Queen Sacrifice Page 6

  ‘What is his name?’ asked Gwynfor.

  ‘Elfred,’ replied the bishop. ‘My son is called Elfred.’

  *

  Archbishop Renfrew had received no reply to his letter to the bishops of the north. He made a decision and called to his servant. ‘Summon Cade, my bondsman, if you will. I need him to deliver an important message.’

  The servant hurried off and Archbishop Renfrew went to his study. He prepared a sharp quill and wrote a long letter to the king on fine new parchment, procured at great cost from the English. A perfectionist, he made a second, identical copy for his records and sat for a while, trying to decide which was best. When he had made his choice, he folded the parchment carefully, pressed his bishop’s seal into the hot wax seal and placed the letter in a leather pouch. It would take a while before his messenger arrived, so he went to pray for guidance.

  Renfrew felt the cold of the chapel seeping into his bones. He had been kneeling in prayer longer than he had intended when he heard the creak of the door opening. He turned to see Cade waiting for him. His assistant lived locally and had become a useful travelling companion for the archbishop. As well as acting as a bodyguard, he had a detailed knowledge of the roads and knew the best short cuts. A stocky, well meaning man, Cade had learnt a great deal from working with the archbishop but had not realised that his master had learned much in turn from him. More than once Archbishop Renfrew had saved him from going hungry and now Cade had ambitions to become a freeman. In time, he may even afford to rent some land, settle down and start a family.

  ‘I have important work for you Cade. A message is to be delivered to the king at Pennard. You are to take my bay gelding and leave as soon as you can.’

  ‘Yes bishop, I should be there before nightfall, God willing,’ replied Cade. He was not a religious man but had been around the archbishop for many years and had picked up some of his sayings.

  Renfrew handed Cade the leather pouch. ‘Guard this with your life. ‘It must not fall in to the wrong hands.’

  Cade nodded. He had been on many such errands for the archbishop in the past and knew that lives often depended on them.

  The archbishop looked at him intently. ‘I need you to wait for a reply and bring it to me as quickly as you can,’ he said, counting out some small Saxon coins. ‘Here is a purse for your troubles.’

  True to his word, archbishop Renfrew’s servant Cade arrived at the Royal Llysoedd in Pennard in the early evening after a hard ride of fifty miles, having stopped only for some lunch at a farm on the way. He gave the letter to the king’s guards, explaining its importance, and took the archbishop’s fine horse to the stables.

  King Gwayne read the letter carefully. Archbishop Renfrew was his most trusted advisor and was warning of a possibly imminent attack from the north. His counsel was to meet with King Athelstan to seek the support of the English armies. It was to be done with utmost secrecy to avoid loss of face if the request was refused and to maximise the element of surprise if the Du attacked. Gwayne turned to the waiting servant. ‘Ask the queen to join me. As soon as she is able to, we have important matters to discuss.’

  *

  Sir Gwynfor arrived at the garrison in Pembroke to find it a hive of noisy activity. Everywhere he looked there were men building up the new stone walls or practising with various weapons. He handed his horse to one of the guards who had travelled with him and went to find Hayden. News of the knight’s arrival had spread swiftly, however, and he found his loyal retainer already waiting for him at the tall entrance tower. He was pleased to see his orders had been followed. A new drawbridge had been fashioned to span the defensive ditch, which had been dug deeper and wider.

  ‘My Lord, welcome.’

  ‘I have come to see that you have made progress.’

  ‘You may be surprised, said Hayden. ‘The men have worked hard and long. They are ready for a fight and will be glad to see you.’ They entered the castle, which opened out into a wide field, with the barracks and other buildings round the edge. In the grassy central area a small army of men were being taught to fight. Hayden led the knight to steps which gave them access to the castle walls. From the top they could see right down the River Cleddau, where small boats and trading ships were constantly coming and going with supplies for the town. They turned and looked into the open ground in the middle.

  ‘What news of the Du?’ asked Hayden.

  ‘Sir Padrig counsels peace and weakens the king’s resolve. I have argued that we should take them by surprise and take the fight to them.’

  ‘And the king?’

  ‘He knows the value of preparation, as do we.’

  The two men exchanged a look. Although Hayden was Gwynfor’s servant, he could be a freeman at any time if he wished.

  ‘There is a soldier called Elfred training here, what do you make of him?’

  ‘He’s a good man. He can read and write and has a natural way with the sword. What of him?’

  ‘You are to see he survives this war,’ said Gwynfor. ‘If anyone can do that, it is you.’

  *

  As an experienced guard in the queen’s household, Owen was used to the unpredictable comings and goings of royalty. When the queen’s personal handmaiden told him to attend a meeting that was not to be spoken of, he was unsurprised. He had admired Bethan since they first met and when he was off duty would sometimes talk with her about the last war with the Du. She was a good listener and laughed at his stories, but had a slightly mocking way with him, so he suspected she knew that he exaggerated his own part in the battles. He had been very young at the time and could do nothing to save the life of the old king, although he had of course been able to save his own.

  He waited at the appointed place, wondering despite himself what all the secrecy was about. He had oiled his leather jerkin as well as he could and carried the short, highly polished sword of the Royal Guard. He drew it now and checked the blade. It had never been used and he wondered if the day would soon come when his life may depend on his skill with it.

  The door opened he saw Bethan, looking surprisingly attractive in a blue dress, with her long dark hair tied back, after the fashion of the queen. He commented on it as she led him down a long corridor, brightly lit with flickering candles. She laughed at the compliment and wished him luck as she showed him into the queen’s private apartments.

  Owen had never been allowed to the queen’s rooms before and was amazed at the lavish furnishings. The scent of an exotic perfume hung lightly in the air and everywhere he looked was gold ornament, any one piece worth more that he could expect to earn in his lifetime. There in the middle of the room was Queen Elvina, seated in an ornate high backed chair, carved with designs he assumed were Saxon. He had seen her many times before but she looked particularly regal in an emerald silk gown, with a necklace of fine pearls.

  ‘My lady,’ said Bethan. ‘Do you wish me to remain?’

  ‘Yes of course. I am still learning your language and I need you to make sure there is no misunderstanding.’ The queen had a way of winning the loyalty of her staff and Owen was no exception. She addressed him directly in perfect Welsh. ‘If we are attacked I will need information about the course of the war. I have to know if the English become involved, if we are winning or losing. I need someone in the field, Owen. I have chosen you.’

  Owen paused before replying. This could be his chance to profit at last from the long hours spent guarding the Royal Llysoedd. ‘I am honoured, my lady. I have been in battle with the Du and there is little chance to keep watch on borders. I will do what I can but will need money for bribes and to pay informers.’

  ‘You will be well rewarded,’ said Elvina. ‘My messengers will contact you. Your job will be to tell them the truth, so that I may know of it.’

  ‘How am I to know the messengers, my lady?’

  ‘We must have a secret sign,’ said the queen.

  The news that the archbishop had sent Cade with an urgent message to the king soon rea
ched the rest of the servants at the Royal Llysoedd. As the preparation for battle progressed, the soldiers of the Gwyn became increasingly impatient for action and hungry for any information. One of them, a tall man called Delwyn, was from the king’s household and had been sent for archery training at Caerphilly Castle in the east. The other soldiers naturally looked to him for information.

  ‘What of the king?’ asked Afon. A straight talking local man, he was furthest from the Royal Court and keen for news. He had the distinctive accent of the Caerphilly area and was already emerging as a ringleader, demanding better food and pay for risking their lives.

  ‘The king is well,’ said Delwyn, pleased with his new importance. ‘He is prepared for anything the Du have planned!’ He looked at their eager faces and recognised one as a servant of the queen.

  ‘Owen! What are you doing here?’

  Owen grinned. ‘Same as you!’ He produced the vicious looking dagger from his belt and waved it in the air. ‘Learning to kill the evil northern hordes!’

  ‘You have a family to care for?’

  ‘Yes, I need the pay of a fighting man to keep them from starving,’ grinned Owen. He had sworn to keep secret his real reason.

  ‘We can’t have your family going hungry.’ said a deep voice behind them. Owen turned. It was Kane, the most skilled archer in the garrison. Kane was Sir Padrig’s man and had trained in the Druid religion as a young man, although he never spoke of it. Kane had mystical ways and was heavily tattooed with strange Celtic symbols. He wore his dark hair long for an archer, in the fashion of the tribes and had a measured way of speaking that made some men fear him. Kane had been asked to make archers from these rough soldiers and held up his longbow for them all to see. It was as tall as he was and they fell silent. ‘This bow, well used, can kill a horse at a hundred paces.’ He looked round at their now serious faces and held up a long arrow with an unusual point. ‘These arrows can pierce chain mail, or pass right through a man. It takes years to master the longbow, yet we have just a few weeks, so it will be hard work and long hours of practice. Are you prepared for that, men of the Gwyn?’ His answer was a roar of assent from the group.

  Afon was sent to set up a straw target, with a red painted circle at the far side of the courtyard. As well as the longbow, Kane had provided smaller fighting bows and a range of different size practice arrows. Each man chose one and Kane explained how to hold the bow, how to draw the bowstring and even how to breathe before firing. It was a lot to remember and difficult to control, but Delwyn slowly pulled back the powerful yew longbow and sighted on the distant target. Just as he was about to fire he was distracted by the sharp scream of a pig being slaughtered somewhere in the Castle grounds. He paused, breathed out deeply as he had been told, then let go the string and had the satisfaction of seeing the arrow make its mark.

  It was Afon’s turn next. He fired three arrows in quick succession. Two found the target and the third went wide, biting deeply into the wooden wall of the garrison barracks with a load thud.

  Delwyn slapped him on the back. ‘It is fortunate you are on our side Afon! The Du will think we have an army of mad men.’

  Kane nodded. ‘They would be right,’ He didn’t smile but there was a twinkle in his eye. ‘There is more to any battle than skill with arms. You must find the will to win in your heart.’

  Delwyn looked thoughtful. ‘I have been wondering about this war with the Du. Should we not look for peace? They have the north and we have the south.’

  ‘We have two kings.’ said Kane, ‘Both men who find good reason to fight.’

  ‘The Du are murderers,’ added Afon. ‘They tricked our old king and deserve to be taught a lesson.’ He fired another volley of arrows, all of which went wide except for one, which struck the red centre of the target so hard that only half its length was visible.

  ‘Now that is a good shot Afon,’ said Kane. ‘Mind that each of your arrows is aimed so true.’

  *

  Hayden had sought the opportunity to work for Sir Gwynfor as he hoped one day to win recognition from the king. He was athletic and hard working, qualities which Gwynfor had liked from the first. The knight had been glad to have a worthy sparring partner and it had started well. Hayden had become skilled with the short sword and learnt the secrets of self defence with the small dagger that was now never far from his left hand, ready to deliver an unexpected death blow to any unprotected area.

  It was once they started with the deadly longsword that Hayden began to fear for his safety. As a trained knight, Sir Gwynfor had learnt to cut with precision and force. Once, he had opened up a deep and painful wound in Hayden’s arm that was cut through to the bone. There was a long scar where it had been quickly sewn together but it was weeks before they could be sure of it healing. Another time it was a surprise stab to the chest which penetrated deeply, despite the blunted tip of the sword. That had nearly been the end of Hayden, but he was fit and strong, and recovered in time. It had earned him the right to wear the longsword, however, a special privilege only allowed to the holder of rank of personal attendant to a knight.

  Sir Gwynfor summoned him early to the courtyard and had already taken position, with the rising sun behind him. A small group of serving girls had come out to watch the practice. ‘Come at me man,’ he said. ‘Hard as you like.’

  Hayden had learnt not to waste time with a feint or to hold back his blows against the knight and swung the sword suddenly and hard, as Gwynfor stepped slightly off line to his left, engaging Hayden’s blade to expertly deflect his thrust.

  ‘See how the power of the blow is used,’ said Gwynfor, with a glance at the serving girls. Hayden realised that he was in more danger with this audience. It was his turn next and he narrowly missed another serious injury as the knights longsword flashed at him. Despite himself he parried the blow, feeling the force of it through his whole body as their blades struck violently.

  Gwynfor looked scornful. ‘To parry is a sign of weakness, you must know to turn the blow to advantage.’

  ‘I will learn, Sir Gwynfor, I am here to learn.’

  ‘Stand ready, then,’ said the knight and once again delivered a deadly blow with the heavy blunted sword. The watching servant girls gasped. He had hoped to take his assistant by surprise with the swiftness of the strike but Hayden was a quick learner. It was far from perfect but he caught the edge of the long blade and swept it to the side, then swiftly brought up his dagger and stopped just short of Gwynfor’s exposed throat.

  ‘Now that shows promise, Hayden.’ conceded Gwynfor. ‘Be ready again!’ This time the ferocity of Gwynfor’s attack forced Hayden to step back with his left foot to avoid falling backwards. Gwynfor deftly stepped behind Hayden’s leg, driving his blade back and throwing him across his leg. It was a powerful throw, done forcefully and quickly. Hayden fell heavily, hitting the back of his head on the flagstones of the courtyard. Dazed and confused, he felt Gwynfor’s sword tip at his throat.

  Chapter Six

  King Gwayne had woken early and gone for a bracing walk along the towering sand dunes overlooking the ocean. It was an unusually high tide and he could see breaking crests far out to sea. His white cape flapped in the fresh easterly breeze as he stood watching waves crash into the rocks at the foot of the cliffs. A piercing screech made him look up, just in time to see a buzzard swoop from the sky to take an unsuspecting rabbit. It was not a hawk but he took it as an omen. His father would never have waited for the Du to surprise his people.

  He smiled with the memory of the old king. His father lived on through the stories of his battles, now part of the legends of the Gwyn, but had deserved a better end. Those responsible for his murder had never been found but Gwayne drew strength from his need for justice. All he knew was that the assassins had struck at night and fled from the scene before the alarm was raised. It was a typical tactic of the Du and he struggled to understand their ways, or their reluctance to accept the inevitable changes taking place in their country.
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  Gwayne returned to Pennard and sat alone in the great hall considering his options. Archbishop Renfrew’s counsel was to bargain for peace while Sir Gwynfor argued that they should take the initiative. Many lives would depend on what he did next. He looked up at the battered shield on the wall and knew exactly what his father would have done, the old king would deal with the threat from the north before it was too late. It was time for him to act like a king. He sent word for his knights to return to Pennard to discuss what was going to be a long and dangerous battle for them all.

  Padrig was the first to arrive on an impressive white stallion. The king was pleased to see his old friend looking fit and well and was impressed. ‘Fine horse, Padrig. I’ve not seen it before?’

  Padrig grinned proudly. ‘No my lord, I’ve been training him as a war horse. He is fast so they call him Mellt! He dismounted and handed the reins to a waiting groom. ‘How was your meeting with the Saxon?’

  ‘I didn’t see him,’ replied the king. ‘Renfrew set up the meeting but when we arrived Athelstan had gone north, to deal with the Vikings.’ Far from being disappointed, however, the king seemed in a good mood. ‘If we need the Saxons they will not let us down but I’ve decided it is time to take matters into our own hands.’

  ‘When you sent for me I guessed as much,’ said Padrig. Despite his earlier reluctance to make the first move, he now had parchment maps of the lands they called the ‘wilderness’ and they went into the king’s lodge to spread them out on the table.

  Gwayne studied the first map closely. ‘The wilderness has good farmland.’

  Padrig nodded. ‘Yes, but I don’t trust the people living there. They help the northerners get closer to our borders.’

  Gwayne recognised the careful hand of his archbishop. Their line of defences had been neatly marked in blue ink.

  Padrig pointed at the castles marked on the parchment. ‘The garrisons at Pembroke and Caerphilly stand ready when needed.’