by K. M. Ashman
The man struggled for words and looked around the crowd nervously. ‘By being frugal,’ he said. ‘And by negotiating favourable deals.’
‘Even though you were trading on behalf of your own people?’ replied Tarw. ‘If this is true, do you not think that any profit belonged to the cause?’
‘There was no crime committed,’ said the Miller. ‘Every copper coin that was taken from the communal purse was repaid in full or used to buy the stores we needed.’
‘Perhaps so, but, even if you are telling the truth, not only did you take advantage of the circumstances to better your own wealth, you also took profit from those least able to afford it.’
‘You don’t understand,’ said the Miller. ‘I have a wife and three children to support in Kidwelly. My responsibility is towards them, first and foremost.’
‘But you just claimed your family are dead,’ said Gwenllian. ‘Which is it to be? Are they dead or not?’
‘Yes,’ said the man, ‘I mean, no, but . . .’
Before he could continue one of the crowd stepped forward and spat in his face. Another drew a knife from a sheath and ran towards him.
‘Hold,’ roared Tarw. ‘Give him space. No one has been condemned as yet and we will not become the same as those who seek to rule us.’ The crowd died down and Tarw turned back to the Miller. ‘Giles the Miller,’ he continued, ‘the coins are proof of greed and avarice only. They will not condemn you but neither do they prove your innocence. You remain accused of spying and if you tell us the truth of your actions then there may be clemency but if you should be found out in a lie, then you will suffer whatever sentence I impose upon you. So I ask again. Are you, or are you not a spy?’
‘No,’ gasped the man, looking around. ‘I am one of you, I swear. If this is about the money then keep it, let me go and you’ll never see me again I promise.’
‘And that is your last word?’
The accused nodded vigorously, sensing a favourable outcome.
Robert handed Tarw a folded parchment. The prince opened it up and read a series of numbers out loud before handing it back to Robert as the crowd watched in confusion.
‘For those of you that do not recognise those numbers,’ he said, ‘let me enlighten you. They correspond almost exactly to the numbers of archers, foot soldiers and horses we currently have in the Cantref Mawr. In addition, the bottom row lists the amount of swords and number of trained men able to use them.’ He turned to face the Miller. ‘This list would be invaluable to the English,’ he said, ‘and was found in the lining of your cloak. You are lying, Giles Miller, you are no more than a treacherous spy in the pay of the enemy.’
For a second everyone froze and suddenly the Miller made a futile dash for freedom. Within seconds he was hauled to the ground and dragged back to face Tarw.
‘Comrades of the Cantref Mawr,’ he announced, ‘this man has been accused before you and stands ready to hear your verdict. How say you, guilty or not guilty?’
‘Guilty,’ roared the crowd and though Tarw held up his hands, it took a while for them to settle down, such was their ire.
‘Giles the Miller,’ he said eventually, ‘you have been found guilty by your fellow men. You had your chance to lay your crimes clean before God but chose the path of deceit. Thus you are hereby sentenced to death with immediate effect.’
As the condemned man’s head dropped to his chest in despondency, Tarw summoned every woman of the camp who had been raped, injured or had lost someone to the brutality of the English and they circled the scared man, staring at him intensely.
‘Women of the camp,’ said Tarw. ‘Many of the men have already sampled the sweet taste of revenge upon the battlefield and in the months to come will do so again. You, on the other hand, carry out important roles here in the Cantref Mawr, unable to vent your anger on those responsible for your suffering. The man in front of you is one of those and has been sentenced to death. His fate is now in your hands, do with him as you will.’
For a moment nobody moved but slowly all the women turned to face the spy and as he started begging for mercy, they moved in.
Tarw, Gwenllian and Taliesin turned away as the first of his screams echoed through the camp but before they entered the campaign tent, they could see a familiar face coming towards them on horseback through the trees.
‘Dog,’ said Taliesin in surprise as he recognised the warrior. ‘I was wondering when you would return.’
‘As was I’ said Dog. ‘But this seems as good a time as any.’
‘Welcome back,’ said Taliesin. ‘If you had been but moments earlier you could have led the hunt for a man who escaped justice.’
‘I watched from the trees,’ said Dog, ‘and saw him make his run.’
‘So do you know where he is?’
‘Aye,’ said Dog, ‘I do,’ and after retrieving something from behind him on his saddle, he threw it to the ground in front of Gwenllian and Tarw. It was the still bleeding head of Dafydd ap Cenyn, the second traitor.
The following morning, the people of Pembroke awoke to see the heads of both spies impaled on spears outside the gates of the castle. A crowd gathered, intrigued as to why they had been put there but up on the palisade, John of Salisbury knew exactly why and he was furious.
‘They were the last of our men amongst the rebels,’ said Walter de Calais. ‘We are now blind to the enemy’s plans and movements.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Salisbury. ‘Perhaps not.’
Walter turned to face the new castellan. ‘Are you saying there may be another?’
‘I am saying nothing,’ said Salisbury, ‘for there is none I will trust amongst all this, not even you. Let me just say this. If that northern witch thinks she can better me, she is sadly mistaken. I am nothing if not resourceful, my friend, and already there are things afoot that will scratch this itch once and for all.’
He climbed down from the palisade before making his way back up to the keep on the motte. Despite the loss of the wagons and the real threat of a rebel attack, deep inside there was a feeling of excitement and he knew that before him lay a game of chess, though this time with real lives as pieces.
‘You have made your opening move, Gwenllian,’ he said quietly as he reached the keep. ‘Let the game begin.’
The Cantref Mawr
February 10th, AD 1136
Gwenllian walked throughout the camp, talking quietly to the people as she passed. The younger children played happily between the tents while those a little older focussed on the many tasks that needed doing around the camp. Water was brought from the nearby stream, wood collected for the many fires and the increased numbers of horses carefully groomed, ready for the next time they were needed.
Despite the recent losses everyone seemed happier, not least because there was at last enough food to go around. In addition to the stores already plundered from the English wagons, regular supplies were coming in from outlying farms and villages, all keen to play their part in the rebellion. The wounded were being cared for in the few huts already built and new men were arriving in the Cantref Mawr every day, encouraged by the continued success of the hit-and-run tactics carried out by Gwenllian and her men across Deheubarth.
‘Good morning, Karin,’ said Gwenllian, seeing her old friend sitting at a fire.
‘And to you, my lady,’ said Karin, standing up.
‘Oh, don’t get up,’ said Gwenllian. ‘And when we are alone, please address me as you did when we rode alongside each other all those years ago.’
‘I’d like that,’ said Karin. ‘Perhaps one day we will ride again.’
‘You have children, Karin,’ said Gwenllian, sitting on a tree trunk placed alongside the fire. ‘Your place is here.’
‘You also have children,’ said Karin, ‘yet did you not lead our men into battle just a few days ago?’
‘That’s different,’ said Gwenllian. ‘It is a role expected of me. Anyway, tell me of your life since we rode together, and the man you wed.’
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br /> Karin smiled but before she could say anything a commotion at the far end of the small valley drew their attention and both got to their feet.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Karin, stepping up onto the log for a better view.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Gwenllian. ‘Let’s go and find out.’ Together the two women walked through the camp, joined by many of the others each keen to see what the commotion was all about.
‘Make way,’ called Gwenllian when she reached a crowd of people gathered around a man upon a horse. ‘What goes on here?’
‘My lady,’ gasped the rider, ‘I have wonderful news. Hywel ap Maredudd’s army has engaged the English at Gower castle and emerged victorious.’
‘What?’ asked Gwenllian.
‘It’s true,’ said the rider, struggling to control his horse, ‘I heard it from one who was involved. He said the English landed a great force upon the Gower shore but Maredudd was waiting for them. The battle was a terrible thing but the enemy were routed and any survivors ran for their lives.’
The crowd broke into spontaneous cheering and hugged each other in celebration as Gwenllian looked on in astonishment. She had known that Maredudd had left Brycheniog with his army but had no idea he had campaigned so far west. To find out now that not only had he dared to confront an entire English army but, also, deep within the territory they considered safely under England’s control was the most encouraging news she could have hoped for.
‘Is there anything else?’ asked Gwenllian, looking up at the messenger. ‘What about casualties?’
‘His own casualties are heavy,’ said the messenger, ‘but the English have lost over five hundred men. It was truly a great victory and surely unprecedented in our lifetime.’
‘Where is he going next?’ Gwenllian asked. ‘Is he going to campaign further north?’
‘I know no more,’ said the messenger. ‘I rode here as soon as I found out. No doubt more news will follow.’
‘I appreciate it,’ said Gwenllian. ‘You are welcome to stay here while your horse recovers and will find hot food at any fireplace.’
‘Thank you, my lady,’ said the rider and he dismounted as the crowd gathered in to ask him more questions.
‘I take it this news makes you happy?’ said Karin as the two women walked quickly back through the camp.
‘Oh yes,’ replied Gwenllian, ‘for it is more than just the death of a few Englishmen – this changes the whole landscape right across Deheubarth.’
‘In what way?’
Gwenllian stopped walking and turned to her friend. ‘In so many ways,’ said Gwenllian. ‘If this news is true then, for the first time in generations, a Welsh army has defeated the English in full-scale battle. Not only is that a victory in itself, it also gives us credibility. The English will have to take us seriously and any of our countrymen still undecided will flock to our banner. In addition, it gives us credence with the other kingdoms throughout Wales. With news that the English are not invincible, it strengthens their resolve and could lead to alliances across the country, not just in Deheubarth. Hywel ap Maredudd has done more than just give the English a bloody nose, Karin, he has given a country hope.’
Over in Pembroke castle, Walter de Calais had already briefed Salisbury about the shocking news and stood looking at the castellan’s back as he stared out of the window in his chambers and across the rooftops of Pembroke town.
‘I have increased the guards along the palisade,’ said Walter, ‘and instructed the steward to fill the castle stores with anything he can get hold of. As we speak, our men are clearing the markets of anything they can carry and our herds are already being brought back from the fields.’
‘Why?’ asked Salisbury without turning.
‘In case of a siege of course,’ said Walter. ‘With this victory it is entirely possible Maredudd may turn his attentions on us.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Salisbury, turning around. ‘His army is one for open warfare and not one suitable for a siege. To engage in such an action would mean he would have to be able to sustain an assault perhaps over many weeks, and as his men hail from Brycheniog, I see no reason why they would undertake such a task in a Deheubarth. There would be little benefit.’
‘Yet they just fought a battle on the coast, does not that indicate Maredudd holds no such reservations?’
‘I think not,’ said Salisbury. ‘Gower castle was an easy target and weakly defended. I would guess that was his primary target and it was chance that he was in the right place at the right time when the fleet landed. Besides, I suspect that despite his victory the Welsh casualties must also be substantial and no doubt he will return to Brycheniog to lick his wounds.’
‘Forgive me, my lord, but is that a risk we can take?’
‘You can continue making your preparations,’ said Salisbury with a sigh. ‘After all, it won’t hurt to let the locals suffer a bit in retaliation, but trust me, these events are nothing more than minor victories in the greater scheme of things and plans are afoot to crush this rebellion once and for all. Now be gone and report back to me if there are any updates.’
‘Of course, my lord,’ said Walter. He left the chamber, closing the door behind him.
‘Why didn’t you tell him?’ asked a voice from behind Salisbury and he turned to see Maurice de Londres coming out of a side chamber.
‘There is a spy amongst us,’ said Salisbury, pouring wine into two goblets, ‘and at the moment I am not sure who it may be.’
‘But I thought Walter de Calais was one of your trusted men,’ said the castellan of Kidwelly castle, ‘and has been at your side for years.’
‘He has, and his loyalty has been second to none, but the news you have just shared with me is too precious to entrust to anyone.’ He picked up a parchment from the table and reread the contents. ‘When did this arrive?’
‘Yesterday,’ said Maurice, ‘and was sealed by the king himself. I brought it over as soon as I could so you could make any necessary preparations.’
‘It is much appreciated,’ said Salisbury. ‘And indeed, it seeds my mind with a plan not only to weed out my spy but also to put an end to this nonsense in the Cantref Mawr.’
‘I hope you envisage a part for me in all this,’ said Maurice. ‘My own caravans have suffered badly at the hands of the rebels these past few months and I would welcome the chance to seek revenge.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Salisbury, ‘you have a part to play. In fact, probably the most important part of all.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Maurice as he raised his tankard in a toast. ‘To the end of the rebellion.’
‘To the end of the rebellion,’ agreed Salisbury and he raised his own goblet in salutation.
Several hours later, Nesta sat at her table in her new quarters at the top of the keep. Despite her protestations, Salisbury had insisted on having her original room and as he was now confirmed as the castellan, there had been nothing she could do about the situation. In her lap she held a small, framed tapestry and she sewed quietly, her way to temporarily forget the upset of the world around her. A knock came on the door and she looked up with a sigh, disappointed at being interrupted.
‘Come in,’ she said and was surprised when John Salisbury entered with a tray upon which was a covered bowl and a flask of wine.
‘Master Salisbury,’ she said in surprise, ‘since when have you waited for an invitation to enter my personal rooms? Usually you would just barge in unannounced.’
‘I think you will find that this room belongs to the king,’ he replied coldly.
‘You know what I mean,’ she said. ‘What do you want?’
‘If I was you, Lady Nesta, I would perhaps ease my tone. My patience will last only so long and if you continue to treat your new castellan with such scorn then I may be forced to take action.’
‘You lay a hand on me and I swear I will claw out your eyes,’ she replied.
Salisbury sighed and looked at the tray. ‘Lady Ne
sta,’ he said, ‘you will have to come to a decision sooner or later. We both know our union will make total sense and the sooner you accept it the better. However, I did not come here to discuss that issue but to offer you a gift. I see now that perhaps I was mistaken and will leave you alone to ponder what little future you have.’
‘After everything that has happened, do you really expect me to soften my tone just because you have brought some sweetmeats and wine?’
‘To be honest, this tray was already being brought up by one of the kitchen staff and I relieved him of it on my way from the stables. Hence my attire.’
Nesta looked at the light cloak the castellan used for any business within the castle grounds. The collar was fox fur and there was some snow still upon the shoulders.
‘It’s cold out there,’ said Salisbury, ‘but nothing a good fire won’t sort out.’ He lifted the cloth off the bowl and looked over to Nesta. ‘Some dried berries, too,’ he said. ‘It’s almost a banquet.’
‘Enough of the pleasantries, Master Salisbury,’ said Nesta. ‘You came here for a reason so why don’t you spit it out.’
Salisbury walked over to the fireplace, holding out his hands to the welcoming warmth. ‘I take it you have heard by now of the success of one of your fellow Welshmen?’ he asked over his shoulder.
‘I assume you speak of Hywel ap Maredudd?’
‘I do, and though the very fact of his heritage makes him my enemy, I admire the way he emerged victorious in such a vicious battle. Do you know him?’
‘No,’ said Nesta, ‘though I have heard of him. Apparently he is a very short-tempered man and fiercely patriotic.’
‘Obviously,’ said Salisbury. ‘And his victory has reminded us that nothing can be taken for granted in these dangerous times.’
‘Forgive me,’ said Nesta, ‘but I am taken aback by your admiration of a Welshman who has apparently killed over five hundred of your fellows. How does that sit comfortably with you?’
‘Mainly because most of those killed were French and Flemish,’ said Salisbury, ‘and tactical excellence is a trait to be admired in any man, no matter what banner he lives beneath.’