by Griff Hosker
Captain Jack wandered over. He had with him Alan of Denbigh. The captain saw what we were doing and nodded. “I see you have had to make fire arrows too.”
I stood. “If we could be certain that they would work, I would not mind, but in my experience, they often fail to ignite the buildings.”
The captain gestured to Alan. “My archer wished to speak with you. Do not keep him long, we have much to do before the attack this afternoon.”
He wandered away and Alan approached me. He seemed nervous. “I thought you dead! When we heard what you had done, and that you were hunted as an outlaw, I felt certain that your life had been ended.”
“No, Alan. It seems that someone or something has plans for me. Harry is dead. He died in Gascony.”
“And you are now a captain.”
“As I said, I have been lucky.” I gestured at the walls behind me. “When we attack, watch out. Hugh of Rhuddlan is within those walls.”
“He owes you a life.”
I shook my head. “That ended when I slew Sir Henry.”
He nodded. “I had better go. I wanted to know that it was still well between us. I am glad that you are alive. You are the best archer I know.”
I had little time to dwell on his words. Captain William and his men arrived. They had broken down some of the palisade around one of the buildings in the village. They had made large shields. “It is time, Captain Gerald, to begin the assault.”
I had made all of my arrows. One or two of the outlaws had yet to finish theirs. “Leave the ones you have not yet made. We begin our attack.” I pointed to the shields being carried by the men at arms. “Use the shields. Nock your arrows when standing behind them. Stand and release. Duck back behind the shield again. They have archers and crossbows. Rely on speed. We are trying to thin their numbers so that our brothers in arms can assault the walls tonight.” I had already spoken to Peter and Jack, as well as my senior archers. They would each watch over one or two of the less experienced archers.
We followed them to within a hundred and fifty paces of the walls. Arrows and bolts were already thudding into them. The men at arms had made a bracing arm for the shields. They took their own shields from their backs and held them aloft too. We would have some protection. Just on the other side of the gate, the men at arms and archers of Chester were doing the same.
I pulled out an arrow and nocked it. I shouted, without raising my head, “Ready?”
A chorus of “Aye, Captain!” was reassuring.
I pulled back and shouted, “Draw!” You could hear the sound as the bows creaked. “Release!”
I stood and released an arrow before dropping down. Next to me, Ronan was almost too slow. An arrow from the walls took the cap from his head.
“You cannot dawdle. That could have been your head.”
He looked behind us where the arrow had pinned the cap to the ground. “These Welshmen are good.”
I pulled back and shouted, “Draw!” I rose. “Release!”
This time there was a ripple of cracks as the enemy sent arrows at us, anticipating our action. Ronan was quicker this time and came to no harm. We continued for twenty more flights. It was infuriating. We could not see the effect our arrows were having. We had to rely on Prince Edward and the knights who were watching it like some sort of show. They were beyond bow and bolt range.
After twenty flights we stopped. I laid down my bow, unstrung it and wound and stored the string. I took another bow. I picked out a fresh string and strung the new bow. I could see that the men at arms were confused. I said, “We need a rest after twenty flights, and a fresh bow and string will be more effective. It also helps to unnerve those we are aiming at. They wait for the next flight.”
The two men at arms who were near to me nodded. Part of the mystery of the archer was gone. We sent, in all, eighty arrows each. I then called a halt. If we were to send arrows again at night, we needed a rest. “Time to go back to the camp.” I stored my bows in their covers.
Captain William asked, “Are you ready?” We had to get back to the camp without being hit by arrows and bolts from the walls.
“Aye, Captain.” We now had the difficult task of running out of range with a man at arms protecting us. Our time on the ship came to the fore. The men at arms knew us. We trusted them, and we made it back to our lines unhurt. The men of Chester were not so lucky. One archer was slain and a man at arms had a bolt sent through his leg.
“Thank you, Captain William.”
“You can repay us by setting fire to their castle.”
“We will do our best.” I turned to my men. “Those who still have fire arrows to make, finish them. The rest of you, let us eat and then get some rest.” The muscles in my upper back and my arms were burning from the exertion. The night attack would be even harder. We might not have as many arrows coming in our direction, but when our own arrow was ignited, we would not have long to release it. More than half of our men had never used one before.
Sir John came over to speak with me. He had his squire, Richard, with him. “The archers did well. We think you slew or hit at least twenty men.”
I gave him a wry smile. “And it cost us almost a thousand arrows.”
Richard said, “You can always get more!”
I shook my head. The squire was young. “We have to make them, young master. We need ash and we need goose feathers. We need metal for the tips. We can fight or we can make arrows. We cannot do both.” I pointed at the castle. “If we can take this castle, then we might be able to salvage some shafts and arrowheads. If we are really lucky, then we might find a cache of arrows in the castle. Unless, of course, we are too good and burn it down!”
The young noble looked crestfallen.
Sir John smiled. “Watch these men, Richard, and you will learn much. They may be base-born but they know their trade and that trade is war. They wear a little leather armour studded with metal. They have neither shield nor helmet, yet they can defeat knights on horses!”
I saw his squire looking at us as though for the first time.
Sir John asked, “Tell me, Gerald War Bow, what think you of our chances this night?”
I stood and licked my finger. I held it up in the air. “The wind is behind us and that will help. If Prince Edward wishes truth then this is it: we can keep the Welsh distracted and fighting fires; of that I am certain. If we manage to fire the buildings then the Good Lord favours our enterprise.”
He patted my broad back. “Then that is all we can ask.” He was about to leave when he said, “Do you require supplies? I am aware that you have had to live off the land.”
I smiled, knowing we had the six fowl we had collected the night before. With the stock from the horsemeat and some greens David the Welshman had foraged, we would eat well. “We have enough supplies, lord.”
I saw Jack of Lincoln and Peter of Wakefield as they approached. They stopped and stood together as the two nobles left. They knuckled their foreheads. Sir John smiled, bemused. When he had gone, they turned and lifted the barrel of ale that they had managed to liberate.
“Where did you get this?”
Jack adopted an innocent look. “I have to say, Captain, that it came into our possession somewhat fortuitously.”
“You stole it.”
“Not exactly, Captain. It was by the tents of some Cheshire knights, that much is true, but it looked lonely and lost. We thought it empty and took it to use it for our water. Imagine our surprise when we found it still had some inside.”
“You stole it!”
He shrugged. “Captain, if you will hire outlaws, then what do you expect?”
I suppose if I had asked Sir John, he would have provided us with ale. I confess that this was better. Something stolen was much better than something given. Something given implied a return gift. We ate well, and we drank well. An archer always had an unquenchable thirst.
When darkness fell we made our way to the shields unaccompanied. The enemy could not see us
and it was less dangerous. Captain William and his men were there already. I had no doubt that the men on the walls would know something was afoot. They would hear the fyrd and the men at arms milling about. We had pots of burning coals. John of Nottingham had come up with this method. He had used it before in Gascony. An archer nocked an arrow. He dipped the arrow into the fire and in one motion, lifted, drew and released. I had never tried it, but John assured me that it minimised the risk of burning your own hand. I could see that the younger archers were both fascinated and worried in equal measure.
Captain William checked that his men were ready and then came over to me. He was leading his own men at arms, twenty from the men of Cheshire and fifty of the levy, the fyrd. They would follow. He had confided in me that the fyrd was not reliable. They would only follow if the walls were taken. Their numbers would merely swell the ranks of those within. “Whenever you are ready, Captain!”
“Godspeed, my friend.” As they slipped into the dark to wait close to the ditch in the darkness, I called, “Ready!” Once I gave the first order, my men would not wait for me. They would send arrow after arrow until their supply was exhausted. “Draw and release!” I leaned forward and dipped the oil-soaked arrow in the fire. Alarmingly, it flamed immediately, and I saw tongues of fire begin to eat up the shaft. When I pulled back my fingers were scorched by the burning arrow. I released and watched it arc. It sailed over the wall, and I saw it hit the roof of the keep. It was a lucky strike, for that was the hardest place for the Welsh to extinguish the flames. I saw more arrows from my right as Captain Jack and his men sent theirs. One or two of my men had not reached as far as me and their arrows had struck the wall.
I learned from my first. I dipped my next arrow quickly and trusted the oil to make it burn. Consequently the fire did not lick down the shaft. My second arrow followed the arc of the first and joined it amongst another four which had lodged there. Even as I looked I saw the flames taking hold. From within the keep came cries as men left the walls to extinguish the fire. I saw that the men at arms were scaling the walls and there appeared to be little opposition. The wind from behind us fanned the flames. The flames caught and the fire grew. I switched my aim. I sent my next arrow deeper into the castle. This time I did not see where it landed, for it arced over the wall. There were buildings there, and there were men. As I sent my last arrow over I saw that the gatehouse was on fire, and flames were leaping into the air from around the north-west corner of the castle. Captain Jack and his men had done that.
We had done what we had been ordered. “Well done archers. Let us head to the horses. We have to move north.”
Our camp and our horses were close to the road and close to the sally port. Sharp-eyed Ronan shouted, “Captain! Riders at the sally port.”
They were fewer than two hundred paces from us, but it was night. “Kill them!” We did not want word of our attack reaching the Welsh king. I had three arrows left. In the dark I stood little chance of hitting a man and so I aimed at the leading horse. I hit it but, as with all horses, it staggered on. As my archers sent their arrows towards the men who were leaving, I sent a second. It hit another horse. My last one struck a horse in the rump. It might run for a long way. I dropped my bow and drew my sword. “Dick, get your horse and catch any who escape us.” Dick was our best rider. Others had heard the commotion, and men began to filter from those attacking the walls. The Welsh closed the gate, and I saw that there was just the one rider who had evaded us. Dick would catch him, but there were twelve men who had escaped the walls.
As I ran, I saw that there were not twelve. Three had been hit by arrows. Those three were either wounded or dying. The men we would be facing were either knights or men at arms. We needed knights, but ours were busy watching the walls. It was up to us. Some of our levy had been closer than us. They had been standing by the wall and waiting to ascend. Ten of them ran at the fallen men. We were close, and they thought themselves supported. I saw that Hugh of Rhuddlan was one of those who had escaped. I wanted to shout to the farmers and labourers to flee but my voice would have been lost. The men at arms used their swords with wicked efficiency. Only one of the nine men at arms who survived fell, and the levy was butchered.
Their sacrifice enabled us to close with the Welshmen. I was aware that I had young archers with little experience and no sword skill. I shouted, “Ronan, Tom, Matty Straw Hair and Roger Peterson, guard our backs!” I saw them look at me, and then they nodded. The blood had rushed to their heads but my words had calmed them. “These are cunning bastards! Watch for tricks and kill them! The old one is mine!”
I approached Hugh of Rhuddlan. I surreptitiously drew my dagger. I would still have a spare sword across my back if I needed it, but Hugh of Rhuddlan was a wily old wolf.
I saw him laugh. “The murderer returns! I will enjoy killing you; you cost me a good lifestyle! Sir Henry was a waste of skin but he made me coin. You will die, and I will reappear somewhere else.”
I said nothing. I would need all of my strength and my skill just to survive, but I could not allow one of my men to face this killer. I heard the clash of steel as my experienced warriors closed with the Welsh. Some would be fighting two on one. If they won then the odds would swing in our favour. That might come too late for me. The man I faced was a traitor. He had changed sides. That gave me both heart and hope.
I did not charge in. That would have been a mistake. I was much younger than he was. The longer it went on, the more chance I had. More of my men could come to my aid. I saw his grin. He had seen me fight and thought he knew me. I had improved since we had last met. I had killed men with my sword and with my dagger. I was not afraid of him. I feared his skill, but that was different.
He feinted at me with his sword. He had his hand behind his back, and I knew that he held a dagger in it. I did not fall into the trap of blocking the blow and then being gutted. I saw him frown. There was a cry behind me in Welsh. One of his men had been killed. Each Welshman who died meant more who would come to my aid. I saw that he was not as confident as he had been. I had fought good warriors before. I had slain Sir Henry, but this was a sergeant at arms I was fighting. He was a grizzled veteran. I might not have the skill. He suddenly launched himself at me. He used his dagger and sword so quickly that they were a blur. I simply reacted, unaware of taking a decision. My body took over, and I blocked sword and dagger with my own weapons. I felt blood trickling down my chin. He had slashed my cheek. I saw the look of joy on his face.
I had not spoken yet, but I did then. “If you think a cut on the cheek means victory, then you should have given up war years ago!”
He came at me again. I suddenly realised that I had a strength which he did not possess. When he launched himself at me, I spun around suddenly and brought my sword across the back of his mail hauberk. I had limited skill, but I had strength, and my blade tore through his mail, his gambeson and came away bloody. He cried out. It was not in pain but in anger. He whipped around and I lunged with my dagger. He was quicker than I was expecting. My dagger merely tore across the back of his right hand. Blood spurted. I was close to him, and I slipped my right leg behind his and pushed. He began to tumble backwards. As he sprawled I swung my sword. It sliced across his thigh, which had no mail to protect it. Blood gushed. I stepped forward and swung my dagger, almost blindly, up and under his arm. I saw the tip protrude from the top. He tore away and I lost my dagger. I used two hands, raised my sword and brought it down. I hacked through his coif and into his skull.
I slew Hugh of Rhuddlan.
I found myself out of breath. I looked around and found my men were cheering. We had stopped them escaping. I turned around and saw Dick, son of Robin, galloping up. In his right hand he held a skull. We had done our duty. We had contained the Welsh.
Chapter 13
We collected the mail, swords and coins from the dead men at arms. We would divide it later. We left the bodies where they lay. The delay had not been of our making, but Prince Edward w
ould want us to complete the task he had given us. We would have to scout out the road to Ruthin. We could leave nothing at the camp. We would be needed to fight the next battle. Even as we were packing the horses, we heard the cries of victory from within the walls. The night attack had worked. I wondered how many of Captain William’s men had fallen. It was almost dawn by the time we headed along the road to Ruthin.
Peter of Wakefield and Dick, son of Robin, rode ahead of us. They were unencumbered. We had spare horses with our supplies and what we had taken. We had had to leave the barrel of ale. There was little left in it anyway. The high rough ground, which I had said was ambush country, was just four miles from Mold. My scouts examined the ground carefully before they waved us forward. The sun was climbing in the sky. It would be a hot day.
Sometimes things happen which you cannot explain. Rafe Oak Arms was a good archer, but he was not the most careful of men. He was leading one of the horses with our spare arrows and he had not secured them. As the horse slipped on a stone, the arrows shifted and spilled. They would take some time to recover.
John of Nottingham rounded on him. “You useless excuse for an archer! We will need those arrows before long. Sorry, Captain.”
I, too, was annoyed. “John of Nottingham, make sure that all of the sumpters have secure loads. Drink. I will ride ahead with Peter and Dick. Wait here until I return.”
“Aye, Captain.”
The road twisted and turned through scrubby undergrowth and untidy clumps of trees. We were just coming to the edge when something glinted ahead. I stopped. Hunting men was just like hunting animals. You needed to be patient, and you needed to be still. I saw the glint again and I shaded my eyes against the sunlight. Dick, son of Robin, had even better eyes. “I see them, Captain. There are knights and mailed men. If I were to hazard a guess I would say it was the Welsh. I count more than a hundred banners.”