The Welsh Marches (The Anarchy 1120-1180 Book 15)

by Hosker, Griff

  “Aye lord.”

  I felt better once they disappeared. It was a fine afternoon and the autumn colours made the valley looked beautiful. It was a beauty which could be dangerous for the autumnal colours made it easier for the enemy archers to hide. The woods on the valley sides were no longer green. There were patches of green, brown and even yellow. Maredudd and his men would fight us; the question was where?

  It was late afternoon when we found out where. One of de Clare’s scouts came hurrying back. “Lord, we have found the Welsh.”

  I held up my hand and the column halted. “Where?”

  “They are four miles away at Monmouth. It is a good place they have chosen. They occupy the land between the Monnow river and the River Wye. They have men in the castle.”

  “Stone castle?”

  “Wooden walls lord but a stone keep.”

  “Numbers?”

  It is hard to estimate lord for they are hidden in the trees but we counted ten banners on the walls and four at their camp.”

  “Where are Rhodri and my archers?”

  He led them across the river. He told me to tell you that he will try to get in a position on their flank, on the other side of the Severn.”

  “Good. We will camp close to their lines. Keep me informed.”

  “Aye Warlord.”

  I waved the column forward and then signalled for de Clare to join me. “They are at the castle of Monmouth. What do you know of it?”

  “It belonged to the Fitz Osbern family. The lord, Roger was slain by the Welsh and his family fled. They have estates in Buckinghamshire. It has a good keep but they have not yet got around to making the outer wall of stone. There are two good ditches. The town is well defended by rivers. They flank the town and there is but one bridge across each river.”

  I nodded, “My archers are on the east bank of the Severn. They will attack on the flanks on the morrow.”

  He gave me a surprised look. “You will attack without seeing their defences?”

  “I know what they will have done. They will have a ditch and a barrier. Their archers will be hidden and they will attempt to slay us as we charge.”

  “But…”

  “First I will go to speak with them. I will offer them the opportunity to withdraw. They will refuse. I will return to our lines and signal Rhodri to attack their flank. We will attack on foot.”

  “On foot! We are knights; we are horsemen.”

  “And we will save our horses. I need you to help me persuade the others for they, too, will be fearful to fight on foot. It will work. We need to fix their gaze to allow our archers to attack their rear. We save our horses for the chase to Striguil; for there will be a chase.”

  “I will support you Warlord. I cannot fault what you have done so far but this is not how I would have attacked.”

  I ruffled my beard, “That is how you get grey hairs and do not die young. You use your head.” I waved over Harry Lightfoot. I saw de Clare listening to my instructions. “Fetch Osbert and his horse.”

  “Aye lord.”

  When my servant arrived I said, “I would have you ride to Rhodri. He is across the river. You will have to swim your horse. Can you do that?”

  He grinned, “Aye lord. I do not need five fingers to swim!”

  “When you find him tell him to cross the river south of the town and hide him and his men close to the enemy. When he hears the trumpet sound three times, in the morning, then he is to attack.”

  “Aye lord.” He smiled, “Thank you lord. You have given us the chance to be warriors and useful once more. I will not fail you.”

  De Clare said, as my servant galloped off, “You use servants?”

  “Osbert was a warrior. He wears no mail but he needs none. If he meets an enemy then believe me, the enemy will die.”

  My men at arms returned having found Ross on Wye without enemies. That gave me peace of mind.

  We saw the enemy lines when we were eight hundred paces from them. The ground was flat. There were some abandoned huts there. The English settlers who had lived there had fled when the Welsh had returned. I had the foot make the camp while my horsemen formed a solid line four hundred paces from the Welsh. I heard their horns as they rushed to their lines. I wanted them watching me and not the south. My archers would be moving around their flank. I had no intention of attacking but they did not know that. They could not see my men digging a ditch and erecting stakes to build an armed camp. We had a line of horsemen as a barrier. We used the huts as corners to our improvised fort. I would not be caught napping in my sleep by Welsh assassins.

  As I did with my knights on the Tees so I did with my Marcher lords. I explained in detail how we would fight.

  “Each of your will form a wedge with your conroi. We will make a large hedgehog with me in the centre. We keep a tight formation. Some of you will have larger wedges. Mine will be the smallest and we will be in the centre. I will have my men at arms and those of William of Liedeberge in the centre.”

  I paused to allow that to sink in. De Clare had spoken with me and understood my thinking. “And that means our stronger flanks will push around theirs.”

  “Exactly. By trying to get at me they will outflank themselves.”

  There were nods when they understood the strategy. Raymond de Mortimer asked, “And the foot?”

  “They will form a double line behind our wedges. The horses and baggage will be guarded by the servants and pages.”

  “What if they are attacked? We will lose our horses.”

  De Clare laughed, “Perhaps we should emulate the Warlord. He has old soldiers for servants.”

  “I do not think that we will be in any danger of losing our horses. Firstly, we are not attacking the way that they expect. They will expect a charge of heavy horse. That will make them confused. Secondly, Rhodri and the archers will be sending fifty arrows every few moments into their unprotected backs. I hope to decimate their archers.”

  De Clifford was not the cleverest of knights. “Let me understand this, Warlord. We mount our horses, in the morning, as though we are going to make a charge. Then you and I will go with De Clare and we will try to negotiate their surrender.”

  “That is right.”

  “Then, when they reject our terms, we come back, dismount, form wedges and attack.”

  “That is the plan.”

  He shook his head, “I can see that you are from the east. That is far too complicated for an old warrior such as me.” My lords laughed.

  “Once we have breached their line then I want you, de Braose, to take the foot and your conroi. You will surround the castle.”

  “Do I assault it?”

  I shook my head. “From what I have seen there is only one way in. They cannot have enough supplies inside. When the wind is in the right direction you will burn the Welsh bodies so that the smoke and the smell goes towards the castle. It will be a warning of what might happen if we fire their wall. Once we have reached Striguil I will return.”

  “You wage a different sort of war, Warlord.”

  “I have been fighting these many years. I have learned what wins battles.”

  The other knights all laughed. It was a small step but these knights, some of whom had fought for Stephen the u surper were now coming together. England was healing and it was the Welsh who would suffer as a result. That night I walked the horse lines with Arne Arneson and James. I had some apples I had bought in Hereford. They grew good apples in this part of the world. I gave our horses an apple each. I had bought a bushel and I still had some as a reward for after battle. I spoke with as many men as I could. Some of the men at arms touched the hem of my surcoat or my scabbard for good luck. Warriors are always superstitious. I was known to be a lucky leader. They believed that luck might rub off. I did not mind. When that was done we returned to our camp and James put my mail in a sack of sand. It was a good way to clean it. Once the sand was removed he oiled it. That would stop rust. The weather was changing and the ni
ghts and early mornings were damp. Then he began to burnish my helmet. It was not all for show: a shiny helmet and an oiled byrnie were better at deflecting blows. They could do nothing about a direct strike but, in the heat of battle, some edges slid off mail and helmets. It was those small margins which might be the difference between life and death.

  His final action was to put a good edge to my sword and two daggers. The sword had the blue pommel stone from Harold Godwinson’s sword. To the Normans that would mean nothing but my father had put enough store in its magic for him to have hidden it in his home in Constantinople. I knew that, following its fitting, I was more confident with my sword and I believed it had power which aided my own. It might have been nonsense but warriors have an affinity with their weapons. A warrior who is unconcerned about the weapon he uses will lose. My men at arms also began sharpening their weapons. It contrasted with some of the other camps where the men were gambling, drinking and telling tall tales. William of Liedeberge and his men were with us.

  “You will be behind me next to Arne. James will have my banner behind the two of you and your standard will be in the rank behind. It will confuse the enemy. Our men at arms fight together. Mine had done this recently. It will give your men confidence.”

  “I have rarely attacked on foot.”

  “In many ways, it is easier than on a horse. Some horses can misplace a hoof or become afeard at nothing. The difference is the way you use your spear. It will appear heavier for you will not have the head of a horse or a saddle on which to rest it. Trust me, William, this plan is better than a frontal charge by heavy horse!”

  That night after I had given my final orders I prayed to God to protect my son and his new family and I asked him to give us victory. I slept in the open, covered with just my cloak. It would be enough.

  I woke before dawn. I was at that age when nature made me rise whether I would or no. I was the first of my men to rise although Roger of Bath and Lame Tom were watching our camp. My breath formed in front of my face. It was cold. I made water and then walked over to them. There was not even a hint of grey in the eastern skies of England.

  “How goes the night?”

  “Quiet, lord. John son of John said he heard some movement in their lines just before I took over but I have heard nothing. We have had an early hard frost. It will help us to march. God is with us.”

  Lame Tom said, “I’ll fetch some beer and the last of the bread and cheese.” He scratched his chin. “There may be a few good apples left too.” He grinned, “First to rise feasts the best!”

  I stretched and looked towards the castle which rose in the south west. “With luck, Roger, we will not have to take that beast. It is no Chinon but I am not sure these marcher lords have assaulted a castle.”

  He chuckled, “They are keen enough, lord.”

  There was a movement behind me and James appeared, “You should have woken me lord!”

  “There is time. I do not sleep as much as I once did.”

  Lame Tom brought us beer. He handed the tankards to us. “Come Master James, you can help fetch the food.”

  They headed back into the hut where we had stored our mail and food. “We use the same formation as at Chinon, lord?”

  “Aye. Save that we will have the men of Liedeberge with us. I will be alone at the front and this time we use spears.”

  “Rhodri said that his countrymen are fierce archers. They kept the Romans from this land and defeated the lords hereabouts many times.”

  “They are good and we know how useful an archer can be. The difference is in their armour. The Welsh can send an arrow a long way and they are strong but they wear leather caps and no armour.” My archers had a leather vest which was studded with iron. It did not restrict their pull but gave them protection. In addition, each one had a helmet, a shield and a sword. “We will need to suffer the arrows while we attack but they have built a fence. That means they have to send their arrows into the air. They cannot send them horizontally.” He looked puzzled. “Our shields can be held above us. Their arrows can penetrate mail but not a good shield.” I laughed.

  “Does something amuse you lord?”

  “I was just thinking that crossbows would be useful alongside their bows but the Welsh do not use them.”

  He laughed, “Aye, lord, that is funny.”

  Lame Tom and James brought the food and we watched the first grey line appear to our left. “Better rouse them, Roger and have the horses fed and watered.”

  “Aye lord.”

  When we had finished the food, James and I retired to the hut so that we could dress. By the time I was ready, dawn had broken and our camp had come to life. I walked back to survey their lines. I saw that they had increased the height of their hedge by cutting brushwood and piling it up. It worked in our favour. They thought we would be on horses and wished to stop us leaping the defences. Their archers would not have a clear sight of us. As we had discovered at Chinon, sending arrows blindly over a defence used many arrows but had little effect. I heard swords being sharpened in our camp and men complaining that there were too many others waiting in the queue in front of them. It was another reason why my men had sharpened theirs the previous night.

  James brought over Warrior. I nuzzled his muzzle. “Hopefully you will not have to endure arrows today. With any luck, we shall just have a chase to Striguil!” He whinnied. I hung my helmet from the cantle. James had also fetched Snowbird. Had I used Storm Bringer then it might have had a dramatic effect. A black horse and white horse looked good next to each other. I would bear that in mind the next time we went to war. James had groomed them well. Their tails and their manes were immaculate. The coats of the two horses shone. We both wore new surcoats. As the campaign wore on we would become shabbier but that day we had to look our best. My men led their horses out. It was all for effect. They had polished their helmets and armour. They, too, shone.

  I decided it was time and I mounted, “James, fetch de Clare and de Clifford.”

  “Aye lord.”

  The two lords must have been awaiting my summons. They were soon back. I said, “Arne Arneson, be so good as to ask Raymond de Mortimer to follow us to the starting position.”

  “Aye lord.”

  It was like a game of chess with real men. I was marshalling my men into position to make the Welsh react. I wanted to push them in one direction and then switch. I spurred Warrior and, bare headed and with open palms, we rode to a point four hundred paces from their defences. We were beyond the range of their bows. We waited.

  I made conversation. “King Henry will need a lord for this manor when we retake the castle. Is there a landless lord in the marches?”

  De Clare said, “No lord. There are knights whose homes have been taken. They would rather we retook their homes.”

  “Then King Henry has a gift to give.”

  “What of the Fitz Osbern family?”

  “You said the males were all dead?”

  “Aye and they have gone to the lady’s estates.”

  “Then they have lost Monmouth.”

  “Lord, there is movement.” I looked and saw that the Welsh were having to remove part of their defences. As it happened it was directly opposite us. Four riders came through. I saw that their horses did not step down a long way. I noted that fact. It was a shallow ditch. As convention dictated they would have the same number to discuss terms.

  “Which one is the King?”

  De Clare said, “The one riding the red coloured horse. The one next to him is Llewellyn ap Cynan. He is the one who captured de Clifford’s castle.”

  The King was a young man. I took him to be mid-twenties. He had a red beard but it was not well trimmed. He looked squat for the horse was not big and yet he barely rose above the horse’s head. He had a mail byrnie and a sword but I could not see a shield. That meant he was no warrior. Llewellyn ap Cynan was a warrior. He was older and he had both a shield and a war hammer. Taller than his King, he rode a jet-black horse. A
ll of their horses were smaller than Warrior. I would be looking down on them when we spoke.

  They reined in. We had arrived first and it was incumbent upon me to begin the discussion. “I am Alfraed of Stockton Earl Marshal to King Henry of England, Duke of Normandy and Count of Anjou, Maine and Touraine.” I spoke in Norman.

  The Welsh King looked at his men and then answered. His Norman was good but his high-pitched voice displayed his nervousness, “I am King Maredudd ap Gruffyd. Why have you come here to disturb our peace?”

  “I have no intention of disturbing any peace, your majesty. I am here, on King Henry’s behalf, to reclaim the lands that have been taken from our lord.” I pointed to the castle. “This is the first and then there is Striguil. There are others but these two are the closest. When you evacuate them, and make reparations for the harm you have done then we will have peace again.”

  Llewellyn ap Cynan showed that he was the real power behind the throne. He snarled, “You Normans took this land from us! You are now in Wales! You will have no reparation from us! All that you will have is the edge of our swords and the barbs of our arrows.”

  I nodded and, ignoring the Welsh lord, spoke directly to the King. “When I was a young man, like yourself, majesty, I went with the Earl of Gloucester into Gwynedd. The King then, I forget his name, made a similar boast. After the battle, his knights and lords were held to ransom and we took over three thousand head of cattle as reparation. Before you answer or someone answers for you think about the consequences of that answer.”

  Once again Llewellyn ap Cynan answered. He shouted and he raged, “We outnumber you! I see a handful of knights a few men at arms and a rag time collection of poorly armed peasants! You do not even have any archers! All of you will die! Your bodies will lie for the carrion when we have done with you!””