A Wounded Realm

by K. M. Ashman

  ‘Look at Sergeant Carter,’ he said. ‘I suspect he’s going to have some fun with the prisoners.’

  Sure enough, the soldier walked towards the water barrel, a sneer upon his face.

  ‘Wait,’ he called and walked over to Hywel.

  ‘My lord,’ gasped Hywel, expecting the worst, ‘my thirst is great, please let me drink.’

  ‘Oh come on, Welshman,’ said Carter coldly, ‘I’m not so bad that I would deny a thirsty man his water.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord,’ said Hywel but before he could turn away, Carter cleared his throat and spat into the bowl, much to the amusement of the other soldiers.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Carter, ‘it was an accident.’

  ‘Can I refresh my bowl?’ asked Hywel quietly, already knowing the answer.

  ‘Sorry.’ The soldier sighed, with a smirk. ‘You know the rules. One bowl of water per man. If I was to give you a second bowl, what message would that send out? Before long, the rest of the prisoners will want more and that will never do.’

  Hywel stared at the globule of phlegm in his water before lifting his eyes slowly to stare at the sergeant.

  ‘Of course, you could tip it out,’ said Carter.

  Without taking his eyes from his captor, Hywel lifted the bowl to his mouth and drank the water down, complete with spit. The rest of the soldiers burst into laughter at the sound of their comrade’s roar of disgust.

  ‘Get away from me, you disgusting pig,’ shouted Carter and he shoved Hywel in the back, sending him sprawling into the mud. Hywel lay there for a few moments, waiting for the soldier to walk away before dragging himself to his feet and joining his fellow prisoners.

  ‘If I thought I had enough strength to choke that bastard I would gladly take a blade as a consequence,’ growled one of the men as Hywel flopped down beside him.

  ‘Disperse such thoughts, Lloyd,’ said Hywel, ‘even combined we are no match for any one of them.’

  ‘I know,’ replied Lloyd, ‘but the thought that one day an opportunity will arise keeps me going.’

  ‘Every day that passes sees us weaker and weaker.’ Hywel sighed. ‘Perhaps all we can hope for now is a painless death and a Christian burial.’

  ‘A false hope,’ said Lloyd, ‘they’ll just plant us like our friends there,’ he indicated the three dead men on the cart, ‘and waste no fancy words on the likes of us.’

  ‘I have said a prayer over every grave I have dug,’ said Hywel, ‘and there have been many.’

  ‘I’ve never heard you,’ said Lloyd.

  ‘I say it in my mind,’ said Hywel, ‘but God needs no spoken word to hear our prayers. As far as I am concerned, every man I helped bury has had a Christian burial.’

  For a few moments there was silence until Lloyd spoke quietly again.

  ‘If I die before you, will you pray for me?’

  Hywel nodded.

  ‘And if you go first,’ said Lloyd, ‘I will do the same.’

  ‘That may be sooner than we think,’ said Hywel. ‘I have had many masters, some brutal, but this one has no equal. We are nothing in his eyes and that makes him stand out. At least the others saw us as having some benefit but with Belleme, we don’t exist and the guards are allowed to work us to death.’

  Lloyd stared across at the soldiers sat in a circle, each laughing raucously at an unheard joke while helping themselves to potage from a communal pot on a small fire. The prisoners stared in silence knowing they would get nothing.

  ‘Do you think we may get some food tonight?’ asked Lloyd quietly.

  Hywel was about to answer when the sound of a horn echoed around the hills and all heads looked up in confusion. Across the clearing, the soldiers got to their feet and looked nervously towards the treeline.

  ‘What is it?’ asked one of the soldiers.

  ‘Pick up your weapons,’ shouted Sergeant Carter. ‘Get the prisoners on their feet. Plant those corpses quickly and we can get out of here.’

  ‘The grave is only half dug,’ came a response.

  ‘It will have to do. Throw them in and cover them up. Something doesn’t feel right.’

  In the treeline, Tarw and Connor had also heard the horn, and their hearts raced with anticipation.

  ‘Ready?’ asked Tarw.

  ‘Aye,’ replied Connor.

  ‘Right, let’s do this. Just as we planned, you cut them off, and leave the rest to me.’

  Without another word, Connor turned his horse and rode away through the undergrowth, closely followed by twenty horsemen.

  Tarw watched him go and when he could see his comrade was in position, took a deep breath before urging his horse forward out of the trees and down the grassy slope towards the cemetery.

  Around the other side of the castle, the guard upon one of the towers above the gatehouse had also heard the horn and peered intensely over towards the distant treeline.

  ‘What is it?’ shouted the captain of the guard, breathing heavily after climbing the ladder up to the tower. ‘Can you see anything?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said the soldier, ‘it may be a hunting horn.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said the captain, his eyes narrowing as he stared across the open space. As they watched, the horn sounded again and the captain’s eyes widened in shock, staring in horror at the sight unravelling before him.

  ‘Captain,’ shouted the guard, ‘what do you want me to do?’

  The captain glanced at the soldier before turning to shout down into the castle bailey.

  ‘Shut the gates!’ he roared. ‘Stand to the garrison, we are under attack!’

  Across the clearing, the once still treeline had sprung into life as dozens of riders burst out from the trees and galloped towards the fortress, each brandishing swords or spears in an obvious display of aggression. The captain looked into the fortress again, gratified to see the bailey swarming with men as they ran to the palisades. As he watched he heard the giant gates slam shut and the hefty locking bars slide into place.

  ‘Archers,’ roared the Captain, ‘to your stations. Someone get me the castellan.’

  Moments later a young man climbed up the ladder, an English knight by the name of Broadwick.

  ‘Where is Belleme?’ asked the captain as the knight joined him.

  ‘He left for London a few days ago,’ said Broadwick.

  ‘Why wasn’t I told?’

  ‘You are told what you need to be told. I command in his place so brief me. What is the situation?’

  The captain pointed over the palisade at the line of riders along the forest edge.

  ‘They appeared a few moments ago and rode as if to assault our walls only to turn away at the last moment.’

  ‘Have you responded?’

  ‘Our archers are deploying as we speak and the garrison has been deployed, but the attackers are out of range.’

  The knight looked over at the lines of attackers near the trees.

  ‘They show no colours,’ he said.

  ‘Brigands,’ spat the captain, ‘hoping to catch us unawares, no doubt.’

  The knight’s experienced eye scanned the enemy lines and beyond.

  ‘Where are their foot soldiers?’ he asked.

  ‘I have seen none,’ said the captain.

  ‘Does that not seem odd to you?’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Who would try to take a castle with cavalry only?’

  ‘Perhaps they hoped to breach our gate before we had time to lock down.’

  ‘No,’ said the knight, ‘even the most stupid of men would see such an idea foolish. Something else is going on here.’ For several minutes both men watched the enemy lines as they just rode back and forth, brandishing their weapons. Along the parapets of the castle, men raced into position, waiting to repel any assault that may come.

  ‘Something isn’t right,’ said the knight, ‘it seems to me they have no intention of attacking. They just posture for our attention.’

  ‘Why would they do that?’


  ‘I don’t know, unless it is a diversion.’

  ‘All the walls are strongly manned,’ said the captain, ‘if this is a diversionary tactic, it will not find us wanting.’

  ‘Unless,’ said the knight, ‘the castle is not their target.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Broadwick suddenly turned and faced the captain.

  ‘What patrols do we have outside of the walls?’

  ‘None,’ said the captain, ‘except, of course, those guarding the burial detail.’

  ‘The prisoners are outside?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. They are on burial duty and are guarded by ten men. But why would they be of any interest to a band of brigands?’

  ‘Is Hywel Tewdwr amongst them?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The one who has been here longer than you or I.’

  ‘I assume so but—’

  Without waiting for the captain to finish his sentence, Broadwick turned and shouted down to the bailey.

  ‘Cavalry to the stables,’ he roared. ‘Look to your steeds, prepare to move.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked the captain. ‘You can’t go out there for the sake of a bunch of prisoners, you could be slaughtered. Let them go.’

  ‘One of those prisoners is a prince of Deheubarth,’ snapped Broadwick, ‘I suspect that our attention is being captivated while attempts are made to free him. If that is the case, they need to be stopped. The last thing we need in Wales is a pretender to the throne free amongst the enemy. Prepare to open the gates, Captain, let’s see if these brigands have the mettle they proclaim.’

  Back at the graveyard, a voice rang out, causing prisoners and guards alike to turn in alarm.

  ‘To your guard, men,’ shouted Sergeant Carter, ‘it looks like we have a visitor.’

  Across the clearing Tarw rode slowly towards the soldiers. His sword was sheathed and despite his racing heart, his manner was relaxed. Sergeant Carter stepped forward to meet the rider, holding up his hand to stop him in his tracks.

  ‘Stop right there, stranger,’ he called, ‘state your business.’

  Tarw reined in his horse and stared over at the soldier and his armed men.

  ‘Sheath your sword, my friend,’ he called, ‘there is no need for bloodshed here. My business is minor and easily resolved.’

  ‘Then share it,’ said the soldier.

  ‘I want you to release those men into my custody,’ said Tarw. ‘Do that and I will leave you to continue your business unharmed.’

  The soldier gasped in astonishment. ‘These scum are the property of Lord Belleme,’ he said, ‘and you have no right to demand their release. Now be gone before you feel our steel.’

  ‘I was afraid you were going to say that,’ said Tarw, ‘so I have put some arrangements in place for your own safety.’

  ‘You talk in riddles,’ said the soldier, ‘and are but a single man. I suggest you ride away before you occupy one of the graves beneath my feet.’

  ‘Then look behind you,’ said Tarw, ‘and you will see the meaning of my words.’

  The soldiers turned and saw a line of twenty cavalry forming up behind them, cutting off their escape route to the castle.

  ‘Those are my men,’ continued Tarw, ‘and as long as you don’t do anything stupid, they will remain at a distance. Of course, if you try anything foolish then trust me, you will get a far closer view of the steel they carry.’

  ‘You are making a mistake, stranger,’ shouted Carter. ‘Why risk your lives for the sake of such filth?’

  ‘Slaves are slaves,’ said Tarw, ‘and I suspect with a bit of fattening up, they will bring a good price in the tin mines.’

  ‘So you are no more than a brigand, dealing in the sale of flesh?’

  ‘Don’t judge me, Englishman,’ said Tarw, ‘for I suspect they will live a little longer in my employ than yours. Now, make your decision for we intend to leave this place with those prisoners. Whether we leave you behind dead or alive is up to you.’

  Back at the castle, Broadwick strode over to his horse and vaulted straight up onto its back. He took his helmet from his squire and fastened the strap below his chin before turning to his men.

  ‘When we ride out,’ he shouted, ‘deploy immediately into line abreast and upon my command, take the attack straight to them. Worry not about their number for they look untrained and ill equipped. However, should they withdraw, do not follow them into the treeline. When they are gone, muster on my location and follow my lead, we have a more important quest than to chase brigands all day. Ready?’

  ‘Aye, my lord,’ roared the men.

  ‘Then draw swords,’ shouted Broadwick, ‘and prepare to move. Captain of the guard, open the gates.’

  ‘Here they come,’ shouted Owain as the gates slowly swung open. ‘Remember, don’t face them in a standing fight, just hit and run. Keep them tied up for as long as you can but though it’s been a while since we polished our blades with English blood, do not waste your lives needlessly.’ He drew his sword and held it high. ‘The life of a Welsh prince is at stake here, not to mention a hefty purse. Be fearless in deed and shrewd in thought. Upon my command, advance!’

  The makeshift army rode forward to face the rapidly deploying English defenders and before the enemy had chance to organise properly, drove their horses into full gallop, forcing Broadwick’s men immediately onto the defensive. On the palisades the archers were taken by surprise and before they could bring their bows to bear, the Welsh attackers were amongst the English and too difficult to target.

  ‘Hold your fire,’ shouted the captain of the guard and he watched helplessly as the battle unfolded.

  Down below the fight was short and brutal. The movement was frantic with horses galloping in all directions and though Broadwick’s men were well trained, the Welsh attackers never stopped long enough to engage one on one, driving their mounts through the melee to slash at any passing enemy.

  ‘To me,’ roared Broadwick, and he gathered his cavalry around him, daring the enemy to come at them head on. But Owain was far too clever to be drawn in, pulling back his own forces to the treeline.

  ‘What now?’ asked one of his men.

  ‘Now we wait,’ said Owain breathlessly. ‘The element of surprise has gone so if he decides to charge we will withdraw. But every second he hesitates gives Tarw time to free the prisoners. This Englishman cannot risk leaving the field until he has dealt with us so we still have the upper hand.’

  Across the field, Broadwick had already come to the same conclusion and thought furiously.

  ‘He is stalling for time,’ he shouted to another knight, ‘and that is something we do not have.’ He thought for a few moments more before making a decision. ‘Sir John, we can wait no more. Upon my command you will engage them head on with a view to engaging them in pitched battle or driving them into the trees. Whichever they choose, ensure they are fully engaged. In the meantime, I will take ten men to the cemetery and relieve the soldiers there. Agreed?’

  ‘Aye, my lord,’ shouted the other knight.

  ‘Good, upon my command, advance!’

  ‘Owain, what are your orders?’ shouted a voice as the English horses thundered towards the treeline. ‘Do we flee or fight?’

  ‘We have done enough,’ shouted Owain, ‘retreat into cover. Keep moving and rendezvous at Three River Junction. Move!’

  As one, the attackers turned their horses and melted into the trees, their diversionary tactic complete.

  Across the valley, Broadwick and his men galloped towards the cemetery. Within moments they turned into the copse and immediately saw the aftermath of Tarw’s visit. Ten men were tied against the trees but they weren’t the prisoners – they were the guards.

  Ten Leagues West of Oswestry Castle

  September 24th, AD 1105

  Nesta and Gwladus lay on mats of sheepskin in the back of an abandoned barn. The building stank but it had a sound roof and the wind was kept at bay by stout wall
s.

  Outside, five men loyal to Gwladus stood guard at the perimeter while another five slept under their waxed cloaks, taking their turn to rest from their duties. Gwladus stirred as the hinges creaked and someone put their head around the door.

  ‘My lady,’ said a voice quietly, ‘I think they are on the way back.’

  Gwladus sat up immediately and wiped the tiredness from her eyes. Across the small room, Nesta woke and also sat up.

  ‘What is it?’ she whispered.

  ‘I think Tarw is returning,’ said Gwladus. ‘Come, we should get dressed immediately.’

  Both women donned their shoes and wrapped themselves in their warm capes before leaving the hut and joining Marcus outside.

  ‘Where are they?’ asked Gwladus quietly, painfully aware they were in the heart of English-held territory.

  ‘A rider came in a few moments ago,’ said Marcus. ‘He said the main column is close behind and should be here by dawn.’

  ‘Do they have Hywel with them?’

  ‘We don’t know, my lady,’ said Marcus. ‘There are some prisoners but their names are unknown. Their flight from Hen Domen has been frantic with no chance of discourse. The English pursued them but were lost in the night. When our people arrive we must get ready to move immediately.’

  ‘Understood,’ said Gwladus, ‘but add fuel to the campfire so I can warm up some soup. Our people, whether prisoner or rescuer will no doubt need something to eat.’

  ‘Yes, my lady,’ said Marcus.

  Gwladus turned to Nesta.

  ‘Well, we have come a long way,’ she said. ‘In the next few hours we will know if your brother is alive or dead.’

  ‘He must be alive,’ said Nesta, ‘to come so far to be denied is an outcome too painful to contemplate.’

  ‘There are now other issues to consider,’ said Gwladus, ‘for if they are being pursued, we need to consider your safety.’

  ‘Just mine?’ Nesta laughed.

  ‘I am growing old, Nesta,’ said Gwladus, ‘while you have your whole life ahead of you. You are also mother to a beautiful boy and cannot be risked. In fact, I am surprised Gerald let you come at all.’