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

by Griff Hosker

  I told him of the incident the previous year and he frowned. “I knew that the Welsh problem was not resolved.”

  “Yet it is not Llywelyn who is the source of the intrigue but his brother.”

  He shook his head. “It is all one. Until that line is extinguished, Wales can never be under civilised control and I can never be free from the memory of what they did to my family.”

  I thought he might have learned to forgive but I was wrong.

  He had brought gifts for my family. Mary was given a beautiful dress, which looked expensive. Stephen told me that he had taken it during a chevauchée. I realised that things had not changed since my time there. Hamo was given a Turkish dagger in a scabbard. It endeared the man at arms to my son.

  I had invited Peter and Robin, along with their families, to dine, and we all enjoyed Stephen’s stories. The presence of women and children sanitised the content, but I could read between the lines. I knew the violence that underpinned them.

  We left for Montgomery just three days later. The baron was making that castle even stronger.

  He saw the cross and was eager to hear Stephen’s words. “De Frankton, how was the crusade?”

  “Hot, bloody and ultimately doomed, my lord, but I am pleased that I went.”

  “And if you are here with Warbow, then it is not just to tell me that you have returned.”

  “No, my lord, you are as sharp as ever. I wish to buy some land and settle. I would raise a family. I am no farmer, but I can afford to pay someone to manage a farm for me.”

  The baron rubbed his beard and I saw his eyes sparkle. “This may be fortuitous. Since I appointed Giffard to Llandovery, I am keenly aware that I need someone to lead the Shropshire levy. Giffard used to train them for me. Warbow here will tell you that this Welsh problem is not solved. The Bishop of Hereford has complained to me that his castle, Bishop’s Castle, and the church and the village, are so close to the border that they are in danger of being raided. Like me, he is still suspicious of the Welsh. There is a manor there, on the English side of the border. The owner was killed almost twenty years ago when John Fitzalan raided. It has been left empty ever since. If you would lead and train the Shropshire levy, then it is yours, and the title of Gentleman. What say you?”

  We all knew the dangers, but the temptation of the title and a manor was too great. “I will accept, my lord, and I am your man!”

  “Good, but I want the Shropshire levy to be as efficient as Captain Warbow’s archers!”

  “Then I have a Herculean task ahead of me.”

  We rode back together. “This could be a poisoned chalice, Stephen. The Bishopric of Durham, the Palatinate, they man their castles with the best of warriors and castellans, but the Bishop of Hereford seems to have little idea of what is involved.”

  Stephen shrugged. “We all start somewhere. You made something of Yarpole. I will have to select men to serve me. If the manor has been derelict for twenty years, then I can do as I wish.”

  I nodded. “I will send James with you to assess the property. Heed his advice, for he knows farms. He has made mine prosperous. Let him do the same for you. I would advise you to find a local that you can use – one you can trust.”

  “Aye, that is the trick, is it not? That close to the old border there could be spies and traitors who know the right thing to say.”

  “Trust in yourself and trust in God. That is all that any man can do.”

  My men and Mary were delighted with Stephen’s good fortune and Mary, who was a rock of kindness, provided him with all manner of furniture and supplies. When I cocked an eye, she said, “It is Christian kindness and, besides, we need new!”

  For the first six months, we were in regular contact. James spent more time at the manor than he did at mine, but I did not mind. When he returned after the last visit, not long before Christmas, it was with the news that not only had Stephen made the house habitable and defensible, he had also begun to court the widow of a farmer who had been killed in the Welsh war. All seemed well.

  As usual, the peace only worked so long as men wished it to be peaceful. Being where we were meant we saw travellers who passed to Chester and back. It was their stories that told us of the increasingly chilly wind blowing across north-east Wales. Prince Llywelyn made his usual plea to King Edward when he returned to England from Gascony. He wished the return of the land of Arwystl from England. The land the Welsh prince wanted belonged to Llywelyn’s old enemy, Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn, now a lord with lands further south, which merely antagonised Llywelyn. I believe, for I knew him better than most men, that the fact that Gascony had not gone as well as it might, made the king react the way he did. King Edward appointed Reginald de Grey as justiciar in Chester. This was a bone of contention for the Welsh. It meant that England, through Chester, was the final arbiter of court decisions. As this meant, effectively, control of the Welsh courts, it did not bode well, and de Grey’s judgments meant that the Welsh lost the cases they brought. De Grey hated the Welsh! King Edward also appointed a castellan for Hawarden Castle. It was one of his closest friends, Roger de Clifford, and that guaranteed that any disputes with the lands of Dafydd ap Gruffydd would be settled in favour of the English.

  For us in Yarpole and, indeed, for Stephen at Bishop’s Castle, life was peaceful and there were no disputes. So, it came as a shock when the rebellion flared up again. The castle at Hawarden was unfinished; Roger de Clifford had held it for less than a year. On the Eve of Palm Sunday, Dafydd ap Gruffydd and an armed band of men stormed and took the castle. De Clifford was made prisoner and members of his family were killed. The castle was destroyed. That this was treachery and clearly planned could be seen when large bands of armed men stormed and took both Aberystwyth and Rhuddlan Castles while their garrisons were at church celebrating Palm Sunday. Even John Giffard lost Llandovery when Rhys Wyndod rose and seized it while the new castellan attended church. Dafydd ap Gruffydd had planned his treachery well. He had coordinated his men across the borders.

  Ironically, it soon became clear that Prince Llywelyn knew nothing about this. If he had, then the effect of the rebellion would have been greater.

  All along the border, the English market towns, which Edward had built and filled with colonists, were destroyed and there was a great slaughter. These rebels were not lords who revolted but the ordinary Welsh who were denied the right to live in these towns. Oswestry and the other market towns in the east of Wales were destroyed and law and order broke down.

  It was then that we were affected. The king was in London and we had no standing army. The attacks along the border took the castles and the garrisons. With many soldiers still in Gascony, Baron Mortimer raised the levy and told every landowner to look to their own defence. That message alone told me how serious this rebellion was. It was as though the whole of the eastern Welsh border was afire.

  Those in the southern part of the Welsh March were not initially attacked, but the Welsh spirit of rebellion meant that they had to prepare their own defence. There would be no help for us. I sent word to Luston and the village decamped to my hall. This time there was no need to rush into my walls, and people brought their livestock and whatever food they had. We would be able to live behind my walls for at least two months. We had maintained our defences and actually improved some. Most had lived through the Maredudd raid and our success at that time engendered a calm atmosphere within our walls.

  It was the end of April when the warbands descended upon our lands. We saw the fires burning to the west in Lucton, Kingsland and Yatton. A few survivors made their way to my hall and when they were identified as from those places, they were admitted. Unlike us, they had not built defences and the Welsh had simply appeared and stormed the villages.

  The attacks saved us, for we were forewarned, and I had half of the men standing to on the walls so that when the brand-bearing mob appeared from the west, we were ready! That first attack was unplanned. It was a mob that saw the chance to steal, cause misch
ief and make merry at the expense of hard-working Englishmen. Those from Lucton, Kingsland and Yatton told us that what the mob could not steal they destroyed, regardless of purpose. When the same mob saw my walls, they assumed that I was rich. The five hundred or so men simply charged through the early morning light, thinking that they had another Yatton at their mercy.

  Every one of the men in my manor could use a bow and had been well taught by my men. Every boy could use a sling and for the rest, we had darts and javelins. My people waited for my command before they released. I waited until the mob was just one hundred and fifty paces from us. Some of the Welsh archers had released and wasted their arrows when they were two hundred paces away. Our wooden walls, and the fact we could track their solitary arrows, meant no damage to any of my people.

  When I shouted, “Release!” and our arrows soared and then descended, it was as though someone had taken a scythe to the Welshmen. When a further four flights followed almost on top of the first one, then the few survivors simply turned and fled. By the end of the afternoon, there was not a living Welshman to be seen.

  I went with my archers and we left the walls. We took the arrows and the bows, as well as the weapons, from the dead, and they were taken within my walls. While half of my men made pyres of the bodies, I went with my mounted archers to see if the Welsh had camped close by. It was clear they had not. We returned to my hall, and the bodies, with the wind blowing from the east, were burned. The pall of smoke would be seen for miles and the survivors would know that they had met their match.

  I was tempted to send a rider to Wigmore, but Peter pointed out that the attack had not been organised. “Captain, Dafydd ap Gruffydd could be out there with an army. We know he has taken three castles. That happened within a few days. Who is to say that Wigmore has not fallen? Better we wait until we see a standard that is English.”

  His advice was sage. A week later we saw a standard approach, but it was not English. It was Maredudd ap Iago. My nemesis had returned and this time he would know what to expect. He had with him a few heavy horsemen, but most of his horsemen were the Welsh light horse. The bulk of his army was made up of ordinary Welshmen similar to the ones we had slaughtered. The difference now was that they were led, and Lord Maredudd would not make such a simple attack.

  He surrounded us with his men, and they lit fires. That was deliberate and intended to intimidate us. It was only those who were refugees from Lucton, Kingsland and Yatton who were affected. It was my old campaigners who reassured them that we had strong walls and even stronger warriors than the Welsh. The Welsh had learned to respect our bows and they were camped beyond the range of our arrows. We used that to our advantage.

  The first night that the Welsh camped, my archers, not the levy nor the villagers, crept from the gate on the barn wall and with a pot filled with fire, we crossed small bridges that our boys carried to cross our ditches. We stopped just two hundred paces from the large camp on that side of the wall and we released sixty fire arrows into the night. None of us expected even half of them to ignite anything, but when we saw tents flaring and heard men crying as they tried to beat out the flames in their clothes, we knew we had enjoyed success. We were back inside the walls before the Welsh could even react.

  The next day they began digging their own ditches and placing their own sentries to watch for us at night. Not a single animal lay within three miles of my hall, and soon the Welsh would have to either head east to forage or starve. Instead, they chose to make their first assault on my walls. They had banged nails into crudely made split timber and used those to advance towards the walls. They came on every side at the same time and I could see that they hoped to weaken us. I had my best archers, Warbow’s Men, scattered amongst ordinary archers. The Welsh would have a hot reception.

  The sheer weight of numbers meant that some of the Welsh would manage to get close to us. A few made it to the ditch, but the accuracy of Warbow’s Men, added to the arrows that had struck the improvised shields they carried, blunted their attack, and those who arrived at the ditch were forced to flee.

  That night they kept a good watch, while I only used one in four of my men to watch. The fire arrows had made them wary. I knew that was a trick you could only play once!

  The next day they tried another assault but this time they only attacked one wall, the south wall, between the barn and the stable. That suited us, for I was able to put my best men along that wall once it became clear that it would be their only attack. We still had a watcher on the roof. It was Alfred, Harold of Luston’s grandson.

  “Captain, I see banners!”

  Cupping my hands, I shouted, “Where away?”

  “From the south, Leominster.”

  The last we had heard, Leominster was still held by the English but that did not mean much. “What is the banner?”

  “A blue diagonal line with a yellow box and another yellow box with four small white boxes.”

  It did not sound like a Welsh banner. “Are there knights with them? Can you see banners on lances?”

  “Aye, Captain, at least ten of them!”

  “Alan, mount a dozen horses and fetch Lion. If these are friends, then I intend to end the mischief of Lord Maredudd once and for all.”

  I returned to the southern wall. The attack had slowed, for although we had hit fewer in this attack, it was still a larger number than the Welsh wished. When I heard the horn sound and the Welsh begin to break camp, I knew the identity of the mailed men; they were English. I might not have recognised the banner, but the Welsh had!

  I mounted Lion and shouted, “Fetch me a shield!” I dropped the bow and the arrows. We had taken Welsh shields after the last attack and I had painted them a simple green. “Peter, take command. Those who ride with me, we seek Lord Maredudd. Do not charge off alone. Stay together and stay with me.” When my shield was brought, I shouted, “Open the main gate and close it behind us.”

  Since the last attack, we had made a bridge we could draw up and secure with ropes. I heard it lowered and then the gates swung open. We galloped across the recently made timbers as the Welsh horses fled north and west. I spied Lord Maredudd. He was with another four mailed men. I saw no spurs, and so I assumed that they were not knights. The ordinary Welshmen, some mounted on ponies and some afoot, were also fleeing. I used the flat of my sword to smack into the backs of the heads of those on foot and render them immobile as I passed them. The men on ponies had to feel the edge of my sword and they perished. We could not afford to be merciful. My men rode with me as they fought alongside me, closely. We were like the point of an arrow and I saw that Alan and Robin were right behind me. Like me, they had drawn their swords, and both had taken small shields too.

  Lion began to stretch his legs and to open a lead. Although I wanted my men close behind me, I could not afford for Lord Maredudd to escape again. I might have to face four or five enemies alone. However, I would be approaching from their rear and I could choose the side from which I would attack. I was gaining on the five men and we had overtaken the others who had fled first. Lord Maredudd had the best horse, and the five men were strung out. I heard hooves and saw that Robin and Alan had managed to urge their horses to either side of Lion’s rump. We were not mailed, and the five Welshmen’s horses were labouring.

  As I neared the rear of the last Welshman in the line, I lowered my arm so that my sword was hidden. Thanks to Stephen de Frankton I could use a sword and use one well. He had even taught me how to wield one from the back of a horse, and Lion was a warhorse! The Welsh rider kept glancing over his shoulder, a sure sign that he lacked confidence. I rode on the right side of his horse with my shield before me. He saw where I was and as soon as he looked ahead again, I dug my heels into Lion’s flanks and jerked his reins to the left. The burst of speed allowed me to use my archer’s strength and swing my sword into the centre of his back. I heard his spine crack and he fell from his horse.

  When the horse of the third Welshman in the line stumbled a
nd threw him, it forced the fourth one to veer sharply to the right, and there Alan used not only his archer’s strength but his hunter’s skill to hack into the right shoulder of the man. Even if it was not a mortal wound, it would incapacitate him. The last two men at arms were already slowing, and the rest of my men were almost upon us and I would not be alone.

  I wanted Maredudd to myself and I shouted, “Maredudd is mine!”

  It made him turn and he saw how close I was. His horse was lathered and struggling. He saw my warhorse and he had no choice. He could either surrender or fight me. I did not think he would surrender to a mere archer nor would he wish to pay a ransom. I prepared to fight.

  He reined in and shouted, “I yield! I yield!”

  I had not offered him surrender and I confess that I was taken aback. I thought of all the deaths he had caused and how his treachery had ruined lives. “I do not accept it. Fight or I will slay you where you are.”

  He could go no further and so we fought. He had little choice other than to try to fight whilst his horse was still, for the beast was done. I rode at his shield side and stood in my stirrups to bring down my sword towards his head. Stephen would have berated me for such an obvious strike, and he easily blocked it with his shield whilst swinging his sword at head height. I had neither helmet nor coif and while such a blow aimed at him would hurt, if it connected with me, it would be fatal.

  I urged Lion on and tried to get around the rear of the knight. His horse could not gallop, but it was able to turn, and Lord Maredudd brought around his horse’s head so that he was facing me, and he realised my weakness. He stood in his stirrups to bring his sword down towards my head. I raised the shield to block the blow. I managed to do so, but the shield was a cheaply made one. There were just two layers of wood and no leather. It was split in twain and my arm briefly numbed.

  I would have died but for Lion. My warhorse saved my life. It snapped and bit at the horse of Lord Maredudd and his weary and weaker horse stepped back so that the Welsh sword struck fresh air. Without a shield, I dragged Lion’s head around, and while the Welsh knight tried to finish the job, raising his sword again to do so, I swung my sword backhanded towards his chest. The blade cracked into mail, and while the gambeson might have absorbed some of the power, the blow was strong enough to hurt. I suspect I cracked ribs.