A Wounded Realm

by K. M. Ashman

  ‘He didn’t,’ said Nesta.

  Gwladus’s head spun around to face her daughter.

  ‘What do you mean, he didn’t? You said he gave his blessing.’

  ‘I had to say that or you would have denied me the opportunity,’ replied Nesta, ‘and I am just as concerned about Hywel as you. If he died here while I was safe in a castle on the other side of the country then I would never have forgiven myself.’

  ‘So where does Gerald think you are?’

  ‘In Dinefwr, with you.’

  Gwladus shook her head and sighed deeply. Although she was frustrated with her daughter she could understand her reasoning.

  ‘What’s done is done,’ said Gwladus eventually, ‘what we need to do now is concentrate on Hywel. Come – help me with the soup. He may be here sooner than we think.’

  Several leagues away, a line of horsemen walked their horses carefully through the darkness. In amongst them, the prisoners sat huddled on the back of a cart, not sure what was happening or who their rescuers were. Their hands and feet were also tied and for all they knew, they were just swapping one master for another.

  The lead rider held up his hand and the message was passed from man to man, halting the column in its tracks.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Connor, walking up beside Tarw.

  ‘I thought I heard something,’ said Tarw.

  Connor looked around nervously. The English had been on their trail through the forests for most of the day but he thought they had been lost in the darkness.

  ‘We have to keep going,’ said Connor. ‘To wait plays into their hands.’

  Tarw nodded and the column started to move once more.

  Hywel opened his eyes in confusion. The rocking of the cart had sent him into a fitful sleep, and though he shivered in the coldness of the night the day had tired him out completely. He looked down, feeling someone undoing the ties around his feet, and realising at the same time that his hands were free.

  ‘Lloyd,’ he hissed, recognising his friend, ‘what are you doing?’

  ‘I’ve managed to untie my bonds,’ whispered Lloyd looking around the cart. ‘You too are now free, so we can slip over the side and hide in the forest.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Hywel.

  ‘We don’t know where we are being taken,’ whispered Lloyd, ‘for all we know it could be someplace worse.’

  ‘Why would they go to so much trouble to rescue us only to place us in captivity again?

  ‘You heard our rescuer back at the cemetery,’ replied Lloyd, ‘he made it clear he was a slave trader. And anyway, what sort of rescuer ties the hands and feet of those they have rescued?’

  ‘Perhaps to ensure we stay put,’ said Hywel, ‘our flight has been manic and to lose their prize in the darkness would be an avoidable loss.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Lloyd, ‘and I refuse to see out the rest of my days as no more than a wretch, rotting at the end of a chain.’ Lloyd grabbed the sides of Hywel’s face, forcing him to return the stare. ‘You listen to me,’ he whispered, ‘you have spent almost a lifetime in captivity, hoping against hope that your family would come. You have cheated death more often than any man deserves and witnessed brutality beyond comprehension. This is your chance, Hywel. Leave with me now and you may even live long enough to see them again. It could be the last chance you ever get.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know how to survive out there,’ said Hywel, looking over the side of the rocking cart.

  ‘Leave that to me,’ said Lloyd, ‘I think I know where we are and know of several farms close to here. If we can make it to one of those, we have a chance.’

  ‘And if we die?’

  ‘Then we do so as free men,’ said Lloyd. He paused before continuing. ‘This could be your last chance to live a semblance of a good life. I am going with or without you, Hywel, so what is it to be – captivity or freedom?’

  For what seemed an age Hywel stared at the man he had called friend for several years before nodding in the dark.

  ‘Go ahead,’ he said eventually, ‘I’m right behind you.’

  ‘Mother, they’re here,’ said Nesta, as the column rode up to the shepherd’s hut.

  Gwladus put the ladle back into the pot on the fire and stood up, brushing the hair from her face. Both women walked over to the column and as Nesta hugged Tarw, Gwladus walked straight past and over to the wagon, staring in confusion at the group of tethered men in the back. The frightened look in the eyes of the emaciated men was both haunting and sickening, and Gwladus looked over at Tarw as he approached.

  ‘Have you said anything?’ she asked.

  ‘Not yet,’ he said, ‘we had to concentrate on getting away.’

  ‘Which one is he?’ she asked looking again at the cowering men.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Tarw, ‘but we are about to find out.’ He turned to the prisoners and spoke calmly. ‘You men, listen very carefully. We mean you no harm. Once we get you from this cart you will be untied and well looked after. We have food and fresh clothing waiting and we will do what we can to tend to your wounds. With immediate effect you are free men, but there is something we need to know. Which one of you is known as Hywel ap Tewdwr?’

  For an age nobody replied and Gwladus stepped closer.

  ‘There is no need to be afraid,’ she said, ‘you are all safe. But we need to know. Where is the one called Hywel?’

  Again they only received the hollow stare in return.

  ‘Do any of you speak?’ asked Nesta.

  ‘We are prisoners, not imbeciles,’ growled one of the men, ‘we do not know the answer.’

  Gwladus turned to face Tarw. ‘Did you get them all?’

  ‘I did,’ said Tarw, ‘I swear.’

  ‘Then he must be already dead,’ said Nesta coldly.

  ‘Wait,’ said Tarw and he pulled back the tarpaulin that covered most of the men. ‘We placed ten men on this cart, now there are only eight. Where are the other two?’

  ‘I told you,’ said the prisoner again, ‘they are not here. They escaped from their bonds a few leagues back and left us here to face whatever fate you have in store for us.’

  ‘What were their names?’ snapped Tarw. ‘The ones that escaped.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said the man.

  ‘You must know,’ shouted Tarw, ‘you were imprisoned with them.’

  ‘I do not know!’ shouted the man. ‘We were always kept separate except during the work details and everyone kept to themselves. People died so often it was pointless making comrades, it was easier that way. The two who ran were the exception. They had been there the longest and had formed an alliance, one which obviously excluded us.’

  ‘Describe them,’ said Tarw. ‘Was there anything about them that made them stand out?’

  ‘Yes,’ sneered another one of the prisoners, ‘one of them was mad.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Gone in the head,’ said the prisoner tapping his temple, ‘suffered from delusions.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ asked Nesta, stepping forward.

  ‘What does it matter?’ asked Tarw with a deep sigh.

  ‘Everything matters!’ shouted Nesta. She turned back to the prisoner. ‘Tell me, why do you think he was mad?’

  ‘Because at night he would cry out in his sleep,’ said the prisoner.

  ‘Many men suffer nightmares,’ said Nesta.

  ‘Yes, but these were different.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because in his dreams, he thought he was a prince.’

  Nesta’s mouth dropped open and Tarw stared at the prisoner in shock.

  ‘He’s talking about Hywel,’ said Tarw, turning to face Gwladus. ‘Did you hear him, Mother? Hywel is alive.’

  ‘In the name of Jesus,’ gasped Nesta, ‘he must have thought he was swapping one captor for another and made his escape. I can’t believe we came so close just to lose him yet again.’

  Tarw turned towards Gwladus, who had tears running dow
n her face.

  ‘Mother, are you all right?’

  Gwladus nodded and wiped her eyes before responding.

  ‘See that these men are looked after,’ she said, ‘and arrange some fresh horses.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Tarw.

  ‘Dawn is almost upon us,’ said Gwladus, ‘and we can follow their tracks. In their state, they can’t have got far.’

  ‘You are not coming with me,’ said Tarw. ‘Belleme’s men could still be on our trail and it may be dangerous.’

  ‘I am running out of time, Tarw,’ said Gwladus, ‘I feel my body weaken by the day and I am not going to forego the chance to see my son again, no matter how fleeting the moment.’

  Tarw stared at his mother and knew she was deadly serious.

  ‘So be it,’ he said eventually. ‘Connor, you stay here with Nesta. In the morning, head for Deheubarth with the prisoners, but take the lesser routes. Wait for us in Builth. Marcus, you will join the queen and me in our quest; the rest of the men will escort the column. Bring two spare horses for Hywel and his comrade. With a bit of luck, we can catch them up by mid-morning and re-join the rest of you before nightfall tomorrow.’

  Marcus turned away to his task as Nesta approached her mother.

  ‘Mother, let me come, I may be needed.’

  ‘Not this time,’ said Gwladus, ‘you have a son to think of and the chance of capture or death is now very real. You stay with the column and look after the prisoners – they are in a terrible state.’ She paused before taking her daughter’s hands in hers. ‘Worry not, Nesta, for if Hywel is still alive, I swear I will see he returns to Dinefwr.’

  ‘I’m sure you will, Mother,’ said Nesta. ‘Bring him home.’

  The Marshlands

  September 25th, AD 1105

  ‘Lloyd, wake up!’ hissed Hywel, kneeling up to peer over the wall that had sheltered them from the wind over the last few hours of the night.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Lloyd, instantly awake.

  ‘Horsemen,’ whispered Hywel, ‘a lot of them.’

  Lloyd scrambled to his knees and looked up at the nearby hill. Sure enough, a patrol of at least twenty horsemen were descending from the forest, heading for the river at the bottom of the valley.

  ‘Can you see their colours?’ asked Lloyd.

  ‘Yes,’ groaned Hywel, ‘they are Belleme’s men. It seems our freedom is going to be even shorter than I had thought.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Lloyd, looking down into the valley below them. ‘That water down there is the southern river of Powys. Belleme’s reach only extends as far as the river and no more. If we can make the bridge, we will be in safe territory.’

  ‘Since when did Belleme’s men respect borders?’

  ‘It was agreed between Lord Goronwy and Belleme,’ said Lloyd. ‘To cross it would be seen as an act of invasion and could cause conflict – something Henry frowns upon at the moment.’

  ‘There’s only an incursion if someone is there to see it,’ said Hywel. ‘All his men will do is ride us down and return across the river immediately.’

  ‘Not if there are witnesses,’ said Lloyd. He pointed to the far side of the river where three horsemen were riding slowly along the bank.

  ‘We’ll never make it,’ said Hywel, ‘the bridge is too far.’

  ‘If we stay here we are dead anyway,’ said Lloyd, ‘and I’m not giving up now.’ Without another word he got to his feet and crouching low, turned to sprint down the slope as fast as his weakened frame would allow. For a moment, Hywel was shocked. But realising he had no other option, he struggled to his feet and followed his comrade down the hill.

  On the other side of the river, Tarw stared down at the ground, desperate to find some trace of the trail he had lost just a few hours earlier.

  ‘Are you sure they would have come this way?’ asked Gwladus.

  ‘It’s obvious they would head northward,’ said Tarw, his eyes never leaving the ground, ‘and this is the best chance to pick up their trail again. At some point they would have to cross this river.’

  ‘My lord,’ shouted Marcus, ‘look there.’

  ‘What do you see?’ asked Gwladus, lifting her hand to shade her eyes from the morning sun.

  ‘Two men running down the far slope,’ said Marcus, ‘could they be our quarry?’

  ‘It is too much of a coincidence not to be,’ said Tarw. ‘Come on, let’s go and see.’

  All three riders kicked their horses and trotted along the bank towards the point where the men would reach the river.

  ‘Look,’ shouted Marcus again and he pointed further up the hill where a column of mounted men had also seen the escapees.

  ‘They must be Belleme’s men,’ shouted Tarw, ‘come on!’ He urged his horse to a gallop, desperate to reach the fugitives before the English. In front, the two men realised they could not reach the bridge and hurled themselves from the bank into the fast-flowing river.

  ‘Faster!’ shouted Tarw as the flow carried the two men further downstream. But moments later, his horse lurched on the uneven ground, sending him hurtling to the floor.

  ‘Master Tarw,’ called Marcus reining in his horse. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Leave me,’ shouted Tarw struggling to his feet, ‘go with my mother.’

  As the soldier turned his horse to ride after Gwladus, Tarw started to follow on foot, running as fast as his damaged leg would allow.

  Broadwick and his men galloped their horses along the far bank before coming to a halt and dismounting further downstream.

  ‘Give me a crossbow!’ roared the knight.

  One of the archers handed him a loaded weapon. Broadwick aimed carefully at the nearest of the men as the current drew them closer. After a few breaths to steady his breathing he squeezed the trigger and the bolt flew through the air before thudding into one of the escapee’s backs.

  Instantly, the wounded man screamed in agony and his head flew back as the water around him turned red. Within seconds he stopped trying to swim and sunk beneath the water, his arms floundering uselessly against the strong current.

  Gwladus urged her horse to greater speed. In front of her, the second prisoner had reached the near bank but struggled to stand in the shallows, his strength gone from fighting the river.

  ‘My lady, wait,’ shouted Marcus as the queen reined in her horse and slid from the saddle, but there was no stopping her and she ran to the bank to help the struggling man. Marcus spurred his horse to greater effort and as he neared, he could see the knight on the far bank placing a second bolt into the crossbow. Gwladus ran down the riverbank and ploughed into the river, desperate to reach the lone survivor.

  ‘Hold your fire!’ Marcus screamed to the bowman, but Broadwick ignored the call and lifted the crossbow to his shoulder, taking careful aim at his quarry.

  ‘No,’ shouted Marcus as he heard the crossbow fire. He watched in horror as the bolt sped across the water towards its target. The man in the water had already turned to face the English, as if to greet his fate but before the bolt could thud home, Gwladus threw herself forward, enveloping him in her arms and forcing them both back down into the river.

  Marcus jumped into the water and helped to drag the queen to the bank. Her arms were still tightly clamped around the exhausted man and as they reached the shallows, Marcus could see the water was beginning to turn red. One of them had been hit. He looked across the river and roared at the bowman.

  ‘Hold, your fire,’ he screamed. ‘In God’s name this woman is a queen and you risk the ire of the nation should this man die.’

  Broadwick looked across as the three people in the river were joined by a fourth, a man limping heavily.

  ‘You interfere in the affairs of King Henry, strangers,’ shouted Broadwick, ‘but there is no need for any of you to die. Step away from my prisoner and I will conclude my business.’

  ‘No,’ shouted Marcus as Tarw joined him in the water, ‘we will not. This man may be the son of a k
ing and as such does not deserve to die in such circumstance. Call off your men or I swear we will turn the weight of an entire nation upon your heads.’

  ‘My lord,’ said one of the men beside Broadwick, ‘he speaks sense. To kill a prince outside of the field of battle invites not just the wrath of a country but also the ire of our own king. Surely he would not have us commit murder in his name?’

  ‘Leave the matters of court to me, sergeant,’ snarled Broadwick. ‘Trust me, the king’s interests are better served if both of those prisoners are dead.’

  ‘But what of the consequences? If you kill him, these people could lay spark to the fires of rebellion. We have been through too many years of bloodshed to reignite those flames.’

  ‘For that to happen,’ said Broadwick, ‘there must be survivors to relate the tale.’ He looked at his sergeant, their eyes meeting as both considered the implications. Finally, the sergeant turned to the rest of the crossbow men, now descended from their horses.

  ‘Load your weapons,’ he called, ‘and take aim upon those in the water.’

  Without any thought of dissent, all the remaining crossbow men did as they were told and stepped up to stand alongside their sergeant, each aiming carefully at one of the four targets in the river.

  ‘Upon my command!’ shouted Broadwick.

  ‘My lord,’ shouted a voice before he could give the order to fire, ‘look – up on the hill.’

  Broadwick turned and to his horror saw hundreds of riders galloping down the slope towards them.

  ‘And there,’ shouted another voice, and Broadwick turned to see hundreds more galloping along the far riverbank towards the fugitives.

  Nervously, the crossbow men lowered their weapons and watched the two armies descend upon the river. Within moments horsemen formed a defensive line between the English and their intended victims.

  ‘Whose banner do they ride under?’ asked one of the soldiers.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said one of the sergeants, ‘but I think we are about to find out.’ As they watched, two riders rode through the massed ranks of cavalry. One was obviously a man of importance upon a magnificent steed and wearing a tabard over his chainmail hauberk, bearing the same colours as those upon the standard.