Targets of Treachery : A gripping, action-packed historical epic (Lord Edward's Archer series Book 4)

by Griff Hosker

  A voice shouted from the glowing room but was curtailed and ended with a cry. I leapt into the room and saw a young man, who looked to be about seventeen summers and I presumed was Owain, lying on the floor, nursing a bloody coxcomb.

  There were four men in the room; three of them were drawing weapons while the fourth held the sword whose pommel had just felled the captive. He lunged at me, and I blocked it with my own sword while drawing my dagger with my left hand. I had no compunction in doing what I did. I had another three opponents, and I knew not if my men had managed to follow me. I rammed the dagger up between his ribs. He was a strong man, but his grip on the hilt of his sword weakened and I was able to smash it into the side of his head.

  Even as the other three drew their weapons, Stephen de Frankton lunged with his sword and slew one with a strike to the throat and, as he withdrew it, he hacked across the side of the head of a second. The third man dropped his sword and fell to his knees. He jabbered in Welsh.

  David said, “He surrenders.”

  “Disarm them. Tom and Stephen, protect our fore. David, watch our backs.” I held my hand out. “Owain, your mother, Lady Hawise, has sent us. You are safe.”

  He nodded. I could see he was still dazed. I reached down and took the sword from the man I had stabbed. I handed it to the youth. I knew that we were not out of danger, for I still did not trust Captain Caradog. When we emerged there could be a flurry of arrows and our sad deaths would be reported to Lady Hawise. I knew that I was risking the lives of Stephen, Tom and Martin. They wore good brigandines beneath their cloaks and that would have to protect them.

  Lord Cynfyn was attempting to rise as we emerged, and Stephen kicked him in the head to knock him to the ground. Until we were safely back in the hall of Lady Hawise, there could be no honour.

  It all seemed quiet. I had expected some opposition from the villagers, but they were behind doors which were firmly shut.

  Stephen and Tom mounted while Martin scanned the hall with a nocked bow. David cupped his hands to help the young Welshman on to the horse and, when that was done, we mounted and, whipping the heads of our horses around, galloped away from the hall. There was no sign of Captain Caradog but then I would have been surprised if there was. The fact that none of his men had loosed an arrow at us told me that Prince Llywelyn’s brother had decided to cut his losses and allow Owain to live. I knew that I had made another enemy, a pair in fact, but that appeared to be my lot in life!

  Chapter 6

  We reached Wigmore a few days later. Once Lady Hawise had her son safe in her charge, she emptied her hall, and we rode as fast as four wagons can manage. She pointedly rode next to her son and insisted that my men and I ride around the two of them. She still did not trust Dafydd!

  I did not mind, for we were not simply ignored by almost all of the others but shunned. It was clear to me that I had spoiled their plans. A dead Owain was of more value than a released prisoner. The only one from the conspirators who appeared to show any remorse over their plan was Lord Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn. He was not a clever man and he had been duped. I think the bruises and the wound his son bore told him that he had been used by Dafydd and Captain Caradog.

  Baron Mortimer was delighted that I had managed the rescue, and he and Lady Maud wished me to stay. I shook my head. “I have been away long enough. I have served my king, again, but I have a family that deserves as much attention.” I gestured for Sir Roger to come closer and when he did, I spoke quietly. “I would not trust this Lord Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn, lord. Speak with Lady Hawise and see if my suspicions are correct.”

  He stepped back and his eyes examined me. “You are a clever man, Gerald. Go back to your family, but remember that in spring you should be at Shrewsbury, for King Edward comes to accept the homage of Prince Llywelyn and he will not be happy if you are absent.” I nodded, for I knew my place. “And I dare say that the king will reward his loyal subjects for the service they have done.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  I would rather have been left alone than be paid a reward that would tie me even closer to the king. Yarpole was a gift but it did just that. I knew then that Sir John had been lucky to have been given Malton. That was as far from the king’s enemies as anywhere in the land. He could get on with his life!

  As we rode back to Yarpole, I reflected that the rescue had not only been successful but had also shown me that Stephen de Frankton was a loyal man and a good warrior. He had dispatched two men in a blur of blows.

  We arrived back to find my wife still healthy and my manor burgeoned with the fruits of our work. We had no time for reflection as every man was put to work harvesting the crops and beginning the cull of those animals we could not keep over winter. This was a time of collection and preservation. The windfalls and the damaged fruits were cooked and added to meat which would not last the winter. Soaked in cheap sack, they would provide a feast at Christmas. We were luckier than most, for Sarah had many spices to use and the hall was filled with the smell that Sarah and James called Christmas. Other meats were preserved in salt, brine and vinegar. The animals from the cull were butchered and every part used. Even their bones were burned with the fallen leaves and the remains of the bone fire collected to be used as fertiliser. I had learned, since becoming a farmer, that you wasted nothing in the countryside.

  I went with Father Paul to see which villagers needed help. I knew that winter was hard, especially on the old and the poor. We were lucky in Yarpole; we had few who were poor, but we had many who were old. It was not coins that they needed but kindling and food. When the harvest was gathered, we took around the wood and excess food collected by my men for them to use. Sarah had ensured that we had plenty of vinegar and salt, and that was taken too so that they could preserve the food we had given to them. Father Paul and I visited the same people each week. I did it because I felt responsible. I knew that not every landowner did the same, but I remembered my childhood and people who starved to death over winter. That would not happen to my people. King Edward and Sir Roger might not be concerned about the poor and the old, but I was.

  As Mary’s time drew close, so I kept close to the hall. My men still hunted and collected wood for winter, they still practised, but I rarely strayed more than a few paces from the hall. The exceptions were my weekly visits with Father Paul, and Sundays, when Mary and I went to church. It was at the service on Christmas Eve, when the first really hard frost and cold spell descended, that her waters broke. I did not know the term but Sarah, who was with us in the church, did.

  “Captain, let us hurry home, for your child is come!”

  All thoughts of the Christmas feast disappeared as we hurried back to my hall. My men were sent ahead to begin to put on pots of water to boil. Sarah seemed to think that was important. James and I carried Mary, who kept apologising. I know that it was fear, for she had confided to me that she was unsure if she could bear the pain of childbirth.

  As a man, I was ushered from the birthing chamber, our bedroom, and Anne of Yarpole – the village midwife, Mags and Sarah, aided by John and Jack’s wives, saw to my wife’s needs. I sat with my men in the hall we used for dining. After my men had built up the fire, Jack fetched the ale, which had been intended for Christmas Day, and he used a poker to heat it. I was reluctant to drink, for I feared I might be needed.

  Jack had many children and he laughed. “Captain, you have done your part! The women would not thank you for interference and they know their business. It is Mistress Mary’s first and this could take some time.”

  Robin, now fully recovered, nodded. “Aye, Captain, and what a propitious day! The bairn will be born on Christmas Day, Jesus’s birth date!”

  I took the ale and drank it without even tasting it. The date of the birth had escaped me but there was something significant about it. Mary and I first knew that we would be wed when we were in the Holy Land and within a few miles of Bethlehem. The date was momentous.

  My men began to talk about what the
date might mean. Most of us had no idea when we were born. Dates of birth were for nobles and those who were important. We just knew that we were so many summers old. My child would be different, for although we were not noble, all would remember the date.

  As warriors do, it was a small jump from talking about birth to speaking of death and those who had fallen in battle. I had lost many comrades and I was silent as I remembered them and my father. I wondered what he might have thought of my rise from outlaw and murderer to gentleman and confidante of lords. I hoped he would have been proud, but we had never spoken a great deal and there was much about him that was a mystery. When my child was born, I would ensure that we were close. I would make sure that words were spoken so that my child could know a little about me, for I knew that when I was dead there would be tales and rumours which were untrue.

  I drifted in and out of the conversation until, after he had returned from making water, David the Welshman returned. “It is morning; it is Christmas Day!”

  As was the custom, we each clasped arms with the others who were in the hall. This time it seemed more significant.

  James, Sarah’s son, said, “Perhaps we should begin to cook the food. I have heard little from upstairs and, in my experience, birth is normally preceded by shouts and even screams. The women will be busy. What say we men set to and make the feast ourselves?”

  It seemed a good idea and we went into the kitchen to prepare the Christmas feast. The vegetables were all ready and all that was needed was for us to prepare them. The wild pig we had hunted three weeks since had been skinned, gutted and hung. Alan had been tracking the old boar for a month before we killed him. He had told us that there was a younger boar and the old one had served his purpose. The animal had fought to the end and that was good.

  Richard of Culcheth and his son, Robin, now brought it into the kitchen. It should have been started the night before when we had returned from church but there was still time. Jack and Martin put the metal spike through it and hung it above the fire. It would be constantly turned by one of the sons of my men. We then set to plucking the fowl we had to accompany the pig. We would cook far more than we needed, for whatever was left would feed us all for the next ten days or so.

  The work distracted us so that when we heard the scream, we all started. John came over to me. “Do not worry, Captain, that is part of the birthing, but in my experience the babe will be here soon. Tom, take the captain and help him to clean himself up. We will finish here, Captain.”

  I nodded dully and went obediently with Tom. He chattered to me, but I heard not a word. There were more shouts and then the sound of feet running along the floor above us.

  Tom smiled when I started. “I reckon they will call for you soon, Captain. I am the oldest of eight my mother bore, and such a rush normally precipitated an announcement.”

  Why did everyone else seem to know more about birth than I did?

  As I passed through the kitchen, I heard Mags’s strident voice from the top of the stairs. “Captain! You are a father!”

  My men all cheered but my heart sank. What about Mary? I took the narrow stairs two at a time to get there quickly.

  Mags laughed. “The bairn and Mistress Mary are going nowhere, Captain. You do not want to hurt yourself, eh?”

  “How is she?” I needed to know before I entered the chamber.

  “Tired, but that is normal. You have a stronger wife than you know, Captain.”

  I entered the chamber and saw bloody sheets and towels being gathered by other women while Sarah brushed my wife’s hair. Mary looked pale but happy and, in her arms, swaddled in white, lay my child.

  Mary said, “Husband, you have your wish; you have a son!”

  I smiled broadly. “And has he…?”

  Sarah laughed. “You see, Mistress, it is as I said; the first thing men want to know is if the child has the required number of limbs and organs.” She turned to me. “He is whole, Captain; a good weight and has a set of lungs on him. We will leave you two alone, but not for long, Captain. Your wife is tired and needs rest. Alice will come back and sit with her.” Alice was the wife of Jack of Lincoln. She had lost a child a month since and if it was needed then she could wet nurse my son.

  The door closed and I went to kiss my wife on the top of her head. She smiled and held the boy. “Take him and hold him.”

  “But I might drop him!”

  “No, you will not, and the Mongol warriors do this as soon as the babe is born, for they wish them to be warriors. You wish the same for our son, do you not?”

  I nodded and took him. He seemed so fragile that I was almost afraid that my rough touch and archer’s arms would crush him. His eyes were closed, and he was red of colour, but he looked content.

  “Have you a name in mind?”

  I looked up, startled. “A name?”

  She laughed. “We cannot call him boy, can we? It makes him sound like a dog.”

  I nodded. “I did not give it much thought, for I did not know if we were going to have a boy or a girl. I do not want him to have my name, for that way men might think I was vain.”

  She smiled. “I have had time to think and I knew it would be a boy. Only one name came to mind. Hamo. I would name him after the man who helped you and Sir John to rescue me. He was a kind man and a good warrior.” She smiled. “And I know of no other who has his name.”

  I looked at the babe and said, “Hamo, son of Gerald, aye; I like that name.” At that moment he opened his eyes and stared at me. He did not cry, and I took that as a sign that he approved of the name.

  If the night before had been celebratory then that Christmas Day was like no other. Of course, Sarah and the women complained about the way we had prepared the food, but we expected that. We had entered the domain of women. But as their carping was gentle, we guessed we had done something right.

  The men who had their own families of children only stayed with us for Grace before they departed to their own homes with their portion of food. Even so, the table was full. Sarah liked to do everything correctly and so we all sat with a napkin over our right shoulder to wipe our hands. We took the proffered food with our left hands and none took too much. Sarah’s vigilant eye saw to that.

  When Tom, who had a very healthy appetite, took a whole turkey guinea fowl, she said, “Tom, I think your eyes are bigger than your belly! If there is any of that fowl left, then there shall be no pudding for you!”

  That was a dire threat as the highlight of the feast, for many, was the spiced pudding made of fruit and meat. Sarah’s was especially tasty, and Tom made sure that all that was left on his bread platter were the fowl’s bones. To be truthful, the turkey guinea fowl were not particularly large. I smiled, for after the bones were taken away, Tom still had appetite enough to eat the bread platter which had been soaked with all the gravies and tastes from the savoury foods.

  We all drank well, for there was plenty of ale, and I broached a barrel of the sweet wine they made in western Spain. It was sweeter than sack and I liked its deep red colour.

  When the rich pudding was brought in, steaming and aromatic, silence fell upon the table. It was so rich that we were all offered a small portion. As head of the house, I could have demanded more but, in truth, I was satiated and wished to see my wife. I had seen her before the feast, and she had said she wished to sleep.

  When I entered the chamber, Hamo was nursing.

  “Alice, go down, for they serve the pudding and Sarah has saved a portion for you.”

  “If you do not mind, Captain?” I shook my head. She grinned. “I am fond of Mistress Sarah’s pudding. I hope that one day she will share the recipe with me.”

  She left and I put my arm around Mary and the nursing baby, who was sucking greedily.

  “The feast went well?”

  “It was perfect, my love, save that you could not be present.”

  She gave me a wan smile. “I was a little busy.”

  I nodded. “All went well, and t
hey were all happy.”

  “We have good people, my husband, and I am happy here.” I knew that Mary had been worried about coming to a community as a stranger, but I had reassured her of the spirit of the people of Yarpole. The previous landowner had almost sucked that spirit from them but, thanks to Sarah, James and Father Paul, it had recovered, and we were now strong enough to withstand any calamity.

  We had Hamo christened on Saint Stephen’s Day and gave him Stephen as a middle name. Father Paul thought it was a propitious naming and we went along with it.

  I rode, when the weather improved a month later, to tell Baron Mortimer and Lady Maud of the birth. Their Welsh guests had decamped to Shrewsbury and, from Lady Maud’s face, it was not a day too soon! She gave me a gift of ten marks for Hamo to be kept for him until he was old enough to need a sword. It was a thoughtful gesture and suggested that she expected me to rise above being a gentleman. I returned home knowing that I had until the spring to myself, and then I would need to ride to Shrewsbury, where Prince Llywelyn would pay homage.

  I put those thoughts from my mind as I played, for the first time, a dutiful husband and father. I stayed close to home and ensured that my wife and child were cared for and protected.

  It was something of an anti-climax when the date arrived and the messenger came from Sir Roger to tell me that the king was unwell and would not be attending the meeting he had ordered. Ominously, Prince Llywelyn did not attempt to attend, yet he would escape censure as the king was unwell and would not know of the snub. However, what followed was worse.

  As summer began, Dafydd ap Gruffydd and his allies began to raid across the border. They raided the mines we rescued the prisoners from, for the silver and to butcher the locals. War came to the northern Welsh Marches, and our home was in striking distance of any warband that chose to raid an easy target.