Queen Sacrifice

by Tony Riches

  ‘We can win this war if we defeat the garrison of Caerphilly,’ he told them. ‘If they had stayed in the castle we would have needed to starve them out, but I have been able to draw them into the open for you. Now you have a chance to make the king proud of you.’

  ‘Do you know where the Gwyn garrison is now, Lord Vorath?’ One of the older warriors asked the question they had all been wondering about.

  ‘Yes. I’ve had men watching them since they left the castle.’ He grinned. ‘They are camped in a valley near Abertawe, a few miles south of here. There is high ground overlooking their camp so you must get your men into position without being seen.’

  ‘We have a lot of men. It will be hard to avoid being seen by their sentries?’ It was one of the younger warriors, a practical man who showed great promise.

  ‘My men will take care of the sentries and your attack must be made at night. We have learned to watch for the Gwyn longbow men. They are good but they can’t hit you if they can’t see you!’ He laughed loudly, lightening the sombre mood and called for a jug of the dark Du beer. They all raised a tankard in the air to their victory against the Gwyn, although some of them wondered if it would be their last.

  As the night approached the warriors of Flint prepared for battle and smeared their skin with the traditional mixture of soot and fat. As well as striking terror into their enemies, the black war paint made it harder for them to be seen, especially under the cover of darkness. They all wore warriors black capes and tunics, paid for by the king as a mark of their status, with many of them carrying the long sharp Du spears, as well as their swords and knives.

  They were silently led to the high ground overlooking the Gwyn camp by some of Vorath’s men and lay in the long damp grass, out of the view of any lookouts, waiting in the clear night for the signal. The sudden piercing screech of a hunting owl was the only sound in the valley. If any of the Gwyn lookouts had still been alive they would have thought nothing of it but the men of Flint knew it was Lord Vorath’s signal that the sentries were all now dead.

  The men of Flint cautiously approached the ridge overlooking the enemy camp and could see the flickering light of fires below. A few men were walking around in the camp but most were sleeping, unaware that the battle was only moments away. The commander of the Caerphilly garrison had chosen to camp deep in the bottom of a steep sided valley, close to a stream that ran parallel to the road. There were a lot of men in the garrison and unlike the warriors of Flint, they were well equipped with tents of canvas that shone in the moonlight like dozens of white sails. As warlord Vorath had suggested, the warriors had agreed to divide into two groups and stealthily approached the sleeping soldiers from the road in both directions.

  A second owl shriek rang out into the darkness and was replied to with another, the signal that both groups were in position. With a roar the warriors of Flint charged into the peaceful camp, killing some men as they emerged from their tents and others before they were even properly awake. Some of the warriors had been trained to throw their spears with deadly accuracy and many soldiers fell to the ground with the heavy shafts sticking from their lifeless bodies.

  Others held their spears like a fighting staff, with their right hand near the end and their left a shoulder’s width apart, quickly thrusting the deadly iron tip at the heads and necks of their enemy while keeping themselves well out of range of the slashing Gwyn swords. One group of warriors had sharpened iron blades on the edges of their spears and swung them low at the legs of the soldiers, cutting swiftly through muscle and bringing them to their knees for the final killing thrust.

  The commander of the garrison was a light sleeper and quickly realised they were under attack. Wondering why his sentries had not raised the alarm, he called his men to him. He sent a group of his best archers to climb the high ground on the sides of the valley and ordered them to fire at any Du they could see. He organised the rest of his men into lines, swords and buckle shields at the ready. They had based this technique on a development of the Roman way of fighting and trained for months although this was the first time they had used it against a real enemy. The commander made them wait for the warriors to come closer to them and said a silent prayer that he would live to see another day.

  Several of his men fell immediately to vicious spear throws but the others closed ranks and pushed towards the warriors, slashing and cutting as they went, deflecting the Du swords and spears with their shields. The men of Flint were not trained to deal with this technique, being more used to hand to hand fighting, and it soon became clear that the battle was turning in the favour of the Caerphilly garrison. Encouraged, the soldiers started taking a heavy toll on the warriors, killing with ruthless efficiency.

  The archers had taken a while to find good positions on the high ground in the darkness but were now ready. Many were armed with powerful longbows and although they found it hard to see their targets, they risked killing some of their own men as a hail of deadly iron tipped arrows rained down on the Du. One of the older warriors was struck violently by an arrow that hit him with such force it almost passed right through his body. When the Du realised what was happening, one of them called for a group of men to follow him up the steep sides of the valley. They made short work of the archers, who had not even carried their swords and were running out of arrows, but had left the men in the valley outnumbered. Some warriors found they were fighting two or three Gwyn soldiers at once and paying the price as swords slashed and stabbed into their unprotected bodies.

  Some of the Gwyn soldiers had found time to pull on their chain mail vests and armoured breast plates for protection, but the commander of the Gwyn had not and was suddenly hit full in the chest by a well aimed Du spear. He died instantly, thrown on to his back with the force of the throw and his men panicked with their leader suddenly lost. The commander’s well organised rows of men quickly broke up as some tried to run for cover and others took the battle into their own hands, swept up in the violence of the fighting.

  This suited the individual fighting style of the men of Flint, who quickly took advantage, yelling their blood curdling battle cries and forcing the soldiers of the garrison back onto the defensive. By the time the first signs of dawn were creeping into the valley the battle was over and the only sound was of dying men. The garrison of Caerphilly was no more and the warriors of Flint had delivered another victory for the Du.

  Chapter Twenty

  Queen Elvina was glad to be leaving the hunting lodge in the woods. Bethan had listened in astonishment to Elvina’s description of how Cadell’s treachery had nearly cost the queen her life. Elvina had been deeply troubled by the violence of her reaction and the way she had been able to kill a man, even if it was in self defence. Her conscience was eased a little when they found the body of her murdered guard in the bushes. They had all been taken in by Cadell’s charm and Elvina realised she’d had another lucky escape.

  As the guards dug two deep graves in the clearing at the rear of the lodge, Bethan and Elvina discussed what they should do next.

  ‘We could stay here,’ said Elvina. ‘It is comfortable and good to have a dry roof over our heads but I don’t want to sleep in here another night.’

  Bethan looked concerned. ‘Are you thinking we should go back the way we came?’

  Elvina shook her head. ‘We did well to avoid the Du raiders. We can’t risk it again.’

  ‘You could send one of the guards with a message to the king.’

  ‘We would need to tell him where we are, which could be dangerous if the guard was captured.’

  ‘What do you think we should do, my lady?

  ‘Do you believe in destiny, Bethan?’

  ‘I suppose… yes, sometimes it seems we are being led in this direction.’

  ‘You remember what Cadell told us about the Du queen’s sister?’

  ‘Yes. I think her name was Ceinwen?’ Bethan looked confused.

  ‘She is looking after the young prince, the king’s only s
on. If I could take him hostage we could force the king to surrender.’ Elvina looked thoughtful. ‘Gwayne will become king of all Wales.’

  ‘The risks are great,’ said Bethan. ‘Cadell said they were living on the northern coast. Is that really where you want to go?’

  ‘We must travel in disguise, can you help me look like a woman of the tribes?’

  Bethan laughed, happy to forget the danger they were in for a moment. ‘You could cover your hair with a black shawl? I saw black dresses and a black cloak in your room. We could try them and see if they fit you?’

  Elvina was pleased with the good quality of the black dresses. She was a little slimmer and taller than the person who owned them but Bethan pointed out that it was better for riding any distance than if they were too tight. The problem was how to hide the queen’s blonde hair, which could draw unwanted attention to her.

  ‘The Du make their black dye by grinding old acorns and oak galls, mixed with rust from iron,’ suggested Bethan. ‘We could dye your hair black?’

  ‘No!’ said Elvina quickly, ‘I will tie it back and you can cut up some of this black material to make me a headscarf.’

  Bethan did so and laughed at the effect, as she had only ever seen the queen wearing white but had to agree that it helped. ‘Your eyes look very blue, for a lady of the north!’

  Elvina smiled. Bethan had been a perfect travelling companion for her and her mood was lifting now that she had a plan to bring an end to the war, however risky.

  The guards were unhappy as they left for the north but knew better than to say anything. The king could have them thrown in the castle dungeons for their failure to protect the queen. Elvina was now wearing a black dress, with a scarf over her hair and rode Cadell’s black Welsh Cob to help complete her disguise. The guards had also removed their white cloaks and chain mail, with just grey woollen smocks and grey wool blankets to protect against the cold. One of them led Elvina’s fine white mare by the bridle, as there was no certainty if they would ever pass that way again and the thoroughbred horse was too valuable to abandon.

  The tree lined road to the north was strangely quiet and deserted but as they rode towards the coast they started seeing a few other travellers. Elvina realised they must be people of the tribes, her enemies. She pulled her black cloak around her and avoided looking in their direction. There was no sign of any Du warriors but their disguise would not stand close scrutiny, so it was important not to attract attention. Queen Elvina looked across at Bethan and wondered if she was willing to be part of the plan to kidnap the prince. It would be a real test of her handmaiden’s loyalty and her life could depend on the outcome.

  *

  They had wondered how they could find the queen’s sister once they reached the coast but it proved to be surprisingly easy. Elvina sent Bethan to ask the way at a bakery in a nearby village and one of the bakers was happy to help. As well as giving her directions, he presented her with a freshly baked loaf and asked to be remembered to Ceinwen. The stone built house where she lived was a short distance from the sea in a pleasant but isolated spot. The queen told two of the guards to go the rear of the house and be ready to stop anyone who tried to escape. She ordered the others to wait for her call, a short distance from the entrance to the house, while she went to the heavy oak door with Bethan and knocked. The door was answered by a shy but pretty servant girl.

  ‘Is your mistress Ceinwen at home?’ asked Elvina.

  The girl nodded and asked them to wait.

  Ceinwen was putting Prince Evan to bed in his wooden crib and not expecting any callers, so was curious.

  ‘Did they say what they want?’

  ‘I am really sorry my lady,’ said the servant girl. ‘I forgot to ask their names.’

  ‘Never mind. Please ask them to come in and I’ll see for myself.’

  The servant returned, followed by the two women. Ceinwen had never seen either of them before but was shocked to realise they were both wearing her sister’s black dresses. It was possible that they were just similar but she was fairly certain, as she had spent many hours carefully sewing them for her. Her mind raced as she tried to smile in welcome. Something had gone terribly wrong and she had to discover what it was and how.

  ‘You are in great danger from the Gwyn,’ said Elvina, keeping her voice low so that only Ceinwen could hear. She looked at the baby prince in his crib, who smiled back at her. ‘How many guards do you have here?’

  Ceinwen looked at the women, trying to think quickly. ‘I have no guards now, only servants.’ She longed for Hywel and was worried about Rhiannon. ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’

  Elvina removed her headscarf to reveal her long gold hair. ‘I am Queen Elvina. You are our prisoner now, Ceinwen.’

  Ceinwen looked alarmed and sat down in her chair, amazed at how quickly everything had changed. ‘My sister, Queen Rhiannon?’

  ‘She will be brought here when we find her.’ She turned to Bethan. ‘Tell the guards to secure the house please Bethan.’

  Ceinwen looked tearful. ‘What are you going to do with us? What about the Prince Evan?’

  ‘As long as you do what I say, I will make sure no harm comes to you or the prince.’ Elvina found it easy to sound convincing. It was the truth but the threat in her voice was clear.

  ‘We are going to write a letter to your king, demanding his surrender.’ Elvina looked at Ceinwen with conviction in her deep blue eyes. ‘We want a quick end to this war and you are going to help me to achieve it.’

  The castle at Flint was a very empty place now the warriors had left for the war in the south. King Gethin was almost alone and wished he could have gone with them. The news from Vorath had been encouraging but there had been no word for several days, so he was relieved when a messenger finally arrived. It was not news of the war, but he carried a letter with the queen’s royal seal, so the king took it to his rooms, expecting to see Rhiannon’s familiar handwriting. He broke the wax seal and opened it, surprised to see it was written in fine Latin by a hand he did not recognise.

  He read the letter through several times in astonishment. There were some parts he had difficulty understanding but the message was clear. The Gwyn had captured his son and at the bottom was the signature of the queen’s sister Ceinwen, confirming it was true. Gethin felt anger surge through him as he realised what the letter meant. He had been foolish to commit his entire army so far away in the south and leave his wife and son undefended. He sent a rider to summon Bishop Deniol, as the entire future of the Du was suddenly under threat.

  Deniol was interrupted from his prayers by the urgent knocking. He had hoped to quietly wait out the war, studying the old religious texts in his library but now the king was demanding to see him. The messenger was insistent that he should leave right away. Hastily packing his things, Deniol set off with the king’s rider on the short journey to the coast. A cold wind was blowing from the south and chilling him to the bone. Despite his dislike of superstition he sensed it could be a bad omen.

  The king was in a troubled mood when Deniol arrived. He showed the bishop the letter and waited while he carefully read it through.

  Deniol looked at the king with concerned eyes. ‘I regret that this looks genuine,’ he said. ‘The Latin is perfect. It has to be written by the Gwyn, as Bishop Emrys is the only other person I know other than Queen Rhiannon who can write as well as this and it is not his hand.’

  ‘You are right,’ said Gethin. ‘The letter bore the queen’s seal, which means the Gwyn have probably captured her as well as Prince Evan.’

  ‘I wonder why it is signed by the queen’s sister, rather than the queen?

  ‘I was thinking about that. It may mean she has been able to escape.’ He clung on to the hope that his wife was safe but in his heart he was already preparing himself for the worst. He crossed to the window, looking out to the windswept estuary as he struggled to control his emotions. His whole world had been turned around by that one letter.

&nb
sp; Deniol waited in silence.

  The king turned to him. ‘You know I can never surrender to the Gwyn.’

  Deniol shook his head. ‘There must be something you can do?’

  ‘Even if I could find enough men to come with me, any rescue could put their lives at risk.’ Gethin paced the hard stone floor, thinking. He looked up at the bishop. ‘Any day now I should hear we have control of the south, so I need you to write a reply that will buy us some time.’

  *

  By the time the wounded soldier reached Sir Padrig’s camp he was so weakened by loss of blood he could hardly talk. Padrig’s men tended to his injuries as well as they could and gave him a strong drink.

  Padrig had been out hunting for red deer in the hills and was in good spirits, having killed a good stag with a lucky shot from a longbow. He was told of the injured man when he returned and asked to be taken to him at once.

  ‘Good God man, what’s happened?’ Sir Padrig had followed his orders diligently and was certain that no Du warriors had passed him.

  The soldier looked up and recognised the big man. ‘The garrison is lost, Sir Padrig. The Du surprised us, in the middle of the night.’

  ‘Which garrison? You mean Pembroke?’

  ‘Caerphilly, Sir Padrig. Not many of us escaped.’ Seeing Padrig’s reaction the soldier hesitated to tell him the rest of the bad news. ‘The Pembroke garrison is also defeated and the Du have taken Pennard.’

  Sir Padrig looked shocked. ‘The king?’

  ‘As far as I know the king is safe at Caerphilly castle sir.’

  ‘Why did he not summon me?’ Padrig didn’t expect the soldier to answer but another question occurred to him. ‘I expect the men of your garrison gave the Du quite a beating?’

  ‘Yes, we did,’ recalled the soldier. ‘I saw many dead and injured Du warriors before I was knocked out.’ He saw Sir Padrig’s enquiring look. ‘They left me for dead. I don’t think they were interested in taking any prisoners.’