A Wounded Realm

by K. M. Ashman

  ‘How did you get out?’

  ‘The graves were never deep, my lady, and oft we were called to those where the wolves had dug up the bodies. When the burial detail returned to the castle, it was easy to push my way out. After that I just wandered around, stealing from farms and living like an animal until I reached Builth. It was there I overheard someone talking about our friend here and his interest in a missing prince.’

  ‘And it was definitely my brother?’

  ‘Yes, for we mocked him for it. A prince of Tewdwr working amongst the destitute. Oh, how we laughed.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘After they buried the corpses, they went back into the castle.’

  ‘But why didn’t he run when he had the chance?’

  ‘The prisoners are in no fit state to run, my lady; they can hardly walk. I am only alive today by the grace of God and the generosity of your brother.’

  ‘So he is still there?’

  ‘The last I saw of him he was, but he was no stronger than a babe and you could see the bones beneath his skin. If you want to get him out, I suggest you will have to move fast.’

  Nesta saw the glance between Gerald and Godwin.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, turning to face her husband. ‘You seem concerned.’

  ‘Nesta,’ said Gerald, ‘of all the castles where your brother could have been incarcerated, Hen Domen is probably the worst.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Nesta.

  ‘Because the castellan there is a knight called Belleme, a soulless man who hates the Welsh with a vengeance. If Hywel is there, then there is no way he will ever be freed unless, of course, you have a king’s ransom to bargain with.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ said Nesta, ‘and besides, if you speak to him he may see sense.’

  ‘It is pointless,’ said Gerald, ‘my word will hold no sway.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Nesta.

  ‘Because despite our common allegiance to Henry, we once fought on different sides and I humiliated Belleme in battle. He would give anything to see me dead and would never grant any plea I made.’

  Ivor reached for the wine jug as the conversation continued.

  ‘Gerald,’ said Nesta, ‘please scour your mind for a resolution, we can’t come this far just to be turned away at the last moment by something as minor as the character of one man. You heard what Ivor said, my brother suffers a hell no man should endure. There must be something we can do.’

  ‘My hands are tied, Nesta,’ said Gerald, ‘Belleme is also a king’s man and has no reason to bend to my will. If your brother was anywhere else then perhaps I could do something but as it is, there is nothing more I can do.’

  ‘But, Gerald—’

  ‘Nesta,’ snapped Gerald. ‘I have done everything I can and fulfilled my promise to you. Let it go!’

  Nesta turned back to Ivor.

  ‘Perhaps you can tell me a little more about my brother?’

  ‘There’s not much to tell,’ said Ivor. ‘He was very quiet and seemed like a good man. He kept himself to himself and though he also suffered, he often helped those even more destitute than himself.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Oh, simple things like tending injuries or sharing what little food he had.’

  ‘He sounds very kind.’

  ‘He was, and despite his station, never played on his royal blood to garner favour.’

  ‘Do you know what kept him going after all these years?’

  ‘The thought that one day his family would come for him. He never doubted that he would be remembered and every night he would dream of his childhood.’

  Tears rolled down Nesta’s face as she listened to the old man, her heart breaking with the thought of Hywel’s never-ending wait. She turned to face Gerald, her voice rising in anger.

  ‘We have to do something, Gerald,’ she said through her tears. ‘I can’t just leave him to rot.’

  ‘You could rescue him.’ said Ivor unexpectedly.

  All heads turned to stare at the old man.

  ‘And how do you propose we do that?’ asked Gerald eventually. ‘Hen Domen is one of the most heavily defended castles in Wales and their garrison is strong and well trained.’

  ‘You forget, my lord,’ said Ivor, ‘that I lived there for ten years and know their routines better than any man; at least, the routines of their prisoners.’

  ‘Continue,’ said Gerald.

  ‘The prisoners are often let out to cart away the waste of the castle or work in the forests on behalf of the castellan. I know where they go and when they go. Of course, they are well guarded but there may be an opportunity to rescue the prince while he is outside the castle walls.’

  Godwin looked across at Gerald.

  ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘any attempt at rescue would need the involvement of armed men and if we were to be found out then it could be seen as treason, especially as it will be seen as giving succour to an enemy of the crown. If found guilty you could be executed for activity against the king.’

  ‘Henry would never execute Gerald,’ said Nesta, ‘he is far too important.’

  ‘As is Belleme,’ said Godwin. ‘The last thing that Henry needs right now is nobles fighting nobles and besides, Belleme occupies one of the most strategically important areas in the marches. Henry just can’t afford to upset him.’

  ‘Then we are no further forward,’ said Gerald. ‘I’m sorry, Nesta, but this conversation is over.’ Without another word he turned and left the hall, closely followed by Godwin.

  ‘So that’s it,’ said Nesta quietly, ‘there is nothing we can do.’

  ‘Do you not know of any other man who can undertake this task on your behalf?’ asked Ivor.

  ‘There is Tarw,’ said Nesta, ‘but he is only one man and I can’t risk losing another brother.’

  ‘Is he not also a prince?’

  ‘In name, yes, but he holds no lands in Wales.’

  ‘What about elsewhere?’

  ‘I believe he has interests in Ireland. But how does that help?’

  ‘Because if those interests have value then your answer is obvious. Any man can hire an army, my lady, and I know exactly where you can find one.’

  Two days later, Nesta was back at Dinefwr castle, talking to Gwladus and Tarw, relaying everything Ivor had said.

  ‘And you think he is telling the truth?’ asked Gwladus.

  ‘I do,’ said Nesta, ‘he may be destitute but he seems like an honest man. Besides, he fought for our father at Brycheniog and is loyal to our name.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘He is being looked after by the castle staff in Pembroke. I have given him a room within the keep and he is being feted as an honoured guest.’

  ‘What does Gerald think of that?’

  ‘It concerns him not for it is obvious the man will soon be dead. Ivor weakens by the day, but at least I can make those last days as comfortable as possible.’

  ‘So what else did he have to say?’

  ‘He has told me of the routines of the work parties,’ said Nesta. ‘Unfortunately, the parties are usually in sight of the castle walls, but that may not be as much of a problem as it sounds.’

  ‘We are talking about Hen Domen here,’ said Tarw. ‘Even I know about Belleme – there is no way he will just sit back and allow us to take any men from beneath his walls, even if they are mere serfs.’

  ‘He will if he is distracted elsewhere.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘What if there was to be an unexpected assault on the castle walls from an unknown enemy. A force strong enough to have him lock down the castle while he evaluates the threat. In the confusion he will be unconcerned about a couple of worthless prisoners and we can affect their rescue whilst his attentions are elsewhere.’

  ‘It could work,’ said Tarw, ‘but we have no such army.’

  ‘No, but Ivor told me about a young rebel in the north who oft fights for money and glory.’r />
  ‘And who is this man?’

  ‘His name is Owain ap Cadwgan.’

  ‘Owain.’ Gwladus laughed. ‘That blackguard is the source of frustration for both sides.’

  ‘You know of this man?’ asked Tarw.

  ‘Everyone in Wales knows him. He is a scoundrel of the highest order, breaking hearts and robbing merchants on an equal basis.’

  ‘I take it he is a ladies’ man?’ asked Nesta.

  ‘In every sense of the word,’ said Gwladus, ‘it is said he is as pretty as a picture with speech as smooth as honey. Not many women can resist his charms and many a husband has had cause to chase him from their wife’s bed.’

  ‘I dislike him already,’ said Nesta.

  ‘Since he set out upon this path, even his father, Prince Cadwgan, has disowned him,’ continued Gwladus, ‘such is his notoriety. He now makes his living relieving travellers of their purses and selling his services to any who can pay.’

  ‘How big is his army?’ asked Tarw.

  ‘It is irrelevant.’ Gwladus sighed. ‘We cannot use him’

  ‘How big is his army?’ asked Tarw again.

  ‘It is said to be over a hundred strong, manned with young men of a similar ilk. A band of irresponsible brigands only interested in the moment, living and dying in the search for adventure.’

  ‘Tarw,’ said Nesta, seeing the expression on her brother’s face. ‘You cannot be seriously considering this.’

  ‘Why not? It sounds perfect. They already suffer from a bad reputation so will worry not about being found out and besides – this was your idea.’

  ‘Yes, but that was before I found out that the man was little more than a good-for-nothing knave.’

  ‘Don’t forget, we are talking about our brother’s life here, and whether this Owain is godly or the son of Satan himself matters not. If he can help us rescue Hywel, then I say we should make all haste to make contact.’

  Nesta looked at her mother and silence fell for a few moments.

  ‘Well?’ said Tarw. ‘Are we going to do this or not?’

  Gwladus sighed deeply before nodding her head in agreement.

  ‘Nesta?’ asked Tarw.

  ‘For Hywel’s sake,’ she said.

  ‘Then it is agreed,’ said Tarw, ‘all we need to do now is raise funds. What do we have between us?’

  ‘I have nothing to speak of,’ said Gwladus, ‘but the king of Gwent is a close friend. Perhaps he would consider affording me a loan, especially if I use this castle as surety.’

  ‘Dinefwr!’ gasped Nesta. ‘But this is our home – we should never put it at risk.’

  ‘Without Hywel it is nothing more than a pile of wood and stone,’ said Gwladus, ‘and I would burn it in an instant to see Hywel for just one more day.’

  ‘Then that is what we should do,’ said Tarw. ‘I can raise some from King Murcat. He treats me as a son so I think he will be generous in his funding.’

  ‘That just leaves me,’ said Nesta. ‘I have no money but I have accumulated a healthy collection of jewellery from my time with Henry. I can throw that into the purse if needs be.’

  ‘What will Gerald think?’

  ‘There is no need for him to know about any of this,’ said Nesta, ‘and besides, what husband would enjoy the sight of his wife draped in jewellery from another man?’

  ‘Then we are done,’ said Tarw. ‘I will return to Ireland immediately and should be back within ten days.’ He turned to his mother. ‘How long do you need?’

  ‘A few days, no more,’ replied Gwladus. ‘By the time you return I will have the money ready.’

  ‘As will I,’ said Nesta.

  ‘There is one more thing to consider,’ said Gwladus.

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘When we gather our own men to ride with Owain, I want to go along.’

  ‘You?’ gasped Tarw. ‘With respect, Mother, you no longer have your youth and I see no reason to subject you to the risk.’

  ‘I may be getting old, Tarw, but I can still ride as well as any man. If we find Hywel, I want to be there at his side from day one. I refuse to waste even a moment more than I have to.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘This is not up for debate, Tarw, I will be at your side whether you like it or not.’

  ‘As will I,’ said Nesta suddenly.

  ‘Nesta, you have a child,’ said Gwladus, ‘and a husband. There is no need for you to be there.’

  ‘On the contrary, during my stay at Windsor I often watched the apothecary amidst his duties and have garnered a knowledge of medicines. If Hywel is ill, I may be able to ease his pain.’

  ‘Gerald will never allow it,’ said Tarw.

  ‘You leave Gerald to me,’ said Nesta. ‘Now, shall we set out upon our respective tasks? For every moment we waste is an extra moment my brother spends in that hellish place.’

  ‘So be it,’ said Tarw eventually. He took his mother’s hands in his. ‘We are getting closer, Mother, and though it may be dangerous, if everything goes to plan, Hywel could be back within these walls before the month is out.’

  ‘Please God,’ said Gwladus, ‘let it be so.’

  Hen Domen Castle

  September 23rd, AD 1105

  A soldier sat against a tree, his helmet lying alongside him along with his coif. Across the clearing, several more soldiers sat in a circle, playing dice in the afternoon sun. In the distance, a lone sentry stood at the edge of the cemetery, always on the lookout for any threat from the Welsh.

  In the opposite direction, a group of ten emaciated prisoners struggled to wield heavy picks and shovels as they tried to break through the rocky ground of the makeshift cemetery.

  ‘Put some effort into it,’ yelled one of the soldiers, ‘or you’ll feel the bite of the lash.’

  The prisoners increased their feeble efforts, desperate not to become victims of the guard’s whip. Each had the scars upon their backs as evidence of the brutality but in their weakened state, and with little flesh left on their bones, they knew even the lightest of blows would cut straight through to the bone and when that happened, few survived. The soldier turned to his comrade.

  ‘I hate this task,’ he said, ‘why can’t we just throw the dead in the bloody moat. That’s what we used to do.’

  ‘It’s because Belleme’s latest wench complains about the stench,’ said the other man, ‘and anyway, have you seen the state of them? Every one is riddled with disease. If I had my way I’d throw the lot of them into that bloody grave and be done with them, dead or not.’

  ‘Nah,’ said the first soldier, ‘if we did that, who would empty the latrines? Knowing our luck we’d end up doing it. At least out here we get to sit down for a while. Even Sergeant Carter seems less harsh away from the castle.’

  ‘There is that,’ said his comrade as he picked up a nearby rock to throw at the sweating prisoners.

  ‘Hurry up,’ he shouted as the missile bounced off one of the men’s heads, ‘your friends there will be rotted away by the time you finish and will enter hell no more than skeletons.’

  The rest of the soldiers laughed and seeing the discomfort the thrown rock had caused, searched around for missiles of their own, keen to join in the fun.

  ‘Look at those bastards,’ whispered Owain ap Cadwgan from his hiding place on the nearby hill. ‘I’d love to cut the throats of every one, given the chance.’

  ‘I know how you feel,’ replied Tarw, ‘but don’t forget, the whole point is to rescue my brother. If we can do that without inflicting any casualties, then Belleme may decide not to pursue us. If we kill any of his men, they will be after us like wolves on the scent of a kill.’

  ‘Which one is your brother?’ asked Owain, staring at the prisoners.

  ‘I know not,’ said Tarw, ‘I have never met him.’

  ‘Then how do you know which man to take?’

  ‘We will take them all,’ said Tarw.

  ‘They will slow us down.’

  ‘They are all
Welshmen, Owain, and my conscience says no man deserves the fate they endure. I could no more leave them here than my brother.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Owain. ‘So, are you ready?’

  ‘As ready as we’ll ever be,’ said Tarw, ‘you take your men around to the far hill and do what we agreed. As soon as we hear the signal, we’ll make our move.’

  ‘Good luck,’ said Owain, and he crawled back into the undergrowth.

  Tarw watched him go. The young man was several years his junior but already had the confidence of a king. His fair shoulder-length hair was lightened further by the sun making him undoubtedly attractive to women and giving him a gentle aura. But according to his men, his appearance belied his abilities and many told of how he had beaten many men in combat.

  At first, Tarw found it hard to believe but quickly saw the change in Owain’s manner when the talk was of fighting. His eyes seemed to glaze and an excitement burned in his speech, as if war was the meaning of everything. Tarw had no doubt that one day the young man would meet a bloody end – he just hoped that today was not that day.

  In the cemetery, Hywel swung the pick downward once more, seeing the point only just break the surface, such was the weakness in his arms. Despite the pain, he repeated the action mindlessly, lifting his tired arms time and time again, relentlessly continuing the feeble strikes knowing that eventually, they would add up. For too long he had been a prisoner of the English and had long ago learned that to survive, you just had to do what they said, no matter how pointless it all seemed. Since he had been abducted as a child he had known no other life except that of a prisoner and though there had been some easier times, this latest captor was the worst he had ever known. The body that had toughened after many years of hard labour was wasting away through malnutrition and he knew he had little time left.

  ‘Take a break for water,’ shouted the sergeant in charge of the guards. The prisoners shuffled slowly over to the cart bearing the barrel of water.

  Hywel picked up a wooden bowl from beside the barrel and dipped it in the water before turning to carry it carefully over to a tree where the other prisoners were already sitting. One of the soldiers nudged his comrade.