by Tony Riches
‘I am pleased that your people no longer run from us,’ he said. ‘They still fear my warriors but they seem to accept the right of the Du to travel freely in the south.’
The priest nodded. ‘The bishops are working for a truce with King Gwayne. Those that support him will listen to the words of their priests, and the bishops of the Du have the authority of King Gethin, as well as that of the church in Wales.’
Vorath grinned at the mention of King Gethin. A lot had happened since he had left the fort at Flint and he missed his king, who was also his best friend and a fine warrior. ‘You can get a message to King Gethin?’
‘There are priests in chapels and churches in every village and town in Wales,’ he replied. ‘You must know that news travels faster within the church than by any other means.’
‘Then I have a message for the bishops. Tell them if they can secure surrender from the Gwyn king my men will let him leave the country unharmed. If he will not, he will face the might of our armies.’
The priest turned to go, a little overcome by the significance of the task ahead of him, on which many lives could depend. Vorath called him back.
‘I would also be glad if you can arrange for the good bishops to let King Gethin know we now have control of the south.’
*
Gwayne looked at the priest in disbelief. If it had been anyone else he would have struck them down for their insolence, but he knew the man in front of him was simply a messenger. It was the worst possible blow to his plans to know that the warlord Vorath was already in the west, poised to attack, but even more shocking to learn that the church had turned against him.
‘Where is Archbishop Renfrew when I need him?’
The priest looked anxious. He had been chosen to relay the message because of his skills in diplomacy but this was different. King Gwayne was a desperate man and there was more bad news to tell him.
‘With regret, I must inform you that the Archbishop is dead.’
‘Dead?’ It took a moment for the significance of this to sink in. Renfrew had been his main contact with the Saxon King Athelstan, as well as the architect of his marriage to Queen Elvina. An idea occurred to him.
‘Do you know if Queen Elvina is safe?’
The priest shook his head. ‘I could ask the bishops to help you locate her?’
Gwayne’s heavy boots thumped the hard stone floor as he paced up and down, deep in thought. He could not believe that his future could depend on his reply to the bishops of the Du. The priest waited in silence, aware that the future of the country was about to be decided.
‘Tell the bishops that I will never surrender.’ His words hung in the air and he was surprised to see sadness in the eyes of the priest.
‘If that is your wish, my lord.’
‘It is. I would also ask that they find Queen Elvina and ensure her safe passage to King Athelstan. She is one of the many innocent victims of this war.’ Even as he said the words, he realised that he was defeated but there was one last hope. As soon as the priest was gone Gwayne rallied his men and rode as hard as he could for the abandoned castle at Pembroke.
*
Vorath’s army was poised north of the castle but they were tired and battle weary, waiting for a break in the weather. The swirling mist had been replaced by gales and a relentless rain that lashed at the thin tents of their camp and turned the paths to rivers of mud. Vorath was with two of his warriors, discussing a parchment map of the land around Pembroke, when he was interrupted by the sentry. The man was dripping wet and shivering with the cold.
‘A visitor, Lord Vorath. Bishop Deniol wishes to speak with you.’
‘Deniol?’ Vorath had never liked the scholarly bishop and was suspected that it had been him who advised the king to stay in Flint when he could have been helping to defeat the Gwyn. Then he remembered that he was only in the west because of the bishops, so he was intrigued to see what Deniol had to say.
‘Show him in.’ The warriors made ready to leave but he gestured for them to stay. ‘I think you will be interested to see what it is the bishop needs to discuss.’
Bishop Deniol entered the damp tent trying to hide his fear of the warlord. He removed his wet cape and braced himself for a difficult meeting. If he was ever going to become archbishop of Wales he would have to learn to work with men such as Vorath. The warlord stood as a mark of respect then grasped the bishop’s arm firmly in a warrior’s greeting.
‘It is good to see you, Bishop Deniol. I am grateful for the service you do for our cause.’
Deniol felt his confidence grow in that instant. He worked for a greater Lord than Vorath and had now held the future of the country in his hands.
‘Thank you, Lord Vorath. You have fought bravely for our people and it is good to see you are well.’
Vorath grinned and pulled back the shoulder of his tunic to reveal an ugly scar where his flesh had been roughly stitched.
‘A Gwyn archer had me,’ he explained. ‘The arrow was nearly too deep to dig out but it is healing well enough now.’
‘I was nearly killed by a robber on the way south,’ admitted Deniol. ‘I managed to fight him off and he is one who will never trouble travellers again.’
‘A man after my own heart!’ Vorath was starting to like the studious Bishop. ‘Well done, well done.’
He gestured for Deniol to join them at the table where the map was spread out on the table. Deniol looked at it with keen interest. He had never seen such an accurate map and quickly revised his understanding of the local area.
He turned back to Lord Vorath. ‘I have come to tell you that King Gwayne has refused your offer of clemency.’
If Vorath was surprised he showed no sign of it. ‘Your work is done then Bishop. No one could do more to see a peaceful end to this war. Now we need to plan how to end it as warriors.’
Deniol appreciated that Vorath was effectively dismissing him but he had come too far to leave now. He looked back at the map and placed his thin finger on the neatly drawn symbol representing Pembroke castle.
‘The river is wide and forms a natural defence of the castle at Pembroke. We are on the wrong side of it, so unless you can find suitable boats, your men face a long march?’
Vorath nodded in agreement. ‘My men have marched far and by the time they reach Pembroke the Gwyn would have plenty of warning of our approach.’ He looked at the Bishop with renewed interest. ‘The church is in communication with King Gwayne?’
‘It is, my lord.’
‘I need you to find a way to persuade him to leave the castle and travel east, where I can arrange a welcome for him by the men of Ynys Mon. They have been waiting for this chance, so between us we will give it to them.’
*
King Gwayne had managed to find enough men to guard the castle but little else. He had recruited a few mercenaries but wondered how much he could really depend on them in a battle against the much stronger army of the Du. The rain had stopped at last and as he stood on the high battlement looking out across the water at the high ground he knew that it was now just a matter of time. The faces of those he had lost seemed to float on the misty river. His father, still angry and demanding revenge, the knight Sir Gwynfor, as confident as ever, and the Archbishop who would have been such an asset to him now.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sentry. He had been so lost in reminiscence of the past he had no idea how long the man had been waiting to speak to him.
‘What is it?’
‘A priest, my lord, with communication from the bishops of the Du.’
‘I will see him in my rooms.’
The sentry looked troubled.
‘There is more?’
‘My lord… the men no longer trust the priests and don’t want them to see how few men we have.’
Gwayne nodded. ‘The men are right. Have the priest blindfolded before he is allowed into the castle and make sure he hears nothing either.’
The sentry seemed satisfied with this s
olution and went to do the king’s bidding. Once again, Gwayne cursed at how his lands seemed to be ruled more and more by the church.
The terrified priest had been well and truly bound by the over zealous guards, who had even tied his hands behind his back as an extra precaution. The king ordered him to be untied at once and told the guards to leave them, as he did not want anything the man had to say to be overheard.
‘Welcome to Pembroke castle.’
The priest, still in shock at his treatment, recovered his composure. ‘I have come to warn that you are in great danger. The armies of the Du are ready to attack and plan to hold you in siege here for as long as it takes.’
King Gwayne shook his head. ‘You came here to tell me this?’
The priest looked him straight in the eyes. ‘Bishop Deniol himself has sent me to suggest that you have one chance to escape before Lord Vorath’s men can march around the river.’
‘They have no boats?’
‘Not enough.’
King Gwayne had heard Renfrew mention Bishop Deniol of the north and knew that he carried the authority of the Du King as his spiritual advisor. There was a chance that the Bishop was covering his bets to ensure his safety whichever side won.
‘Have the Du started marching here yet?’
‘No, my lord, they are still camped north of the river.’
‘Then there is time for us to return to Pennard.’ Gwayne was talking to himself now, oblivious to the priest. If he had to make a stand, it would be better than being trapped in the damp cold castle until they ran out of food. Somewhere at the back of his mind was also an idea about escaping by sea, to rebuild the army of the Gwyn.
He led the priest to a side exit from the castle. There was no need for a blindfold now they were heading home. Before the priest went the king put his hand on the man’s shoulder.
‘Thank Bishop Deniol for me and tell him if there is any way to reach my knight Sir Padrig he is to meet me at Pennard as soon as he can.’
‘I will do that my lord.’
‘Thank you.’ As the king watched him go he remembered too late that he had completely forgotten to ask if there was any news of his wife, Queen Elvina.
The men were glad to hear it was time to go, as none of them relished the idea of a fight against overwhelming odds. They travelled light, taking only what they could carry in saddlebags, and left at first light on the coast road. King Gwayne was filled with new hope as the fresh sea air filled his lungs.
*
The warriors of Ynys Mon were in high spirits and sang an old marching song sang as they made their way to the river crossing. They had been a long time away from home and hoped this would be their last battle in the south. They also knew that the army of Lord Vorath was close behind them, ready if needed. The one thing that had not turned to their advantage was the weather, as the first flakes of snow were already settling and those who claimed to know had foretold a harsh winter.
King Gwayne also saw the early snow falling and smiled, glad to be heading back to Pennard before it was too late. He looked back at the small column of loyal men of the Gwyn behind him, all that remained of a vast army apart from Sir Padrig’s soldiers. He wondered if Sir Padrig was still alive and if he would ever know what had kept him far away when he was so badly needed.
Safely over the rickety wooden bridge that spanned the river, the Du warriors picked up the pace, as the scouts who had been sent ahead returned with news of sighting the King’s men on the coast road. The snow was falling harder now and was accompanied by an icy wind that stung their faces and froze exposed fingers. The warriors were used to snow but it was starting to make the path harder to see and this was no time to be losing their way. The horses also had to slow, as their hooves skittered on the frozen ground and for the first time rumours began to spread among the men that the Gwyn may escape after all.
Gwayne was thinking the same as his men made good time despite the snow, which was lighter near to the coast and melted more quickly in the salty sea breeze. He also had the advantage of knowing the path even when it began to disappear under a few inches of snow, as he could easily pick out familiar landmarks. He was looking for the familiar peak of a hill when he spotted the first of many dark shapes standing out sharply against the snowy background. He wheeled round to face his men and shouted for them to stop.
‘The Du are on the ridge!’ He pointed north where the men of Ynys Mon could now be clearly seen.
‘Do we stand or run?’ It was one of the mercenaries, recruited in Carmarthen.
‘We stand!’
There was little cover on the exposed coast road, so all they could do was wait with their backs to the crashing waves and watch as an entire army approached.
‘Archers to me!’ King Gwayne clearly had no intention to surrender and was acting as if this were an evenly matched battle.
The small group of archers were well trained and stood ready in line in the deepening snow.
‘On my command I need you to take out their leaders, if you can see them,’ Gwayne’s voice was calm and authoritative now. He turned to the remaining men.
‘No quarter is to be given or expected. We have the advantage that the Du have marched a long way and must be tired.’
The men nodded, grim faced.
When the end came it was brutal and quick. The men of the Gwyn fought bravely but for every warrior they cut down, another ten stepped forward to take his place. King Gwayne looked down at his hands and saw that they were slick with the blood of the Du. He glanced to his right and was just in time to save one of his young archers by deflecting a viciously slashing sword but then found he was fighting two Du warriors at once. One warrior cut him so deeply on his arm that he staggered back with the pain and the other saw his chance to end the war. King Gwayne’s last thought as he lay dying in the softly falling snow from a mortal blow was that the old king, his father, would surely have approved.
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Epilogue
The victory celebrations of the Du lasted right through a hard winter and many stories were told around roaring camp fires by those who had fought on both sides.
King Geraint charged Bishop Deniol to negotiate the safe release of his son, Prince Evan, which the bishop achieved within one month and was rewarded with appointment as Archbishop of all Wales. His first act as effective head of the church was to reunite Queen Elvina with her brother, King Athelstan, thereby gaining great favour with the Saxon court which was to prove very useful to them both.
King Athelstan ensured that Elvina was quickly married to a rich young Saxon Prince and by all accounts she was better for her experience in Wales, for which she always had a great affection. Elvina also persuaded Bethan, her handmaiden, to join her in England and they would often converse in the language of the Gwyn to the bewilderment of the Saxons.
No trace was ever found of Queen Rhiannon, which fed the legends of her selfless action. The myth of Rhiannon even found its way into the medieval Welsh manuscripts that became the heroic stories of the Mabinogion. Rhiannon’s sister Ceinwen was made responsible for the good upbringing of the young prince and never married, which led to rumours of a very close relationship with the king.
Sir Padrig and his men escaped across the English border and were thought to have made their way to Brycg Stowe, where they found passage on a ship bound for Ireland, although no one can be certain.
Lord Vorath’s reward was to be granted the former lands of the Gwyn which he ruled like a king in all but name and became well loved by the people of the south. He would often speak of the courage of King Gwayne, calling him a true warrior, and ordered a massive monument to be raised in his memory overlooking the sea at Pennard.
&nbs
p; The Game of the Century
The ‘Game of the Century’ was played between Donald Byrne and the 13 year old Bobby Fischer at the Rosenwald Memorial Tournament in New York on October the 17th 1956. Fischer was playing black and Byrne white. After a standard opening, Fischer makes the now famous queen sacrifice move. Although Byrne takes the black queen, Fischer goes on to taking many other pieces and achieves a checkmate.
