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

by Griff Hosker

  It was November when the straits were crossed, and it was an unprecedented disaster. The Welsh were waiting, and they fell upon de Tany. Sixteen knights, including de Tany, were killed. The tide turned and trapped many of those on foot. Otto de Grandson recalled from Gascony, swam the straits on his horse, but even though he and some other knights survived, the successful ambush put heart into the Welsh and meant that we could not attempt the same again until the new year.

  The king was apoplectic with rage. That it was his decision was forgotten and the unfortunate de Tany was blamed. The good news, as far as I was concerned, was that it changed the strategy of the king. The Clwyd became a holding campaign, and he had to send soldiers to Shropshire to counter the threat there. Since Gloucester had been defeated and withdrawn, the only men left to defend the land west of my home were the Shropshire levy and the Mortimer men. Roger Lestrange was tasked with organising the defence of that part of Wales. That he would have to do it with few knights was not even a consideration for the king. He had given a command and it would be done. My men and I were sent with the dozen or so knights who accompanied the Lord of Wilton, Roger Lestrange. I felt happier defending my home. John Giffard was with us and he was keen for vengeance. The three of us rode at the fore and I wondered at the wisdom of King Edward. If the land around Builth was now devoid of English defenders, then the numbers he had sent were not enough. Were we being sacrificed?

  At Wigmore, we learned that Baron Mortimer was now asleep more than he was awake, but I had no opportunity to see him. I was given command of the Shropshire archers. Stephen de Frankton was there with the rest of the levy. He had far more men under his command than did I, but the archers would be a more potent force. The knights of the Mortimer brothers added another twenty to our number, but we were still woefully inadequate.

  The six of us had a council of war. I knew the Mortimer brothers, but they were both shadows of their father. They had served with him, but it had always been the baron who made the decisions. The presence of Giffard, myself and de Frankton ensured that they listened to us and heeded our advice.

  Sir Roger had once been Lord of Builth and knew the area well. “We will need to watch every road and stifle any attempt by the Welsh to move east. The problem will be one of mobility. Warbow, it is your mounted archers who will hold the key. We need all of your mounted archers.”

  I shook my head. “If there is a danger to my family, then the ones I left at home will do more good there. Do not worry, Sir Roger; my men will not let you down.”

  He sighed. “Then this is what I propose. I will base myself at Builth with the Sirs Roger and Edmund Mortimer as well as the other knights. Captain Giffard, you will command the men at arms you lead as well as de Frankton and Warbow’s archers. There are two roads from the north-west, one from Pontnewydd ar Wy and one from Llanafan-fechan. Those will need to be guarded.”

  It was John Giffard who shook his head. He knew the land better than any. “The road from Pontnewydd ar Wy has to cross the bridge which is east of Builth. The bridge can be seen from the castle. We would waste men by placing them there. Your horsemen could reach the bridge before any Welshman.”

  I saw the knight rub his chin. This was a test of his leadership. Would he listen to the man at arms or would his pride get in the way?”

  “You are right, Giffard, and I had forgotten. Then place yourselves at Cilmeri and guard the road from Llanafan-fechan.”

  It was November and we would have to endure the cold. Once the snows came, then we could return to our homes, but the really bad weather was four weeks away. It seemed ominous when, as we were about to set off, a rider arrived to tell the Mortimer brothers that their father was dead. I think I was affected as much as they. Since I had come to England and fought for King Henry and then his son, my life and that of Roger Mortimer were intertwined. I had no time to mourn, for we had to leave. Every moment we delayed increased the chance of Llywelyn coming down the road and laying waste to the heart of the Marches!

  We were camped by a hamlet called Cilmeri. There was an old farmer and his wife who remained there. The rest had been tired of the upheaval and moved. The old man, Idris, was too tired to move. I got the impression that he and his wife were just waiting to die. Their animals were not properly cared for. We treated the couple well and our cooks took them food.

  We were just five hundred paces from the Irfon, although we had a small unnamed stream, which passed below our camp. It acted as our toilet. As we had some empty houses, John and Stephen de Frankton, along with some of their men at arms, took one each. I used a tent with my men. It was my way, and I did not blame the others for having a roof over their heads.

  The first afternoon, while the others were making our camp defensible, I took my men to ride along the road. Llanafan-fechan was bigger than Cilmeri – and occupied. I got the impression we were not welcome. We left the road to ride in a loop to the northern river, the Chewfri. It meant we could see the other road. I knew that the Welsh could ford it, and so I decided that I would make our camp where we could watch the ford I found. On the way back we found half a dozen sheep and I had no misgivings about taking them for food.

  That evening I sat and ate with John and Stephen.

  Stephen was quite cynical. “It is all right for the levy to sleep rough, but lords and knights must have a roof and a real bed.”

  I laughed. “And that is the way of the world, my friend. Did you not learn that in the Holy Land?”

  He smiled and spat out a piece of mutton gristle. “I hoped that the crusader cross would bring some benefits in this country, but it seems that I was wrong.”

  I leaned back and put my hands beneath my head. The sky above was clear and I could see the stars. Were these the same stars I had seen when I had met Mary? “Stephen, we have both done well from this land; all three of us have. When you were a prisoner of the Welsh, working in their mines, did you see yourself with a manor? Baron Mortimer was good to us and I shall say a prayer for his soul each night until I return to my home and church. I will remember him there.”

  John laughed. “You are quite a philosopher, Gerald, and there is more to you than meets the eye.” I sat up and rested on my elbows. “Tell me, you who have the ear of the king and know him better than any commoner, can we win this war? Do we wish to?”

  I reflected on his words and then spoke. “We have endured setbacks. The king has made mistakes. He trusted Dafydd and when he had him, he should have incarcerated him with his brother Owain. You are right, John; I do know him, and he has the beating of the Welsh. It may take a year or two, but when all of his castles are built, he will have a ring of stone around Wyddfa that no Welshman can break.”

  “I pray that you are right.”

  Stephen said grimly, “Put Llywelyn within striking distance of my sword and that old man will never cause King Edward any more trouble. He has no son for me to punish and I will have my vengeance on him.”

  I was not surprised by the venom in his voice, but I was not sure that King Edward would see it that way. He would want a rebel he could punish through his courts and show the Welsh the power of England.

  I left my friends to return to my men on the other side of the road, where we could watch the ford. I had two of my men on watch all night, but they heard nothing. We rode, each day, up the road to the belligerent village and then across to the ford. We were looking for signs. We saw none for five days and then on the sixth day, we woke to thick fog. Everyone in the camp, all fifteen hundred of us, knew that this meant danger. An enemy could sneak up easily. Leaving my men to make their way to the ford and watch it, I headed for John and Stephen. They were both awake.

  John Giffard took charge. “I do not like this. We will make a defensive line across the road. Gerald, you keep your men on the flank closest to the Chewfri. If they come, then sound the horn three times.”

  I nodded. Each of us had a horn and by their very nature, each one was unique. We would know where lay the dange
r.

  I donned my helmet when I reached our empty camp. I spread my archers out – there were too few of them for my liking – along the line of spearmen. John Giffard had spread his men at arms out amongst Stephen’s Shropshire levy. Our task was just to hold the Welsh, if they came, until Lestrange could bring help. The fact that we had seen no sign of any Welsh scouts had me worried.

  By the time I reached my men, the fog was beginning to lift a little and I wondered if our precautions had been premature.

  Ned was not just a steady and dependable archer; he had good hearing too. It was he who heard the jingle from the Chewfri. “Captain, someone comes.”

  “Nock an arrow.” I took the horn and readied it in my left hand. In my right, I held my bow with an arrow nocked. I could hear something but there was little point in sounding the horn too soon. We had to know if it was the enemy or some other cause. A combination of the fog dissipating and the noise becoming clearer showed me that while it was mailed men, it was not the knights of Lestrange. I sounded the horn three times and, as I did so, my men drew back on their bows. It was then we saw that the Welsh archers and spearmen were fewer than two hundred paces from us, for the horses and those with mail were further back.

  “Release!” I dropped the horn to hang from my waist, nocked an arrow and released. We hit some fifteen men and when we released a second shower, a Welsh voice shouted a command. The Welsh riders, their knights and their mailed men dismounted for the ground, which we had discovered was very rough, and while the fog was lifting, it still hid treacherous ground.

  “Fall back but slowly! The men behind will need to readjust their line.” Our main line of defence faced Llanafan-fechan and the forty or so archers I had with me were the only ones opposing the Welsh. Perhaps I should have brought all of my archers. Most of the archers I led were the Shropshire levy, and already I could see that Warbow’s Men were the ones releasing more frequently and hitting the enemy.

  I heard a shout behind me. I did not allow it to distract me. I nocked a bodkin and sent it at the Welsh warrior with a mail vest. He looked surprised when the green fletched arrow blossomed from his chest.

  “Shropshire! With me!”

  It was Stephen de Frankton and he had taken it upon himself to wheel his men and come to our aid. Of course, if the Welsh were advancing down the road as well, then we would be in trouble. But we had to fight one battle at a time.

  We had slowed down the enemy and they were reorganising, with spearmen protecting their archers. Soon we would have to endure their arrows. Stephen had anticipated the problem, and already the first of those of his men with spears was racing to stand before us. The fog was rapidly clearing, and I saw that we were equally matched.

  Then I saw Llywelyn. He wore mail and a helmet, but I had met him several times.

  I shouted, “It is Prince Llywelyn.”

  I sent a bodkin at the knight next to Llywelyn. It hit his helmet and stuck there. I knew that I had not penetrated the metal to hit the skull, for the knight reached up to break off the shaft. It angered him and he came directly for me. Tom was more accurate, and his arrow hit one of the knights in the left shoulder. His shield dropped a little and John, son of John, killed his first knight.

  Some of the Shropshire archers were dying, for the levy did not wear brigandines. We were struck, but none of the arrows sent by the Welsh impaired my men’s ability to fight. We used war arrows and they used hunting arrows.

  I heard Stephen shout, “I am coming for you, Llywelyn, and either you or I will stay upon this field of battle.”

  When the Welsh prince raised his sword to accept the challenge, then I knew that the Welshman had chosen death or glory. Up until that point, he could have fallen back and let others bear the brunt of the fighting, but he did not. He came on with his men at arms and knights around him.

  “Warbow’s Men! Take out the men at arms!” There was little point in expecting the levy to send arrows at mailed men.

  Stephen had two men at arms with him as well as men from the levy. They had raw courage, but would that be enough?

  We did all that we could, but we were hampered when the men on either side of Stephen and his vanguard fell back. I sent every arrow that I had at the Welsh and when I ran out of arrows, I slung my bow and drew my sword.

  “Tom, keep releasing. I go to the aid of my friend.” I drew one of my daggers instead of a shield and advanced.

  Even as I took the decision, I saw one of the two mailed men left defending Stephen fall, leaving no one on Stephen’s right. My former man at arms was having the better of the fight with the old prince, but the men around him were falling, and the Welsh were defending their leader with their lives. One of the last knights remaining, the one whose helmet I had dented, raised his sword to hack down on Stephen’s exposed right side. I threw, underhand, my dagger. It was a lucky throw, but I had good coordination. The blade struck his left cheek, and he whipped his head around, his sword mid-strike.

  “You!” He turned to face me and advanced. I had saved my friend but put my own life in harm’s way. I reached down and drew a second dagger from my buskin. This one was a bodkin; good for stabbing but less useful when it came to blocking a sword. Even as the Welshman came, I saw that Stephen had drawn first blood. My archers were trying to keep him safe.

  I heard, behind me, John Gifford’s voice. “For England and King Edward!”

  The battle was finely balanced. I was too close to my opponent now for my men to aid me. If I survived, then it would be down to me, and the Welshman had vengeance on his mind. Seeing that I had neither shield nor coif, he strode towards me, slashing with his sword as he punched with his shield. I was nimbler and I danced out of the way. The uneven ground came to my aid and he stumbled. I feinted with my sword, and my left hand darted out to stab him in the right shoulder with my bodkin.

  I saw Stephen had the upper hand in his own fight, for Llywelyn’s left arm had been hurt and his shield hung down.

  “Trickster!” The Welsh knight was angry, for he was being humiliated. Regaining his feet, he swung his sword wildly and the ground punished me. I fell. With a roar of triumph, he brought his sword down. I did the only thing I could; I rolled, and, as I did so, I saw Stephen de Frankton lunge and plunge his sword into the face of the Welsh prince.

  As Llywelyn died, I thought I had escaped, but the knight’s sword hit my back. I was saved by my bow; although it was sliced in two, it allowed me to roll and as I did, I hacked across the knight’s leg above his buskin. I tore through his breeks and his muscle before ripping through his tendons. His leg crumpled and I leapt upon him before he could recover. I drove the bodkin through his eye and into his brain.

  His sword had not only broken my bow; it had also torn my brigandine and sliced a line across my back, but I was alive, and I struggled to my feet. The Welsh were fleeing, and I heard a horn as Roger Lestrange brought his knights to end the rebellion.

  I walked over to de Frankton. “Are the ghosts laid to rest?”

  He nodded. “They are, and now I can enjoy my manor. He was a brave old man!”

  “He had nothing left to live for. His wife is dead, and she bore him a daughter. He has a treacherous brother and land surrounded by enemies. Look, he has a smile upon his face.”

  I looked down at the last native Prince of Wales and gazed upon the end of an independent country. We had helped King Edward do that which none of his predecessors had managed. We had given him Wales!

  Epilogue

  Lestrange took Llywelyn’s head back to King Edward and the rest of us returned to Wigmore. Lady Maud had waited for our return to bury her husband. She had paid stonemasons to make his tomb and to put upon it his epitaph. It matched the man.

  Here lies buried, glittering with praise, Roger the pure, Roger Mortimer the second, called Lord of Wigmore by those who held him dear. While he lived all Wales feared his power and given as a gift to him all Wales remained his. It knew his campaigns, he subjected it to tor
ment.

  I did not wish to intrude upon the feast that was held after he had been interred and I was about to leave when Lady Maud sent Edmund, her eldest son, after me.

  I was brought before her like a naughty child. “And where are you going, Gerald Warbow?”

  “I was leaving you and your family to mourn a great man.”

  She took my arm. “You may be a commoner, Warbow, but you were as much, are as much, a part of our family as any. My husband thought highly of you. So much, that he has left to you the manor of Caynham. It was a special place for him as it was one of the first manors his Norman ancestors were given. I know that he always intended to give you your spurs, but fate intervened. Now come back to the feast and then we will let you get home to your family!”

  The manor was a good one, but I did not move there. I was content at Yarpole. My wife was delighted, for we had an even greater income but more importantly, even more security, for it showed how much the Mortimers thought of us.

  The Welsh war did not end properly for a year after my friend killed Prince Llywelyn. His brother managed to evade capture for many months, but he was caught, for his treachery was too much for even the most patriotic Welshman. He was tried at Rhuddlan. He was found guilty, of course, and brought to Shrewsbury. For his treason, he was dragged through Shrewsbury by a horse’s tail. For his homicides, he was hanged alive. For his murders during Holy Week, he was disembowelled and his intestines burned, and for the plotting of the king’s death, he was quartered and his parts despatched to the four corners of the kingdom. Llywelyn had fared better; his head had been sent to adorn the gate of the Tower of London.

  Historical Note

  My story is the story of Gerald War Bow, the archer. The kings and lords are incidental. It is the archers of England and Wales that I celebrate in this series of books. Porth y Wygyr is Beaumaris. The taking of Anglesey was as fast as I describe. In military terms, it was pure genius and, effectively, ended the war. Flint and Rhuddlan castles were the first to be built by Edward. They were not huge fortresses like Conwy and Caernarfon but cost more than £5,000 to build, in modern-day values, millions. 1,500 labourers were needed for Flint castle. King Edward was making a statement.