Ideas and possibilities flashed though her mind. ‘We could capture him! Quickly, before he goes to cover.’
Owen looked uncertain. ‘Du warriors fight to the death rather than be taken, my lady. He is heading this way, we must take you to a place of safety.’
Elvina hesitated. ‘No! I have my guards and you said he seems to be alone. Take us to where you saw him.’
Owen could see that the queen was determined, so reluctantly led them back the way he had come until they reached the top of a ridge that gave them a view into the far distance. The land was uninhabited for as far as they could see. For a while they waited on the ridge, then a distant movement caught Elvina’s attention. At first she thought it was one of the black Welsh cattle she had noticed on the way there, then she realised it was a man, crossing the open ground between two small wooded areas and heading in their direction. She beckoned Owen.
‘See that,’ she pointed. ‘Is that him?’
Owen squinted into the distance then saw the man as well. ‘It’s hard to be sure but I think it is,’ he said.
‘Quickly, Owen, we must take him before he goes out of sight,’ She dismounted and handed the reins of her white mare to one of the guards. ‘Wait for us with my handmaiden.’
Bethan looked as if she was going to object but could see that Elvina had made her mind up. She nodded. ‘Take care, my lady.’
Elvina followed Owen and the other guards as they descended the steep hillside on foot, heading towards the man but taking care to remain concealed within the cover of the trees. They took some time to reach the path being taken by the Du warrior but he was clearly not aware of them. They eventually came to a rocky outcrop that offered a safe vantage point for seeing anyone heading up the narrow track and waited. Her guards were armed with bows as well as swords and two of them silently sighted arrows on the dark figure in the distance. She had never expected to see the Du so soon yet now she held a man’s life in her hands. It was a heavy responsibility but she felt excited as she watched him approach. To capture a Du warrior would really show the power she had as queen of the Gwyn and, if he could be taken alive, he would have information useful to the king.
The arrow struck home in the blink of an eye.
The warrior of the Du felt an instant searing pain and the frightening realisation that he was going to die. He looke
d down and saw the feathered flight of a thick arrow sticking out of his chest. The blood was already pouring from the wound and he could feel his body going numb with shock. He had not even seen where the arrow had come from. This was not how it was supposed to end. A single word came from his lips as he fell dead. ‘Ceinwen.’
*
Bishop Emrys was alarmed to learn that his servant Madoc was advising the Commander of the Guard. He felt some guilt when he pointed out the mistake, but would have been more concerned if he had known Idris would act so swiftly by sending Madoc straight to the front line. Even for an experienced warrior, the advance guard would have been a high risk but for Madoc it was bad news and he knew it. He left quickly, however, aware that he had only escaped a severe flogging because of the impending battle.
The punishment for desertion was execution but although the idea of making his name as a warrior appealed to him, Madoc knew he would not last long in a real battle. The only way he could see to survive was to find one of the isolated crofts that dotted the hillsides and lay low until the war was won, or lost by the Du. Before he left he had been equipped with old black cloak, which kept out the cold, and enough food for his journey. Madoc had never been so far south, so the country was strange to him and he would have to learn to live off the land.
Eventually he came upon a croft that was far enough off the track to avoid unwanted attention. It was well built of local stone and had a sound roof of slate. There was a small vegetable garden, where Madoc could see leeks and potatoes growing. He knocked at the door. The crofter was a wiry man who had managed to scrape a living by tending a small flock of sheep on the hills. He opened the door and stood looking at Madoc in silence.
‘I have been assigned by Commander Idris of the king’s guard to protect the area,’ explained Madoc. ‘There is to be a war against the Gwyn, so in return for food and lodging I will ensure your safety.’
‘You’ll work for your food?’ The crofter looked doubtful.
‘I am well used to hard work,’ lied Madoc. He was not, but after his long walk was prepared to agree to anything. He spent the night sleeping on a straw bed and the next day rounding up sheep and fetching water from the spring. He was amazed to find he soon started enjoying his new life, safely isolated from whatever terrors the war would bring to the people of the north.
*
The longbow was heavy and awkward to carry but Delwyn had spent the last few weeks practising with it until he could hit the targets almost as well as Kane, his mentor. Kane was not a man who was easily impressed but had described Delwyn as a ‘natural archer’ and presented him with one of the best longbows in the castle for his own personal use. It was with mixed feelings that Delwyn set out on his mission for the king, however. He had really enjoyed the longbow training and could not have had a better teacher than Kane, but had never killed a man and wasn’t sure if he was able to, even at a distance.
The ground was marshy and he could feel his feet getting wet. They were his only pair of boots, so he worried about how long they would last and wished he had insisted on new ones before he left. Delwyn had decided that he should go ahead and the other men would follow out of sight behind. It was a long walk and with every step he was closer to danger, so he slowed down and wondered how far away Owen was. Owen had left a few days earlier and knew the way better than him, so it would be good to meet up.
To pass the time on the long journey Delwyn remembered Kane’s teaching about the deadly longbow. He had been surprised to learn that it was invented by his people and was only used by the English after they saw how successfully it was being used against them. Every bow was made to measure, usually from the sacred yew tree, although Kane had bows made from ash, hazel and even elm trees. Delwyn had learned to protect the wood from the rain with a rub of fine tallow and to soak the hemp string of the Longbow in glue made from bones as further protection against the damp Welsh air.
Kane had trained him for hours on end until he could fire ten arrows in a minute, by letting his mind focus on the target. He’d practiced at targets including old metal plates he could pierce at over two hundred paces, and he could imagine Kane’s crisp instructions in his ear now, as if he were standing next to him. The surprising power of the longbow meant that at first Delwyn was almost unable to draw it back quickly enough, but with practice it became a mechanical act he did without thinking, and he could hold it there for the long moment before the command ‘Loose!’ and the arrow would strike its mark in the blink of an eye.
Delwyn was tired and wet, so was glad to see some soldiers of the Gwyn in the distance. They were building a camp and happy for him to join them.
‘Watch out for the Du,’ warned one of the soldiers. ‘They’re not far away.’
Delwyn looked around. They had a good fire going and he had to camp somewhere for the night. ‘I need a meal and a good night’s sleep.’
‘You are welcome,’ said one of the soldiers, ‘We could use a good bowman and you can take your turn on lookout duty.’
He was given a wooden bowl of thick mutton soup that was hot and tasty, and he gratefully made a bed and fell quickly to sleep. Delwyn woke with a start, wondering where he was for a moment as he looked around. His boots had dried out by the fire over night and he felt much better than he had for some days.
Chapter Ten
Lord Llewelyn was recovering well from the fever that had nearly taken his life. The fresh sea air of Ynys Mon had been good for him and although he still needed his fighting staff for support and was often short of breath, he could feel his strength returning. Under his command the hill fort had been strengthened with fighting men from all over the north west of the country. Some were little more than boys, looking for adventure but others were battle hardened warriors. The old warlord had shaped them into a formidable army, well trained and loyal. They were ready to defend their land, to the last man.
The narrow and sometimes treacherous stretch of dark blue water that separated the island from the rest of Wales also isolated them from news of the war. This meant that Llewelyn had to rely on messengers and knew that rumours spread quickly through the men of the tribes. One such rumour had come to his hearing from his servant and retainer, Bryn, that the Gwyn were already advancing towards them, not as an army but using Saxon assassins to murder and kill. He dismissed Bryn’s gossip as nonsense but was aware of the unsettling effect such talk would have on the superstitious waiting men.
Llewelyn was alone in his cramped rooms at the hill fort, considering his next move, when there was a confident knock at the door. He had sent for Cadell, a good man and one of the many foreign mercenaries that now swelled their ranks. He went to the heavily studded oak door and opened it.
‘Lord Llewelyn?’
‘Cadell, come in,’ said Llewelyn, closing the door behind him, ‘I need to talk with you, in private.’
Cadell was wearing a black cloak and it suited him well. Mercenaries were not usually allowed to wear the black of a warrior but Llewelyn had spotted the man’s potential when he first arrived and granted his personal consent. Cadell’s eyes were alert and quickly took in the sparse furnishings of the room, noting that the parchment on the table bore the royal seal.
Lord Llewelyn saw his glance and nodded. ‘I have received word from the king. He has taken command of the castle at Flint to protect the eastern border with the Saxons, but mentions nothing of the threat from the Gwyn.’
‘Are the Gwyn and the Saxons not one and the same?’
He looked at the mercenary. There was something about his manner that Llewelyn liked.
‘Experienced fighting men like you are always welcome here, Cadell.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’
‘You have shown spirit, but the reason I wanted to see you was for your knowledge of the people of the south.’
‘I’ve travelled through their lands, my lord, but cannot claim to know a great deal about the Gwyn.’
‘You have heard that the warlord Vora
th has gone after the Gwyn king?’
Cadell nodded. ‘The men are full of talk of Lord Vorath. They say he will cut off the Gwyn from their border with the Saxons.’
‘I know him well, Cadell, he will succeed.’
‘The men also say that the Gwyn castle in the east has a thousand archers, trained with the longbow. Lord Vorath will not have an easy victory.’
‘The men exaggerate. Vorath will take them by surprise, you mark my words, Cadell.’
Cadell watched with growing curiosity as Llewelyn carefully folded the letter from the king then took a valuable parchment and spread it on the table. He expertly sharpened a goose feather quill with his knife, before producing a small pot of black ink and began to draw an outline. At first Cadell was at a loss to understand the shape, then recognised it as Wales and nodded with appreciation. Lord Llewelyn was making a map.
‘Here is the fort at Ynys Mon,’ said Llewelyn, carefully drawing a circle within the outline of the island. ‘The castle at Flint is close to here.’ He drew a square on the north eastern coast. ‘Now, Cadell, I need you to help me mark the places of the Gwyn, as best as you can recall?’
Cadell placed his finger to the outline of the south western point of the coast. ‘There is a garrison at the castle here, at the town of Pembroke,’ he suggested. He knew the garrison well, having lived and worked there, but remembered his allegiance to Sir Gwynfor. It would not do to be too helpful to the enemies of the Gwyn but he needed to earn Lord Llewelyn’s confidence.
Llewelyn marked the castle with another square and drew a dashed line across the map at where he thought the southern boundary of the Du would be.
