the Rose & the Crane

by Clint Dohmen

  “I will ask them, Your Majesty, but it is my sincere hope that they will join me,” Simon said as he winked at Kojiro and Neno.

  Then Jasper spoke for the first time. “Your crest bears the red dragon of Cadwaladr ap Cadwallon, from the line of pre-Saxon Briton kings. Henry himself bears this crest due to his Welsh lineage. Do you know what part of Wales your ancestors hail from?”

  “As a child, I practiced my seafaring skills by sailing from Devon to South Wales. I often sailed to the small port town of Kidwelly where my mother was born. I would visit relatives with my mother east of Kidwelly in the hamlet of Ystradgynlais, south to Llanelli, and north to Aberystwyth. The family on my mother’s side are all from this region, which I seem to remember is known as Carmarthenshire. Thank God my mother was born in Kidwelly though, because I can barely pronounce those other bloody villages.”

  Henry smiled at Simon’s straightforward language as he paused for thought. He remembered the small, sturdy castle in Kidwelly because it was only a few hours’ sail from the castle where he was born: Pembroke Castle. Henry also remembered the night he had to escape from Pembroke Castle through the natural limestone cavern below it. It was not a pleasant memory. I will have my revenge on the Yorkists for expelling me from my own bloody birthplace.

  Jasper interrupted his thoughts. “The king needs the help of the Welsh. We cannot beat Richard without recruits from Wales. The French regent has promised us two thousand men, we have barely five hundred Englishmen with us at the moment, and Richard will have at least ten thousand men. Double that, if he has time to assemble his northern armies. We plan to return to England via Wales, and God willing, Harry’s Welsh ancestry will bring us recruits. If it does not, we are condemned men. If you’ve noticed, the Welsh dragon flies on our standard below the cross of St George. It is not an accident.”

  He took a sip of cider and continued. “This brings us back to you. You and your compatriots appear to be the equal of ten swords apiece, but even that is not enough. War is as much a numbers game as it is a skills game, and we need more of both. Without substantial support from the Welsh, we are on a fool’s errand. Are you aware that the men from Carmarthenshire are probably the best archers in all of Christendom?”

  Jasper was of course quite familiar with the area of Carmarthenshire outlined by Simon and even more familiar with the skill of their archers. They were the best in Wales, which possibly made them the best in the world. If this Simon fellow can recruit men from Carmarthenshire, it really will be a stroke of luck, Jasper thought to himself. “More importantly, do you think you could recruit the archers of Carmarthenshire to the cause of Henry Tudor?”

  Simon answered bluntly. “Purely to serve me or purely to serve you, Your Majesty, I doubt it. No offense intended.”

  “None taken, I desire honesty,” Henry replied.

  “But if you pay them, you will have little trouble recruiting ‘loyal’ followers. At least they will be loyal as long as the money lasts. The Welsh are a mercenary lot.”

  Henry and Jasper talked amongst themselves for a couple of minutes before Henry spoke again. “The French will be giving us money. Can I trust you to hire good men and meet up with me as I march from Pembroke?”

  “You can trust me to do my best, Your Majesty. And if I am successful, all that I ask is the return of my family’s estates in Exeter if you are successful.”

  “I will return the title of your family’s property, Lang. Jasper has told me that your family has always remained loyal to the House of Lancaster, but you will have to evict the current Yorkist lord yourself.”

  “That part would be my pleasure, Your Majesty.”

  And with that, Henry, Jasper, and Sir Cheyne left, but not before Sir Cheyne stared hard at the men in the tent and gave a booming warning to all of the revelers. “You will not, I repeat WILL NOT start fights with any Frenchmen tonight. If any man disobeys me, I will see that they are beheaded by a blind, feeble, old executioner with a dull axe!” There were no fights between the English and the French that night.

  Months passed while Henry’s army gathered strength, and some of that strength came from an unexpected quarter. Yorkists, who had been loyal to King Edward but were disgusted by the usurpation of the throne by Richard, arrived daily.

  After years abroad, Simon was anxious to return to England, but he served Henry now, and Henry would not become king if his invasion was premature. Finally, on a hot summer day in 1485, Jasper delivered the order for Simon to begin recruiting in Wales.

  Chapter 32

  Carmarthen Bay, Coast of Southern Wales

  ALDO’S NEWEST AND grandest boat, the one he had insisted on waiting for, was named the Triarii. The Triarii, was named after the traditional ancient Roman third line of battle. The Triarii were the wealthier, well-armored citizens who would not be committed to battle until the less wealthy and less well-armored had died in front of them. Aldo’s Triarii was likely the grandest boat anyone in Kidwelly had ever seen, and the shore of Carmarthen Bay was lined with gawkers.

  “I like the flag,” Simon said, smirking as he looked at the small English courtesy flag Aldo was having flown on the foremast. It was a red cross on a white background: the Cross of Saint George, the flag of London and England.

  “I will be more than happy to burn that flag when I leave these waters,” Aldo said through a clenched smile.

  “Do you know why you Inglese fly that abhorrent flag?” Aldo asked.

  “Because it is the flag of England and St. George, of course,” Simon replied with full confidence.

  “It is in fact the Cross of St. George, of that you are correct.”

  Simon knew there was more coming, so he began to walk quickly towards the dinghy.

  Aldo followed without missing a beat. “But it was not first the flag of England, it was the flag of Genoa before that.” Aldo spat as he mouthed the name of the Venetians’ bitter rivals.

  Kojiro, also headed towards the dinghy, moved closer to the pair, and asked, “Then how did it become the flag of England?”

  Simon shot Kojiro a glance, but Kojiro’s face betrayed no hint as to his motivation in asking the question. Wait, did he smile? No, couldn’t be, Simon thought to himself.

  Kojiro got the glance from Simon that he had hoped for. He had observed that Simon hated Aldo’s lectures, so he had purposefully prompted Aldo into speaking more.

  “That is an insightful question, Kojiro-san.” Aldo had taken to calling Kojiro Kojiro-san, even when they were not conversing in Japanese because it let others around them know about Aldo’s mastery of foreign languages.

  Aldo continued. “You English sought protection from the Genoese navy when you entered the Mediterranean, so for a fee, the Genoese allowed you to fly their flag.” Aldo, in fact, had heard this as a rumor, and was not completely confident in its veracity, but there was no reason to share this minor detail with Simon.

  “And now, I allow you to fly the flag of England and St. George to protect you in the Bay of Carmarthen. A fair trade, I would say.”

  Kojiro looked around the bay and saw nothing but small sail boats, fishing boats, and assorted dinghies. If they all stormed the Triarii at once, they would have no hope of success. So Simon says it is a fair trade when it is clearly not. Kojiro looked at Simon’s face and saw his usual wide grin. And he finds this funny. An English phrase where the intended meaning is opposite to that presented by the words themselves amuses the English. Aldo does not seem amused. Perhaps it does not amuse Venetians?

  “We fought four wars against the Genoese whoremongers. It is not a fair trade.” Aldo could not help but say this, even as he knew Simon was toying with him.

  “Whoremongers, too? I think I’m starting to like these Genoese, because if there’s anything an Englishman likes more than a fellow whoremonger, I can’t think what it might be.”

  “Bah, you English have no manners and no education. Why do I bother trying to teach you anything?

  “Surely you should
stop,” Simon agreed.

  “Why do we not sail to the dock forthwith?” Kojiro interrupted as he eyed the wooden wharves protruding from the shore.

  “I’m afraid, Kojiro, that I don’t know what kind of reception I’m due for here,” Simon said. “The land belongs to my relatives, or at least it did last time I came here, but they are Welsh and I am English.”

  “It makes a difference even though you are family?” Kojiro asked, surprised.

  “It might. A lot depends on the mood of the Welsh at any given time. And for more fun unpredictability, I’m a rebel in my own country.”

  Kojiro did not understand why Simon used the word fun to describe this situation. Perhaps I misunderstand ‘unpredictability.’

  Simon continued his evaluation of the circumstances as they took their places in the dinghy. “I do not wish to endanger Aldo’s ship by making it vulnerable to boarders from the docks. That is why I recommend the distant anchoring. Out here in the bay, it is in little danger.”

  “No danger,” Aldo announced confidently before he gave a litany of detailed instructions to Magnani who would remain aboard the ship. Aldo had spared no expense on his latest ship. It was a carrack with three masts, two topsails, thirty guns on each side, and two cannon fore and aft, a practically unrivaled ship of war that also contained a tremendously large hold for storage. If I had had this much room in the Tigre for spices, I would have bribed my way into being the Doge of Venice by now, Aldo thought to himself.

  “It doesn’t look like much,” Aldo remarked as the disembarkation party surveyed the houses, cottages, huts, hovels, shacks, sheds, dumps, rattraps, and various other structures that defied qualification crammed up against the coast.

  “Soo desu nee,” Kojiro agreed.

  “Well, as much as I know you’d like me to argue with you gents, I can’t dispute your conclusion. It’s a pisspot,” Simon concurred.

  It took some careful rowing to keep them all dry as the skilled Venetian sailors maneuvered their way through the breakers and onto shore.

  As Simon hopped over the gunwale of the dinghy and onto the wet, gray sand, he thought he recognized the Welshman who approached his small landing party. As the man came closer, Simon knew exactly who he was. It was the second cousin that he vaguely remembered stealing gingerbread and sugared almonds from as a child.

  Simon recognized his cousin even after all the years due to his unmistakable shock of bright orange hair and the wide, thick nose that heredity doomed all his Welsh relatives to. Funnily enough, though, age had been kind to his cousin. The rest of his features: sharp, deep-set green eyes, a strong jaw, high cheekbones, evenly set white teeth—a rarity in England, much less Wales—and ears proportional to the size of his head, more than made up for the nose. His cousin, four years Simon’s junior, had actually grown into a handsome man, albeit one with an overly prominent nose.

  Simon greeted his relative. “Cousin! It’s been far too long. What, twenty years? Ah, I’ve missed the clean air and fine winds of your fair,” and here Simon choked a bit and enunciated the word rather quietly, “city.”

  Simon’s cousin smiled broadly, showing off his uncannily straight teeth. “And you would be the boy who stole my treats, moped about my father’s castle, and asked your mum at least every hour when you were going to leave this godforsaken devil’s torture chamber of boredom, if I’m not mistaken?”

  Simon was taken aback. The boy had matured into a straight-talking, likeable man. “Ah, yes, I’m ashamed to say. That little knave was indeed me. Your memory is sharp.”

  “Well, don’t let it bother you. I was a snot-nosed, whiny little tattletale, as much as my mother tries to convince me otherwise. I would much rather have memories of being the arrogant, bullying relative from out of town, if truth be told.”

  Aldo burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. “You were an arrogant bully as a child? You? You who must be tortured to admit that you have royal heritage? Acting all this time as though you were not pretentious. Now I hear from the voice of your own kin that you really are a typical English peacock! You should be ashamed of yourself, playing the modesty game this whole time to fool dear Aldo!”

  Simon was chagrined, but he took his lumps in stride. “Yes, Aldo, I’ve been perpetrating an elaborate hoax for the sole purpose of one day ridiculing you for misjudging my character.”

  “I am Duncan Bevan,” Simon’s cousin said, “son of Thomas Bevan.” And with the introduction he bowed modestly.

  Simon remembered that the name Bevan was an Anglicized version of the Welsh “ap or ab Evan,” meaning son of Evan. Most Welshmen did not have true surnames, simply known as “son of,” but his uncle, Sir Thomas Bevan had changed that, preferring the English system of a true last name.

  “Introduce me to your friends, cousin, then we’ll go to meet my father. I daresay he was shocked when he got word that your banner had been seen disembarking from that magnificent ship anchoring in the bay.” Duncan full well realized that one of the men with Simon was likely the captain of the ship, and he also knew that flattery was always a good way to start new relationships. In this case, he meant it sincerely; the carrack anchoring off of Kidwelly did look truly magnificent.

  Aldo liked Simon’s relative immediately. The boy was stout, witty, seemed to have Simon’s jovial personality, and clearly had both expansive knowledge of, and fine taste in, sailing vessels.

  “I am Capitano Aldo Mitachionne and this is my first mate Neno,” Aldo introduced himself with a flourishing bow. Neno bowed and grunted.

  “And the quiet one?” Duncan asked.

  “This is Kojiro,” Simon said as Kojiro bowed in his traditional, reserved Japanese style.

  As Duncan looked at Kojiro more closely he couldn’t help but stare. Kojiro was dressed in typical, loose-fitting sailor’s garb, but his eyes and facial features were like none he’d ever seen before.

  Simon noticed his cousin staring. “He’s not from around here.”

  Duncan did not wish to be rude, so he inquired no more and led the small party away from the beach. As they walked towards the castle, Duncan spoke frankly. “I’m afraid you’re walking into a rather sticky situation.”

  “Oh?” Simon asked.

  “Well it’s a bad news-good news sort of thing, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t give you the bad news first.”

  “By all means,” Simon replied.

  “You may be hanged when we get to my father’s castle.”

  “Well, that is a bit of bad news, I daresay. And the good news?”

  “Your friends likely won’t be. I see that the vessel you arrived on flies the flag of Venice in addition to that of St. George, and there is not a faction in England or Wales that doesn’t drool over the possible wealth creation that trade with Venice could engender.”

  Aldo clapped Simon on the back. “Well, it’s good to be appreciated somewhere. For immediate purposes, I extend full Venetian citizenship on Kojiro here, with all the rights and privileges not to be hanged that go along with it.”

  “I will die happily with Simon, if you please,” Kojiro stated in his standard monotone.

  Aldo did not know if he was offended or not. He had just offered to vouch for Kojiro’s Venetian citizenship, and Kojiro had volunteered for death instead.

  Simon beamed. “Now that’s the spirit, Kojiro! I wish I had more friends like you.” He stared accusingly at Aldo. “So, pray tell, why might I be hanged?”

  “Well, obviously my father wouldn’t hang you, since you are family after all and your mother was always his favorite cousin. But Rhys Ap Thomas, the most powerful warlord in Wales, stays at the castle now to recruit Carmarthen bowmen.”

  “And for whom does he recruit them?” Simon asked.

  “Officially he recruits them for King Richard. They say that he has sworn to Richard and that if Henry arrives on the coast of Wales, Henry will proceed only over his belly.”

  “And unofficially?”

  Duncan shrugged. “U
nofficially, who knows? He hasn’t survived this long as a powerful Welshman in an English world by being foolish. If Henry can gather a big enough army to make a go of it, chances are, he’ll side with Henry. Rhys is a survivor, but he’s a true Welsh patriot at heart. Wales is likely to gain much more autonomy with Henry on the throne of England than Richard. Richard hates the Welsh.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Simon responded.

  Duncan continued to speak as Kidwelly Castle drew nearer. “So Rhys may hang you as a public show of loyalty to Richard, or he may not. As Rhys goes, though, so likely goes most of Wales, so you’re best off being in his favor. Though I know you do not hold the Welsh in the highest regard—no offense by the way, few English do—you should know that we are a people that you would prefer to fight ‘with’ rather than ‘against.’”

  Simon knew this last part to be the truth. For hundreds of years English monarchs had struggled to control the fierce, combative Welsh tribes, and even after the defeat and beheading of Llywelyn ap Gruffydd by Edward I at the Battle of Orewin Bridge in 1282, which officially brought Wales under English subjugation, the Welsh had never been an easy people to control. And the skill of Welsh longbowmen struck fear into the hearts of brave soldiers throughout Europe. Merely peasants, but raised from birth to pull the six-foot-tall longbows that had terrorized France for the last century, Welsh archers were a prized commodity on any battlefield.

  “Dear cousin,” Simon grinned, “though I never stayed long in this dung heap that people who draw maps refer to as ‘Wales,’ rest assured, I have heard that some of you know how to use a bow.” And by the time Simon ended his sentence, they were walking beneath the raised portcullis at the gate of the castle. A wave of unpleasant nostalgia washed over Simon as he remembered the courtyard where he had spent some of the most tedious days of his youth.