Queen Sacrifice Read online

  Tristan entered the castle unchallenged. He was unimpressed, as it showed that they had a lot of work to do. ‘Guard!’ he shouted. ‘Turn out the Guard!’

  A small group of men hastily sprang into action but he looked at them disapprovingly. ‘Where is the commander?’

  ‘At his home,’ replied one of the guards. ‘He lives in Flint, so does not need to stay at the Castle.’

  ‘Tell all the remaining men to assemble in the yard right away,’ ordered Tristan. ‘I will speak with them.’ He went to the commander’s building and, finding it unlocked, went in. The place was in disarray, and it was clear the commander spent little time there, but he found a bowl of fresh water and quickly washed away the grime of his long ride. Back in the castle yard he found about fifty men waiting for him. This was exactly what he wanted, the chance to show he was a leader.

  He waited until they fell silent and spoke to them as he imagined Vorath would have done. ‘The future of our people is in your hands,’ he said, pleased to see he had their full attention. ‘We must prepare the castle for an attack from the south. I want guards on duty night and day and a warning beacon to be readied at the highest point.’ The men looked relieved to have their orders. Tristan set them to work and sent a messenger for Dafydd to return to duty. The advantage of his time with Bishop Deniol was that Tristan had privileged information about their enemies. The English had their hands full with the Vikings in the far north and would not be troubling them. It was the Gwyn they were preparing for. If the bishop was right, it would be soon.

  *

  The mercenary Cadell had no difficulty joining the growing band of soldiers at the Ynys Mon hill fort. He’d enjoyed the long journey by sea from the south, working his passage as a deck hand on a trading vessel. The coastal towns were well used to traders with Saxon coins, so when he landed he used a small part of the money he’d been paid by Sir Gwynfor to buy the rough woollen tunic he now wore. It would take time for it to be comfortable but it helped him blend with the warriors of the Du. He also invested in a sharp spear and a short but effective sword of the type preferred by the fighting men of the tribes. He examined them closely and was glad he would not need to use either.

  Cadell explored the fort that was to be his temporary home, impressed by the scale of the earthworks. He guessed it must have taken many years of backbreaking work to carry the stones that made thick walls the height of two men around the whole area. Unlike the smaller wooden forts of the south, this had enough room for an entire town within the defensive walls. Even the big space within Pembroke Castle looked small by comparison. The most impressive feature was the entrance, which consisted of out-turned walls forming a long narrow passage, overlooked by a raised stone gate house. Cadell realised that anyone attacking the fort would have to run a deadly gauntlet of arrows and stones, only to be stopped by a second line of defences.

  The men of the north were very different too. In the south they had become used to seeing bondsmen pressed reluctantly into service, with little affection for the knights who ruled over their lives. His new companions were true warriors, who would fight instinctively, even if there was nobody to tell them what to do.

  Most were armed with spears, which they threw with deadly accuracy, while others had the short swords or bows. Cadell began training with the spear every day at the hill fort on Ynys Mon, which had been made to look as disused as possible, with cattle grazing in the centre and some of the buildings party dismantled. The warriors had been practicing rapidly ‘retreating’ into the fort to lead any attackers into the deadly entrance tunnel. They had no idea if these preparations would ever be needed but the practice had the effect of building up the warrior spirit. Cadell wondered if that had been Llewelyn’s aim all along.

  The spear was the main weapon of the Du, although many of the warriors wore a sword and several also had the traditional dagger on their belt. Unlike the bow, which could take months to master, skill with the spear could be learnt with a few weeks practice. Spears were also easy to produce locally and the hills of Ynys Mon resounded to the clang of blacksmith’s hammers, as they made more weapons and repaired any that were broken. The spears were sharpened to deadly points and metal strips were riveted on to the shafts to strengthen and reinforce them.

  Cadell quickly developed a new respect for the spear as a versatile weapon of war. The most common spear had a thick shaft that served well as a fighting staff at close quarters, with a razor sharp, pointed steel blade fastened to the tip. The second type was the version Cadell had chosen when he first landed in the north and was called the ‘Angon’, a slender throwing spear as long as a man, with a barbed head that was the legacy of the pilum used with great effect by the Romans in their invasion of the Island.

  The warriors were trained in the use of both, over and over again, learning to hit moving targets representing mounted fighters, or to strike, slash and thrust as hard as they could, with bales of straw acting as the enemy in hand to hand contact. It was also traditional for the Du to shout a bloodcurdling yell as they charged with spears, to gain advantage by un-nerving the enemy and hopefully causing them to panic.

  Cadell joined the warriors as they lined up to be addressed by Lord Llewelyn. He had already heard of the Lord’s exploits from the other men, so was surprised to see the man before him leaning heavily on a stick.

  Llewelyn spoke, his voice barely carrying across the open ground in the centre of the fort. ‘It is good to see you have prepared well.’ He looked around them, recognising many and quickly winning over those he did not. ‘Any invader can see we are ready for a fight, so that is what I need you to work on. I want to make it look as if we have neglected the fort. Hide your weapons close at hand and bring livestock into the grounds. If anyone makes it as far as here, they will not live to tell what they found.’ The men cheered loudly. Cadell could now see why they spoke of Llewelyn with such pride and wondered if he would ever be able to pass this information back to his paymasters.

  Bishop Emrys had never liked Madoc. His previous assistant had drowned at sea and he had agreed too hastily to the surly replacement. He also suspected Madoc of being a thief but as yet was unable to prove it. Small trinkets, coins and once a gold plated cup had all disappeared without trace. Emrys considered setting a trap but then regretted even having such un-Christian thoughts. Madoc was oblivious to all this, as he was concerned only with himself, complaining loudly if he was asked to do anything without direct reward. A solution had occurred to Emrys, however, which could rid him of the man once and for all.

  Madoc appeared in the doorway. ‘You asked for me bishop?’ His reedy voice always seemed to sound questioning, making Emrys think the man looked guilty about something. He couldn’t help wondering what else he would find missing.

  ‘You are to report to the captain of the guard for duty.’ He watched Madoc’s face closely and thought he saw a flicker of interest before the usual dour expression returned.

  ‘Why, your grace?’

  ‘We need every able bodied man ready to defend the king,’ replied Emrys with some satisfaction. ‘I must learn to cope without your services for a while.’

  Madoc looked worried. ‘I am your servant, bishop and must do as you ask, but I have no skill with a sword, or bow, so would be a poor guard for the king?’

  ‘You can be a lookout,’ said Emrys. ‘There is to be a line of men right across the country to alert us to any attack from the south.’

  Madoc could see that the bishop was in an uncompromising mood and went to pack some belongings for the journey. He wondered if the bishop knew what it was like to go hungry for days, living only off what he could forage or steal from the fields. Madoc had no education and had been cast out by his family when he was barely old enough to fend for himself. He had learnt some important lessons along the way, however, including that everything in life could be turned to some opportunity, in time. It was therefore with cautious optimism that he reported for duty at the guard house of the ki
ng a few days later, having been in no hurry to make the journey from the bishop’s house in less time.

  He asked to see the captain and was shown into a surprisingly well appointed room, where Idris was looking at a parchment map of the south with two of the guards. Madoc couldn’t read what was written on it but understood the landmarks. He recognised the big Island of Ynys Mon with its hill fort, and the castle at Flint, where he had spent some time as a boy. He was interested to see that the south was at least twice as wide as the north and realised that the castles at Pembroke and Caerphilly were a really long way apart.

  Idris suddenly noticed his visitor. ‘You man, what are you doing in here?’

  Madoc looked Idris in the eye as confidently as he could. ‘I have been sent by Bishop Emrys to help plan the battle,’ he lied. He had never given it thought before, but if the map was right his opportunity had come sooner than expected. ‘The land of the Gwyn is not easily defended. We will turn that to our advantage.’

  Idris looked at Madoc with renewed interest. He had risen quickly to the position of captain, not by ability, but by claiming the ideas of others as his own. He knew Bishop Emrys must think highly of this man, to spare him at such a troubled time. ‘Glad to have your help,’ he said. ‘The king has asked us to recommend the best line for our lookouts, what do you think?’

  *

  Hywel woke with a start and realised he was lying face down in a strange room. It was comfortably warm and lit by large white candles in skilfully engraved gold holders, like those he had seen in the royal apartments. His back was a mass of burning pain but Queen Rhiannon was seated next to him, gently soothing his brow with a cold cloth. He decided he must be either dead or dreaming. The last thing he could remember was drifting into unconsciousness as the whipping continued past the point where he could stand it no longer.

  ‘You are awake at last,’ she said softly. The queen sounded pleased. ‘I made a compress of herbs, comfrey root and a little camomile, to speed the healing and ease the pain a little.’ She continued to gently caress his brow as if he were a child. Hywel enjoyed the sensation, which helped take his mind off the agony of his back, but his mind was racing. Had Rhiannon discovered his feelings for her? He tensed, realising that they would both be in great danger if discovered.

  ‘My queen,’ he said, ‘You must leave me now.’

  ‘I am not the queen,’ she laughed. ‘I am the queen’s sister. You needed help and I have knowledge of how to tend these wounds.’ Ceinwen moved her chair so that he could see her more clearly. He realised he had seen her many times but they had never spoken. She was the image of the queen but a little older, with the same long black hair and dark, twinkling eyes, but was about the same age as Hywel. In a sudden insight he somehow understood they shared knowledge of things that had changed them, left them lonely.

  ‘Of course, you must think me stupid.’

  ‘No, but it will take time for you to recover your strength.’

  The memory of the brutal whipping came flooding back to him. He looked away from her in shame. ‘I was foolish, to be goaded like that by the Commander.’

  ‘You were defending the queen.’ She touched his arm with affection, ‘I am grateful that you did.’

  There was a significance in her words that was not lost on him. Hywel could smell her light perfume and the warmth of her hand felt good. It had been a long time since any woman had cared about him. He knew that Ceinwen had looked after Rhiannon when her parents died and that she was unmarried. He did not know if she was spoken for, or if the affection she had shown was simply the way she was with everyone. These things he had never considered before were suddenly very important to him.

  ‘Thank you, Ceinwen, for tending to me.’

  ‘I will sit with you a while, if you wish?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Would you tell me about yourself?’

  She laughed again. ‘There isn’t much to tell that would be of any interest.’ She looked down at him again and he noticed her eyes flick to the raw marks on his exposed back. As if deciding something, she moved her chair a little closer and told him everything. How happy they had been at the hill fort in Conwy. Her sadness after the loss of both her parents from the cruel plague, and how she decided she had been spared to dedicate her life to her younger sister, Rhiannon. Her eyes lit up when she explained her delight when Rhiannon became queen.

  Hywel listened carefully, then asked the question that had been burning in his mind. ‘Is there someone to look after you now Ceinwen?’

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I think my time for that has passed.’

  Hywel lay in silence. They stared deep into each other’s eyes and an unspoken bond was formed between them.

  Chapter Five

  Elfred looked up at the bright morning sky, relying on his farmer’s instincts to read the weather by the clouds. There was a sea mist hanging over the river Cleddau and the air was damp but the signs were good. Once the mist lifted it would be another fine day. He was with a group of soldiers assembled for training in the grounds of Pembroke Castle. Each of them held a sword and stood next to a large tree trunk set into the ground.

  Hayden, assistant to the knight Sir Gwynfor, had been assigned to turn them into fighting men. He drew his sword and held it in the air. ‘See how the point of balance sits close to the guard,’ he said, demonstrating with several fast and vicious slashes in the air. ‘I want to see wide, effective cutting - and get some force behind the swing, your life may depend on it!’

  Elfred drew the old sword he had been given by the bishop and chopped hard into the tree trunk. It was the first time he had used it and was pleased to see it bite deeply, leaving a wide slash across the new wood.

  Hayden nodded approval and reached out to take Elfred’s sword. It was old but clearly the work of a true craftsman. He examined the blade and tested the weight in a swing. ‘This is a fine weapon.’

  ‘It was a gift, from my master, the Bishop of St Davids.’

  Hayden looked surprised. ‘This is the sword of a soldier of the Gwyn. It will serve well if we have to fight the northerners.’ He handed the sword back to Elfred and seemed to have a new respect for the farmer. Turning his attention to the others, he was pleased with their progress. ‘Good, work men,’ he said. ‘You need to develop powerful arm and elbow cuts. The more power you can get behind the stroke the better for this blade.’ He stood back and watched Neb as he hacked repeatedly at the tree trunk, making up for lack of skill with enthusiasm. Large chunks of wood flew into the air as the sharpened blade sliced through the air and chopped into the timber.

  ‘If this had been a man he would be dead for sure,’ said Neb, as he realised that Elfred and Hayden were watching. He was a heavy drinker and a gambler but Elfred liked him. He had helped the farmer adjust to the very different life in Pembroke Castle. Neb had grown up in Pembroke and one drunken night had confessed he had never travelled outside the parish, so knew little of the world. He listened spellbound to Elfred’s accounts of the bishop’s palace in St David’s, the mysterious Viking raiders and his sea voyage round the coast.

  ‘Now the thrust!’ called Hayden. These are no practice swords, I want to see them buried so deep you can’t get them out again.’ The soldiers changed their stance as they had been trained and charged at their wooden enemy with bloodcurdling yells, enjoying the training and stabbing the points of their short swords as hard as they could. Hayden smiled and hoped they would show the same spirit with an enemy who fought back.

  *

  Sir Gwynfor had returned to his home at Picton Castle with mixed feelings. He had enjoyed his time with the king but was impatient with the way events were heading. He decided to visit the garrison at Pembroke to see how the training of the soldiers was progressing. He was hungry after his journey home and had ordered roast venison to be prepared, when a servant told him he had a visitor. Bishop Cledwin was waiting for him in the great hall. Gwynfor was surprised. Although he often called to
see the bishop whenever he ventured to St Davids, he could not recall a time when he had ever entertained him as a guest.

  He greeted the bishop warmly. They had, after all, effectively divided the running of the estates in the west between them. Gwynfor was grateful for the old bishop’s hand in making sure the Welsh laws were to their advantage. The bishop in turn was glad to have the powerful young knight and his garrison at Pembroke to defend them.

  ‘Sir Gwynfor, it is good to see you looking well.’

  ‘Bishop, what brings you to Picton? He grinned. ‘I am sure it is not to enquire about my health!’

  He looked at the knight for a moment, as if making a judgement. ‘You are shrewd, Gwynfor. I do have a favour to ask of you.’

  ‘Tell me over dinner. I have some fine venison and you must try my red wine. I have a special arrangement with traders from Arbois.’

  They sat down at the big banqueting table, which had been hastily set with a second place and plates of fresh bread and olives. In the middle was an unusual silver candlestick holder, in the shape of a mythical Welsh dragon. Gwynfor noticed the bishop looking at it and explained it was a ‘trophy,’ taken from the Du by Gwynfor himself in a skirmishing battle. It now held a fat yellow candle that lit the banqueting hall brightly. Gwynfor looked across at his visitor, who was helping himself to the rare Italian olives, and was intrigued. ‘You are being mysterious, Bishop Cledwin, tell me about this favour.’

  The bishop was about to answer when they were served with the meal, so he waited and watched the servants leave. ‘It is a great secret I wish to entrust you with. I have a son, but he does not know I am his father. It was for the best, at the time. He is now at your garrison, being trained as a soldier.’

  Gwynfor poured them both a large goblet of the good red wine and watched as Bishop Cledwin tasted it, with obvious approval. ‘You want me to release him from the king’s service?’

  ‘No,’ said the bishop. ‘I would be grateful if you can do what you can to see him safely home once we have won the war.’