Winter of Discontent nc-2

by Iain Campbell

  Alan rolled to his right, pulling his sword out from under the still twitching body, as Edric offered him a hand and helped him to his feet. “That accursed unges?lig ruined my trews!” said Edric looking at his blood-drenched legs.

  “I owe you a flagon of ale, Edric.”

  “Well, I thought that for a wealh you aren’t a bad herer?swa. The Welsh have all pissed off into the trees, so lets get the men together,” replied Edric.

  Alan used his sword to quickly dispatch the still kicking and struggling Fayne and took possession of one of the chargers that was wandering ownerless on the battlefield. Seven of his eleven men were still in the saddle, elated at their first taste of victory in a serious fight. They retraced their path to find the missing four men, two of whom were dead and two injured, one severely as he had received a spear in the belly.

  FitzOsbern had some men repairing the bridge and soon the dead and injured Anglo-Normans were able to be taken back to the village. Within minutes the dead of both sides had been stripped of anything useful- armour, weapons, jewellery and occasionally clothes and boots. The remaining villagers who had not had the opportunity to flee were instructed to cross the river and gather up the Welsh dead, under careful guard to ensure that they didn’t collect any weapons that may be found in the long grass.

  The village head-man decided that the Welsh dead would be buried in a common grave-pit near the church. A similar pit was dug for the Anglo-Normans, again using the villager’s labour. There were about 250 Welsh dead, and about 50 wounded- probably about half the number that had been in the field that day. Nearly 100 Anglo-Normans were dead, mainly from the cavalry that had borne the brunt of the fighting, and 30 seriously wounded.

  FitzOsbern had won his battle over the Welsh king, but at a high price. Fully one third of his cavalry, the cream of his army, was dead or wounded- and this despite the fact that the Anglo-Norman surprise attack, being on one flank of the Welsh army and accordingly meaning that only a part of the Welsh army was able to fight the Normans at any one time, had been made under the most advantageous conditions possible.

  The Welsh women of the village were instructed to care for the wounded, which they did conscientiously and without apparent favour.

  The battle had taken less than an hour from start to finish and had started very early. It was still only mid-morning when fitzOsbern called into the Cantref Hall where the injured were being treated. He was still in armour when he entered, walking with a slight limp, dirty, disheveled and covered in blood. Some was his own blood from cuts to his cheek from an arrow and his thigh from a spear. He moved amongst the wounded, dropping onto one knee next to each Norman or Englishman with words of encouragement and thanks, before approaching Alan, who was assisting the village wise woman to tend a severe arm wound suffered by a Welshman.

  “Warm work this morning, Sir Alan!” commented fitzOsbern. “Those Welsh buggers fought damn well, considering the tactical disadvantages they had.”

  Alan nodded and replied, “Nobody has ever doubted their courage or skill, just their lack of training. Fuck!” he exclaimed as a ligature slipped and blood spurted from the arm he was working on. “I don’t think this man is going to make it. Can you get the village priest in here? There are quite a few men who need to be shriven before they die, and I’m sure our men would rather be prayed over than not- even if the prayers are in Welsh.”

  “He’s doing burials at the moment,” replied de Neufmarche, who had followed fitzOsbern into the Hall.

  “The dead can wait. They have all eternity. Just get him!” instructed Alan. De Neufmarche nodded and gave instructions to one of his men.

  “We managed to get the attention of the ship that we had arranged go to Abergele, as it was sailing past,” commented fitzOsbern. “It’s unloading some supplies near the bridge at the moment.”

  Alan nodded and suggested, “Get the less badly wounded men taken on board and have the ship sail back to Chester. They’ll probably get there by tonight and it’ll be much easier for the injured than traveling on a bumping wagon on a rutted dirt track. If we get two ships tomorrow, we can send back the more seriously injured once they’ve had a chance to stabilize, and also the captured weapons and armour. If we send that booty back by road the Welsh will almost certainly take it back,” he suggested.

  “Good idea,” replied fitzOsbern. “How long until you are finished here? The men will be resting for the day and tonight.”

  “Another couple of hours. I’ll have something to eat then,” said Alan.

  “Good. I’ve got a few flagons of fairly indifferent wine we found here in the Hall. It’s probably Bleddyn’s. We’ll drink that over roast swine and boiled beef. The cooks are busy with some of the fresh meat from the village’s herds.”

  “Isn’t it Friday?” asked Alan.

  FitzOsbern frowned in concentration for a moment. “Possibly. I’m not sure just what day it is. But I don’t hold with that on campaign anyway. Just call it Thursday!”

  ****

  Alan washed himself at the horse-trough outside the tavern after stripping off his sweaty and river-sodden armour and padded gambeson. Then, free of sweat, blood and grime, he donned a clean rough tunic and trews without armour. He was confident that there was no chance of an attack by the Welsh for the next few days.

  FitzOsbern had taken over the tavern as his headquarters. None of the soldiers were unhappy about that as they knew that they’d cleaned out all of the ale barrels before the commanders took possession. FitzOsbern, Guy de Craon, Raoul Painel, Osmond Basset and Bernard de Neufmarche were seated; all were still wearing armour, although all appeared to have at least washed their heads and hands. Aubrey Maubanc was amongst the seriously injured in the Hall and Alan was doubtful as to his chances.

  The expedition leaders chatted about the battle for several minutes before fitzOsbern called them to attention. “Right, mesires! Let’s get to business. A hard-won victory this morning, but a win nevertheless. Bleddyn appears to have escaped, along with about 400 men. We have supplies from the village. The wounded are being sent back by ship and we’ve been re-supplied with both food and arrows, so we won’t have to provide guards for the wagons. What do you suggest we do next?”

  “Strike while the iron is hot! God is clearly on our side!” said de Neufmarche with fervour. Several others joined in with suggestions, some with expressions of caution regarding the reduced strength of their forces.

  After a few minutes Alan said, “Lord William, mesires! We need to look at what our objectives are. The main objective was to bring Bleddyn and his warriors to battle. We’ve achieved that and achieved victory, although at a high cost- but that’s what happens in battle. We discussed the other day what our capabilities were. That’s not changed, except the number of men in our force has decreased. We can’t force a way across the River Conwy. We had enough trouble getting over the Clwyd. We can’t fight our way through the hills and go around the river. What we can do is sack Abergele, Betws and a few smaller villages.

  “Bleddyn will control the crossing of the river to Aberconwyn. He can bring in more men. If he calls a full muster he can raise enough men to swarm us under. He has two options. Sit back and do little other than resume ambushes and small raiding parties, or raise an army and come after us. The second option will take him a week or so. Our options are to fall back to Chester, content with what we’ve achieved, or plunder Rhufoniog and Rhos- for what that’s worth. If we return to England now Bleddyn will claim victory.” Here fitzOsbern snorted in disgusted agreement. “If we are to avoid that, we have to strike west. It’ll take Bleddyn a couple of days to rally his men enough to defend, and a week to raise enough to face us again in battle. If we put every man on horse, we can sack Abergele, Betws, Llandrillo and Llanddulas in one day. Also Llanrwst if we want to push on to the Conwy. It’s 6 miles to Abergele; 10 miles to Betws; 22 miles to Llanrwst. We can send men there and back in a day on horseback. Using the ponies we now have, we can even put the inf
antry and archers on horse and move the whole lot 40 miles, fight a battle and get back before dark. Get in and out fast. We can make a point without giving Bleddyn a chance to catch us if we move fast. Then we get back over the border before Bleddyn gathers a new army together. Unless you intend to stay here and build a castle?”

  “Maybe we’ll intend to stay another time,” said fitzOsbern thoughtfully. “I’m sure that de Craon, Painel, Basset and de Neufmarche here would all be interested in carving out manors, but it’d need to be planned in advance and we’d probably have to use ships to re-supply or move produce until we’ve pacified the countryside. You’ve made that point well.”

  “Certainly the land in the Vales is good enough to make it worth the effort,” said de Neufmarche with interest. “But it’ll take a lot of men to win the land and then hold it.”

  FitzOsbern continued, “As to tomorrow… yes. Good advice. Three columns, with 40 cavalry, 80 mounted infantry and 20 mounted archers in each. Targets- one column to Llanrwst, one to Betws and the third can take Abergele, Llandrillo and Llanddulas, which are closer. Rally back here tomorrow night. Who wants which? Yes, de Craon, you can have Llanrwst. Basset, with the losses you’ve had, you can share Betws with Painel; de Neufmarche, you can have the rest. What do you want, Thorrington?”

  “I’m happy to stay with the force here, Lord William. We’ll guard the river crossing and then you can join one of the raiding parties if you wish. Have some fun!” said Alan.

  FitzOsbern laughed and said, “Fine! De Craon, I’ll join you and bring an extra 50 men. That’ll leave you just under 300, Thorrington, mainly infantry. That should be plenty to defend here and have you look after our backs. Make your arrangements. We ride at first light!”

  The rest of the day was spent clearing the battlefield of weapons and armour and selecting the infantry and archers who could ride to accompany the raiding parties the next day. The men were kept firmly in hand with their sergeants and officers ensuring that the villagers who were still present were not harmed. In any event, the villagers had earned the gratitude of the Anglo-Normans for their care of the wounded.

  The following day the raiding parties mounted up and moved off at first light. Alan had 100 men equipped and ready to fight at any time, 25 on each side of the bridge and 50 ready to give immediate assistance. The other two thirds of the men either relaxed on the village green or got some extra sleep. Soldiers know to always sleep when they had the opportunity and the men knew that one third of them would be on guard duty that night when the raiders returned.

  Alan was visited at noon by the village headman Cadwy and the priest Father Madoc. The priest knew some Latin and it transpired that both could speak Anglo-Saxon English reasonably well. “What is your intention regarding the village, my lord?” asked Cadwy after the usual pleasantries had been exchanged.

  “That would be up to Earl William fitzOsbern,” replied Alan. Both Welshmen frowned at hearing the name. Earl William had already built a reputation on the border as being a hard man. “I’ll do what I can, but the purpose of this expedition is to punish your people for the invasion of England last year, so I expect he’ll order the village burnt.”

  “But our people didn’t take part in the raids!” came the expected reply.

  “Perhaps not from here- perhaps from further south, or east or further west, but the raids were by your people.” Alan shrugged. “As I said, I’ll do what I can. Certainly there’ll be some sympathy for the assistance given to our wounded. There’ll be no killing of innocents or ravishing and I’m reasonably sure that no captives will be carried away as slaves.” Alan paused and continued, “You might like to conduct a dawn Mass in the morning and invite us raiders. It’ll be Sunday. Even somebody as hard-hearted as Earl William might find it hard to burn down the houses of people with whom he’s just said Mass.” After another pause Alan pointedly said, “Prior Gryffyd at St Asaph refused to say Mass. You probably saw the smoke from here.”

  Cadwy gave Father Madoc a sharp look and the priest took the hint, “Of course, we often celebrate Mass at dawn on a Sunday,” lied the priest. “Your people are Christian, as are we, and it behooves us to pray together for peace and understanding, and the safe and early return of your people to their homes. Would English or Latin be preferable?”

  Alan managed to keep a straight face at the way that Father Madoc had managed to place absolutely no emphasis on the word ‘early’. “Probably Latin,” he replied. “Most of the men are Normans. They’re still unlikely to understand the service, but at least it’ll be more familiar to them. Do you have somebody who can translate into Norman French the readings and prayers and your homily? I’m sure that you will choose these very carefully. No? Well, if you wish, Edric can do that, from English to Norman French, if you keep things short and use simple words. If not you’ll lose your audience anyway. The Norman men-at-arms and knights are simple men with simple ideas. In that case you may prefer to do those parts in English, as you’re more comfortable with that language. Excellent! I look forward to seeing you and all your villagers at dawn!”

  All three raiding forces returned together. Basset and Painel had paused at Betws to support fitzOsbern and de Craon as they rode back. De Neufmarche had done the same, returning to Abergele after destroying the coastal fishing villages. There had been no fighting- at least with the Welsh, although some arguments had occurred amongst the Normans over booty. Alan had ensured that food was ready. Cooked meat, vegetables and fresh bread and butter were on tables set on the green. The villagers had attended to the cooking and had also produced items such as cheese and nuts, and had gathered fruit. It appeared that Cadwy had been having discussions with his people.

  Those in the raiding parties were fatigued after a hard day’s riding and looting and retired early with replete bellies.

  Next morning the church bell rang just before first light and the villagers streamed towards the small wooden building. Father Madoc had in fact set up for an outdoors service, and the Normans and English also answered the familiar call of the bell. The bell kept tolling until there were few who were not present, other than the sentries and the guard party on the bridge. The smoke and aroma of additional food being cooked behind the tavern and fresh bread from the bakery wafted about.

  Father Madoc appeared to have been burning candles during the night preparing for the service. The Gospels and homily repeated the themes of love for fellow man, helping your neighbor, the Good Samaritan- and God’s vengeance and damnation against those who sin.

  After taking the Host fitzOsbern stood next to Alan at the back of the gathering. “I suppose you had nothing to do with this?” he said

  With an expression of total innocence Alan replied, “With what? The villagers have been accommodating, despite having their valuables removed the first day we were here. The priest has been equally accommodating. They prepared dinner last night and breakfast today, which it looks like it should be ready soon.”

  FitzOsbern gave him a flat look. “I have a reputation to maintain! Burn the mill and the salt-house. Despoil the salt. Slaughter enough animals to feed us for the day. Leave the rest of the grain, flour and animals. Except the horses- bring them with us. Everything else can stay. They’ve earned that much charity. I want my reputation to be hard, but fair! Let’s eat and get under way!”

  Prestatyn was not so lucky and three hours later it lay behind the marching army, sacked and burnt and with its animals all slaughtered. Holywell lay next in their path. The army had not moved far, only fifteen miles, but looting two substantial villages takes time to do thoroughly and after sacking Holywell the army camped for the night. As indicated by its name, Holywell was a place of considerable local religious significance. St Winefride’s Well with its adjacent chapel was a place of pilgrimage. The chapel, well and church were left untouched when the army departed the next day, but the rest of the village was burnt.

  As the small army moved forwards fitzOsbern kept the men under close control.
There was a long history of savagery and atrocity committed on both sides of the border. The discipline rigorously imposed on the Anglo-Normans was not out of any benevolence or compassion, but the need to keep a small force in hostile territory under control and ready to fight at a moment’s notice. FitzOsbern and most of his leaders had no objection as such to a little rape and murder, but such activity was distracting. Looting was taken as normal. Rape, torture of civilians and the abusing of children was frowned upon.

  Miscreants who overstepped the line were strung by the neck from convenient trees in summary judgment when caught. Each village was professionally plundered by men who obviously had considerable experience in locating places where valuables may be hidden. Generally, the villagers and the occupants of the scattered hillside cottages had seen the approach of the army and had fled into the hills and forests. However, Alan was suspicious that the armed bands visiting the dwellings which were away from the main route of march were extracting revenge for those killed or enslaved in Welsh raids or ambushes- and were then perpetuating the ongoing circle of violence.

  Holywell to Flint was five miles and was reached at about seven in the morning. Because the Welsh living on the northern border itself did not raid frequently and were fairly peaceful, fitzOsbern directed that the village, and the others on the further sixteen miles to Chester, remained unmolested other than having to provide food for 800 hungry men and nearly as many horses. They crossed the River Dee into Chester in the early afternoon. The castle was immediately on their right as the army crossed the bridge and fitzOsbern gave orders that the bridge guard be increased to 100 men, that the downstream Saltney and Higher ferries be guarded and men be sent upstream to Aldford. He didn’t expect Bleddyn to launch a major attack, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.