by Kevin Ashman
Once again he gave a signal and another flaming arrow pierced the morning air. This time nobody in Madog’s army moved except for turning their gaze to a small hill on the other side of the strait. For a few seconds nothing happened but as the sound of a horn echoed across the water, the far green hill seemed to turn black as hundreds of cavalry galloped over the crest and down toward the panicking English.
The result was slaughter for though the Englishmen were well armed, the attackers did not give them time to form any defensive formations and the cavalry smashed amongst them, causing carnage with lance and sword.
Giles knew the day was already lost but there was no way he could withdraw for their backs were against the sea and to continue to fight against cavalry would end up in only one outcome. Behind him, the captains of the barges screamed their commands, the oarsmen pulling heavily to take the ships back into the relative safety of the strait and though many men were still on board, the ships pulled away and headed back the way they had come, hugging the shore of the island to stay out of range of Madog’s archers.
‘Sire,’ shouted a voice amongst the English still fighting on the shore, ‘we are undone, the enemy regroups for another assault.’
Sir Giles looked toward the Welsh cavalry a few hundred paces away, already forming up for another charge. Without archers, he knew they were helpless against the Cavalry and there could only be one outcome. Since landing on the shore they had already lost hundreds of men and he knew he had to do something or what was left of his command would be wiped out.
‘Sergeant, order our men to lay down their weapons,’ he said, ‘and hold their arms aloft, I will seek terms for our surrender. It is a sad day but we have been out-thought and I will not send more men to their deaths needlessly.’
‘Aye sir,’ said the Sergeant and gave the command to the two hundred Englishmen who still lived.
Across the water, Madog could see there was a pause in the battle and correctly assumed the English had surrendered. It made total sense as otherwise the remainder of their army would be wiped out to a man.
‘The day is yours, Sire’, said Meirion beside him, ‘your tactics were sound.’
‘A deadly blow indeed,’ said Madog, ‘but it leaves me with more questions than answers.’
‘In what way?’
‘What did they think they were going to achieve?’ asked Madog, ‘even if they had taken the bridge, surely they realised we would just take it straight back, their numbers were too small to defend it for any length of time.’
‘Unless they were just an advance party,’ said Meirion, ‘and the main force follows behind.’
Madog spun around to face his comrade.
‘Of course,’ he said, ‘that’s it. Even as we speak there could be ten thousand Englishmen just leagues away. Sound the withdrawal, Merion, get our men out of here.’
‘What about you, Sire?’
‘I’ll ride across to Ynys Mon and extract our forces.’
‘If we withdraw, then Edward can still take the bridge.’
‘Burn it,’ said Madog, ‘I would rather lose the island than one more of my men.’
‘That means we will lose the support of the farms.’
‘As will he,’ said Madog. ‘Don’t forget, Meirion, winter is upon us and the supply of food from the island is minimal. Unlike Llewellyn we have most of Wales behind us and we can draw on the many villages on the mainland to help support the cause. The effect of losing the bridge will be minimal and we can rebuild it in the spring. Take the army to the hills and we will rendezvous at the lake at Snowdon Lake.’
‘So be it,’ said Meirion as Madog mounted his horse.
----
An hour later, the prince and a patrol of thirty lancers rode up to his force on Ynys Mon having crossed the wooden bridge. The Welsh infantry stood in a giant circle facing inward toward the English captives now sat upon the floor minus their weapons. The commander of the infantry guard strode up to Madog and saluted the prince.
‘Sire, the action was successful. Many escaped but these were taken prisoner.’
‘A task well done, Emrys,’ said Madog, ‘did their commander survive?’
‘Indeed he did, Sire’, came the reply, ‘he is over there.’
Madog looked over to see a group of men kept isolated from the rest of the prisoners. Madog rode over and as he approached, a man clad in full chain mail stepped forward to meet him.
‘Are you the master of these men?’ asked Madog.
‘I am, my name is Sir Giles Thornton of Bath. To whom am I speaking?’
‘I am Madog Ap Llewellyn,’ came the reply, ‘Prince of Wales.’
‘Prince of Wales?’ sneered Giles, ‘I think my king will have a say in that.’
‘What your king thinks is irrelevant in the matters of today,’ said Madog, ‘the fact is you are my prisoner and have been well defeated by a superior force.’
‘You are to be commended for your tactics, that much is true,’ said Giles, ‘but it is a mere skirmish in a greater war, the outcome is irrelevant.’
‘Think what you will, Englishman but guard your words for I have yet to decide your fate. Insult me or my countrymen and this day could see your corpse swinging from the nearest tree.’
‘It would not surprise me, Madog for I hear tales of your brutality. It seems the rules of war are not something that you are familiar with.’
‘War is war, Giles and if some Englishmen have died needlessly, then that is unfortunate but put their deaths against the many thousands of innocent Welsh women and children who have died over the generations at the hands of your ancestors. I think the scales tip heavy in your favour.’
‘So what do you intend to do Madog, kill us all in cold blood? For if that is the case, at least have the grace to do it quickly. These men are paid soldiers who follow orders given by the likes of me. You should give them the honour of a quick death, irrespective of my own fate.’
Madog looked across at the men under guard.
‘No,’ he said finally, ‘they will not die at my hand, at least not today. They will be released unharmed to return to your fellows, as will you.’
Giles stared at Madog before answering.
‘What trickery is this?’ he asked, ‘you are the victor and the spoils are yours. If you release us you must know we will probably meet again across a battlefield.’
‘I do,’ said Madog, ‘but there has been enough killing this day. Get your men to discard their armour and any weapons still about their person. Once done, you are free to cross to the mainland and return to Rhuddlan. My men will escort you part way but after that you are on your own.’
‘I am confused,’ said Sir Giles, ‘you must know that Edward will pay a ransom for the return of me and my officers.’
‘I do,’ said Madog, ‘but this is not about money, it is about freedom. All I ask is that if you ever have any of my men in a similar situation, then consider clemency in return. Now, I have to go but be assured, you and your men will live to fight another day. Until that time, fare ye well, Sir Giles.’
Without waiting for an answer Madog turned and galloped away leaving the bemused English knight behind him. As he reached the bridge he shouted over to the infantry commander.
‘Sergeant, strip them of any armour or weapons and redistribute it amongst our own men. Escort them a few leagues back toward Rhuddlan and release them unharmed. Once done, meet me at Snowdon on the morrow, there is much yet to do and if my suspicions are correct, we may have an opportunity undreamed of in the next few days.’
Aye, Sire’, said the sergeant, ‘anything else?’
‘There is. Before you go, fire the bridge. If we can’t have Ynys Mon, then no one will.’
----
A few leagues away, Garyn and Geraint stood amongst the trees of a copse and looked over to the deserted village on the site of the old Roman fortress. The houses were now no more than burned out shells, a result of the battle to take Caernarfon a few months earlier but d
espite this there were still signs that people remained on the derelict site.
‘It’s pointless waiting anymore,’ said Garyn, ‘come on, let’s get it done.’
‘What about her?’ asked Geraint pointing at an old woman searching amongst the rubble of a collapsed building.
‘She seems harmless enough,’ said Garyn and left the treeline to walk up the slope. Before long they reached the old fort and headed straight for the derelict church where Garyn had found the cross weeks earlier.
‘Here it is,’ he said, kneeling down alongside a clearly defined slab. He took out his knife and cleared the dirt before lifting the slab up to reveal the entrance of the tomb. ‘You stay here,’ said Garyn, ‘and if the remains are still there, I’ll pass them up.’ He lowered himself down and sat against a wall as he used his flint to get a flame on a handful of fine dry wood shavings from his pouch. Within minutes the tinder had caught and he lit the wick of a candle from his pocket.
‘Is he still there?’ called Geraint from above.
‘He is,’ said Garyn, peering into the sarcophagus, ‘pass down the bag.’
The empty turnip sack landed on the tomb floor, raising a cloud of ancient dust and Garyn lost no time placing the dishevelled pile of bones inside.
‘Sorry, Macsen,’ he said quietly as he worked, ‘it’s not the best of places for a Welsh legend but in the circumstances, it’s the best I can do.’
----
Minutes later, Geraint pulled him out of the tomb and into the open air. For a few seconds they sat on the grass to catch their breath before replacing the slab and returning the way they had come but as they reached the clearing where they had left their horses, they stopped in surprise, staring at the of six riders waiting for them.
‘So we meet again, Welshman,’ said Gerald of Essex from his horse. ‘You really didn’t think you could escape me, did you?’
‘How did you find me?’ asked Garyn.
‘Oh it wasn’t difficult,’ said Gerald, ‘it seemed obvious to me that once you had escaped you would head back to retrieve the body and as there is an enormous price on your head, I thought it time well spent to wait here until you showed up. An astute investment if I say so myself.’
‘So what do you want, Essex?’
‘The same as last time,’ said Gerald, ‘the Abbott wants you back though this time he is more flexible on the terms.’
‘In what way?’
‘He will accept just your head.’
‘What payment could he possibly offer you that makes you ride the length of a country in my pursuit?’ asked Garyn, ‘surely there are better things for a knight of the king to be engaged in, especially as we are at war?’
‘Indeed there are,’ said Essex, ‘and even though war can be profitable, the riches offered by the Abbot are far more substantial and I have to say, easier obtained.’
Geraint looked around the armed men, calculating their chances of escape but realising there were few options.
‘So,’ continued Gerald, ‘it seems you have come to the end of the road, Welshman, while I will have it all. Not only do I get the money from the priest but it would seem that fortune indeed smiles upon me for when I present the sword of Macsen to Longshanks, along with what I suspect you hold in that bag, I fully expect his royal recognition and my place in the king’s court will be secured.’
‘You are like an open sore that refuses to heal, Gerald,’ snarled Garyn, ‘and I swear that even though I may die this day, I will sell my life dearly so look to your sword, our business is not done.’
‘Oh I don’t intend getting my blade bloody, Welshman, the time for such nonsense is over.’ He turned to the five soldiers alongside him.’ Kill him, he said coldly, kill them both.’
Garyn discarded the sack and drew his sword as the men dismounted. Geraint drew his own blade and though they knew they were outnumbered, they realised that attack was the better form of defence and both ran forward into the fray.
Within an instant, one of the soldiers fell to Geraint’s blade but though he was skilled in the way of the sword, the horsemen were also well drilled and within moments the brothers were forced back toward the trees. Another horseman retrieved a crossbow from the pack upon his horse and as the fight continued, he drew the lever back to arm the bow. Finally he added the bolt and lifting it up to his shoulder, took aim at Garyn’s chest.
Seconds later an arrow sped through the air, smashing through the chain mail to pierce deep into the flesh beneath, shattering bone and piercing the heart of the victim.
For a moment Gerald stared in disbelief but as the crossbowman fell dead to the floor, his weapon still unfired, the knight screamed a warning.
‘Archers,’ he screamed, ‘it’s a trap.’
The four soldiers attacking Geraint and Garyn hesitated and looked around in confusion, the action costing one his life as a second arrow pierced the air to smash into his chest.
The two brothers watched with relief as the three remaining men ran back to mount their horses, though not before one received an arrow in his shoulder. For a second, Gerald of Essex hesitated but in spite of the risk, he spurred his mount forward and galloped straight toward Garyn. The Welshman took hold of his sword in two hands, ready to defend against the charging knight but at the last moment, Gerald swerved his horse and as he passed the brothers, leaned down and plucked the sack containing the remains of Macsen from the rock upon which it lay.
‘Stop him,’ shouted Garyn but it was too late and they watched in vain as his horse galloped down the slope.
‘What just happened?’ gasped Geraint, ‘who shot those arrows?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Garyn, ‘but I think we are about to find out.’
Both men turned toward the sound of someone coming through the undergrowth and Geraint stared in astonishment as he recognised the man carrying a longbow in his hands.
‘Fletcher?’ he exclaimed, ‘what are you doing here?’
‘Paying back a debt,’ said Fletcher and turned to face Garyn. ‘Garyn Ap Thomas,’ he said, ‘for many years I stood by and let others sully your name in return for a quiet life for my family. I know now that I was wrong and should have had more honour. I cannot regain those years on your behalf but when I heard Gerald of Essex had set out to find you, I knew I had to do something. Luckily I managed to pick up his trail and have shadowed him these past few weeks.’
‘Lucky for us you did,’ said Geraint.
Garyn stepped forward and grabbed the Fletcher’s wrist.
‘There is no debt to repay, Fletcher,’ he said, ‘for my love for your daughter was real and I would carry the burden of shame a thousand lifetimes if it meant she lived one moment of happiness.’
‘Then you will be pleased to know she has indeed had a happy life and her husband is a good man.’
‘Then it has been worth it,’ said Garyn, ‘but this conversation must continue another day, I have to go.’
‘To where?’ asked Geraint.
‘I have to go after Gerald of Essex,’ said Garyn, ‘he has both the relics and I cannot allow that to happen. You take Fletcher back to Madog and tell him I have failed in my task but will do everything in my power to reclaim that which belongs to Wales.’
‘No Garyn, ‘said Geraint, ‘like I said, henceforth my place is at your side and I will ride with you.’
Both men turned to Fletcher.
‘These are momentous days around us,’ said Fletcher, ‘and for two long my bones have grown lazy with old age. My house has been burned to the ground, my family hides in exile and all around us Welshmen die in a common cause. This is a chance to right a lot of wrongs and though I will be no good in a fight of swords, my aim is still sharp with a longbow so if you will have me, I will also ride alongside you.’
‘That’s good enough for me,’ said Garyn, ‘get your horse, we have no time to lose.’
----
Chapter Fifteen
The Western road
Janua
ry 1295
Walter Mallory walked alongside the cart being drawn by two oxen and driven by his friend, Huw de Griffin. They had been on the road for several days, following a road parallel to the northern coast albeit several leagues inland. The going was slow, as the column of similar carts disappearing into the distance had churned the road into an endless sea of mud and were was often stationary as beasts were cajoled or beaten into the extra effort necessary to pull them free of the cloying filth.
Behind them the supply column stretched a similar distance and frustrations were high at the continued delays on the road.
‘I tell you,’ said Huw, ‘at this rate it will be spring before we make camp.’
‘I’ve said it before,’ said Walter, ‘we pile these carts with too much weight. With less load we would not lay so heavy upon the road and we would make better time.’
‘Ours is not to question,’ said Huw, ‘those who make the laws think they know better than us, and who am I to tell them otherwise. I have enough lash marks on my back for one life, thank you very much. All I want to do is get this over with and get back to my village.’
‘The way this campaign goes, that could be years from now,’ moaned Walter. ‘We’ve followed Longshanks from Chester and still he hasn’t bloodied his sword.’
‘They say this Madog is like a spirit,’ said Huw, ‘and no man can catch sight of him.’
‘Well, he may be a spirit,’ said Walter, ‘but he is a spirit with bite. They say he has already captured over a hundred castles throughout Wales and sets his sights on London.’
‘Nah, he isn’t interested in England, just wants his home back, that’s all and who can blame him?’
‘Careful, Huw, that’s treason talk, if one of the soldiers hears you, you’d be strung up before nightfall. Best keep our mouths shut and just keep plodding on. We have to stop soon and when we do, I for one intend to find a dry space amongst the barrels for some sleep.’
‘Me too,’ said Huw.
The two men fell silent for a while until the column once more ground to a halt. Huw stood up on the cart and peered over those in front to see what caused the stoppage but the light was failing and all he could see were soldiers arguing with the cart masters. Finally a horseman came riding back down the column with news.