Queen Sacrifice Page 17

  Gwayne chose a hill top overlooking a wide green valley where he would be able to see anyone approaching. He told the archers to position themselves at intervals in the sheltered ground across the entire hill top, each man close enough to clearly pass a message to the next. The valley was peaceful, with only a few sheep dotted around and after they had been waiting an hour he started to wonder if the beacon had, in fact, been a false alarm. He was grateful that it was a dry afternoon and looked at the clouds. His father had taught him to read the skies when he was a boy, and he wondered what his father would say if he knew that they still had to defend his lands from the northerners.

  One of the archers called out and pointed at the horizon. ‘Riders!’

  King Gwayne knew at once that this was not the main force of the Du army, although they may not be far behind. It looked like a small group of a dozen or so warriors, dressed in black and riding hard along the old road that ran down the middle of the valley. He signalled for the archers. ‘Take cover and only fire on my command.’

  Lord Vorath had been thinking about the beacon. Someone must have been keeping lookout, waiting and ready to light the fire. His local supporters should have told him about the warning signals, so that he could have stopped them being lit. It was a lesson for him to remember next time. He had never been concerned before about relying on the element of surprise but if the Gwyn were so well organised it was time to change his tactics. Vorath looked round at his men and one held up a sword in acknowledgement. They were like brothers, the best men he had ever ridden with.

  The first arrow flashed into the ground just ahead of him, causing Ddraig to snort and falter from a fast canter to a trot. In an instant Vorath knew it was a ranging shot. He was within the range of the deadly Gwyn longbows. Even as he shouted a warning to his men the sky was thick with the deadly arrows. One struck the rider to his right with such force that it lifted him from the saddle, another flashed past his ear so close he ducked, a near miss. Two more of the fine black war horses fell noisily, arrows sticking from their flanks, throwing their riders onto the rocky path. Vorath wheeled Ddraig angrily and ordered a retreat. It was against all his principles to run from the Gwyn but this time they had out manoeuvred him. There was no honour in death from an archer he could not even see.

  A rousing cheer went up from the archers as they saw the warriors of the Du fleeing, with several men and horses lying dead and dying. King Gwayne felt a surge of pride in his men. It had been an easy ambush and he was surprised how quickly it was all over. For many of the archers it was their first experience of action and he would make sure they were well rewarded. Word of this victory would spread quickly throughout the land, no doubt exaggerated with each retelling. It was exactly what he needed to restore the confidence in his army after the tragic loss of Sir Gwynfor. He had no way of knowing that the leader of the riders was Lord Vorath, or that the warlord had now vowed to do whatever it took to avenge the death of his warriors.

  Owen was pleased with the way the war against the Du was turning out for him. He had a privileged position as a guard from Queen Elvina’s household and was under personal orders from her to observe and report any enemy sightings. Since the incident with the lone Du warrior, he had not seen anyone at all. This suited him well, as although he had been trained as an archer, he had never been very good at it. Although his guard’s sword had never been drawn in action, he had a good store of tales to tell in taverns, and after the war was over he would be able to give a good account of his secret work in service to the queen.

  One drawback of his position was the food. His wife had spoiled him and he missed her fine cooking. He had also grown tired of sleeping rough, with only an old woollen blanket for shelter, and needed to dry his clothes. There were sheep grazing in the hills, so he realised there must be a shepherd somewhere who could help him. Owen was more interested in some hot mutton stew than the risk the owner of the sheep may be a supporter of the Du, so he watched and waited.

  The shepherd was tall and wiry, with alert eyes and the practical ways of someone who scratched a living from the hills. Owen could see the man was wary of him, but didn’t look afraid, just unsure what to make of a lone soldier of the Gwyn.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ said Owen. ‘I need food and shelter.’

  The shepherd nodded. ‘My home is not far from here, but you will need to pay.’

  Own reached into his pocket. He produced a coin which he held in the air for the shepherd to see. ‘Here’s a Saxon silver penny for a bed and some good roast lamb.’

  The shepherd seemed satisfied and led him down a twisting path through the hills to a stone built smallholding with a roof made of slate. Several scrawny chickens pecked in the garden and a mountain spring fed a muddy pond. Owen followed the shepherd into the house. It was dark and smelt of sheep. A blackened iron cooking pot was suspended over an open hearth. Owen rubbed his hands together, and helped the shepherd start the fire.

  After borrowing a woollen smock from the shepherd Owen changed out of his damp clothes and enjoyed the best meal he’d had since he left home. The shepherd was a man of few words, but that suited Owen, who passed the evening telling stories of life in the queen’s guard. The autumn evenings were drawing in and they went to bed as soon as the light failed. Thankful for his good luck, he went to sleep thinking this would do him nicely until the war was safely over.

  Owen was woken by someone roughly shaking him and shouting. It took him a moment to remember where he was, then he realised the smallholding was full of Du warriors. One was demanding that he got them water and asking if he had any beer. Another was plucking the now headless chickens he had noticed the previous day. The shepherd was nowhere to be seen and Owen had to think quickly. It was clear they thought this was his home and didn’t suspect that he was a soldier of the Gwyn.

  He grabbed an old wooden bucket and went to the spring, wondering if he should try to run. There were too many warriors, with big black war horses and he had heard what the Du did with their prisoners, so decided it was best to see what happened and trust that the shepherd did not give him away. He cleared the previous night’s ashes from the hearth and busied himself with making a fire to boil the water. He was listening all the time to the booming voices talking loudly in the old language then froze when he heard the name of their tattooed leader. Warlord Vorath.

  The warriors ate heartily of the chickens they had slaughtered, then turned the attention to the stone house and outbuildings, looking for anything of value and arguing about where they were going to sleep that night. Owen was playing the role of dumb shepherd, speaking only when spoken to and trying to stay out of the way of the warlord. He was thinking it had gone quite well when he heard loud curses and noisy commotion from inside the house and one of the warriors appeared at the doorway brandishing Owen’s ceremonial sword in one hand and carrying his uniform of the queen’s guard in the other.

  Vorath moved swiftly, snatching the highly polished sword and holding it to Owen’s throat. ‘What can you tell me about the strength and position of the Gwyn… shepherd?’ He stressed the last word, leaving Owen in no doubt his cover was blown. The sword had never been used but Owen had kept it sharp and he could see from the look in the warlord’s dark eyes that he was in no mood for clemency. All Vorath’s men dropped what they were doing and gathered round to hear Owen’s answer.

  For a desperate moment he considered making up a story about stealing the sword and uniform from a dead soldier, but instead started telling Vorath all he knew about the number of men at Caerphilly. He also explained how the garrison from Pembroke had recently marched to reinforce the Royal Llysoedd at Pennard. Vorath wanted more and made it clear that Owen’s life depended on his answers, so he found himself admitting that the men at Pennard were poorly led and even that the queen was somewhere in the relatively unprotected west.

  The tall shepherd had not emerged from his hiding place until several hours after he was certain the warriors of
the Du had left. He had looked around his ransacked home, seeing chicken feathers strewn over what had been his garden, the theft of his only cooking pot, all his earthenware pots and plates had been smashed. He still counted his blessings. It could have been very different if he had not been such a light sleeper, waking at the first sound of the unwelcome visitors, or if the Gwyn soldier had not appeared from nowhere and been mistaken for him. He put the last stone in place and stood back to admire his work. It was shallow for a grave but he had taken great care to spell out one word in light stones on the dark earth. Owen.

  Chapter Sixteen

  While King Gwayne and his archers returned to the castle at Caerphilly to a triumphant hero’s welcome, Vorath was angrily brooding at the loss of some of his best men and being forced to retreat. He gathered his warriors around the fire and the blazing logs shot sparks high into the sky as they drank the dark ale favoured by the Du and argued into the night about how best to defeat the soldiers of the Gwyn. They had all seen how the range and accuracy of the Gwyn longbow meant they would not even see the men they were fighting until it was too late. One of the older warriors regaled them with stories of how Lord Llewelyn had always favoured stealth and cunning over charging at the enemy.

  Vorath knew he must to do more than simply rely on his reputation for courage and ruthless bravery. Some of his followers argued that they should make hit and run raids on the villages to the south, gradually demoralising the people of the Gwyn. They could attack at night and it would force the king to stretch his resources, defending a much wider area. Others argued that they should wait for the reinforcements to arrive from the north, then storm the castle at Caerphilly and take it by force. If they could capture or kill King Gwayne the war would be won. The castle would also be ideal to defend against any attack from the Saxons. Warlord Vorath knew the value of considering all the suggestions but he was not one to wait or to strike only under the cover of darkness.

  One of his warriors, a fierce fighter but an intelligent man, had listened carefully to the arguments then reminded them how easily they had mistaken the Gwyn soldier for a shepherd, only discovering his cover through his own carelessness. They had been lucky, as he had overheard much that would have been of value to the Gwyn. The disguised soldier had provided useful information about the leadership of the men who had marched from Pembroke, suggesting a very different tactic. The men fell silent as they realised he was suggesting they could infiltrate the leaderless soldiers and find those who were willing to fight for King Gethin.

  The idea appealed to Vorath and he produced a leather purse, carefully opening the drawstring to show his men a handful of tiny nuggets of pure Welsh gold and small diamonds that sparkled brightly in the firelight. King Gethin had given the purse to him to fund his campaign in the south, so he decided that each warrior would take a share to bribe the soldiers of the Gwyn. Vorath thought he would be too easily recognised and had to remain in the hills, but the rest of his men changed their black tunics for undyed wool and slipped into the taverns and gambling houses of the town. They carried their knives but left their swords with Vorath, as their main weapon was the gold, carefully shared from the leather purse.

  It was risky work, as the Du were outnumbered more than a hundred to one, but the men in Abertawe were bored and many had no particular loyalty to the tax raising king of the Gwyn. Some were quickly persuaded to change sides, having seen the defeat of Sir Gwynfor as a sign that the war was already lost. Others were prepared to fight as mercenaries, having been poorly paid by the Gwyn. A tiny nugget of gold or a single diamond would feed their families for many months and they were tempted by the promise of more. A few followed the Du because they had secretly mourned the passing of the old ways and had been conscripted into the Gwyn army though no choice of their own. Before dawn, a good number of the soldiers who had marched from Pembroke were following Vorath’s warriors back to their hiding place. They had become men of the Du.

  The audacious plan was risky and could not go completely unnoticed by the Gwyn, so it was unsurprising that two of Vorath’s men never returned. One had been set upon by a group of men once they realised he carried gold. He put up a brave fight but was stabbed in a dark alley, his lifeless body thrown unceremoniously into the fast flowing River Tawe, where it soon drifted out to sea. Another unlucky warrior tried to offer his gold to one of the king’s most loyal soldiers, who promptly had him arrested and thrown into the dungeons by the king’s guard on a charge of treason. The king himself rode west to question the warrior but they learned nothing from him, as he chose to die rather than betray his fellow warriors.

  Lord Vorath regretted the loss of the men but they had given their lives in exchange for several hundred fighting men, so he was in high spirits as he marched his new army to the safety of the hills. His plan had worked much better than expected so now he had a new problem, of how to feed and equip so many men. He told his warriors to gather for their orders. One was sent on the long ride to meet with King Gethin at Flint. He was to inform the king what had happened and return with weapons and supplies. Vorath also wanted the king to unleash the warriors who had been waiting in Llewelyn’s hill fort at Ynys Mon on the vulnerable west coast. Each of his remaining warriors was given command of a group of the former Gwyn soldiers to do what they could to train them to fight as men of the Du.

  As well as the Du warrior, King Gwayne’s guards had also managed to arrest several of the deserters, so the king decided it was necessary to make an example of them. They were lined up in front of the remaining soldiers from Abertawe while one of the officers explained the penalty for cowardice and desertion. All of them were then executed by a swordsman but even as he watched, the king could see that his actions had done little to bolster the morale of his men. He had hoped for cheers from the crowd but his soldiers stood in stony silence, no doubt wondering what the future held for them.

  King Gwayne returned to his rooms in the castle at Caerphilly deeply troubled. It was obvious that the warrior they had tortured to death was part of a much wider and well organised Du conspiracy. Once again they had managed to take him by surprise and his picture of the Du as illiterate tribesmen was beginning to look very wrong. He immediately put his entire army on full alert and posted extra lookouts to be ready for any attack.

  The king was at a loss to understand why his men would even consider deserting to join the warriors of the Du and he wondered if the loss of Sir Gwynfor had affected him more profoundly than he had expected. Although he had never really liked the man, the loss of his champion was a blow that seemed to have sapped the spirits of his people. He consoled himself that he no longer needed to worry about Queen Elvina, but wished he had confronted the young knight about his behaviour and attitude to the queen. He realised that he had been glad when she left the Royal Llysoedd but now with Gwynfor dead and the garrison no longer in Pembroke the west was vulnerable and he suddenly felt concerned for her safety.

  *

  King Gwayne would have been even more concerned if he had known that since Sir Gwynfor’s death the mercenary Cadell felt no further obligation towards him and was now fighting for King Gethin. Cadell had risen to a position of some importance in the hill fort at Ynys Mon but it seemed a long time since he had seen any action and the isolation of the island meant it was difficult to follow the events of the war. He was saddened by the news of the death of Lord Llewelyn, as he had liked and respected the old warlord, but apart from that one victory it seemed that the Gwyn had barely ventured from the safety of their fortresses. If the stories brought back by traders and travellers about the battles of Lord Vorath and his army of warriors were true, then Cadell knew he would do well to prove his allegiance to the Du.

  Cadell had also taken on Lord Llewelyn’s loyal former servant Bryn. Although Bryn knew the old warlord had achieved the warrior’s death he had wished for, his own life had suddenly seemed without purpose, so he was glad to have a new master. Bryn was proving a useful assistant to Cadell
, as he had extensive knowledge of the ways of the Du and was happy to frequent the ale houses in the town that were becoming the main sources of news. It was in one of these that he had asked to meet Cadell about a private matter. He found the big unruly man waiting for him in a quiet corner of the tavern and paid for two large tankards of dark frothy ale.

  ‘So what’s the mystery Bryn, it’s not like you to be so secretive?’ His new servant was not his usual jovial self.

  Bryn looked around cautiously before answering to make sure they could not be overheard. ‘When I was Lord Llewelyn’s servant we would often visit the queen. One of her servants was sent all the way to see me with an unusual request,’ said Bryn. ‘She has asked if I can persuade you to undertake a special mission, in secret, for the sister of the queen.’

  Cadell had heard the queen had a sister, although he had never seen her himself it had been said that she was very wealthy in her own right, as attractive as Queen Rhiannon and was yet to marry. ‘Well I am interested Bryn, but why me?’

  ‘It was my idea to ask you,’ admitted Bryn, drinking nearly half his beer in one gulp to hide his embarrassment. He grinned awkwardly and wiped the froth from his beard before looking at Cadell seriously. ‘She said I was to find someone they could rely on.’

  Cadell was touched by Bryn’s words despite himself. ‘What does she want me to do?’

  Bryn explained about Rhiannon’s decision to go to the lodge near the border and how the guards had returned to report that the queen been taken in the night, with the guard on duty at the time found drowned. The only clues to the queen’s disappearance were a sighting of an old monk, who had been watching the lodge, and the discovery of a meat cleaver apparently dropped on the floor in the kitchen. The guards reported that the queen’s bed did not appear to have been slept in but the candles had been lit, so it seemed she had been taken against her will in the early evening. Bryn also told Cadell about the letters the queen had sent the night she disappeared. Her sister was desperate for one last search or she would have to send the second letter to the king. Cadell’s mind was working quickly, as he realised this could be a good opportunity to prove his loyalty and win a place close to the royal family of the Du.