A Wounded Realm

by K. M. Ashman

  ‘Yes,’ whispered Nesta, her mind spinning with the shock of the veiled threats.

  ‘Good, then this audience is over. You are dismissed.’

  Three days later, Nesta sat in a chair before her own hearth as Henry stared down at her in shock. They had been talking for an hour and finally she had plucked up the courage to tell him she wanted to break the relationship. From the moment she had left Matilda, there had been no doubt in Nesta’s mind about her decision. Though she loved the king, she must protect her child.

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ he said for the third time, the confusion and devastation clear upon his face. ‘What has brought on this change of heart?’

  ‘People change, Henry,’ said Nesta, without looking up, ‘and sometimes it is better to kill something quickly than let it die a slow and painful death.’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ snapped Henry, ‘and I will hear no more of it.’ He turned to walk towards the door.

  ‘Wait,’ shouted Nesta, standing up to address him.

  Henry stopped but did not turn around.

  ‘You want to know the reasons,’ said Nesta, ‘but I cannot tell you because I don’t know them myself. All I know is you hardly ever come here any more and when you do, my heart no longer flutters.’ The lie bit at her throat. ‘The flame that used to burn so brightly in my heart is a mere ember and if truth be told, I no longer lay awake at night, yearning to hear your horse galloping through the gates.’

  Henry turned to face her.

  ‘Is that what this is about?’ he asked. ‘The fact that matters of court take up so much time.’

  ‘Not just that,’ said Nesta, taking a step forward and touching his arm. ‘I am still fond of you, Henry, and will always be so, but fondness is not the basis of a relationship, especially with a king. Can’t you see I want so much more?’

  ‘Nesta,’ replied the king, ‘even if we do this, you know I cannot let you go back to Wales. At least not yet.’

  ‘I know,’ said Nesta releasing her hold, ‘but I hear the rebellion is weakening and hopefully, one day soon, your resolve will weaken enough to let me go home.’

  For an age Henry stared at the beautiful woman before reaching out and gently wiping a tear from her cheek.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ he asked softly.

  ‘I am,’ she said, her voice cracking under the strain.

  Henry lifted her hand and kissed it gently.

  ‘If this is what you truly desire, my love, then despite the blade within my heart, I will honour your wishes. Goodbye, my love. I will not return.’

  Without another word he turned and left and as the outside door slammed behind him, Nesta collapsed to the floor to let her tears pour.

  Oswestry Castle

  May 15th, AD 1102

  Lord Goronwy stared down at the charts upon his table, documents he and his officers had been poring over for the last few hours, assessing the strengths of their defences along the border with England. Alongside him stood the man who advised him on all things fiscal, Meirion Goch. Around them were the formidable walls of Oswestry Castle, an intimidating fortress made from the stoutest oak surrounded by deep ditches and a secondary palisade constantly manned by archers, a necessary precaution against the English enemy.

  Less than a day’s ride away stood the English castle of Hen Domen, another impressive fortress, though this time occupied by a mixture of Flemish and Norman troops under the command of Robert of Belleme, the third earl of Shrewsbury and the nephew of Hugh Montgomery. To have an enemy fortress so close was a constant threat and a permanent reminder of why Goronwy and his command would always stay on constant alert.

  ‘If we petition Prince Cadwgan,’ said Goronwy, ‘perhaps he could release a unit of cavalry to watch over the southern bridge. That way we would always have advance notice of any insurgence from Belleme’s men.’

  ‘But you already have men-at-arms in the village,’ said Meirion Goch. ‘Why waste valuable funds when that approach is already covered?’

  ‘Infantry will not last long against any cavalry assault,’ said Goronwy, ‘and if the bridge falls the road is open to Belleme.’

  ‘With respect, my lord,’ replied Meirion, ‘unless you put an unaffordable number of horsemen at the bridge, I would suggest that any enemy advance would only be delayed, not stopped.’

  ‘Granted, but at least one or more could gallop here with all haste and give us advance warning.’

  ‘I understand, my lord, but in that case, can I respectfully suggest that you place two horsemen on the ridge above the bridge, tasked only with reporting back should there be any sign of enemy advance. In addition, I would withdraw all infantry with immediate effect to within these walls where their skills will be better used should we come under siege.’

  ‘I cannot leave the town undefended, Meirion. What would become of the people?’

  ‘I would suggest they have a better chance without the men-at-arms.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Should Belleme decide to advance, and is confronted by our soldiers in the village, surely he will be more inclined to kill the people. If, however, he is allowed peaceful passage, he may well allow them to live.’

  ‘We can’t be sure of that.’

  ‘No, but put yourself in his place – if the villagers are allowed to live then he can impose a tithe of supplies for his army.’

  ‘A fair point,’ said Goronwy, ‘but why do I suspect there is a financial side to your reasoning?’

  ‘My lord, yes, we will save funds by not engaging the cavalry of Cadwgan, but is that not why you engaged me? Warfare is your strength, financial matters are mine. If I can save you a single silver penny with my advice, then that is an extra penny to be spent elsewhere, somewhere it is needed.’

  Goronwy looked back down at the table and was about to respond when a knock came upon the door.

  ‘Enter,’ called one of the officers.

  ‘My lord,’ said the guard as he entered the room, ‘there is a rider at the gate seeking an audience.’

  ‘Can’t you see we are busy?’ replied Goronwy. ‘Send him away.’

  ‘My lord, he says he has business to put your way and is willing to pay a fair price.’

  At the mention of money, Meirion Goch’s head shot up and he stared at the guard. ‘Wait, what business does he require?’

  ‘I know not, my lord, he said it is not for the ears of someone like me.’

  Meirion looked across at Goronwy. ‘Perhaps I should go and speak to this man. It is probably a waste of time but in the circumstances, every coin we can add to our treasury is welcome.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Goronwy and he turned back to the charts on the table as Meirion followed the guard down the steps.

  A few minutes later he stood in the bailey before a well-built young man wearing a cloak over his chainmail and holding the reins of a pure white horse. The visitor had a shock of curly black hair that hung down past his shoulders and a ruddy complexion that boasted of a life lived in the open air.

  ‘Greetings, stranger,’ said Meirion as he approached. ‘I understand you have a proposition for the Lord Goronwy.’

  ‘I do,’ said the rider, ‘but would talk to the lord himself. Is he not here?’

  ‘He is but engaged on other business. I will hear you on his behalf and relay the details back to him.’

  ‘I was instructed to speak to Goronwy himself,’ said the rider, ‘and to no other.’

  ‘In that case, our business is concluded,’ said Meirion. ‘Fare ye well.’

  ‘Wait,’ said the rider as Meirion turned away. ‘This is too important to end in such a manner. Who are you and what is your role?’

  ‘My name is not important but suffice to say I am empowered to make decisions on my lord’s behalf. So state your business or leave; I have matters to attend to.’

  The rider hesitated but realised he had no choice. ‘My name is Osian and I represent my master, Darren ap Morlais, a trader established
in Builth.’

  ‘I am aware of Morlais, and have had the opportunity to trade with him in the past. He supplies my master’s kitchens with beef, at extortionate prices if I recall correctly.’

  ‘I have no say in the matters of commerce,’ said Osian, ‘but have been tasked with a far more important role.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘A month ago, my men and I were entrusted with escorting a team of drovers and fifty head of cattle to Rhuddlan, there to sell them on behalf of my master. Once done we were to return with all haste and deliver the purse to Morlais. Unfortunately, there was an illness in Rhuddlan and my men fell afoul of the ague.’

  Meirion took a small step backward as the man continued.

  ‘Fear not, we are well recovered but our number is cut by over half.’

  ‘Why is this of interest to my master?’

  ‘Because there is a band of brigands hereabouts who have come to hear of our task and seek to relieve us of our master’s money. Ordinarily this would not be a concern but we are now only four in number and the purse becomes a burden too great to carry.’

  ‘And why is that?’

  ‘We still have two days to travel to get to Builth yet I fear we will be attacked before we get there.’

  ‘Can you not ride a different direction?’

  ‘We could, but our master’s instructions were clear. We were to return no later than the full moon on pain of punishment. It seems he has an important deal to close and needs the coins.’

  ‘Such is often the way of commerce,’ said Meirion. ‘So, what do you want of me?’

  ‘I request a mounted guard for the next two days, until we can link up with our fellows in Builth. After that we will be safe and your men can return here.’

  Meirion nodded sagely as his mind worked furiously.

  ‘And what is in it for me?’

  ‘The good will of my master,’ said Osian. ‘I will ensure he hears of your aid and he will be in your debt.’

  ‘Good will does not feed my horses, Osian of Builth,’ said Meirion, ‘for that I need coin. Make me an offer and I will see what we can do, but without such an agreement, I cannot help.’

  ‘But surely, having a trader as important as Morlais as an ally will benefit you in the long term?’

  ‘Perhaps, but times are hard now. Tell me, what is the value of this purse?’

  ‘I am not at liberty to divulge that information.’

  ‘Yet you want me to risk the lives of my men to save it? I would suggest you are not in a position to make such statements.’

  Osian thought for a moment before answering.

  ‘We carry five thousand silver pennies,’ he said eventually.

  Meirion swallowed hard – it was a fortune to be carrying around in a dangerous country. No wonder the man was worried.

  ‘That is a lot of money,’ he said, ‘surely cattle do not demand such a price?’

  ‘It is also repayment of a debt,’ said Osian. ‘That is why he sent me and my men as guards.’

  Again Meirion thought furiously. This was an opportunity he could not afford to miss.

  ‘I’ll tell you what I will do,’ he said eventually, ‘I will provide ten armed men for two days, the best I have. In return I want a payment of two hundred pennies.’

  ‘Two hundred,’ gasped Osian, ‘you are a brigand worse than those who roam the forests.’

  ‘No worse than your master,’ said Meirion. ‘Business is business and I have something you need. Two hundred is the price, take it or leave it.’

  ‘Your price is extortionate,’ said Osian, ‘but you have me at a disadvantage. Without cavalry, we are dead men.’

  ‘Then the answer is obvious,’ said Meirion, ‘I suggest you take my offer before the price increases.’

  For a few moments, Osian glared at Meirion. But he knew he had no choice.

  ‘Agreed,’ he said. ‘Ten mounted men for two days.’

  ‘Good,’ replied Meirion. ‘Name the place and they will be there by dawn.’

  ‘There is a farm an hour’s ride west of here at the head of a rocky valley.’

  ‘I know it,’ said Meirion.

  ‘We have secured lodgings in their barn and will be moving out at dawn. Have your men meet us there and I will hand over the price to your representative.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Meirion, and he waited as the man mounted his horse. Within moments the sound of the horse riding out across the wooden bridge echoed around the bailey and Meirion watched as the guards closed the giant gates.

  ‘My lord,’ said a soldier, ‘do you want me to muster ten men ready for the journey?’

  ‘No,’ said Meirion eventually, ‘summon thirty.’

  ‘But I thought—’

  ‘These are difficult times, my friend,’ said Meirion, ‘and five thousand pennies is too good a prize to ignore. Assemble the men as soon as you can.’

  ‘You intend to take it all?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘And what about those four men escorting the money?’

  ‘Alas, they cannot be allowed to return to Builth to tell their tale or our credit will be worth nothing.’

  ‘You talk of murder.’

  ‘I talk of business,’ said Meirion, ‘it’s nothing personal.’

  The following morning, three of the riders from Builth were saddling their horses, ready to continue their ride home.

  ‘Any sign of them yet?’ asked one.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Osian, walking over to check his own horse.

  ‘Do you think they will come?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Osian, ‘Goronwy’s man was keen to earn the price negotiated.’

  The last checks were made before all four led their steeds from the barn and into the crisp morning air. No sooner had they cleared the building when the riders stopped and stared at the sight before them.

  ‘Osian,’ said a voice, ‘well met.’

  Osian looked up at the man upon a horse.

  ‘You,’ he said, ‘I forget your name.’

  ‘That’s because I never gave it to you,’ said Meirion.

  Osian looked around, seeing about thirty riders on the field.

  ‘Why have you brought so many men?’ he asked, ‘the deal was for ten only. I cannot pay for more.’

  ‘There is no extra charge,’ said Meirion, ‘in fact, I have had second thoughts about the deal.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘These are hard times, Master Osian, and money is in short supply. That purse you guard is better off in my hands than yours.’

  Osian shook his head as the realisation sunk in.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘this coin belongs to Morlais. To take it from me would be an act of brigandry.’

  ‘I prefer to call it a “consequence of war”,’ replied Meirion.

  ‘Call it what you will but I will not hand over this purse,’ growled Osian. He drew his sword.

  ‘I thought you would say that.’ Meirion sighed and turned to the man at his side. ‘Sergeant, order your archers to cut them down.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that if I was you,’ said Osian with a grin.

  ‘And why not?’ asked Meirion.

  ‘Because of them,’ said Osian, pointing up the hill behind Meirion.

  Meirion turned around and stared in astonishment at the line of armed men emerging from the trees.

  ‘Brigands,’ gasped Meirion.

  ‘Those men do indeed seek a prize, Master Meirion, though it is not any coinage you or I may possess.’

  Meirion turned and stared at Osian.

  ‘I never told you my name,’ he said, his eyes narrowing.

  ‘Oh, I know who you are,’ said Osian. ‘I have known for many weeks. Now, if you want to live, I suggest you ride up the hill and join my men immediately.’

  ‘Your men?’ gasped Meirion. ‘All this was just an elaborate trap to deceive me?’

  ‘No more deceitful than the trap you attempted to set upon me,’ said Osian. ‘The dif
ference is, we outnumber you ten to one.’

  Meirion looked around and knew Osian was correct. There was no way he and his men would survive a fight.’

  ‘What do you want of me?’ asked Meirion.

  ‘Me? Nothing. But there is someone else who wants to speak to you. Now get moving or we kill ten of your men.’

  ‘If you do this,’ said Meirion, ‘Goronwy will hunt you down like a rabid dog.’

  ‘A risk I am willing to take,’ said Osian. ‘Now, tell your men to discard their weapons or see the air filled with willow.’

  Meirion knew there was nothing he could do and turned to face his men.

  ‘Do as he says,’ he shouted.

  ‘And your side-arms,’ said Osian.

  Swords and knives followed before the soldiers were ordered to retreat back down to the barn. Two of Osian’s men rode over and escorted Meirion up to the treeline as Osian turned to address the men from the castle.

  ‘You men will march out of this valley on foot. Once you have gone we will leave this place and nobody needs die. If there is any suggestion of trickery, make no mistake I will remove his head and leave it on a spike. Now go, and don’t turn back until dark.’

  ‘You will hang for this,’ shouted a sergeant. But he backed off when a crossbow bolt embedded itself into a tree trunk at his side.

  ‘You heard him,’ shouted the archer from above, ‘be gone.’

  The soldiers from Oswestry Castle wound their way slowly down the valley. When they were several hundred paces away, each man on the treeline returned to their horses and was soon galloping through the hills to a place of safety. Once the sun was high in the sky, the pace eased and soon the party stopped to water their horses. Meirion scowled as one of the brigands offered him a water skin but accepted it anyway, such was his thirst.

  ‘Listen,’ he whispered, after he had drunk his fill, ‘if you let me go, I will make you richer than your wildest dreams.’