by Kevin Ashman
‘What?’ gasped Longshanks, ‘how can mere rebels cause the fall of even the smallest of our castles, they do not have the manpower nor the siege engines for such a task?’
‘Sire, many of the garrisons have been weakened by your call to arms for the French campaign. The fortresses were left poorly manned and led by inexperienced men. It would seem that this fact was known to the rebels and they took advantage of this weakness to coordinate their attacks.’
‘How strong is the revolt?’
‘At the moment it is widespread yet uncoordinated. It would seem that many of the minor Welsh Lords have taken it upon themselves to take advantage of the fervour such minor victories bring.’
Longshanks stared at the messenger.
‘In my experience,’ he said eventually, ‘such things have a habit of burning themselves out and oft I have just waited for the fervour to die down before sending in a force to arrest the ringleaders. The castles you have mentioned, albeit important, are minor in my ring of steel and we will suffer little disadvantage from their capture.’
‘Sire,’ said the second noble, ‘if I may?’
‘Speak up man,’ said Longshanks, ‘there is no place for formalities in such a situation.’
‘Sire,’ continued the noble, ‘your comments are acknowledged and it is true the temporary loss of these castles are of little consequence but I feel there is a greater danger looming on the horizon.’
‘Which is?’
‘There is rumour of a man claiming ownership of the title, Prince of Wales and as we speak, he gathers a massive army to his banner.’
‘Who is this man?’ asked Longshanks.
‘A minor noble by the name of Madog Ap Llewellyn. He hails from Ynys Mon and his claim provides direct lineage from the Welsh Princes.’
‘And is he involved in this revolt?’
‘Not yet but it is only a matter of time. Our worry is that he may unite the warring Lords of Wales under a common banner and if that happens, he will seek independence from your royal charter.’
‘So where is this Madog now?’
‘We are not sure, the last we heard was somewhere on Ynys Mon though we are pretty sure he was responsible for the burning of the church at Llanfaes.’
‘So who is responsible for the attacks in Mid Wales?’
‘We believe there are many responsible but the main force is led by a man called Cynan, a ruthless Knight with experience of many battles. He is a formidable foe and perhaps provides us with the more serious risk unless Madog gets unification.’
‘Everything you have said so far is a concern yet worries me not unduly,’ said Longshanks. ‘For ten years there have been many minor uprisings but always we have put them back in place. I have already sent a column of armed men under the command of Nicholas Fermbaud into Wales and have heard good things about their activities. Perhaps this uprising will yet come to nought.’
As he spoke the far door crashed open and two men walked in, pausing only to briefly bow in deference.
‘Fermbaud,’ called Longshanks, ‘Orland, a timely entry indeed. We were talking about you this very minute and look forward to your account. I pray you have good news to share?’ As he spoke, the King’s voice trailed away as he saw the state the Castellan was in. His face was drawn and his clothing was filthy from the week he had spent in the forests hiding from Cynan’s men.
‘Alas, my Lord,’ said Fermbaud, ‘my news is dire and I am ashamed to say my command is lost in its entirety, slaughtered by an overwhelming enemy force. I was lucky to escape and if it was not for Orland, I would now lie rotting in a stinking Welsh ditch.’
Longshanks stared in astonishment.
‘The whole column are dead?’ he gasped.
‘They are, Sire. We fought bravely but the enemy numbered in the thousands.’
Orland glanced at Fermbaud, his brow furrowing but before he could contradict the Castellan’s exaggeration, Fermbaud spoke again.
‘Sire,’ he said, ‘there is one more thing, yesterday we stopped at a village to rest the horses and while we were there, a messenger rode in with desperate news.’
Longshanks let out a long sigh.
‘Spit it out, Fermbaud for this day cannot get any worse.’
Fermbaud glanced at Orland before returning his gaze to Longshanks.
‘Sire,’ he said, ‘Castell du Bere is under siege.’
----
While Fermbaud disappeared to get food and rest, Longshanks strode around the hall, deciding his reaction to the worrying news.
‘This couldn’t have come at a worse time,’ he said. ‘The first half of the fleet has already sailed to Gascony, there is unrest in Ireland and Scotland continues to be a thorn in my side. There are few men left of any mettle in the southern counties and the men of York need to watch the Scottish borders.’
‘Sire,’ said Orland, ‘I hear there is a muster in Chester you can call on. Over a hundred blooded men, mostly cavalry.’
‘There are,’ said Longshanks, ‘and they are destined to be the van of my forces in France.’
‘Surely you can divert them into Wales?’
‘I can but I still need infantry, foot soldiers who can face down these barbarians in Wales and crush them as the peasants they are.’
‘Then can I suggest the men of Carlisle,’ said Orland. ‘They are well blooded against the Scots and will have no fear against the Welsh.’
‘I agree,’ said Longshanks and turned to one of the scribes. ‘Write a letter immediately and have it sent to my Lords in the north. Tell them their King needs their support and failure to lend strength to my arm will be seen in a negative manner. I suggest a hundred men at arms from each county, fully armed and able to feed themselves for two weeks. The cost will be met from my treasuries at the conclusion of the French campaign. Tell them to assemble the men and await further instruction.’
‘Yes, Sire,’ said the scribe and walked over to a table with his pouch of writing tools.
‘You,’ said Longshanks turning to another noble. ‘Send word to my Ship’s masters, tell them to make arrangements to load supplies if required. If this uprising gets any worse and they target our other coastal castles at least they can be re supplied by sea. We have to prepare for the worst.’
‘Yes, my Lord,’ said the noble and left the hall.
Longshanks turned to face Orland.
‘My friend,’ he said, ‘you have just returned from what sounds like a horrendous campaign in a hostile country. Yet I have not heard your report. Did you fare well?’
‘My men and I have suffered worse,’ said Orland, ‘but it has to be said that Fermbaud’s inexperience contributed to the death of his men.’
‘Did cowardice play a role?’
‘It was hard to see but at the very least it was due to rashness of decision.’
‘What do you feel should be his fate?’
‘Give him another chance,’ said Orland, ‘but keep him under your control.’
‘I will bear that in mind,’ said Longshanks, ‘but for now, I have other matters to attend.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I have no other option than to quash this revolt myself,’ said Longshanks. ‘I will gather what men I can and ride into this nest of vipers with all haste. I want you to go to York and muster the northern forces. Upon your return journey, pick up the cavalry from Chester and join me in Conway as soon as possible.’
‘The winter is almost upon us’ said Orland, ‘would it not be better to wait for spring?’
‘It would but time is not a luxury I have. I need to get this dealt with as soon as possible for my focus is upon Gascony. ‘
‘I understand, Sire,’ said Orland, ‘and will force the march to join you.’
‘Good,’ said Longshanks, ‘now get some rest for I feel sleep will be in short supply over the next few months.’
----
Chapter Eighteen
Castell du Bere
For
two weeks, Cynan’s forces continued the relentless barrage against the walls of Castell du Bere. On occasion he sent patrols toward the fortified gate to judge the strengths of the defences but each time they were forced back by the crossbow bolts from the battlements. Boulders from the valley were now in short supply and many of the village houses were destroyed to obtain ammunition for the trebuchet. A constant cloud of black smoke hung over the besieged castle, testament to the devastation within and though the outer walls were severely damaged, the strength of their construction meant they were still defendable.
Cynan had returned from Builth and stood alongside the trebuchet, staring at the castle walls above him. Every minute or so, the earth seemed to shudder at the release of energy from the siege engine and another boulder was sent flying over the castle walls.
‘There can’t be much left standing inside,’ said Cynan.
‘Possibly not,’ said Robert Byrd, ‘and that is why we target the walls but their thickness poses a problem.’
‘Can we not target the gates?’
‘We have tried but the accuracy needed is not there.’
Cynan turned to the master of the trebuchet.
‘Magister,’ he said, ‘they tell me that when it comes to these beasts, there is none better than you.’
‘They speak true,’ said Reynolds, ‘and I have taken down more walls than I can remember with such machines.’
‘And yet you cannot hit the gates?’
‘My brief was to build a trebuchet, sire and that is what I supplied. Such machines are for the purpose of hurling things over walls or at walls. If you want the accuracy needed to hit a small target such as a gate then perhaps a Mangonel would better suit your purpose. I can have one made but it will be several days.’
‘Have it done,’ said Cynan, ‘but I fear we do not have the time. Fortunately, a situation has arisen that may cut those preparations short. Rest your men but prepare to send a very special missile over.’
‘What missile, Sire.’
‘You will see.’
An hour later, two riders made their way up the hill. One dismounted while the other stayed in place. Cynan called out to the Magister.
‘Master Reynolds,’ called Cynan, ‘attend me.’
The engineer walked over and stood beside the Knight.
‘Sire?’
‘Master Reynolds, this is what I want you to send over the walls.’
The engineer looked around but saw no ammunition.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said, ‘do you mean the horse?’
‘No,’ said Cynan. ‘The second man is a messenger from within the castle before us and was sent to get reinforcements from Conway. Luckily our men caught him before he got there but the messages within his pouch condemned him. I want you to send them back to the place whence they came so the Castellan can see there is no hope of relief. Perhaps then he will see the futility of maintaining this pointless defence.’
‘A pack of letters is too light to send over, Sire, I will need to attach them to a rock but surely you can send a messenger with them under a flag of cease fire?’
‘I could but I believe it will be ignored so they will indeed be sent over the walls but not tied to a rock, they will be attached to Fitzwalter’s man.’
Reynolds stared at Cynan. He had often sent the corpses over the walls of a besieged castle but never had he sent a live man.
‘Is he to be killed first?’ he asked.
‘I think not,’ said Cynan. ‘Perhaps his screams of fear will add impetus to the Castellan’s decision making.’
‘Sire,’ started Reynolds, but he was cut short.
‘Just do it, Magister,’ said Cynan, ‘and do it now.’
The condemned man had heard the conversation and as the implications sunk in, he started to panic.
‘No, please,’ he begged, ‘not that, anything but that.’
‘Grab him,’ demanded Reynolds, ‘and bind his arms and legs together. Secure his wrists to his ankles behind his back for we need to make the profile smaller.’
‘Nooo,’ screamed the man but despite his struggles, he was soon trussed as requested and placed on the sling.
Cynan stepped forward and placed the satchel of messages around the sobbing man’s neck.
‘I doubt you will survive this, Englishman,’ he said, ‘but die in the knowledge that you did so in a good cause.’
‘Let me go,’ begged the man, ‘in the name of God I beseech thee.’
‘Can’t do that,’ said Cynan and stepped away from the sling. ‘Magister, do your work.’
Reynolds marked the Trebuchet and the oxen raised the counterweight, this time measurably lower than the height needed for the large boulders.
‘Ready?’ called Reynolds after the oxen were released.
‘Ready,’ answered the hammer man.
‘Release,’ roared Reynolds and every eye turned skyward as the screaming man was launched high above the castle walls, his cries coming to a sudden end as he smashed amongst the rubble within.
All around the trebuchet, the men fell silent.
‘What now?’ asked Reynolds.
‘Now, we wait,’ said Cynan.
----
Two hours later, Cynan felt a hand on his shoulder, waking him from a much needed sleep.
‘Sire, there is a flag of surrender,’ said a soldier. ‘The castle are seeking terms.’
Cynan sat up and adjusted his cape before walking back toward the palisade.
‘Where is the messenger?’ he asked and was led toward two men seated on the grass surrounded by a dozen armed soldiers. Cynan stared at the condition of the prisoners. Their flesh was drawn and they stank of filth. Open scabs lay upon their face and the pus from infection stained their skin.
‘Who are you?’ asked Cynan and one of the men struggled to his feet.
‘My name is of no consequence,’ said the man, ‘but I am a soldier of Edward, serving in the garrison of Du Bere under the stewardship of Fitzwalter.’
‘And you have come from the castle?’
The soldier laughed sarcastically.
‘And where else do you supposed I have been in this state?’
‘Curb your tongue, Englishman,’ growled Robert Byrd, ‘or have it ripped out.’
‘Do what you will,’ said the soldier, ‘it cannot get worse than the hell you have already released upon us.’
‘What message have you brought?’ asked Cynan, cutting short Robert Byrd’s angry response. ‘Does your master seek terms?’
‘He does not,’ said the soldier, ‘for he is dead as are many of the garrison. Those who still live, do not have the strength to fight the disease that ravages the castle. You are to be congratulated, Welshman, the siege was well administered and we can no longer hold you out.’
‘Who is now in command?’ asked Cynan.
The soldier shrugged his shoulders.
‘Me I suppose. I have been sent by those who still live to beg mercy and ask that they are allowed to leave in peace in return for gifting you the castle.’
‘A trade?’ said Cynan, ‘you seem in no position to trade. Why should I bother to grant your wish when I will have what I seek within days anyway?’
The soldier stepped toward Cynan and the Welshman’s hand went to the hilt of his sword.
‘I’ll tell you why,’ said the soldier, ‘because it is common knowledge that Fitzwalter had the sense of an ass and a stubbornness to match. There was never any way we were going to sustain a prolonged siege, yet he held out against the advice of his liegemen and everyone suffered as a result.’
‘This could be seen as an admirable status,’ said Cynan, ‘for a leader to hold out till the last is something to be admired.’
‘You would think so, but he did not suffer as did the rest of the garrison. He made sure his family had food and clean water while the rest of us starved. He thought we would be relieved and though many of his kinsmen died as we waited, it was of little consequence
for he and his family were fine. That is why you should grant our request, Cynan, for though you are my enemy, I believe you to be a man of honour. You are victorious, do not besmirch your victory with the actions of a murderer.’
‘I thought you said Fitzwalter was dead?’ said Robert Byrd.
‘I did,’ said the soldier, ‘but not from disease or the hand of a Welshmen, he died at the end of an English blade.’
‘You killed him?’ asked Cynan.
‘I did and wish I had done so sooner.’ He looked around before facing Cynan once more. ‘So, the castle is yours Welshman, do your worst. The gates are open and your men can ride in unopposed. Set us free or hang us high, you will find no resistance from us.’
Cynan didn’t answer but looked up at the open gates. Finally he sighed and turned back to the soldier.
‘Then the day is done,’ said Cynan, ‘and my judgement is this. Your comrade will ride back to Du Bere and give notice for every living person to leave within the hour. When they emerge they will be given food and clean clothing as well as carts for the sick. This is done on condition that they return across the border with all haste and swear on the cross of Jesus they will never return to Wales.’
‘A magnanimous gesture,’ said the soldier, ‘and what of me?’
‘I understand what you did,’ said Cynan, ‘but I cannot ignore the fact that you murdered your master. Even though his actions were suspect and his heart false, your King granted such status for a reason and it is not the place of mere soldiers to end the life of a Lord. You, sir will hang before this day is done as a message to all men to obey their betters.’
The soldier stared and his shoulders slumped.
‘So be it,’ he said quietly.
Cynan turned to Robert Byrd.
‘Pass word amongst the men, Robert and send messengers far and wide. The Siege is done, Du Bere has fallen.’
----
An hour later a small group of people limped slowly through the gates and down toward the village. Soldiers mixed with civilians, and exhausted children were carried by their emaciated parents. It was a scene of misery and either side of the road, Cynan’s army watched in silence, astonished at the state the enemy were in.