Medieval IV - Ring of Steel

by Kevin Ashman

  ‘So where lies your path?’

  ‘A few days ago, I was encamped before the walls of Harlech Castle,’ said Madog, ‘but though we have had it under siege for several weeks, its ramparts remain un-breached, as do the walls at Criccieth. The weather has been against us but nevertheless, it’s completely isolated and it is only a matter of time until they must open the gates.’

  ‘Can you not assault it with trebuchets and fire?’

  ‘I fear our casualties will be too great, Geraint, apart from the cavalry, my men are mainly farmers and serfs and though we have been successful thus far, against a fortress such as Harlech their efforts may not be enough. In this case, it will be starvation that breaks the castle walls, not fire or stone.’

  ‘And Criccieth?’

  ‘The same situation, though I fear it may be supplied from the sea. If that is so, then we will just keep a holding position to deny the enemy access or to allow the garrison to ride out seeking retribution against any villagers loyal to our cause.’

  ‘You can’t maintain that forever.’

  ‘Perhaps not but if we can achieve independence in the meantime, then the walls may not have to fall, perhaps we can negotiate their handover in any talks.’

  ‘Do you think we can win this war, Madog?’ asked Tarian.

  ‘I have long said that if we were to face the forces of Longshanks head on then we would come off second best, however, those are not our tactics. We will continue to harass him at every turn, disrupting the English occupation wherever we can and disappear into the mountains before he has chance to chase us down. If we can continue to do this, then eventually he knows he will have to come to the bargaining table to sue for peace.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’ asked Garyn.

  ‘Because his greater focus is upon Gascony. Every day he stays in Wales is a day that the French reinforce their defences. I suspect it is only a matter of time before he must choose which is the bigger risk and he will turn his attention to Gascony. To do that, he has to have peace in Wales.’

  ‘But what’s to stop him suing for peace and then turning his army on us upon his return?’

  ‘Oh I have no doubt that will be his intention,’ said Madog, ‘but that could be months or even years from now but by then we will be organised and will have gathered the support of those Welsh barons yet to declare in our favour. Even if Edward is successful in Gascony, his treasuries will be empty and his men weary. I doubt he would have the support of his barons for yet another Welsh war.’

  ‘So this is your strategy?’

  ‘It is. To harass his every step and make any Englishman who lives this side of the border rue the day they were born. This way we will become a drain on his resources and his hand will be forced.’

  ‘So why are you encamped here?’

  ‘A transit camp only,’ said Madog, ‘my spies will report back tomorrow as to the position and strength of Edward’s forces. Once I know that, we will make the next move.’

  ‘So,’ said Tarian, ‘it seems that everything goes as well as we could have hoped?’

  ‘It does, so tonight we can rest in safety and I would hear more about your adventure in the south. Tell me your story, Garyn for I am intrigued by your tale.’

  For the next hour or so, Garyn recounted how he had sought the Sword of Macsen and how he ultimately ended up in the dungeon of Brecon Castle before being rescued by Tarian and Geraint. Finally he fell silent and Madog leaned forward in fascination.

  ‘So,’ said Madog, ‘the sword of Macsen, it actually exists?’

  ‘It does,’ said Garyn, ‘but lays in the hands of Gerald of Essex.’

  ‘That is a shame,’ said Madog, ‘as although we seem to be making great strides without it, there is no doubt its influence as a unifying force could still have a positive impact upon our cause. Tell me, do you think it possible to locate and perhaps steal this sword from the castle?’

  ‘No, my lord. I have no idea where it is kept and though we have managed to breach the walls of Brecon Castle once I suspect the defences will be strengthened with immediate effect. Essex is a brutal man but he is not stupid.’

  ‘And what about the corpse of Macsen Wledig, does it still lay in Segontium?’

  ‘As far as I am aware, it lies there still.’

  Madog looked at Garyn for several moments before replying.

  ‘I think we need to obtain this body,’ he said eventually.

  ‘But why?’ asked Geraint.

  ‘Because with or without the sword, the body of someone held in such high esteem by the people of Wales can be seen as a sacred object. If it was to fall into the hands of the English they could use it against the people.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Even possession of something so holy can be a powerful weapon,’ said Madog, ‘and those of a simple mind may see Edward’s claim to the throne of Wales is justified by the possession of such a holy relic.’

  ‘But Edward doesn’t know about Macsen Wledig,’ said Geraint.

  ‘Gerald does,’ said Garyn quietly.

  ‘Yes but not the location.’

  ‘He knows exactly where lies the body for I told him myself. It was in return for the chance to see my son before I was to be put to death and I am ashamed to say my tongue was loosened by the promise.’

  ‘There is no shame in such a thing,’ said Geraint, ‘a man’s allegiance to his son is far greater than to any flag.’

  ‘I would agree,’ said Garyn, ‘but my shame lies in the fact that the boy was no kin of mine and was fathered by another. I was tricked by Gerald and he now knows everything there is about Macsen including the location of his tomb.’

  ‘We cannot allow him to get both the corpse as well as the sword,’ said Tarian, ‘together they would present too strong an omen to those who follow our banner. We have to retrieve the remains of Macsen and secret them away until we have a chance to bury them with honour.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Madog, ‘and we have no time to waste.’ He turned to face Garyn. ‘My friend, I know you have only just arrived from a long ride but I must ask you to set forth on this quest in my name. Take fifty lancers and ride to Caernarfon with all haste and once there, remove Macsen from his tomb.’

  ‘What would you have us do with the remains?’ asked Garyn.

  ‘That is not important at the moment, the main thing is to just keep them out of English hands.’

  ‘I am settled with the request, my lord but will not need the support of your lancers. Sometimes strength is also a weakness and though the north is in our hands, it is no secret that Edward has his own spies amongst the towns and upon the road. An armed force even fifty strong will attract attention and have no chance against an English column. It is better I ride alone for at least that way my passage may be seen as a simple traveller.’

  ‘I will go with you,’ said Geraint.

  ‘No,’ said Garyn, ‘but I have a request to make of you. My comrades in the Blaidd lay encamped in a valley two days from here. So far our influence has been minor in this conflict but I feel now is the time to show our hand. Ride there and pass them a message on my behalf, tell them to meet me at Caernarfon seven days hence and to prepare for conflict.’

  ‘I will not lose you again, brother, my path lies with you.’

  ‘I will seek the Blaidd on your behalf,’ interrupted Tarian, ‘I know the area of which you speak but will need the final directions. Geraint can ride with you, brother alongside brother, as it should be.’

  Geraint turned to Garyn.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘So be it,’ said Garyn. ‘Tarian, do you know the rocky valley to the south of Black Cairn ridge?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then just follow the river south through the valley and into the forest. Do not worry about finding the Blaidd, they will find you. Pass them my message, it is time to declare our stance.’

  ‘Consider it done,’ said Tarian.

  ‘Good,’ said Madog eventually
, ‘now that is agreed, let us drink and rest. Who knows when we will have the chance once more?’

  As he poured ale from a jug, the flap of the tent opened and a guard ducked into the fire-lit gloom.

  ‘Sire, Gerwyn Ap Tomas has ridden in and demands audience.’

  ‘Granted,’ said Madog and turned to the rest of the men in the tent. ‘Gerwyn is one of the men sent out to spy upon Edward’s movements, he may have news.’

  Moments later a man ducked into the tent and looked around. His face was gaunt and his cloak sodden from many hours riding through the rain.

  ‘Gerwyn, you look exhausted,’ said Madog, ‘come closer to the fire, Geraint, get the man a stool.’

  The scout discarded his heavy cloak and reached out to the flames, desperate for the warmth it promised. Garyn handed him a chunk of meat and a tankard of ale, watching in silence as the man rammed the food into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten for days. Eventually the messenger drank deeply before belching and wiping his bearded face with the back of his sleeve.

  ‘Thank you Sire’, he said, ‘I have ridden for two nights without rest for I bear grave news.’

  ‘Then share it, Gerwyn for these men are our allies.’

  Sire, Edward pushes across the north with renewed vigour. As we speak he sends patrols into the mountains but two days ago I saw something that warranted my immediate return, a force many hundreds strong camped at the port at Flint Castle.’

  ‘I expected no less, Gerwyn,’ said Madog, ‘Flint is a stronghold for the English, it makes sense to have forces in reserve.’

  ‘These are not reserves, Sire for they lie a league to the east, these were men waiting on the shore. I asked questions of the locals and they have been told to provide supplies ready for a number of ships due to dock in a matter of days. Apparently there is a fleet due to arrive from Wrexham within days and the men at Flint intend to board the ships and sail west.’

  ‘How many ships?’ asked Madog.

  ‘I don’t know exactly but there are over a thousand men waiting to embark and that doesn’t include any that boarded in Wrexham.’

  ‘To what end? ‘asked Garyn, ‘for wherever lays their target, even a force of two thousand in the heart of enemy held territory is a tempting target and Edward is too good a leader to risk his men needlessly.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Madog, ‘and there must be a prize worth the risk.’

  ‘Do we have any held castles along the coast?’ asked Geraint.

  ‘No, even Caernarfon lays empty, it has to be something else.’

  ‘The bridge,’ said Tarian quietly.

  All eyes turned to face the old man.

  ‘He did it before,’ explained Tarian, ‘when he defeated Llewellyn, the first thing he did was deny Ynys Mon to the Welsh army, therein cutting the prince’s supply lines by half. He must see the island has a similar role to play and repeats his tactics from twelve years ago.’

  ‘That’s it,’ said Madog, ‘it has to be. ‘There is nothing else of value along that stretch of coast.’

  ‘Is there a defending force on the bridge?’ asked Geraint.

  ‘There is,’ said Madog, ‘but few in number, against two thousand they will soon fall.’ He turned to the guard at the tent flap. ‘Summon the officers, I want the army on the march before dawn. If god is with us, we may just have enough time to avoid the same mistakes as before.’

  The Sergeant nodded and left the tent.

  ‘Well, gentlemen,’ said Madog, ‘it seems that we all have our paths laid out and though we now have no chance to relax, I suggest one more drink to whatever lays before us.’ He raised his tankard, ‘to freedom,’ he said.

  ‘To freedom,’ replied those in the tent and drank their tankards dry.

  ----

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Menai Straits

  January 1295

  Madog peered down to the water’s edge from his position between the trees. He had chosen the location of the ambush carefully for though the muddy shoreline would offer no solid ground for a cavalry charge, it also prevented any quick disembarking should the English decide to attack them head on.

  ‘Are the men ready?’ he asked.

  ‘Aye Sire’, said Meirion, ‘and our sentries say the ships are just around the headland.’

  ‘Good,’ said Madog, ‘tell them to lay low until the last moment, we may have only the one chance.’ He retreated into the trees and waited patiently for the enemy ships to come into view. Less than an hour later, the first vessel appeared, a large galley propelled by two rows of oarsmen on either side. Upon its decks, Madog could see row upon row of armed men, waiting for the chance to disembark and take the wooden bridge joining Ynys Mon to the mainland. Within minutes, another twelve troop barges appeared and though these didn’t have the impressive sails or masts of the galley, their low profile and single rows of oars made them ideal as troop carriers and again Madog could see their decks massed with English soldiers. Slowly they entered the straits and Madog knew his plan would work, they were sailing straight into a trap.

  He looked down at the archer crouching behind a mound near the bank. The archer stared back up at him in concentration, waiting for the signal that would surely come. Finally Madog raised his hand before dropping it in a sharp downward action. The archer dipped the head of his arrow into the fire pot at his feet and as soon as the tightly wrapped cloth was well alight, shot it high into the air, the black trailing smoke visible for leagues around.

  ----

  ‘Sire,’ shouted a soldier on the ship, ‘look.’

  Sir Giles looked into the air and watched the graceful arc of the arrow as it sailed over the top of the ship. For a few seconds its importance was lost on him but suddenly he snapped to his senses and spun around to face the shoreline.

  ‘Shields,’ he roared, realising the danger but even as the men reached for their shields, the first wave of arrows fell upon them like the heaviest rain.

  Those soldiers who were too slow suffered grievous injuries and many died where they sat as flight after flight of arrows fell amongst them. Behind them, the troop ships were suffering the same assault and for a few minutes the deadly hail of steel tipped arrows fell amongst them without response.

  ‘Archers to arms,’ screamed Giles, ‘captain, take us in to the shore.’

  ‘Sire, that is not a good idea,’ answered the experienced captain.

  ‘Do as you are told, man,’ shouted Sir Giles, ‘or we will be picked off as easy as rats in a barrel.’

  ‘Sire you do not understand,’ shouted the Captain from behind the protective shelter of the mast, ‘the bank along there is deep mud and your men will be trapped within its embrace. Go that way and every man aboard these ships will be dead within minutes.’

  ‘Can you turn us around?’ asked Sir Giles.

  ‘I can but it is a slow process which will take us even closer to the enemy position.’

  ‘We have to do something,’ shouted Giles, ‘my men are dying as we speak.’

  ‘What about the far shore?’ asked the Captain, ‘we can ground the galleys there and be out of arrow range from the mainland. The ground is hard and you can still attack the bridge from the island side.’

  ‘Do it,’ said Giles and moments later the ship lurched to the right as the captain roared out his orders.

  ----

  Back on the mainland Madog gave the order to cease firing and watched as the ships headed for the far shore.

  ‘Ready Mangonels,’ he shouted and gangs of men carried a dozen small catapults from within the trees, placing them upon the bank. Though they were intended for use against the wooden walls that often topped the stone buttresses of many castles, they could easily reach the galleys now turning mid channel.

  ‘Ready,’ shouted Madog, ‘release!’

  Carefully selected rocks flew through the air toward the ships and though the entire volley missed, the operators quickly adjusted the elevations to better their aim. Within mi
nutes, more rocks followed and Madog’s men broke into wild cheering as two scored direct hits, one amongst the men of the ship, while the second smashed a hole in the side of a barge.

  The men aboard the second vessel panicked and though the gaping hole lay just above the water line, the panic on the deck caused the boat to list and the seawater poured into the hold.

  All around the boats the air filled with rocks and each Captain urged their rowers to greater efforts to escape the bombardment. Within minutes most were out of range except for the one that had been damaged in the earlier barrage. By now it listed severely and it was obvious it was sinking. Many of the men aboard fought each other as they sought places of perceived safety, clinging on to the rails in panic and even the men ashore could hear the screams of those below decks as they struggled to escape through the tiny hatchway. Within moments the galley totally capsized and as it sunk slowly below the water, the survivors jumped into the sea to try and swim to shore. Those adorned with chain mail disappeared immediately below the waves, never to surface again and even those without armour were dragged down by the weight of their water sodden gambesons. Only a few reached the safety of the shoreline, the sailors savvy enough to discard their heavy clothing before abandoning the ship.

  By now the Mangonels lay idle and Madog’s army watched in silence as hundreds of men drowned before their eyes but even though it was a terrible way to die, there was little remorse from the Welsh, for those who now sank beneath the waves had been intent on burning the homes of those who had administered the defeat.

  Madog looked up and saw the rest of the barges unloading the men on the far bank, knowing the initial assault had been as successful as he could have hoped but the battle wasn’t over yet. There were still almost a thousand infantry disembarking on the far shore and unless he acted swiftly, they could still prove a threat to Ynys Mon.