Medieval III - Sword of Liberty

by Kevin Ashman

  ‘Well, I am now intrigued, Geraint,’ said Madog sarcastically, ‘so spin this tale of mystery. At the very least I will be entertained before I face the real world once more.’

  ‘Then so be it,’ said Geraint, ‘my tale starts over a hundred years ago and starts with Madog Ap Llewellyn.’

  ‘I have heard of him,’ said Madog, ‘he was a great seaman who left to discover new lands across the seas.

  ‘Indeed he was, Sire but not only was he a renowned mariner, he was also your direct ancestor.’

  ----

  Chapter Three

  Bristol Castle

  ‘Open the gates,’ roared Nicholas Fermbaud, Castellan of Bristol Castle, ‘our Monarch approaches.’

  Men ran to their stations and the huge oaken doors swung slowly inward away from the raised portcullis. Along the battlements, men at arms took to their stations between the castellations and in the courtyard below, pages lined up ready to take care of the horses, while servants lined the passageways of the impressive keep.

  The visit of the King had been anticipated for weeks and Nicholas had spared no expense ensuring everything was ready. Quarters had been prepared and the kitchens stocked with fresh provisions in anticipation. Despite the preparations, Nicholas was nervous for the King was known to have exacting demands and did not suffer poor standards. The Castellan walked over to stand on the steps of the great hall as he waited for the column to arrive.

  Within moments the sound of horses echoed around the courtyard as they thundered over the wooden bridge spanning the moat and men threw themselves out of the way as the King’s outriders galloped through the gate. Fifty Knights reined in their Destriers and formed an outward-facing perimeter, forcing those loitering in the courtyard back toward the perimeter walls. Each Knight displayed their coat of arms on their shields and it was plain to see they came from many of the great families of England.

  Nicholas knew these men were battle hardened with many having bloodied their lances in both the Welsh and Scottish wars. He also knew this was a display for his purpose, designed to remind him of the strength of Edward. Since the second war of the Barons almost thirty years earlier, Edward ensured he reminded his nobles of his authority at every opportunity.

  Within moments another fifty horses rode across the bridge, though this time every Knight carried shields emblazoned with three golden lions on a red background, the coat of arms of Edward. These were the King’s personal guard and they formed two lines facing inward, each holding their lances upright as a guard of honour. Finally the King himself arrived and as he passed, every Knight raised his visor in salute.

  Nicholas knew this pomp and ceremony was purely for effect but despite this, he had to admit it was an impressive entrance and would have a huge impact on all who witnessed it.

  Edward rode up to the steps of the keep and waited as Nicholas bowed.

  ‘Welcome to your Castle, My Lord,’ he said.

  ‘Nicholas Fermbaud, it is good to be here. The road is dusty and my men would welcome refreshment.’

  ‘Of course, My Lord,’ said Fermbaud, ‘you will find my servants eager to meet all your needs.’

  Edward dismounted and removed his gauntlets and helm before handing them to a page. He walked up the steps to stand beside the Castellan before turning to look back into the courtyard where the eyes of hundreds of men were upon him. The King stood head and shoulders taller than Nicholas Fermbaud, as he did most men and it was this stature that had earned him the nickname, Longshanks.

  ‘I see you are well manned, Nicholas, a situation that is to be welcomed.’

  ‘Your edicts were clear, My Lord and you will find our quota has been well met.’

  ‘Good to hear it,’ said Edward. He signalled to his sergeant in arms to stand down his men before turning to the Castellan.

  ‘Lead us in, Nicholas and show me to my quarters. I would divest myself of my armour.’

  ‘Of course, Sire, and I will see you are well attended.’

  They walked down the passage of the keep and stopped at the bottom of a stair well built into the thick walls of the keep tower.

  ‘Your room is near the top, Sire and your guards will be barracked on the floor below. I trust that is in order.’

  ‘It will be fine. Tell your staff we will eat at dusk but keep the meal modest. This is not a time for feasting, Nicholas but more of that on the morrow.’

  ‘Of course, Sire,’ said the castellan and bowed his head as the King disappeared up the winding stair.

  ----

  That evening saw the Castellan entertain the King and his guard and despite Longshanks’ demand for simple fare, Fermbaud couldn’t help but wince when he saw the amount the men ate. He also knew that his kitchens were working overtime to keep the rest of the King’s entourage fed in the outer halls and though his stores were full, he knew that if the visit was to last more than a few weeks, he would have to dig deep into his treasury to keep the supplies coming.

  Finally the meal ended and while many of the Knights left the castle to explore the taverns of Bristol, Longshanks suggested Fermbaud join him in walking the ramparts.

  ‘An impressive fortress,’ said Longshanks as he peered out over the castellations of the outer wall. The city spread away before him but despite the darkness, the full moon meant he could see the never ending sea of rooftops.

  ‘It is, Sire,’ replied Fermbaud. ‘I understand you were once a prisoner here?’

  ‘I was,’ said Longshanks, ‘though not for long and rest assured, those responsible for my captivity did not live long enough to enjoy the notoriety of having once held a Prince as a prisoner.’

  ‘Your rule goes from strength to strength, my Lord,’ said Fermbaud, ‘and I trust French soil will soon be added to your Kingdom.’

  ‘If God wills it,’ said Longshanks.

  ‘I am sure he will,’ said Fermbaud, ‘and I will be proud to lead my men under your banner.’

  ‘The sentiment is appreciated,’ said Longshanks, ‘but there is an itch I must first scratch and that is why I am here.’

  ‘My Lord?’

  ‘Fermbaud, I have a never ending list of tasks to administer if we are to sail with the spring tides. Yet across the river, there are stirrings of dissent from amongst the nobles of Wales. Rumours are reaching me about talks of rebellion and though this is nothing new, it is a distraction I can do without.’

  ‘Do you intend to ride into Wales?’

  ‘Not I, Fermbaud, you. I want you to lead your command and deal with any dissent you find with an iron fist.’

  ‘Of course, my Lord,’ stuttered Fermbaud, ‘but can I ask, why me?’

  ‘The reasons are twofold,’ said Longshanks, ‘it is obvious from what I have seen that your garrison is at full strength and in good heart. The castle is indeed an impressive fortress but it will make no sense for two forces to grow idle within these walls while the preparations for the invasion are finalised. My guard have grown accustomed to conflict but I fear your men are yet inexperienced and would benefit from drawing steel in anger.’

  Fermbaud nodded.

  ‘And the second reason?’

  The King turned to face him.

  ‘I will be frank, Fermbaud. I am still not sure of your loyalty to me and this will be an opportunity to put that doubt to rest.’

  ‘My Lord,’ interrupted Fermbaud, ‘I can assure you…’

  ‘Quiet!’ interrupted Longshanks, coldly, ‘what I am trying to say is this. Yes, you pay your taxes on time and prepare a fair table in my presence, but this is no more than I would expect from any Knight. If you are to ride alongside me on the fields of France I need to be sure your mettle is sound. Unfortunately, this remains a trait unproved in your case but I do not hold you responsible as you have not had the opportunity to prove otherwise.’

  ‘Sire, I have won many tournaments and was knighted by your father’s own hand.’

  ‘Tournaments do not reflect the battlefield, Fermbaud and many
men who succeed in these staged contests often balk at the sight of a speared man’s innards. I suspect you are not such a man but I need to be sure. This is a chance to put those doubts to rest and if you deal with this Welsh irritation on my behalf, then my promise to you is that you will enjoy my favour on campaign, have a chance of glory and indeed a share in the spoils. I trust this is in order?’

  The tone of the King’s voice made it quite clear that negotiation was not an option.

  ‘Of course, Sire,’ said Fermbaud. ‘I will need some time to put together the necessary supplies for such a campaign but can be gone in a few days.’

  ‘You will be gone tomorrow morning,’ interrupted Longshanks. ‘Take enough food for two days march and seek replenishment from my castles as you go. I will furnish you with notes to ensure the Castellans look after your needs.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Fermbaud.

  Both men stared at each other for a few seconds before Longshanks spoke again.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Sire?’

  ‘What are you waiting for? Don’t you have a campaign to organise?’

  ‘Of course, my Lord,’ said Fermbaud and after bowing to the King, turned away to return to the keep.’

  Longshanks watched him go and a few seconds later a figure approached from the darkness.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Longshanks without turning.

  ‘I think he will be dead within a month,’ said the man before biting into an apple.

  Longshanks turned to face the newcomer. The man before him was no Knight, yet was one of Longshanks’ most trusted men, Orland of Denmark. Orland was a giant of a man with long golden hair tied back from his head. His ancestors were Scandinavian and Longshanks had bought him from a slave trader in Acre while on Crusade years earlier. Orland had sworn fealty in return and since then had become not only the King’s best fighter but also his most trusted confidant.

  ‘I think you may be right,’ said Longshanks, ‘which is a shame.’

  ‘Why? It would be no great loss.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but despite the fat around his belly his men rate him highly which bodes well in any campaign. Perhaps he will prove us wrong and deliver what I ask.’

  ‘I will wager not.’

  ‘I will accept your wager, Orland for I want you to go with him.’

  ‘To what end?’ asked Orland.

  ‘To see if he has the mettle I desire but more importantly, to ensure he extinguishes this pathetic little rebellion.’

  ‘And if he dies on the way?’

  ‘So be it, but waste not his men needlessly. Their crossbows will be welcome in France.’

  ‘Crossbows are nothing against the Longbow.’

  ‘Granted, but they become beneficial when behind fortifications and when we take French positions, as we must, then they will be useful in defence.’

  ‘What authority will I have on this campaign into Wales?’

  ‘Are you known to Fermbaud?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then go as scouts in my name. Take a dozen trusted men with you, each sworn to secrecy. If there comes a time to step in, then do so with all necessary force. I will furnish you with a document giving you my authority.’

  ‘My blade is all the authority I need.’

  ‘Perhaps so but if in doubt, my castellans may pull the drawbridges up at the sight of a Saxon barbarian riding toward them.’

  Orland smiled at the banter.

  ‘And the thrust of this campaign?’

  ‘Find the ring leaders of any rebellion with all haste and make an example of them. I don’t care what you do but make sure that all who know them are so terrified by their demise, they hide away for another five years.’

  ‘Understood,’ said Orland and threw the apple stump from the castle wall.

  ‘You have three months, Orland, no more. If you are not back by the first snows of winter then I will sail without you.’

  Orland nodded.

  ‘Leave it to me Sire,’ he said. ‘If there is nothing more, I will be away for I have business to attend.’

  ‘Does this business have jet black hair and serves wine at the table of Fermbaud?’ asked Longshanks.

  ‘Indeed she does,’ laughed Orland.

  ‘Then be gone’ said Longshanks ‘and travel well. Report back to me within two months and together we will crush the French beneath our heels.’

  ‘I will look forward to it,’ said Orland and left the King to stare out over Bristol.

  ----

  The following morning Longshanks stood at the window of his room, sipping warmed ale as he watched the scene below. In the courtyard, fifty mounted lancers and almost two hundred foot soldiers jostled into position as they awaited their leader. At the back, Orland and twelve men stood to one side with their horses and the King raised his tankard in salute as the Dane caught his eye.

  Within moments, Nicholas Fermbaud emerged from the keep doorway and made his way across the courtyard to where a page held the Castellan’s horse.

  Longshanks sighed in disappointment when he saw Fermbaud was wearing full ceremonial armour for though it had its uses; it was too impractical for any campaign. He would be better served with leather leggings and chain mail.

  ‘You are going to have to learn quickly, Nicholas Fermbaud,’ said the King quietly to himself, ‘or I am afraid my Danish friend will win the wager and you will be dead within the month.’ He turned away from the window and returned to his bed where a serving wench lay waiting.

  ----

  Outside, Fermbaud climbed aboard his horse and turned to face his command.

  ‘Men of Bristol,’ he called. ‘We are to engage on a campaign on behalf of our Monarch. When we return, our names will be spoken alongside the greats of this country. Display the mettle I know we share and have courage at arms.’ He looked up at the window of the keep. ‘Hail King Edward, ruler of England, Scotland and Wales. Long may he reign.’ The gathered men stared upward, waiting in vain for acknowledgement.

  Behind them, Orland laughed quietly and shook his head in amusement.

  ‘Come,’ he said to his comrades, ‘let’s get out of here.’

  ----

  Chapter Four

  The Island of Ynys Mon

  Geraint rode into the clearing and acknowledged the guards posted to look after the horses.

  ‘Is your master here?’ he asked.

  ‘My Lord Madog has continued on foot, Sire. He has wounded a stag and seeks to finish him by hand.’

  Geraint nodded.

  ‘How long has he been gone?’

  ‘Most of the morning but his return is imminent. He has already sent a page back with instructions to prepare the horses.’

  ‘Good,’ said Geraint, ‘I will wait.’ He dismounted and engaged in conversation with the men at arms, sharing stories of battles fought and victories won, a common trait of all such men. Finally the sound of someone approaching made them stand up and they walked forward to greet the young Prince.

  ‘Geraint,’ called Madog as he saw his friend, ‘your presence is unexpected yet perfectly timed. Behold the beast I brought down with my own hand.’

  Geraint acknowledged the kill was indeed impressive.

  ‘I wounded him with an arrow and then tracked him to a small valley not two leagues hence,’ continued Madog, ‘he was weak with blood loss and my spear gave him a noble death. What do you think?’

  ‘A noble kill indeed,’ said Geraint. ‘The meat will be welcomed in your kitchens.’

  ‘The meat will be gifted to the poor,’ said Madog, ‘and the rack hung in the great hall. The need was for sport this morning, a chance to clear my mind of matters of concern.’

  ‘You have given my tale some thought?’ asked Geraint.

  ‘I have thought of nought else since we talked,’ said Madog. ‘My eyes are heavy through lack of sleep, such is my worry.’

  ‘And what outcome have you reached?’

  ‘Come,’ said Madog. ‘
Walk with me a while. Our words are for our ears only.’

  The two men started back down the track, leaving the rest of the men to bring the kill and the horses behind them. For a while both walked in silence until finally, Madog spoke.

  ‘Tell me, friend, what is your judgement on this matter?’

  Geraint thought for a while before answering.

  ‘Truth be told, my feelings are mixed,’ he said. ‘When I first came here, my aim was to see you safe to manhood for exactly a task such as this. Every spare minute we have had, I have taught you in the ways of warfare but now the time is upon us, I find my resolve weakening.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I have seen you grow from a boy to a man and though we share not the same bloodline, I have to admit I have come to think of you as a kinsman. My eagerness for you to lead our country into battle is balanced against my fear for your safety.’

  ‘But you have taught me well.’

  ‘Perhaps so but war is a risky business and Longshanks a dangerous adversary. If we do this, we have to succeed or you may not live to see your own children grow up. Edward’s reach is long and he is renowned for taking revenge on his adversaries, even after treaties have been signed.’

  ‘Surely the man is a Knight and a King. Any foe would be treated with respect even after the last blows have been struck, no matter who the victor.’

  ‘Not always, my Lord. Don’t forget he has already put down one rebellion and if he sees you as a potential recurring problem he will have no alternative but to rid himself of you. No, if we are to do this, we need to be sure the mood of Wales is such that the whole country raises up in anger.’

  ‘And your gut feeling?’

  Geraint stopped and looked at the young man.

  ‘There is a need for someone to take a lead, Madog and history tells us it should be you but this is your decision alone. Few people know your heritage as I do so if you feel it is not your place, nobody will be the wiser and you can live your life in peace here on Ynys Mon.’