by K. M. Ashman
Taliesin smiled at the jest and took another swing. This time the timber shattered and he inserted his knife beneath the lid to prise it open. Everyone leaned forward to see the contents and they were amazed when he dug in his hands to lift fistfuls of gold and silver coins, letting them pour through his fingers like water. Every man started cheering and Taliesin turned to look for Gwenllian but she was nowhere to be seen.
‘Where’s the princess?’ he said. ‘She needs to see this.’
‘She is at the final cart,’ said one of the men. ‘Perhaps she is looking for her own treasure.’
Everyone laughed again and Taliesin grabbed a handful of coins to take to Gwenllian.
‘It seems your source was good,’ he said as he approached. ‘It looks like the caravan contained half of the treasury from Pembroke.’
He stopped mid-sentence as he rounded the corner and saw Gwenllian staring into the back of the cart with a huge smile on her face.
‘What is it?’ he asked as he approached. ‘Is there even more treasure?’
‘Oh, there’s treasure here all right,’ said Gwenllian, ‘and one with a value far exceeding all else in these carts.’
Taliesin peered inside, but if he was expecting chests of coins or sacks of jewels he was sadly mistaken. All he could see was an old man, gagged and tied to an anvil at the front of the cart.
‘I see no coins or treasure,’ said Taliesin. ‘Is he sitting on a chest?’
‘Oh no,’ said Gwenllian, ‘that old man is the treasure for he is one of the most trusted friends I have ever had. Taliesin, meet Lord Bevan of Llandeilo.’
Several hours later, all the English and Flemish dead lay in two rows, each covered with lengths of linen retrieved from the many rolls found on one of the wagons and weighed down with rocks to stop unwanted attention from the gulls and crows. The Welsh dead had been loaded onto two of the carts and had already been taken for burial in the nearest graveyard.
Gwenllian sat next to a fire sharing warm broth with Lord Bevan and hearing the terrible story of how the English had attacked his manor. He recounted how many of the women had been raped before being killed and every man caught, whatever his age, had been put to the sword. The only person spared, as far as he knew, was himself and after being taken to Pembroke for hanging, it subsequently turned out that he was to be shipped to Bristol to be hanged in the presence of the king. When he found out that Gwenllian’s children had been found alive, he wept tears of joy.
‘So what now for you?’ asked Gwenllian.
‘I have nothing left except the love of my country,’ he replied, wiping his eyes. ‘That and the friendship garnered over so many years with you and your husband.’
‘Then come with us,’ said Gwenllian gently. ‘Be part of this movement and help regain that which was lost.’
‘I am happy to come,’ said Bevan, ‘but I fear I will be more of a hindrance than a help. It has been years since I held a weapon of any sort and if truth be told, even then I was no better than a novice.’
‘We need minds as well as swords,’ said Gwenllian, ‘and I know of no man as loyal or as clever as you. Your knowledge of the English system of government, their structures and their tactics are second to none and I will welcome you to my campaign tent in a heartbeat.’
Bevan smiled up at her with gratitude written all over his face, but remained silent.
Taliesin walked over and dipped a mug into the pot of broth amongst the ashes.
‘How bad is it?’ asked Gwenllian.
‘Fifteen dead,’ he said. ‘Another dozen wounded with some unlikely to survive. The bodies have been taken for burial.’
‘My lady,’ someone shouted. ‘Look.’
Gwenllian turned to see a line of men approaching from the far side of the battlefield, each leading a horse. Across some of the horses’ backs, she could see their dead, draped like carcasses of hunted deer. At the fore she could see the corpse of Heinrich of Saxony, his enormous frame tied securely inside his huge fur cloak.
Gwenllian swallowed hard. This was not how it was supposed to have turned out. The mercenaries were supposed to have routed the Flemish horsemen with ease but, though they had been victorious, it had come at a great cost with over half either dead or wounded. She got to her feet and walked over to meet Heinrich’s second in command.
‘Did he die well?’ she asked simply.
‘He died a true warrior,’ replied the Saxon, ‘and he will be remembered by his people for many generations.’
‘We will give him a Christian burial,’ said Gwenllian, ‘as we will for all your fallen.’
‘No,’ said the Saxon. ‘We will strip the bodies of the flesh and leave it out for the birds. The bones will be burned in our fires and ground back to the dust whence they came. We will return it to the villages where each man was born.’
Gwenllian nodded in deference. It was a strange custom but one she had heard of before. ‘When will that be?’ she asked.
‘This was our last battle,’ said the Saxon. ‘As soon as we have been paid and our dead have been prepared, we will be leaving.’
Again Gwenllian nodded. She turned to Taliesin. ‘Break open the boxes,’ she said, ‘and give these men half.’
‘The agreement was for one tenth,’ said Taliesin.
‘I know,’ said Gwenllian, ‘but if it was not for these men, we would not have carried the day. We owe them much more than any treasure chest can hold but perhaps this will go some way in compensation.’
It was the Saxon’s turn to nod in appreciation. ‘I will see that the family of each man who fell today gets his share. Now, we have to tend our wounded so, if you don’t mind, you will find us back at your camp.’
‘What about your money?’ asked Taliesin. ‘Do you not want to see it counted?’
‘We trust you,’ said the Saxon quietly, ‘and will receive it on the morrow.’ Without another word, he led the giant horse away, followed closely by the rest of his men, each leading their own horses heavily laden with dead or wounded comrades.
‘We should be going ourselves,’ said Taliesin quietly. ‘We need to get distance between us and Kidwelly Castle before they realise something is wrong.’
‘Agreed,’ said Gwenllian. ‘Slice the muscles on the backs of the wrists of the prisoners and set them free. At least that way they will never again fight against us.’
‘So be it,’ said Taliesin.
‘The rest of you,’ called Gwenllian to the remaining men, ‘cut as much meat as you can carry from the dead horses and make your way back to camp. We will celebrate our victory with our families.’
The men moved away to collect the unexpected bounty as Gwenllian turned back to Bevan. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘are you coming with us?’
‘Aye,’ he said, after a pause. ‘I am, and will be proud to do so.’
‘Then let’s find you a horse,’ she said. ‘We have far to go.’
Within the hour, everyone was making their way back to the distant hills in small groups, making it harder for anyone to follow their trail. Each had been briefed to take circuitous routes and to lay several ambushes along the way in case they were followed. Gwenllian, Bevan and Taliesin started out along the coastal path towards Brecon, when Gwenllian suddenly stopped and looked around.
‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Someone is missing.’
‘Who?’ asked Taliesin.
‘Tomas Scar and Dog,’ she replied. ‘I have not seen either since the fight at the shield wall.’
‘Tomas Scar was wounded,’ said Taliesin. ‘I sent him to the rear. He might have made his way back to camp.’
‘And Dog?’
‘That is a different matter,’ said Taliesin. ‘During the rush of battle he is taken over by demons unknown. He is likely to be gone for many days but, if I know him, he will return.’
‘He is a dangerous man, Taliesin,’ said Gwenllian. ‘Possibly more than either of us realise.’
‘Time will tell, Princess,’ said Taliesin,
‘but for now, let’s just be grateful that his contribution helped get us to where we are now.’
Gwenllian nodded in silence and with a kick of her heels, urged her horse back towards the Cantref Mawr.
Pembroke Castle
February 9th, AD 1136
Salisbury stood in his quarters reading the dispatch delivered by one of the castle knights only moments earlier. His face was white with shock and he had to read the parchment twice to take in the terrible news.
‘This is impossible,’ he said. ‘I sent the best we had. How under God’s heaven can an unruly mob of peasants better such a force armed with little more than rusting swords and pitchforks. It makes no sense.’
‘It’s worse than that, my lord,’ said the knight. ‘If you recall, last year’s taxes were also on the caravan intended to be forwarded to the king’s treasury. In addition, one of the carts was laden with a shipment of weapons bound for the armoury at Kidwelly. Whether the attackers had pitchforks or not, they now have the latest swords and armour.’
‘What about survivors?’ asked Salisbury, looking up from the letter. ‘Surely some managed to escape?’
‘There were a few,’ said the knight, ‘though they have been mutilated and will never fight again.’
‘I care not about their wounds,’ spat Salisbury. ‘I want to know what happened out there. What fool enabled this to happen and why is his head not on a spike outside my window?’
‘My lord,’ said the knight, ‘forgive me but I am led to believe that it is you who gave the final order to proceed.’
‘I know I agreed the order,’ snarled Salisbury, ‘but I did so after taking advice from men used to battle. Why are they not here to answer for this disgrace?’
‘If you talk of the Flemish knights,’ said the knight, ‘they both died defending the wagons, as did their men. Everything possible was done to prevent this happening and the outcome was unforeseeable.’
‘No,’ said Salisbury, walking back and forth across the room. ‘We are missing something here. We fielded a strong force under experienced leadership. We even changed the route and left after dark so they wouldn’t be seen. There is no way this happened by coincidence, we must have a spy in our midst and I swear I am going to find out who it is.’
‘My lord,’ said the knight, ‘I trust every man under my command and would vouch for each and every one of them. There are no traitors in this garrison.’
‘Then how do you explain the ambush?’ roared Salisbury, throwing the document across the room. ‘For I am at a complete loss.’
‘I can’t, my lord,’ said the knight patiently. ‘As yet I have no answers.’
‘Then you had better start coming up with some,’ said Salisbury, ‘for I have many questions that need answering.’
‘Of course,’ said the knight. ‘If there is nothing else, I need to withdraw. There are wagons approaching with our dead and I need to arrange the burials.’
‘Put them in a mass grave,’ said Salisbury. ‘They are deserving of little more.’
‘My lord, these are loyal and pious men,’ argued the knight, ‘surely they deserve separate graves and suitable ceremonies.’
‘Most were Flemish,’ shouted Salisbury, ‘and they have let me down. Now dig a mass pit and cast them in or I swear you will join them.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said the knight, and he left the room, passing Walter de Calais coming in.
Salisbury poured himself a jug of ale and drained it in one before refilling it again and drinking half.
‘I have just heard the news,’ said Walter, ‘and it is hard to believe. The deaths of those men leaves us severely undermanned and with the rebels now in possession of quality armament, we could be at risk of attack.’
‘I know,’ said Salisbury. ‘I need to think. What spies do we have in the enemy camp?’
‘We have two men who ride with the rebels,’ said Walter, ‘each paid to report back on anything they plan.’
‘Yet they failed to warn us of this attack.’
‘I can only think it was too short notice,’ said Walter. ‘They have never failed us before.’
‘More excuses,’ said Salisbury. ‘It’s just not good enough. Send them a message from me. Tell them that if they value their lives and those of their families they will find out who the traitor is within my garrison. I want to know and I want to know now.’
‘Understood,’ said Walter. ‘Anything else?’
‘Aye,’ said Salisbury. ‘Send me the scribe and prepare two riders with the best horses we have. I need to send a message to London immediately.’
‘Of course,’ said Walter, and he left the room.
Salisbury watched him go and wondered if he could be trusted. There were very few men who had known about the importance of the caravan and most of them were dead by Welsh steel. Walter was one of the very few who had access to every detail and he also had Welsh heritage in his background, a grandfather who had sought his fortune and settled in France many years earlier.
‘Is it you, my friend?’ he said quietly after Walter had left the room. ‘For if it is, I swear I will tear out your heart with my own bare hands.’
Several leagues away, Tarw stood in the campaign tent and read a message of his own. It was very short and had come via the same route as the message a week earlier, but this was different: it consisted of just one sentence. With a heavy sigh he turned to the man at his side. ‘Robert,’ he said, ‘pass the word to the camp, there will be a meeting at last light. Everyone is expected to attend.’
‘Is it really necessary?’ asked Robert. ‘Many are nursing their wounded or grieving for those that fell.’
‘Aye, it is,’ said Tarw. ‘Especially for those who have lost loved ones over the past few weeks.’
‘Understood,’ said Robert and left the tent. Tarw turned to Gwenllian.
‘You should see this,’ he said and he handed over the note.
Gwenllian read the message and looked up at Tarw. ‘Is she sure about this?’ she asked.
‘She was right about the caravan to Kidwelly,’ said Tarw, ‘and I see no reason to doubt her now.’
‘If you are sure,’ said Gwenllian, ‘then I will back you up whatever path is taken.’
Several hours later, most of the camp inhabitants were gathered together, murmuring amongst themselves. Up above, Gwenllian and Tarw stood on the slope alongside Lord Bevan and Taliesin. Robert had been sent on an errand by Tarw, and when he eventually returned he whispered into the prince’s ear as he handed him a leather purse. Tarw held up his hand and the crowd fell silent.
‘I know the hour is late,’ he said loudly, ‘and I promise I won’t keep you long but there is justice to be done.’ He held up the piece of parchment he had received earlier in the day. ‘In my hand, I have a message from a trusted source. This message reveals the names of two men amongst us that spy on behalf of the English.’
A gasp rippled around the crowd and people started looking at each other nervously, each wondering if they stood next to a traitor.
‘This note,’ continued Tarw over the noise of the crowd, ‘has come from someone trusted within the castle, however, it holds no proof and is an accusation only. If I name these men, they will be allowed to defend themselves before you, a people’s court. If found innocent or if there is little proof, they will be allowed to leave with assurances they will not be harmed. However, if the opposite is found to be true, then they will face punishment as befits an enemy spy.’
‘Who is it?’ called a voice. ‘Name them.’
‘The men accused are Giles the Miller and Dafydd ap Cenyn, the armourer from Brycheniog.’ Tarw looked up and scanned the crowd. ‘Make yourself known and face the court.’
‘Here’s one,’ shouted another voice and a man was pushed out into the clearing in front of the people.
‘And the other?’ asked Tarw looking around.
‘He was here a few minutes ago,’ said one of the rebels. ‘He must have fled.’
‘Go after him,’ ordered Taliesin, ‘and bring him back alive.’
Four of the rebels ran from the camp while Tarw addressed the first accused man.
‘Giles the Miller, there is an accusation that you are guilty of being a spy. Is this true?’
‘Certainly not,’ spluttered the man. ‘The accusation is ridiculous. I am loyal to the cause.’
‘Is your father not English born?’ asked Tarw.
‘Aye, he was, but that does not make me a traitor. I was born and bred in Pembroke.’
‘He was,’ said a man behind him. ‘I can vouch for that.’
‘So how did you end up here?’ asked Tarw.
‘For the same reason as most,’ replied the Miller. ‘The English killed my family and left me destitute. I want them gone as much as any man.’
‘So you are a poor man?’
‘Aye, yet I am the first to share my bread. Just ask any man.’
There was a murmur of agreement at the claim for Giles the Miller was indeed a generous man.
‘Tell me,’ said Tarw, ‘I am told you often go to the local farms and villages.’
‘As do many of us,’ said the Miller. ‘We seek roots and corn for the pots. There is no crime in that.’
‘And how do you pay?’
‘We barter or pay with coins from the common purse. Your wife will vouch for that.’
‘I don’t doubt the source of the copper coins,’ said Tarw, ‘but I wonder where you obtained these.’ He held up the purse given to him by Robert and tipped it upside down. A rain of silver coins fell to the ground and the crowd gasped in shock.
‘Silver pennies,’ said Tarw coldly, his eyes not leaving the accused man’s face, ‘found under the mattress in your tent.’
The crowd fell silent and all eyes turned to the Miller.
‘Well,’ said Tarw, ‘would you care to explain how you have suddenly become so rich while those around you have often gone hungry?’
‘It is mine,’ said the Miller slowly. ‘Fairly earned and saved over time.’
‘How?’ asked Tarw.