Medieval IV - Ring of Steel

by Kevin Ashman

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  An hour later, Geraint and Fletcher carried the semi-conscious body of Garyn between them and entered the low doorway of a nearby church. The priest came forward to see what was happening and quickly ushered them through into the back room when he saw the extent of Garyn’s injuries.

  ‘Father, we need refuge for a few days,’ said Geraint, ‘I need to see to my brother’s wound but I know this place is alive with the English. I have to know, do you owe allegiance to Madog or Longshanks?’

  ‘My allegiance is to god only,’ said the priest, ‘and all men are equal in his eyes. You will be safe here.’

  ‘Good,’ said Geraint, ‘we need fire and hot water. Is there a village nearby where I can find an apothecary?’

  The priest looked at Garyn’s fevered face.

  ‘There is but it is too far and his arrival will be too late. I studied under a monk with similar skills many years ago and though I cannot promise anything, if you require, I will try to ease his plight.’

  ‘That would be a boon indeed,’ said Geraint. ‘Tell us what to do.’

  The priest swept the few eating implements from the table.

  ‘Strip his clothes,’ said the priest, ‘and lay him on here.’

  ‘Garyn, ‘said Geraint into his brother’s ear, ‘I have to break the arrow.’ He looked around and was handed a candle by the priest. ‘Here, bite on this.’ He placed the wax candle between his brother’s teeth and took a deep breath.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked and without further warning, snapped the crossbow bolt tight to the chainmail shirt.

  Despite the candle, Garyn screamed in pain before passing out and collapsing onto the table.

  ‘Quick,’ said Geraint, ‘help me with the rest before he wakes.’ Removing the chain mail was difficult for some links were pressed into the flesh and Garyn groaned in agony several times before he lay on his side upon the table, stripped to his waist.

  The priest picked up the broken shaft of the arrow and placed it against Garyn’s chest, calculating how deep the wound must be.

  ‘How long were these arrows?’ he asked.

  Geraint gave him his best estimate.

  ‘And are they usually barbed?’

  ‘No, but the head may be ridged and is definitely wider than the shaft.’

  ‘Then there is danger in pulling it out the way it went in,’ said the priest, ‘for it will drag the flesh within and tear at the already damaged muscle. I think we have to drive it through. It lays nearer the front wall and I believe its route misses the ribs. Any further damage will be to the muscle only.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course not but it is the best I can do.’

  Geraint looked at Fletcher.

  ‘The priest is right,’ said the fletcher, ‘I have seen such injuries before and often withdrawing the bodkin causes more damage than the initial wound.’

  ‘So be it,’ said Geraint and turned to the priest. ‘Do it.’

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  Five minutes later they were ready. Fletcher provided a narrow shaft from one of his own arrows and dipped it in the pan of water now boiling on the fire. The priest dropped a thin strip of clean linen into the pot and they all waited a few moments while the hot water cleaned the implements within. Finally the priest retrieved the cloth and tied it to the short end of the crossbow bolt still sticking out of Garyn’s back.

  ‘Quickly,’ said the priest, ‘while the cloth is yet hot for it will clean the wound.’

  Fletcher held his own arrow shaft against the end of the bolt and with a final look to Geraint, nodded he was ready.

  ‘Forgive me brother,’ said Geraint and using the hilt of his sword as a hammer, drove the shaft deeper into Garyn’s back.

  The unconscious man screamed in pain as the arrow head burst out of his shoulder and as Geraint held him tightly, the priest grabbed the arrow and pulled it completely through Garyn’s body, along with the long strip of hot, wet fabric.

  The priest checked the shaft of the crossbow bolt for any missing pieces and probed the wound with his fingers.

  ‘As far as I can see there is no major bleeding apart from that already caused by the first impact,’ he said. ‘Of course, there may be a fragment of chain mail in the wound but I don’t think so. Anyway, there is nothing I can do about that. The wound is as clean as I can make it, now we have to sew him up and pray to god.’

  ‘Is there anything else you can do, Father?’

  ‘I have some poultices to keep away infections but the apart from rest, that’s all we can do. He is in God’s hands now.’

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  Chapter Seventeen

  South of Caernarfon

  January 1295

  ‘What do you mean the supply line has gone?’ asked Longshanks, ‘that’s impossible.’

  ‘Sire, the rebels fell upon it during the night and slaughtered every living soul. All the supplies have been stolen or burned and there remains nothing that may be of use.’

  ‘How can he have known where we were?’ asked Longshanks, ‘I accept that our movements may attract the interests of spies but to have an army so close capable of destroying a well-defended supply column suggests he knew our plans.’

  ‘Whatever the reason, my lord, it seems they must have watched as your main army passed and waited until they knew their target was beyond the relief of our men. The devastation is total and there is not so much as a loaf of bread left that can be used.’

  ‘This is a serious setback,’ said Longshanks walking back and fore, wringing his hands in concern. We are only a day away from Caernarfon but if the castle still lays in the hands of Madog, then any battle will see us fight on empty stomachs with little chance of resupply. Though our army is stronger I fear any sustained fight would result in a victory for the enemy.’

  He looked over at the messenger.

  ‘Instruct the sergeants to prepare the men for the march. We will retrace our steps immediately and return to Rhuddlan. There we will assemble a new supply column and this time, support them with an army of guards. We will return in a few weeks but in the meantime, we will seek shelter and supplies from Reginald De-Grey.’

  ‘Aye Sire’, said the messenger and ducked out of the tent.

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  Two days later, Edward’s army crawled eastward, their morale shattered. The going had been hard and the weather a constant struggle. Some fell at the wayside and many suffered from dysentery or similar campaign diseases that beset all such armies on the march. Apart from the discomfort and hunger, the English were constantly on edge from the intermittent attacks from small groups of Welshmen who would appear from nowhere, unleash a hail of arrows amongst the column and then disappear as quickly as they had come. The two nights since they had turned back had been sleepless and fraught with danger as the Welsh took advantage of the darkness to probe the English defences and by the time they approached Conway, the column was riddled with disease, frustration and exhaustion.

  Despite the dire state of the enemy, their numbers were strong and Madog, watching from the trees on the mountains above, still held back from committing any full scale attack.

  ‘Their cavalry outnumber ours four to one,’ whispered Madog to Meirion, ‘and their infantry is twice ours. All we can do is keep picking away at their lines but be assured, before they lay sight on Rhuddlan Castle, we will take the opportunity. Another day or so and I feel they will be ripe for the taking. Send message to our reserves, Meirion, muster in the eastern hills, our destiny may be decided in the next few days.’

  Both men crawled back from the brow and returned to their horses.

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  Down below, Peter Grant, one of Edward’s officers rode up to meet the column. He had been forward on a scouting mission and returned to brief the king.

  Edward held up his hand to halt the column as Peter reined in his horse.

  ‘Sire, I have grave news,’ he said, ‘the river ahead is swollen and the bridge has washed away. To tra
vel inland would add two days on our journey to reach as suitable passing place and even then we don’t know if the rebels have burned them. My best estimate is that the nearest guaranteed crossing place lies three days south and then the return leg is through rough territory without any clear paths. It also lays in the hands of Cynan.’

  Longshanks looked up at the cloud filled sky, the constant rain running down his face and into his sodden clothing.

  ‘We can’t last another three days,’ said Edward, ‘let alone battle a fresh Welsh army, the men are on their last legs. We need shelter now.’

  ‘Sire, if I can suggest something, there is nothing we can do regarding the river or the weather but Conway still lies in our hands and is only two leagues in that direction. Your castle there is a formidable fortress and though we may be cornered on the headland until the weather eases, at least we will have English walls about us.’

  Edward looked at the men around him, all freezing, hungry and exhausted. Even Peter’s face was gaunt from the strain and he knew they couldn’t go on much further.

  ‘Your suggestion is well made, Peter,’ said the king, ‘and a welcome resolution. Instruct the van to change course and head to Conway. In the meantime, gather what provisions we have left and furnish it to the ten strongest riders we have. They will be tasked with riding to Flint via the long route, even though the risks are great but should they get through, they will instruct Reginald De-Grey to send relief with all urgency on my behalf.’

  ‘Aye Sire, ‘said Peter and turned to gallop back into the face of the storm.

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  Two leagues away, another man rode through the rain with news for his commander.

  ‘Sire,’ shouted the Welsh scout, reining in his horse before Madog, ‘the English column has turned north.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Madog.

  ‘As certain as I can be,’ said the rider, ‘already the lead elements near the town’s walls and the rest follow like half drowned dogs. We reckon he seeks the shelter of the castle for the river is too high to cross.’

  Madog turned to Meirion.

  ‘Where is the bulk of his army?’ he asked.

  ‘Most are at Flint though many still encamp at Rhuddlan.’

  ‘That means he is isolated,’ said Madog, the excitement evident in his voice. ‘There is no way he can ford the river until he reaches Llanrwst and that is at least two days away. If we can dominate the open ground he will be cut off from his main army until the weather breaks and that could be weeks.’

  ‘This is it,’ said Meirion, ‘the opportunity you craved. Unleash your army against Conway and lay siege to the castle. If we can take its walls as we have done so many others, Longshanks himself will be beneath your blade.’

  ‘Conway is a formidable fortress, Meirion, and we have no trebuchets close enough to get here in time, they lay siege to Harlech even as we speak.’

  ‘You do not need trebuchets, Sire’, said Meirion, ‘hunger and disease will bring death just as fast as any missile we throw over its walls. Don’t you see? Although he has lost many men, his army is still over a thousand strong and to feed that amount of mouths within the confines of a castle even as large as Conway will take huge amounts of provisions and that, my lord, is something they don’t have. All we need to do is cut off their supply lines and hope the weather stays bad. After that, the fall of Conway will take care of itself.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Madog, ‘muster the men, Meirion and lead us out onto the slopes. Let them see for the first time the strength of our fist so they will add speed to their flight. The quicker they are cornered in Conway the better.’

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  ‘Sergeants in arms,’ shouted Longshanks as he rode through the town walls of Conway, ‘send men into every building within this town, strip them of any food or drink and have it sent up to the castle.’

  ‘What about the citizens, Sire?’

  ‘Tell them to leave the town immediately and seek refuge amongst the villages hereabouts. If Madog comes, as he will, there will be no hiding place for them anyway and it is better their supplies feed our men than those who follow Madog.’

  ‘Aye, Sire’, came the reply.

  ‘You there,’ shouted Longshanks, pointing at another sergeant, ‘gather what archers we have left and man the town walls while we consolidate our position. If they come, hold them off as long as possible before withdrawing to the castle. ‘

  ‘Aye Sir,’ shouted the soldier in reply and as the army spread throughout the walled town, Edward rode to the steep ramp leading up to the high entrance of the castle.

  The castellan was waiting, having been warned by his sentries and as the king approached, he bowed deeply.

  ‘Majesty, welcome to Conwy, your castle awaits.’

  ‘Your welcome is noted, Hugh de Norm,’ said Longshanks, ‘make it known to your garrison that before this day is out we expect to be besieged by the Welsh. My army will camp within these walls and will protect them with all our might. Space will be wanting but I feel there is room enough. In the meantime, set whatever men you have spare to joining mine and moving any resources of value from the town to inside the walls, though quick about it for Madog is on our heels.’

  ‘Yes, Sire’, stuttered the castellan, ‘of course.’

  Longshanks spurred his horse and rode into the castle followed by his knights, leaving the shocked castellan in his wake.

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  The English sentry stood atop one of the many towers along Conway’s fortified town walls and though they were excellent against the raids of brigands, everyone knew they would be little use against a full scale siege. A comrade walked past, handing out chunks of bread obtained from the castle stores, the first such food he had received for three days and as he bit gratefully into the hardened crust, his eyes widened as they focussed on the slopes not half a league distant from the town.

  ‘In the name of god,’ he gasped, dropping the bread and reaching for his crossbow, ‘to arms, here they come.’

  All along the walls the cry was repeated and archers loaded their crossbows as quickly as they could. The screams of the attacking army could be heard clearly through the early evening air and as the defenders crossed themselves in fear, they could see the enemy numbered in their thousands.

  ‘Shut the gates,’ shouted a sergeant, ‘apply the barriers.’ He turned to the men in his command. ‘Listen to me,’ he shouted, ‘we are in no shape to fight these men so this is what you are going to do. As soon as they are in range, await no orders from me, just loose as fast as you can. Keep firing as long as you are able for every dead Welshman is a good Welshman but as soon as their ladders hit the walls, as they will, retreat with all haste to the castle. Run like you never have before for if the castle bridge is threatened, it will be raised even though you may be outside. Is that understood?’

  ‘Aye Sire’, shouted his command.

  ‘Good, then look to your front, men, the enemy are but moments away.’

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  The first battle of Conway went exactly as planned for Madog and his army and their siege ladders were against the town walls within minutes of the assault starting. His bowmen sent flaming arrows high above the walls to fall amongst the town buildings and soon palls of black smoke rose high into the evening air, signs that although the rain was still heavy, the oil sodden arrows had penetrated deep into the drier layers of thatch on many buildings. Some men in the front ranks were felled by the bolts from the English crossbows but as the walls were so thinly defended it wasn’t long before Welshmen could be seen running along the battlements and soon the city gates were opened from the inside allowing Madog’s cavalry to gallop through.

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  As soon as it was obvious the walls were lost, the defenders ran down the stone steps and through the streets, desperate to reach the castle but though they could see the gates still lay open, those civilians who had not fled the town also sought the safety the walls offered and the streets were crowd
ed with desperate people.

  ‘Out of the way,’ shouted the archers but their words fell on deaf ears as desperate people fought each other to reach the ramp. Up on the battlements, Longshanks could see the Welsh pouring over the town walls and knew he only had moments left to secure the castle.

  ‘They can’t get through,’ said the castellan beside him, ‘the crowd is too big.’

  For a few moments Edward hesitated but as the first of Madog’s army appeared at the end of a in the streets before the castle, he knew he had no option.

  ‘Close the gates,’ he said.

  ‘Majesty, by far the majority of your archers still fight to get through the crowd.’

  ‘There is nothing more we can do,’ said Longshanks, ‘raise the bridge and lock us down, from this moment on, this castle is under siege conditions.

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  For the rest of the evening and deep into the night Madog’s army rampaged through the town seeking anyone of English descent before putting them to the blade or hurling them alive into burning houses. Despite the need for shelter, most buildings were fired and soon the entire walled town of Conway was ablaze, the fires lighting up the dark winter’s sky and screams echoed through the night.

  Edward watched from above as the town was systematically taken apart by the Welsh army and though none threatened the walls of the castle, he knew his own forces’ predicament was dire. He lifted a goblet of honeyed water to his mouth but stopped half way and stared down to the end of the nearest street. In amongst the clouds of black smoke yet illuminated by a nearby blaze, a man sat silently on his horse looking up at the castle, ignoring the carnage being wreaked all around him.

  Edward stared back, realising this must be the commander of the Welsh army and as both men’s eyes met, for the first time in history, Edward the first of England gazed into the face of Madog Ap Llewellyn, Prince of Wales.

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  Chapter Eighteen

  Rhuddlan

  Late January - 1295