Thorrington and Wales Early June 1068
At Thorrington the bucolic pursuits of agriculture were in full swing. The crops had been sown months before, had germinated and were growing. Fields had turned bright green with the new growth. Now the men were ploughing the fallow land. Small groups of three or four men walked behind the heavy wooden mouldboard ploughs pulled by four straining and bellowing oxen, shouting encouragement or goading the beasts with whips or sharp sticks as required. The light soil in Tendring Hundred allowed the use of half-teams of four oxen, compared to the heavier soils elsewhere which required eight beasts.
Cows had calved, sheep lambed and pigs farrowed, the young trotting at the heels of their mothers or gamboling nearby.
Ditches were being cleared and sheep shearing commenced, which would continue for several months. The woman were gathering fruit and making preserves for use during the winter- pickling, drying, making jams and chutneys. Most of this activity would continue through the warmer months as different fruits ripened, but the first apples were already ripening and suitable for placing in barrels for storage in cool places. Later would come the other varieties of apple, and pears, quinces, plums, strawberries, blackberries, raspberries, blackcurrants and redcurrants. Generally the villagers didn’t preserve food in honey, which was usually sold as one of their few ‘cash crops’, but with her access to imports that were relatively inexpensive to her Anne would also, in addition to the local traditional methods of drying or making jams, arrange preservation of fruit with olive oil or candying with sugar.
Alan’s trusted lieutenants the Normans Hugh and Roger had been given the manors of Great Oakley and Bradfield respectively to administer- not enfeoffed but appointed as seneschals. At Staunton were the other Normans, Robert as seneschal and Warren training the local men as archers and spearmen, with the Englishman Leofwine leading the ten huscarles and Ledmer commanding the ten Wolves mounted men-at-arms permanently stationed on the Welsh border.
At Thorrington in Tendring Hundred the Welshman Owain of Cardiff was responsible for training some of the fyrdmen of Alan’s manors to use the longbow, and the Englishmen Brand commanded ten huscarles. Edric, Ainuf and Acwel each commanded a troop of ten Wolves, one troop of which was stationed at each of Thorrington, Great Oakley and Bradfield. Barclay, Aethelbald and Oswy commanded squads of part-time archers who had undergone a period of training with Owain in the use of the longbow, but whose members were scattered amongst the manors under Alan’s control. There were five squads of English foot-soldiers spread amongst Alan’s eight manors, not as highly trained or well equipped as the huscarles, but each with helmet, sword or spear, shield and a waist-length byrnie vest of chain-mail, and who had each undergone a period of basic training and continued to train regularly at least twice a week.
On arrival at Thorrington Alan called a meeting of his officers to be held the next day at noon. Messengers spurred their horses as they departed, to try to reach their destinations and deliver their message before dark. Alan ate an early meal, hurriedly prepared by Otha the cook from whatever was on hand. Given they were hungry from their journey there was no complaint at the simple fare.
Alan spent most of the evening in discussion with the Welshman. “Owain, I don’t want to insult you, but some of us will be marching to fight on the Welsh border in a few days. I don’t want to put you in a position where you have any personal conflict between your duties and your loyalties, and I propose to have you here in Thorrington continuing to train bowmen, although many of those in my employ will be in the west. I trust that this is acceptable to you?”
Owain looked uncomfortable and fidgeted a little on his seat at the small table in Alan’s office just off the Hall. “I understand you’ll be going to Chester and fighting against Bleddyn in Gwynedd? I’m from Cardiff in the south, a hundred miles from where you’ll be campaigning. Indeed the men of the north are as foreign to my people as those of Herefordshire, or more so. Bleddyn is from Gwynedd and means little to me. I’d have no difficulty in going with you to Rhos in the north and being your man.
“To give a brief history of Wales, our land is divided into parcels of a hundred households, or a tref. Several of these together form commotes and in turn two or three of these form a cantref. There are four traditional kingdoms- Gwynned, Powys, Deheubarth and the south-east, the latter now the princedoms of Morgannwg, Brycheiniog and Gwent. Position is determined by what a lord actually holds, not his birth or position. What he holds depends on his military and political strength. The lords of the cantrefi have no obligation to support any man as ‘king’ or ‘prince’. Occasionally a man arises who’s able to control enough cantrefi himself and have enough lords support him that he becomes High King. This happens perhaps for a few years once every generation, possibly less. Bleddyn is such a man. He is ‘King’ of Wales, but if he turns his back for a moment, somebody will put a knife in it and Wales will return to its usual situation of independent states, the leader of each doing what they want.
“In times of a strong king there is less raiding along the border- but when the king decides to cross the border the warriors number in the thousands, not dozens. Welshmen are nearly all warriors, although not with the formal training that you give your men. They move fast in attack and are deadly in ambush. Because of their disposition and lack of training as a unit they don’t fare well in battles where the opponents are face to face. They know that, and avoid such confrontations.
“FitzOsbern will go into Wales wanting to force a battle. That won’t happen. There’ll be ambushes and night raids, and a man with a bow behind every bush. Villages will be abandoned ahead of his troops, with no people present and the livestock that constitutes wealth in Wales driven away and hidden. FitzOsbern will burn the villages, but a wattle and daub thatched cottage takes only days to rebuild.
“The Welsh made a different choice to the English, after the Saxons pushed us out of the lush lands of what is now Herefordshire. We chose to inhabit the bare and windswept hills, raising cattle and sheep, rather than living on the lowlands and tilling the land. The south and north coasts have arable land and there are a number of river valleys that would support more agriculture, but our rulers have chosen to live in the uplands. The valleys and coastal lands are inhabited and used by those who are seen as inferior. The swamps in the main remain undrained and the vegetation uncleared. Most of the arable land is still oak forest or swamp, or covered in briar and gorse. Moving over the hills and the mountains is difficult, but no more so than moving through the tangled undergrowth in the valleys. There are only two significant towns, Cardiff and Caernafon, both with about 2,000 souls. In the main, my people live in the hills in small villages, hamlets and isolated farms.
“This makes it difficult to subjugate the land, or more particularly the people. It also ensures its perpetual poverty. The English took from us what is now Hereford and Cheshire, lands of rolling hills suitable for agriculture. They didn’t want to take the hill-lands, not seeing the benefit as being worth the cost. So now the English borderlands bleed month after month to Welsh raids- usually not much blood, but a constant drain.
“The English made many deep expeditions into our lands. Their armies were met with ambush by warriors who disappeared into the trees, and raids on their camps. Many more English were killed than Welsh, again a constant day by day bleeding with ten or twenty bodies a day being sent back to England for burial. The fighting has always been savage, even when it was against the English. The English fear and hate the Welsh because they’re afraid of us. Afraid of the death-dealing arrows that come from ambush. Afraid of our raiding parties. What a man fears, so he also hates. There has been atrocity after atrocity, on both sides of the border. Men, women and children massacred, often horribly. Houses burnt and crops despoiled. It’s gone on for so long and both sides are equally at fault.
“Your expedition against Brycheiniog was perfect. Fast and with clear objectives achieved on the first day. Your men were well-disciplined and caused no physical harm to the villagers- which is unusual in any punitive expedition. Anybody can understand the… clout… given by many swords and spears. The swords speak very loudly. Frankly, if the Normans and English campaign in Gwynedd, even if they take Caernafon, I wouldn’t give a shit. My people hate the people of Gwynedd more than they hate the people of Herefordshire, as the English raid us less often!”
After this lecture on Welsh politics Alan was thoughtful and retired to consider the information he had received.
That evening Alan gave orders that two troops of horse, two squads of infantry and one of archers would march on the 29th May. One troop of horse would accompany him to Chester and the remainder of the men would go to Staunton. Anne would take over responsibility for his manors in Tendring Hundred, although she wouldn’t have to sit on the Hundred Court. Osmund and Brand would assist her at Thorrington, Hugh at Great Oakley and Roger at Bradfield. Twenty mounted men-at-arms, ten huscarles, thirty infantry and forty militia archers would remain to protect his estates, where no immediate danger was envisaged. Two wagons and seven oxen were to be bought at Colchester for what was expected to be a one-way journey to Staunton carrying the armour of the cavalry and infantry, tents and other equipment. There they could either be sold at a profit or used for transport between Staunton and Gloucester.
They rode out of the village to waves and shouts of encouragement. Alan, with the lad Leof as his personal servant, Owain, Edric and nine other green-clad Wolves rode to Chester via Northampton, Tamworth and Stoke, a journey taking four days through weather that had turned overcast with occasional showers. The men’s wolf-skin capes helped to keep them dry. The rolled-up armour, wrapped in oilskin cloth to keep it from rusting, tents, pots and other baggage were carried on pack horses.
They approached Chester from the east in the late afternoon. They had not pressed hard- the ride could have been accomplished in three days but there was no need to unnecessarily fatigue either man or beast with there being no immediate hurry. Chester was surprisingly quiet and after riding through the East Gate and presenting themselves at the castle they discovered fitzOsbern and his men, including forces belonging to Hugh de Grandmesnil and Roger de Montgomerie, both of whom held lands within a day’s ride, had marched into Flintshire two days previously. When Alan asked where they were bound he was told abruptly, “West. Just follow the smoke.” Alan insisted on having a note of hand to confirm the attendance of himself and his men, and also insisted on the provision of quarters in the castle for the night. The steward was reluctant to provide quarters, but finally agreed when Alan pointed out that space must be available as the castle was near empty. Alan saw no need to pay for bed and board for his men unnecessarily when they were on the service of the king.
The next morning, after breaking their fast on porridge and fresh fruit and obtaining provisions for a week from the commissary, they rode out over the wooden bridge over the River Dee and into Flintshire. The men were in full harness, wearing coats of mail and with helmets on heads and shields on shoulders, looking about themselves attentively. Even Owain and Leof had each been provided with a mail byrnie, helmet, shield and sword. Although Flintshire was not hostile territory, the path of the army was indeed clear to see. Perhaps there were no burnt farms or villages as yet, but the passage of a large number of men was obvious to the eye. The village of Buckley hadn’t been burnt, but a quick inspection of the tavern revealed that all food and drink had been requisitioned.
The land on the Welsh side of the border was sparsely populated, with few villages or farms. The fertile land in the river valley was heavily wooded with large stands of oak trees and tangled undergrowth. As they approached the hills to the west of Buckley they firstly met a number of horses carrying wounded men east, and then wagons carrying the more seriously injured. Close to the north could be seen a pall of smoke. Alan assumed this was, or had been, the village of Caerwys.
They came upon the army shortly afterwards in the first range of hills some ten miles west of Buckley and a little less than five miles from the village of Denbigh. The road proceeded down a narrow valley between the hills of the northern part of the Moel Famu, which acted as something of a watershed with streams running away both north and south down gullies cut by the ages through the hills. Both the valley and gullies were thick with vegetation, trees and bushes including gorse and bramble, with just a narrow defined track. In a small relatively clear area of valley were nearly a thousand men, mainly milling around with no apparent purpose or direction. A few small fires had been lit, around which men were sitting, some cooking food.
Alan stopped and asked one of the sentries for details of what had happened. Apparently, several hours before three groups of Welsh warriors had dashed out of the narrow side-valleys on their hill-ponies and attacked the middle of the Anglo-Norman column as it had moved ponderously forward, while at the same time men had appeared at close range from behind bushes, loosed half a dozen arrows each into the surprised invaders and then taken to their heels. The Welsh had come and gone in less than five minutes, leaving about 70 Normans dead or wounded. Alan looked at the sky and mused that unless the leaders got things moving soon the army would be stuck in the hills for the night, in a position that invited further attack as the dense vegetation and hilly terrain permitted stealthy approach at any time.
Alan instructed his men to dismount and eat, and rode towards the knot of men who were clearly the leadership group, although no banners flew. As he moved closer Alan could hear fitzOsbern shouting at a hapless underling. FitzOsbern glanced up to see who was approaching and gave up berating the poor man, who promptly took the opportunity to disappear. Still with a sour expression on his face, as Alan was dismounting fitzOsbern said, “Ho, Sir Alan! Well met! Hopefully now we’ll have somebody who knows what’s going on!”
“Good afternoon, Lord William,” replied Alan as he removed his helmet, pushed the mail coif back off his head and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his left leather gauntlet. “You seem to be having some difficulty.”
FitzOsbern snorted angrily, “The fucking Welsh won’t stand and fight! A little while ago there was a sneak attack on the column from both flanks at same time by men on horses, with the head of the column being hit by arrows coming out of nowhere- they’d let the vanguard go through unmolested. Now that prick, wherever he’s gone now, tells me that in the last hour we’ve lost three men standing sentry, throats cut or hit by arrows at close range!”
“Well, we did know that the Welsh are masters of ambush and raids, and avoid pitched battles against trained men. Unless caught unaware, they fight on their own terms, or not at all. Why didn’t your scouts find them?” asked Alan.
“We’ve stopped sending them out. This is the second day we’ve been on the move and we’ve sent scouts out each day. Hardly one returned- they just disappear. The men won’t go out anymore in less than troop strength. Also, our supply train is being attacked as they move west. We’ve got to put a strong guard on every damn wagon, but going east there’s no problem. I don’t understand it.”
Alan raised an eyebrow. Still this wasn’t his problem- fitzOsbern was an experienced campaigner, although clearly not in this type of campaign, and was being lavishly rewarded to be responsible for what was happening. Alan was just a minor lord here to do his forty days knight service. “Ah… presumably they prefer to spent their time attacking wagons full of supplies, rather than empty ones, or ones with wounded soldiers in them. The more wounded men in Chester, the more effort and resources have to be put into caring for them, and the greater the cost to their lords and England. Dead men require no effort or care, once they’re in the ground! If suitable, Lord William, I’ll take my men and join one of the cavalry squadrons. I think I saw the colours of Roger de Montgomerie’s men, although his lordship himself seems to be absent. I’d assume we’ll be moving soon, if we are to reach Denbigh by dark?”
Alan took fitzOsbern’s grunt of a reply as consent and returned to his men. Moving over to de Montgomerie’s men he found the man in charge of the squadron to be Guy de Craon, who held several manors near Shrewsbury. Guy was less than enthusiastic about having Englishmen in his command, the rest of whom were Normans, Flemings or French, but accepted that in Wales the English would be just as useful as his own men, despite their reputation as poor fighters ahorse, as a set-piece battle was very unlikely. Alan and Guy were very polite to each other, Alan being Guy’s social and political superior, but Guy being endowed with leadership by default due to the mantle of his powerful master.
The column started to move soon afterwards, with most of the men in the column trudging slowly on foot. Alan’s men, together with those of de Montgomerie, were on horseback about one-third of the way down the column. Even there it wasn’t safe. In the four miles to Denbigh the column was attacked twice more from ambush, arrows suddenly flying from close range into the densely-packed Anglo-Normans. The arrows flew for about two minutes, ten to twelve shafts for each Welsh bowman, and then as the Normans reacted and formed up the Welsh melted away into the trees.
“Fuck this shite for a lark!” shouted Edric in Anglo-Saxon English as he brought his sidling horse up alongside Alan, three arrows stuck in his kite-shaped shield. “These stupid Norman bastards are going to be the death of us all if we keep this up! I don’t mind getting a sword in the guts after I’ve cracked a few heads with my axe, but I’m buggered if I’m going to get an arrow in the back from a man I never see!” he roared in frustration.
Alan was shaking his head, trying to clear the ringing sound caused by receiving a glancing blow from an arrow on his helmet- a yard-long arrow thicker than a man’s thumb fired at close range packed a considerable punch. Two of de Montgomerie’s men were lying on the ground and not moving- injured or dead Alan couldn’t tell. His own men were uninjured, but one of their horses had been badly hit and would require to be put down. The rider was already securing the horse of one of the fallen Normans as a replacement mount.
They emerged from the narrow valley through the hills into the broad fertile valley of the Afon Clewyd. Denbigh lay about a mile and a half further on, over a ford through the river. Despite the thick vegetation in the valley there was no further attack as they approached the village.
Denbigh was totally abandoned. All livestock, down to the last chicken, had been removed. Every bale of hay and every sack of grain was gone. Only a few unpicked vegetables remained in the cottage gardens. Inside the roughly-made thatched cottages were only worthless bedding and easily replaced household items- pottery, basic furniture and the like. After scouring through the village some of the men dug through recently turned over soil near the cottages, looking for possible buried caches of coins or jewels, without success.
William fitzOsbern was sitting on a bench at a roughly-made table in the manor Hall, Denbigh being the local commote village, talking forcefully with Bernard de Neufmarche, Guy de Craon, Aubrey Maubanc, Raoul Painel and Osmond Basset. Alan walked up quietly and took a seat, listening in to fitzOsbern giving the rough edge of his tongue to everybody.
After a few minutes he asked politely, “My Lord William, can you please explain to me the objectives of the expedition?”
FitzOsbern blinked in surprise. “Objectives? To punish the Welsh for last year’s invasion and make sure they don’t do it again, of course! I’ve been campaigning in South Wales for the last few months. Bleddyn and Rhiwallon of Powys attacked my town of Hereford, so I’m up here in the north attacking their own lands to see how they like it!”
“Shock and awe,” nodded Alan in understanding. “Godwin and Harold tried that, without any real success in their various campaigns. It didn’t work.” After a moment’s pause to carefully choose his words he continued, “But what is the immediate objective. What are we going to do in the next week? Do we know where we are going? Have we sent out scouts or obtained intelligence about the enemy? Could you show me on the map where we are bound next?”
FitzOsbern looked embarrassed and Alan asked with asperity, “You do have a map don’t you?”
“Not with me,” replied fitzOsbern. “I have one at my castle, but I’ve learned in the last few months not to trust that very much. I’ve got a couple of good local scouts.”
Alan beckoned Leof over, gave him whispered instructions and the youth hurried out to the tent that Alan’s men had erected on the village green. “While we’re waiting, what’s our supply position? You said earlier today that supplies aren’t getting through.”
Osmond Basset answered, as there was no fault to be levied against him. “We marched with each man carrying three days rations.”
“And tomorrow is the third day,” concluded Alan, at which the others nodded. Leof came hurrying back with a rolled piece of parchment. “A peculiarity of mine,” said Alan. “I like to know where I am and where I’m going. This is a very rough map, drawn by a Welshman who never lived hereabouts, but who did campaign here five years ago. Here’s Denbigh. Here’s Buckley, eighteen miles east, towards Chester. We can expect our supply wagons to be attacked for the whole of that distance. Chester’s a further ten miles east. Our options are to go south down the River Clwyd Valley to Ruthin. Why we’d do that, heading into the mountains, and what we’d do after that, I don’t know. But that is one direction we could go.
“We could head west, across open hill-land. Why, again I don’t know, because there’s fuck-all there. Or we can go north, up the Clwyd Valley to St Asaph and Rhuddlan. It’s about eight miles to St Asaph, then about three miles to Rhuddlan. Then the options are to move east to Prestatyn, or west to Betws and Abergele. Going west, we can continue through to the Afon Conwy, which near the coast has to be crossed by ferry. I’m sure we can expect the ferry to be tied up on the other side,” he concluded dryly. “That wouldn’t matter anyway, because in two days you’ve lost one in ten of your men and nearly run out of supplies. By the time we get we get to the River Conwy at the rate we’re going we wouldn’t have enough men left to mount a guard on a privy. Or we can head east, back to Chester with our tails between our legs, which is not something that would appeal to anybody and isn’t required just yet, but again is an option.
“Logically, that gives us one choice for our next move. North. Bleddyn is not stupid and will know that. After that we can head east and home via the coast, or go west and cause some havoc in the direction of Caernafon. Realistically, Abergele is probably as far west as we can go, and there are some coastal fishing towns that way. There won’t be anything to loot and little enough to eat, so what we’d be achieving I don’t know, but certainly no less than we have so far. We can burn people’s houses, which they can rebuild in a few days. We can possibly burn some fishing boats, although if the fishermen have any sense they’ll just sail them up the coast a little way as we approach.
“The main problem is logistics, as in most campaigns. Food for man and beast. You’ve got as much chance of getting a wagonload of supplies through to your men as a chicken has of surviving in a henhouse with half a dozen hungry foxes. We aren’t fighting in a densely populated area with lots of towns and villages where you can demand and expect the population to provide what supplies you want. I suggest that you send a message back to Chester with somebody who looks wounded- several riders in fact. Get them to have a sailing cog off the harbor at either Prestatyn or Abergele, whichever direction you want to go, in three days time. They can have a load of whatever food you want. Then have the boats follow us along the coast. The Welsh have no warships, so the cogs should be safe enough and will be much more effective than trying to bring supplies through the hills.
“Speed. Every Welsh warrior is mounted on a pony and can move large distances every day, even through forests and hills- and move fast. Most of our army is on foot and plods along. Next time I suggest you have every man on a horse, so you can move fast enough that the Welsh can never catch up and don’t know where you are.
“Scouting. I want every man in the army who has been a poacher, gamekeeper or huntsman here in an hour. Most of your men are probably from the towns, so I don’t expect much from this.
“We’ll spend tomorrow here gathering food before we move off. Ah… another thought. If we move west along the coast we do not burn the villages. We’ll then have to return east, and if you really want you can burn them after we use them for shelter in both directions.”
FitzOsbern and the others looked stunned at the stream of information. Osmond Basset said in some perplexity, “But there’s no food here to gather!”
Alan gave a bark of laughter. “Of course there is! There are the vegetables in the gardens, which we can gather. The forests around here will be swarming with deer, boar and wild cattle and wild fruit. The huntsmen can get to work, protected by our other men. There are fish in the river just to the east. I’m sure there will still be a net or two amongst the cottages. And you can’t move a herd of cattle, sheep, swine or whatever very far, and certainly not without leaving a trail. The Welsh can’t make them magically disappear. They’re around here somewhere. I’m sure we’ll be eating well tomorrow. Now get the huntsmen here,” instructed Alan before he strode out to speak to the men in his own tent.
An hour later Alan was pleasantly surprised to find twenty-two men standing in the Hall. Four were his own, including Owain. Most were Englishmen.
“Good evening, Hlaford!” he began. “You’ve just volunteered for special service. As ‘men of the forest’ you have special skills. Firstly, tomorrow you’ll be hunting wildlife to feed the army, since the supplies have just about run out and it’ll be several days before we get more from Chester. Several of you will be tracking the herds that the villagers have tried to hide. They’ll be out there, within a mile or so, in a clearing in the forest. Find them.
“The day after tomorrow we march north up the Clwyd Valley. You’ve seen what the valleys are like here- dense forest with thick undergrowth. And, as we’ve found out so far, a bowman behind every bush. Those other bastards in the army couldn’t find their arse if they used both hands and a map. I’m sick of people trying to shoot arrows in my back. I’m sure you are. It’s time for us to go hunting men- the most dangerous game!
“You’ll go ahead of the army, on foot with several men who you trust to be not too loud in the forest to watch your back. I’m sure you can train them to move quietly, since your lives will depend on it. We’ll have ten scouting groups each of six men, under your command and direction. Small groups of Welshmen you will kill yourselves; report back any larger groups you find for us to send you support. The army will move as fast or as slow as you direct.
“I want every bush checked. I want to know the name of every fucking fox! The only Welshman I want to see is one with your arrow in his back! Take your time. Do it right. The Welsh will expect it to be easy. They’re used to both us blundering about like blind oxen and won’t expect to be hunted. Don’t you expect it to be easy- it won’t. The Welsh know each valley, every stand of trees and every stream. They already know the names of the damn foxes. We need to move safely across unfamiliar country, but as quickly as we can. But I’m sure that any competent poacher… sorry hunter… can be blindfolded and still be able to tell if there is a warrior within 100 paces.
“We’re going to leave behind us a trail of dead Welshmen who never even knew we were there. Whatever weapons you want are yours. If anybody doesn’t have a bow, let me know. Any questions? No? Good hunting!”
The following morning dawned overcast and soon rain began to drizzle down. Alan arranged for his own ‘huntsmen’, Owain, Wulfric, Leofwine and Swein, to track where the local livestock had been hidden. The hunters were set loose before four in the forenoon- dawn was very early. Apart from Alan’s four men, six others went into the local forests to hunt wildlife.
Twelve other poachers went to hunt men, departing on foot and most taking with them one or two men who they took the opportunity to train to move silently and to whom they could whisper the secrets of the forest.
Those hunting food had quick success. Wildlife teemed in the river and forest. Owain quickly found the tracks to where the swine had been driven. They were a mile or so from the village, feasting on acorns from the oak trees. Two swineherds ran off as soon as the English appeared. A small herd of cattle was found by Leofwine and again the herdsmen decamped quickly. Other hunters found herds of deer or wild cattle, additional men being called in to kill the wild animals before they could escape- unlike the domesticated animals which returned happily to the village and their fate.
Large fires were lit to smoke and dry meat and fish to last for the next few days. Other animals were roasted or boiled for immediate consumption. Vegetables, once picked, were boiled for use that day or placed into sacks for future use- peas, beans, cabbage and carrots. The only regret of the men was that there was no bread and no ale.
To the north the poachers were having success in locating the enemy, but not yet killing them. Ten groups of hunters moved silently on foot down the path through the trees and tangled undergrowth on the west side of the river, leaving before first light. Another two pairs worked down the path on the east of the river. As expected, the enemy was on the west of the river. They knew where the invaders were and where they were most likely to go. It would make little sense for the Anglo-Norman force to cross the river at Denbigh and then do the same again to cross back onto the west bank at St Asaph, at the confluence of the Rivers Elwy and Clwyd.
Moving in conjunction, the Anglo-Norman scouts moved fifty or so paces at a time through the trees on each side of the path, avoiding the path itself. One pair would creep forward, carefully scan the forest and listen. They were seeking not only the direct signs of the enemy, but also the sights and sounds of the forest that would indicate the presence of danger. When satisfied they would wave one of the supporting pairs forward.
The discipline of the Welsh warriors was less than perfect. They could often be heard talking, about what the Anglo-Normans knew not as they were speaking Welsh, but presumably grumbling about the rain which was now falling more heavily. In other cases their location was given away by the birds, or a few times just by the feeling that somebody was watching and that something foreign was in the forest. Then the scouts would pause until either satisfied they were wrong or had located the men sitting in ambush.
Each ambush site was carefully mentally recorded and they reached the edge of the forest near St Asaph a little before noon. There they turned and beginning the journey back. The return was quicker- the positions of the enemy were known but not taken for granted. The same procedure was followed as before, but in a more abbreviated manner. No additional ambush places were located on the return, but the hunters did take the time to diverge and follow pathways to the nearby hills where they found large caves. Groups of people could be seen; sometimes these were solely warriors; other times they were villagers who had taken shelter. Occasionally the caves were used to house livestock. Again, note was taken for later report.
After the scouts returned Alan spent half the night in discussions with them, with a large piece of parchment, quill and ink. Although illiterate, the huntsmen had the incredibly retentive memories that the unlettered usually possess. They’d paid particular attention to their surroundings and could describe the journey virtually step by step. Alan carefully recorded the information from each man onto the parchment.
Next morning the army, with replete stomachs after a large breakfast and carrying meat and vegetables for a week of campaigning, moved out well before first light. The hunters acted as pointer-dogs, bringing small parties of soldiers within close range of the unsuspecting Welshmen, who were then attacked from the rear or the flanks. Of the 23 ambush points identified, only two noticed the approaching danger in time to resist.
The caves containing the villagers were left unmolested, although Alan had to argue long and hard with fitzOsbern to achieve that, citing the need to move quickly and the unnecessary delay that would occur. The earl wanted to visit vengeance on every man, woman and child in Wales, but an argument that they needed to stay focused, stay compact and move quickly if they were to be successful won the day. The caves with livestock were visited and, to the regret of all, the animals were slaughtered except a few driven off to be cooked for the army pots that night. Cattle, swine and sheep were worth money, but not here and now. They couldn’t drove them to England through hostile territory and they were the main wealth of the Welsh hillsmen. Killing them removed the wealth of the Vale for many years.
The caves with warriors were another matter entirely. No soldier willingly proceeds in enemy territory with a known force of the enemy behind them and 100 men were sent to each such cave to attack with stealth and without warning. Over 100 ponies were taken, putting more of the invaders on horseback- although with no overall improvement in the pace of advance, which had to be that of the slowest foot-soldier. However, the horses offered greater mobility and options for later. Many of the Norman bowmen swapped their weapons for the superior bows used by the Welsh, taking these and the larger arrows from slain Welshmen.
From Denbigh to St Asaph was a little more than nine miles. Moving with caution, taking out the ambushers and clearing the caves, they passed into the vale of the Afon Elwy and saw St Asaph a short distance ahead. The few lookouts were easily dealt with, as the Welsh thought enemy were nine miles away and no warning of their approach had been received.
The Welsh village was unprepared and unsuspecting. St Asaph had a long history, back to the Romans and before. It had a Celtic monastery, despite its small size of less than 500 souls. William fitzOsbern sent a group of trusted men to guard the gate of the monastery with the first wave to attack the village. The men had been strictly instructed not to burn the village- or at least not until they departed. As the Anglo-Norman force approached from the south, a stream of villagers fled into the forest to the west and north, meaning that there were few people in the village when fitzOsbern’s men entered. This was by no means a disadvantage as it minimised problems with controlling the men. Only a few aged and sick remained, and the few who were caring for them were generally left unmolested. And there were the monks in the monastery.
Prior Gryffyd met William fitzOsbern at the gate of the monastery and invited him inside. Alan and the other officers were busy trying to maintain control of the men sacking the village, to ensure an orderly looting with no disputes between the looters and a minimum of rapine and destruction. Stripping the village clean took little time. There were barely forty rough cottages with minimal contents of value and many soldiers doing the searching. The village, poor as it was, did replenish the food supplies, and allowed bread to be baked while the men gathered vegetables and killed and cooked swine and chickens. Between the contents of the cottages and the tavern there was enough ale for each man to sup a quart, much to their satisfaction as all knew that water is unhealthy to drink.
The scouts were already working their way downriver to the next village of Rhuddlan, a little over three miles away. Alan would have liked to push on and secure Rhuddlan that afternoon while the enemy were still unawares and unprepared, but accepted that moving professional troops away from a village that had not yet been thoroughly looted was impossible and that they would have to be satisfied with one village a day.
Rhuddlan was an important place. It was strategically located on the middle of the north coast of Wales on the coast road between Caernarfon and Chester, and at the lowest point that the River Clwyd could be bridged. As the seat of Cantref Rhos, and formerly the seat of the then Welsh king Gruffydd ap Llywelyn until just five years previously, Alan was hopeful that King Bleddyn would make a stand there- not that Alan expected fitzOsbern to fight fair. Hereto on the march along the river they had encountered mainly local forces and fought with superiority of numbers and equipment. Now they may face warriors called together by their king, who could call on several thousand men and outnumber the invaders.
Alan went to visit Prior Gryffyd to request that Mass be said for the army. After all they were soldiers and it would be at least a week since they last attended Confession and took the sacrament, and there would be few soldiers who hadn’t incurred significant sin in that time. Unfortunately, Prior Gryffyd was less than accommodating. Apart from the village being sacked, and presumably in due course to be put to the torch, Earl William had made it clear that every scrap of precious metal from the monastery, from the few silver coins in its coffers to the gold furniture on the altar, was to be handed over to him if the monastery was not to suffer the same fate. Only the reliquary, which was decorated only with thin gold leaf, and its contents were to be excluded. Alan thought this ungenerous and counter-productive but was unable to do anything to sway the earl from his intent.
Sunset was after eight and a nearly full moon rose at a little before ten. Sunrise would be shortly prior to four. Alan had advised fitzOsbern to have the whole army in position at Rhuddlan before first light. FitzOsbern, unused to such tactics, was alarmed at the novel approach, but in the end agreed when Alan advised he’d used the same tactic against the Welsh on the southern border. The army marched as the moon rose, crossing the River Clwyd at the bridge just east of St Asaph and taking the less frequently used path down the east side of the river. The western path was more easily traversed, but later crossed the river at the bridge at Rhuddlan itself. While Alan was confident in his planning, he wasn’t arrogant enough to assume that they could seize what would be a well-defended bridge and bring across an army in the face of strong opposition, nor that Bleddyn would be foolish enough to allow them to do so.
The scouts were out, clearing away first the Welsh scouts that had been sent to observe the Anglo-Norman camp, and then the lookouts stationed along both banks of the river- as a lookout on one side of the river would almost certainly see or hear the progress of an army on the other bank just a few dozen paces away. A small rear-guard remained at St Asaph until dawn, keeping the monks inside the monastery and to fulfill the task of firing the village as they departed. Alan saw that as a waste of time, as the only asset of value in the entire village other than the monastery was the water-mill, which had been thoroughly demolished on Earl William’s order early in the first day, but it was the traditional way of making a point clear out here on the border.
The Vale was flat, with virtually no rise in land anywhere. The oak forest was dense but the bridle-path was easily enough traversed, although with only one or two men able to ride or march abreast the column of troops was quite long. To the south of the village a number of fields had been won from the forest, and after the Welsh look-outs had been removed, the Anglo-Normans formed up and prepared themselves on one of these fields. Alan, Earl William and several of the other officers rode to the tree line to observe the village. It appeared that there were a substantial number of warriors in the village, more than it could accommodate as there were dozens of camp fires smoldering in the open, each surrounded by a group of men.
“There lies the enemy, Lord William, if you’d wish to give the order to form up and attack? I’d suggest that you fall on them quickly, taking them by surprise, as it appears we may be outnumbered,” suggested Alan.
“At last I’ve caught a Welsh army in the field!” exclaimed fitzOsbern with delight. “Bring the men up. Infantry here and here,” he said pointing. “Archers there and there… and there. Cavalry in the centre and both flanks. One squadron to loop around to the enemy’s rear to cover them if they fall back. Sir Alan! If they retreat, where would they go?”
“Across the bridge to the west and try to hold us off- or possibly east. I’d expect they’d try to move west and use the river for defence, as that would also put them on the same side of the river as their fall-back towards Abergele and Caernarfon. I’d suggest several cavalry squadrons to go direct to the bridge and secure it. That would bottle them up and give them nowhere to go,” replied Alan.
Earl William nodded. “Do it, Basset!” he instructed the young Norman lord by his side. Presented with an enemy and a tactical situation Earl William was in his element, giving instructions and in total control.
In less than half an hour, and still by the light of the moon, the Anglo-Normans hit the Welsh camp like a fist. Unexpected and unforgiving they smashed through the camp in minutes, slaughtering the dazed and unprepared men who staggered from their beds. By the time they reached the village itself the warriors billeted there had heard the shouts and were alerted, pouring from the cottages brandishing sword and shield. But the Welsh were fighting as a mob, surprised and disorganized, whilst the Anglo-Normans were fighting like a well-oiled machine. The Welsh fell back towards the Cantref Hall and the horse-lines at the north of the village. A large contingent decamped from the Hall, presumably Bleddyn and his professional warriors. As dawn was breaking the Welsh were rallying and moving west towards the bridge.
Osmond Basset had taken his squadron of fifty or so horse, de Grandmesnil’s men, directly to the bridge. Unfortunately for them the bridge had a strong guard, who were now well alerted to the danger and who were armed with long spears. Equally unfortunately for the Norman troops, the approach to the bridge was narrow. This combination meant that the Welshmen, now fighting fiercely, were able to hold off Basset’s attack. Further, within minutes as the Welsh rallied to the north of the village and took to their horses, 200 or more very angry Welshmen on ponies were engaging the rear of Basset’s force. Basset’s men now had their back to the bridge and were being peppered with arrows from that direction, the large arrows punching clear through the chain-mail armour on the backs on the Normans, while at the same time they tried to cope with the attacks of the mounted Welshmen. The small group of Normans near the bridge was like a piece of metal being hit repeatedly on an anvil, and with nowhere to go they broke and tried to escape to the south. FitzOsbern sent some men to provide cover to the remains of Basset’s force, now numbering about twenty.
The Welsh had secured the east side of the bridge with about 400 men either on horse or on foot starting to organise themselves, and began to cross to the west side of the river in good order. Meanwhile many of the Anglo-Norman troops, particularly the foot-soldiers, were engaged in looting the village- to Earl William’s great anger. When the last of the Welsh crossed the river the bridge was then damaged by them sufficiently to make it at least temporarily impassible without totally destroying it, as after all the Welsh knew that they would have to rebuild it in a few days. As the last of the Welsh fell back across the bridge the first Norman troops were being strung up by the neck on the trees on the village green in punishment for their dereliction of duty.
FitzOsbern didn’t want to reduce the strength of his force too much and so restricted himself to hanging ten of the most blatant looters. The point was made very strongly. Looting is permitted only after the battle is won, not during the battle. Discipline would be maintained at all costs.
After the hour or so that it took fitzOsbern to get his men back in hand, Alan, fitzOsbern and the other officers stood on the east bank of the river, carefully out of arrow-shot of the Welsh on the other bank. “An interesting situation,” commented Alan. “Bleddyn can either stand and oppose our movement to the other side of the river, or he can moved west and fall back to the other side of the River Conwy. That would abandon Abergele and Betws yn Rhos to us, along with several fishing villages along the coast- Llandrillo-yn-Rhos and Llanwst. Whether it is worth his while to defend them, or worth our while to attack them, are both questionable.
“We won’t be able to cross the River Conwyn and threaten Caernafon or Bangor, both of which would be worth taking, and we don’t have a large enough force to go south to where we could cross the Conwy. You’re in your element here, my lord!” said Alan to Earl William. “You’re trained to force an opposed river crossing, and no doubt have done so in the past. The co-relation of forces is also interesting. If we force a crossing, will we have enough men left to move forward? The Welsh receive reinforcements every day and we do not. A difficult decision, Lord William.”
Bernard de Neufmarche added his own comment. “The men are tired, my lord. They marched all night and have fought hard this morning. They need food and rest and will not be able to move until mid-afternoon.”
FitzOsbern scowled. While an extremely intelligent man and not illiterate, nor was he well-lettered or used to a debating chamber. He wasn’t used to having military considerations presented so quickly and thoroughly, nor with such erudition. It took him a minute or so to work out what Alan had said. Having finally, after over a year of effort primarily in South Wales, brought the Welsh king’s army into the field to oppose his forces, he couldn’t engage them. “How do we get to them?” he demanded simply.
“I don’t know, Lord William,” replied Alan with a blank expression. “Conjuring a way to get 800 men across a river 70 yards wide and too deep to ford, in the face superior numbers of enemy troops who will be shooting arrows is something beyond my experience. I did manage to find Bleddyn and his men, though.”
“Neufmarche, keep 100 men near the river. The remainder can rest and eat. We’ll see what Bleddyn does over the next few hours,” ordered fitzOsbern.
“And then, my lord?” queried Neufmarche.
“I’m buggered if I know at the moment! Thorrington is right. We’d lose 200 men just to get across the river, probably more, given their damn archers. We’ll think about it and rest the men. The Welsh aren’t going anywhere at the moment.”
Six hours later, with no change to the situation, fitzOsbern called his command group back together. “Ideas?” he demanded.
“Well, we could send a force of men back upriver to seize and hold a fording point,” suggested Guy de Craon.
“If we had a dozen longboats, we could hold their force here while we slipped 500 men behind them, to either attack Bleddyn or sack the villages behind him,” commented Alan.
“Wishful thinking won’t help!” barked fitzOsbern angrily.
“Well, I’ve been trying to get the king to have that sort of a naval force and it would allow plenty of options for attack. Perhaps you might like to talk to him about it also? That would give you more options in the future,” replied Alan.
“Is that the best you can come up with?”
“Well, this is why you receive such large grants of land and command of an army, because you have to make the hard decisions!” said Alan with a sardonic laugh. “Seriously, de Craon’s given you the only viable option if you want to bring them to battle. We can’t force an opposed crossing here. There are several points we could cross just upstream. One is about a mile away. The river channel there is narrow, about twenty paces, but deep, and with mud banks on both sides. We have now, what… 400 horses, including about 200 ponies we’ve captured over the last few days? The horses can swim across and the men can hold onto their saddle pommels for assistance,” said Alan.
“No mud flats!” interjected Bernard de Neufmarche. “The horses will get mired in the mud and make a lot of noise. I’ve been in that situation before. Spearmen slaughtered us while our horses were stuck in a swamp. There are places where the river is not much wider, but with both banks firm. If we must force a crossing, better at that sort of place.”
Alan nodded agreement and said, “We can leave 50 men on this side of the river, build camp fires which they keep banked up and they move about making noise and movement. We can leave those who are lightly wounded or can’t swim. We’ll have to move damn fast and at night. The Welsh aren’t stupid and will have their scouts out and be fully awake tonight. We’re not going to get any more cheap and easy wins! I can see two problems. One is if we get caught with half our men over, they’ll get wiped out. The second is if we are successful in making a crossing, we’re on the opposite side of the river from safety, with no easy way to get back. The bridge is broken. We would have to win.”
“A third point. Not many men can swim with forty pounds of metal on their back. I know I can’t,” said de Neufmarche. “It would be risky. Damn risky!”
“Your call, Lord William,” commented Alan. “You either get to face Bleddyn in battle with no route for retreat- and if the battle goes against us your army will be completely destroyed. Or we can sit quietly here and wait for Bleddyn to make a move.”
FitzOsbern scowled, thumped his fist angrily against a wall several times before saying harshly, “Cast the dice! Let’s see where they fall! Do what you can to chose the best place and get our men across quickly without being seen.”
While the others organised the men, Alan carefully scouted the river, making sure that no special attention was drawn from the Welsh. As Bernard de Neufmarche had said there was a place about a mile to the south, around two bends up the river, with firm banks on both sides and trees reaching down to the water’s edge. Alan disappeared into the village and raided the blacksmith’s workshop, the water-mill and several fishermen’s cottages. The soldiers stayed out of sight at the south side of the village, the men-at-arms stripped off their armour, rolled it up and carefully marked their ownership. Sunset was at eight twenty and it was dark in the forest shortly afterwards. They would have an hour and a half before the moon rose and fortunately the night sky was overcast with heavy clouds.
Alan had used his time to prepare his men, who moved to the chosen spot after the scouts had declared it clear. Six men stripped naked and swam across the narrow river with no weapon but a knife, each towing a piece of rope.
The rope on the most downstream side was used to pull a fishing net into place, for the safety of any men who were swept downstream by the gentle current. The other ropes were attached firmly to large oak trees. Three were simply to assist men crossing by providing a hand-hold, and two were fastened higher, about ten feet above the ground and wound taut.
The scouts crossed the river using the ropes and placing their bowstrings under their hats to keep them dry as they struggled through the cold water. They restrung their bows immediately when they emerged dripping on the west bank. Alan returned to the east bank, bringing the end of another lighter rope with him, and was stringing a mechanism from one of the ropes when the first of the soldiers arrived. The horsemen dismounted, checked their rolled-up armour was firmly tied to their horses and then swam across beside their horses, being pulled along as they held onto the saddle pommels or the horses’ manes. They patted the shivering horses as they struggled out of the water and then quickly slipped on their armour and girded themselves with their weapons, before rubbing down the horses. The archers were starting to cross on the two rope lines, one every ten seconds or so. The foot-soldiers were lining up next to the zip line, their armour and equipment being placed into a large basket hanging from the rope, which was pulled across and then sent back empty.
While the men had been instructed to be quiet and that their lives depended on this, it is impossible to move 500 or more men and nearly half as many horses silently. While there was no shouting of instructions and little muttered conversation from the men, except when they emerged from the freezing cold water to stand in their wet clothes in the night wind, arrows started to come out of the forest about an hour after the first soldier had crossed.
The moon could be seen just rising behind the clouds, but cast little light in the forest. FitzOsbern had just crossed and was buckling on his armour- his padded gambeson and armour had been sent over on the zip line and so unlike most of his men he was at least dry after he had wiped off the cold water after emerging on the west bank. Alan was surprised that they had been given an hour, but thought that perhaps a part of that time had been taken up by Bleddyn trying to believe the Anglo-Normans had been foolhardy enough to cross the river under his nose. By that time there were over 300 men on the west bank and on fitzOsbern’s instructions they increased the defensive perimeter and began to push through the trees heading north towards the Welsh camp.
It was pitch black beneath the trees in the forest. Away from the river the bowmen of both sides were useless as no target could be seen in the gloom of the forest. The armoured foot-soldiers of the Anglo-Norman force had two advantages as men blundered into each other and used sword and knife at close quarters. Firstly they had the protection of their armour, which the Welsh lacked. Secondly the front rank knew that everybody they met ahead of them was an enemy- a knowledge that the Welsh also lacked. When the Welsh sought to identify a shape looming ahead of them, all too often the reply was a blade in the guts. The captured Welsh ponies used in the crossing were tethered to trees and left behind as the infantry fought their way north, fighting against both the Welsh and also the forest itself as they groped through shrubs, brambles and gorse. The men-at-arms were dismounted and led their horses as they moved behind the screen of infantry. Mounted men are next to useless in a forest, and in the darkness all they were likely to do was hurt themselves by crashing into low-hanging branches if they mounted. More and more men slipped across the river.
At the same time the men at the village on the east bank of the river were doing a good job in keeping the main attention of the Welsh, with loud shouting and men and horses hurrying back and forth. Some Norman archers approached to the riverbank and began to lob arrows towards the Welsh, who were sufficiently far back not to be hit, but again this did act to fix their attention near the bridge. At that time all that the Welsh could know was that a force of infantry was south of them on the same side of the river and pressing north, were very close but that no archers or horsemen had been seen.
At about two in the morning fitzOsbern halted the Anglo-Normans just inside the edge of the forest near the clearing where the main Welsh force was sitting waiting for whatever eventuated. Dawn was due just before four and the Anglo-Normans took the opportunity to organise and array themselves, while continuing to receive reinforcements moving north from the river crossing.
Alan was now in full harness, with mail coif and helmet covering his head. Only his thick protective leather gauntlets needed to be pulled on to complete his protection. He was standing next to his charger, Fayne the chestnut stallion he used when he believed that the fierce destrier warhorse Odin was unsuitable. Odin had been left behind in Tendring and at this time of the year would be siring new offspring as the mares would have foaled and now again be in heat.
The sky was still heavily overcast and first light was a little before three-thirty. Just as the first tinges of light were appearing in the sky, and just minutes before the Welsh would be able to see the paucity of men on the east bank of the river and realise their danger, fitzOsbern gave a shouted command. During the wait the Anglo-Norman force had been put into rough order in the trees at the edge of the forest. The horsemen now walked their charges the few paces necessary to emerge from the forest onto the long and wide meadow where the Welsh were positioned. The men mounted and then sat silently on their horses, and only the occasional clink of horse-tack or armour or snort of a horse could be heard. There was a whinny as a mare in heat was given a nip by a neighboring stallion. Behind them the infantry were moving up, occasional curses being heard as men blundered into gorse bushes or patches of briar.
The Welshmen had not formed a camp as such. They were experienced raiders and knew better than to set up camp with tents, horse-lines and so on or to sleep when in close contact with the enemy. Rather, they had lit some cooking fires and sat up most of the night with weapons close at hand, snatching what light sleep they could wrapped in their cloaks. Horses were tethered close to their riders.
Shouts of alarm rang out as the Norman horsemen moved onto the clearing. Alan was pleased to see that the field was used as meadow and wasn’t just lying fallow, so it hadn’t been ploughed. It took only moments for the Norman cavalry to form line in their troops of ten or a dozen riders. No effort was made to organise the usual squadrons of 25 men. As the infantry struggled out of the forest behind them a horn was sounded, signaling the attack.
Although taken by surprise the Welsh reacted quickly. Those few who had armour had slept in it, if sleep they could. First one, then several, horns blew repeatedly from the Welsh lines. It was a matter of moments for the men to put on their helmets and grab their weapons- but moments were a scarce commodity as the Norman cavalry approached at a canter. Again, it took less than a minute for the archers to string their bows, which had been left unstrung to protect the bow-strings from dew during the night with the strings being kept warm and dry in a pouch next to the archer’s body, and to grab a sheaf of arrows- but again it was time that they could not spare. The Welsh horsemen had left their ponies saddled and near at hand, but it took time even after they had armed themselves to unhobble the horses and swing up into the saddle. Some horses broke loose and ran about, adding to the confusion. Men were shouting and waving arms urgently.
The Normans made no attempt to co-ordinate their attack. To do so would allow the Welsh time to organise. In the face of a disorganised defence there was no real need for coordinated attack. They increased speed from a trot to a canter and went to a gallop about 75 paces away from the first of the enemy. At the same time the first of the arrows from the Welsh bowmen began to strike. Welsh swordsmen and spearmen were forming knots around small groups of archers. The Welsh horsemen, who had been resting further back from the river, were by now mainly in the saddle. The Welsh had been aligned north-south, facing east towards the river. The attack from the south meant that the Norman charge would be met by less than half the Welshmen.
Alan felt two arrows strike the wooden laminate shield that he was holding carefully in front of him, ensuring as much protection as possible. Another passed so close to his cheek he could both feel and hear it as it whistled by. Alan had chosen as his first target a group of a dozen or fifteen infantry, mixed archers, spearmen and swordsmen, who were frantically trying to get themselves into some sort of formation.
At twenty paces Alan cast his eyes to the left and then the right, to ensure there was no immediate risk. He could feel and hear the other ten men in his troop thundering alongside; the glance that he had made had shown them to be almost knee to knee. He then refocused on his prey, rising slightly in his stirrups and learning forward as he couched his lance- which was more like a large spear- and aimed himself at an archer who was drawing his bow and looking slightly to Alan’s left. Before he could loose the arrow Alan’s lance took the man in the throat, nearly ripping his head off as the momentum pulled the lance free.
Alan quickly re-aligned the tip of the lance towards a swordsman who was back-peddling and trying to get out of the way. As Fayne smashed into two other men, hurling them to the ground where they were trampled by the horse, the lance caught the swordsman in the chest under the arm. The force of the blow and weight of the man splintered the lance, leaving Alan holding just half of its previous length. A glance over his shoulder as he dropped the broken haft and drew his sword showed just one man still standing, a swordsman.
As they had practiced, the troop slowed slightly and formed an arrowhead formation with Alan at its centre. Suddenly one man toppled over and fell, struck in the shoulder by an arrow. The remainder closed up and continued, now again at a canter. Two or three individuals on foot were struck with sword or simply ridden down.
A group of Welsh horsemen closed from the left, swords drawn and shouting loudly. Alan pressed with his knees, instructing Fayne to turn. The small group of horsemen swung together in response to his lead. Most of his men had discarded broken lances. Those who still held them made full use of the extra range, plucking three of the Welsh warriors from the saddle before the two groups met. The Welshmen tried to swerve to avoid the charge, intending to use the greater mobility of their smaller mounts to circle and catch the Englishmen from the flank or behind. The Englishmen forced their mounts close to the Welshmen, in many cases the horses crashing into each other. Then the greater weight of the larger horses Alan had acquired for his men showed its worth, with several of the smaller mountain ponies being knocked over or staggering and unbalancing their riders.
Alan found himself facing a mounted Welshman. Alan had the advantage of longer reach as he was a tall man mounted on a horse four hands taller than the diminutive pony ridden by his opponent. The Welshman was stockily-built with long black hair streaming down from under the conical metal helmet he wore, dressed in a sheepskin jacket and woolen trews. He carried a small round shield, but like Alan he could not bring it into play as the two horses were nose-to-tail with the men’s sword arms next to their opponent.
Traditional swordplay on horseback was limited to either letting the momentum of the charge work for you, with the sword largely held still, or when engaged just simply flailing and bashing against each other until an opening occurred. Obviously the finer points of footwork he had learnt as a swordsman were useless to Alan now, and a horse cannot be quickly and precisely maneuvered- if anything the Welshman had the advantage in that regard. However, as he stood in his stirrups to increase his height and allow more body-weight behind his blows, Alan used what skill he could, with deft and subtle changes of angle and direction of the blade and several pre-planned series of blows.
In the Paris salle de’armes Alan had been trained to maintain peripheral vision by having men hit him with sticks from the side while he was fencing against the Sword master. That skill saved him now, as he saw from the corner of his left eye a blade rise above eye-height on his left, previously unengaged, side. Alan slightly raised the shield strapped to his left arm and ducked his head fractionally, causing the sword to deflect off the top of the shield. The opponent on Alan’s right had seen the blow coming and had paused to watch the outcome. That pause cost his life as, without taking his eye off his opponent, Alan swept his sword aside and lunged, putting six inches of steel into the Welshman’s belly. He then spurred Fayne forwards and in the one motion pulled his sword clear, swiveled in the saddle to face his left, brought the sword across, raising it slightly so that it cleared Fayne’s pricked ears, rose in his stirrups and swung the blade with all his weight behind it. The opponent on the left was unbalanced after his own blow had unexpectedly missed and held his small shield several inches too low. Before the Welshman could realise his danger Alan’s blow had passed over the top of the shield and struck off his head.
As Alan had intended, the spurs had caused Fayne to take a convulsive leap forward, clear of the immediate scrimmage, and Alan took a quick look around. His troop had achieved near parity with the number of horsemen they faced, the Welsh having been whittled down from about fifteen to ten. However, another two of the Wolves were down and another was reeling in the saddle. A few paces away Edric was engaging two Welshmen, keeping them at bay with mighty swings of the single-handed axe that was his preferred weapon- the movements of his axe being surprisingly subtle for such a weapon. Alan used the pressure of his knees to have Fayne move to Edric’s assistance and plunged his sword into the unprotected back of one of Edric’s assailants. Edric quickly finished off the other one, axe smashing aside the shield and then sweeping back in a butterfly motion to strike his opponent in the chest, and then nodded his thanks to Alan.
A gaggle of foot-soldiers ran past, making for the trees to the west. Edric turned to dispatch several, and as the Welshmen flowed around the Englishmen Fayne suddenly screamed and then reared before crashing down backwards, as a Welsh swordsman had cut the hamstring on one of the horse’s hind legs. As Fayne fell, Alan slipped his feet from the stirrups and threw himself sideways to the left, away from the falling and thrashing horse, casting aside his shield, so that he could protect himself by rolling as he hit the ground. The contact with the earth drove the air from Alan’s lungs. As he rolled he knocked the legs out from under a Welsh spearman, who fell backwards with Alan on top. Alan’s sword was caught underneath the Welshman, held in place by their combined weight and unable to be retrieved. As he lay face to face with his foe, Alan felt the scrape of steel on steel as his opponent sought to use the knife now in his right hand to find a weak spot or join in the armour. The knife was uncomfortably close to one of the buckles under Alan’s left armpit. Alan grabbed the man’s knife-hand with his own left hand and released his grip on his now useless sword. He tried to punch his adversary, but as he was lying partly on his right side he was unable to get any power into the blows. Then he saw a pair of booted feet walk into his limited field of vision and waited for a blow to his unprotected back. There was a swish, a blur of movement and his foe’s head flew away. Blood fountained, spraying over Alan and the legs of his saviour.
Alan rolled to his right, pulling his sword out from under the still twitching body, as Edric offered him a hand and helped him to his feet. “That accursed unges?lig ruined my trews!” said Edric looking at his blood-drenched legs.
“I owe you a flagon of ale, Edric.”
“Well, I thought that for a wealh you aren’t a bad herer?swa. The Welsh have all pissed off into the trees, so lets get the men together,” replied Edric.
Alan used his sword to quickly dispatch the still kicking and struggling Fayne and took possession of one of the chargers that was wandering ownerless on the battlefield. Seven of his eleven men were still in the saddle, elated at their first taste of victory in a serious fight. They retraced their path to find the missing four men, two of whom were dead and two injured, one severely as he had received a spear in the belly.
FitzOsbern had some men repairing the bridge and soon the dead and injured Anglo-Normans were able to be taken back to the village. Within minutes the dead of both sides had been stripped of anything useful- armour, weapons, jewellery and occasionally clothes and boots. The remaining villagers who had not had the opportunity to flee were instructed to cross the river and gather up the Welsh dead, under careful guard to ensure that they didn’t collect any weapons that may be found in the long grass.
The village head-man decided that the Welsh dead would be buried in a common grave-pit near the church. A similar pit was dug for the Anglo-Normans, again using the villager’s labour. There were about 250 Welsh dead, and about 50 wounded- probably about half the number that had been in the field that day. Nearly 100 Anglo-Normans were dead, mainly from the cavalry that had borne the brunt of the fighting, and 30 seriously wounded.
FitzOsbern had won his battle over the Welsh king, but at a high price. Fully one third of his cavalry, the cream of his army, was dead or wounded- and this despite the fact that the Anglo-Norman surprise attack, being on one flank of the Welsh army and accordingly meaning that only a part of the Welsh army was able to fight the Normans at any one time, had been made under the most advantageous conditions possible.
The Welsh women of the village were instructed to care for the wounded, which they did conscientiously and without apparent favour.
The battle had taken less than an hour from start to finish and had started very early. It was still only mid-morning when fitzOsbern called into the Cantref Hall where the injured were being treated. He was still in armour when he entered, walking with a slight limp, dirty, disheveled and covered in blood. Some was his own blood from cuts to his cheek from an arrow and his thigh from a spear. He moved amongst the wounded, dropping onto one knee next to each Norman or Englishman with words of encouragement and thanks, before approaching Alan, who was assisting the village wise woman to tend a severe arm wound suffered by a Welshman.
“Warm work this morning, Sir Alan!” commented fitzOsbern. “Those Welsh buggers fought damn well, considering the tactical disadvantages they had.”
Alan nodded and replied, “Nobody has ever doubted their courage or skill, just their lack of training. Fuck!” he exclaimed as a ligature slipped and blood spurted from the arm he was working on. “I don’t think this man is going to make it. Can you get the village priest in here? There are quite a few men who need to be shriven before they die, and I’m sure our men would rather be prayed over than not- even if the prayers are in Welsh.”
“He’s doing burials at the moment,” replied de Neufmarche, who had followed fitzOsbern into the Hall.
“The dead can wait. They have all eternity. Just get him!” instructed Alan. De Neufmarche nodded and gave instructions to one of his men.
“We managed to get the attention of the ship that we had arranged go to Abergele, as it was sailing past,” commented fitzOsbern. “It’s unloading some supplies near the bridge at the moment.”
Alan nodded and suggested, “Get the less badly wounded men taken on board and have the ship sail back to Chester. They’ll probably get there by tonight and it’ll be much easier for the injured than traveling on a bumping wagon on a rutted dirt track. If we get two ships tomorrow, we can send back the more seriously injured once they’ve had a chance to stabilize, and also the captured weapons and armour. If we send that booty back by road the Welsh will almost certainly take it back,” he suggested.
“Good idea,” replied fitzOsbern. “How long until you are finished here? The men will be resting for the day and tonight.”
“Another couple of hours. I’ll have something to eat then,” said Alan.
“Good. I’ve got a few flagons of fairly indifferent wine we found here in the Hall. It’s probably Bleddyn’s. We’ll drink that over roast swine and boiled beef. The cooks are busy with some of the fresh meat from the village’s herds.”
“Isn’t it Friday?” asked Alan.
FitzOsbern frowned in concentration for a moment. “Possibly. I’m not sure just what day it is. But I don’t hold with that on campaign anyway. Just call it Thursday!”
****
Alan washed himself at the horse-trough outside the tavern after stripping off his sweaty and river-sodden armour and padded gambeson. Then, free of sweat, blood and grime, he donned a clean rough tunic and trews without armour. He was confident that there was no chance of an attack by the Welsh for the next few days.
FitzOsbern had taken over the tavern as his headquarters. None of the soldiers were unhappy about that as they knew that they’d cleaned out all of the ale barrels before the commanders took possession. FitzOsbern, Guy de Craon, Raoul Painel, Osmond Basset and Bernard de Neufmarche were seated; all were still wearing armour, although all appeared to have at least washed their heads and hands. Aubrey Maubanc was amongst the seriously injured in the Hall and Alan was doubtful as to his chances.
The expedition leaders chatted about the battle for several minutes before fitzOsbern called them to attention. “Right, mesires! Let’s get to business. A hard-won victory this morning, but a win nevertheless. Bleddyn appears to have escaped, along with about 400 men. We have supplies from the village. The wounded are being sent back by ship and we’ve been re-supplied with both food and arrows, so we won’t have to provide guards for the wagons. What do you suggest we do next?”
“Strike while the iron is hot! God is clearly on our side!” said de Neufmarche with fervour. Several others joined in with suggestions, some with expressions of caution regarding the reduced strength of their forces.
After a few minutes Alan said, “Lord William, mesires! We need to look at what our objectives are. The main objective was to bring Bleddyn and his warriors to battle. We’ve achieved that and achieved victory, although at a high cost- but that’s what happens in battle. We discussed the other day what our capabilities were. That’s not changed, except the number of men in our force has decreased. We can’t force a way across the River Conwy. We had enough trouble getting over the Clwyd. We can’t fight our way through the hills and go around the river. What we can do is sack Abergele, Betws and a few smaller villages.
“Bleddyn will control the crossing of the river to Aberconwyn. He can bring in more men. If he calls a full muster he can raise enough men to swarm us under. He has two options. Sit back and do little other than resume ambushes and small raiding parties, or raise an army and come after us. The second option will take him a week or so. Our options are to fall back to Chester, content with what we’ve achieved, or plunder Rhufoniog and Rhos- for what that’s worth. If we return to England now Bleddyn will claim victory.” Here fitzOsbern snorted in disgusted agreement. “If we are to avoid that, we have to strike west. It’ll take Bleddyn a couple of days to rally his men enough to defend, and a week to raise enough to face us again in battle. If we put every man on horse, we can sack Abergele, Betws, Llandrillo and Llanddulas in one day. Also Llanrwst if we want to push on to the Conwy. It’s 6 miles to Abergele; 10 miles to Betws; 22 miles to Llanrwst. We can send men there and back in a day on horseback. Using the ponies we now have, we can even put the infantry and archers on horse and move the whole lot 40 miles, fight a battle and get back before dark. Get in and out fast. We can make a point without giving Bleddyn a chance to catch us if we move fast. Then we get back over the border before Bleddyn gathers a new army together. Unless you intend to stay here and build a castle?”
“Maybe we’ll intend to stay another time,” said fitzOsbern thoughtfully. “I’m sure that de Craon, Painel, Basset and de Neufmarche here would all be interested in carving out manors, but it’d need to be planned in advance and we’d probably have to use ships to re-supply or move produce until we’ve pacified the countryside. You’ve made that point well.”
“Certainly the land in the Vales is good enough to make it worth the effort,” said de Neufmarche with interest. “But it’ll take a lot of men to win the land and then hold it.”
FitzOsbern continued, “As to tomorrow… yes. Good advice. Three columns, with 40 cavalry, 80 mounted infantry and 20 mounted archers in each. Targets- one column to Llanrwst, one to Betws and the third can take Abergele, Llandrillo and Llanddulas, which are closer. Rally back here tomorrow night. Who wants which? Yes, de Craon, you can have Llanrwst. Basset, with the losses you’ve had, you can share Betws with Painel; de Neufmarche, you can have the rest. What do you want, Thorrington?”
“I’m happy to stay with the force here, Lord William. We’ll guard the river crossing and then you can join one of the raiding parties if you wish. Have some fun!” said Alan.
FitzOsbern laughed and said, “Fine! De Craon, I’ll join you and bring an extra 50 men. That’ll leave you just under 300, Thorrington, mainly infantry. That should be plenty to defend here and have you look after our backs. Make your arrangements. We ride at first light!”
The rest of the day was spent clearing the battlefield of weapons and armour and selecting the infantry and archers who could ride to accompany the raiding parties the next day. The men were kept firmly in hand with their sergeants and officers ensuring that the villagers who were still present were not harmed. In any event, the villagers had earned the gratitude of the Anglo-Normans for their care of the wounded.
The following day the raiding parties mounted up and moved off at first light. Alan had 100 men equipped and ready to fight at any time, 25 on each side of the bridge and 50 ready to give immediate assistance. The other two thirds of the men either relaxed on the village green or got some extra sleep. Soldiers know to always sleep when they had the opportunity and the men knew that one third of them would be on guard duty that night when the raiders returned.
Alan was visited at noon by the village headman Cadwy and the priest Father Madoc. The priest knew some Latin and it transpired that both could speak Anglo-Saxon English reasonably well. “What is your intention regarding the village, my lord?” asked Cadwy after the usual pleasantries had been exchanged.
“That would be up to Earl William fitzOsbern,” replied Alan. Both Welshmen frowned at hearing the name. Earl William had already built a reputation on the border as being a hard man. “I’ll do what I can, but the purpose of this expedition is to punish your people for the invasion of England last year, so I expect he’ll order the village burnt.”
“But our people didn’t take part in the raids!” came the expected reply.
“Perhaps not from here- perhaps from further south, or east or further west, but the raids were by your people.” Alan shrugged. “As I said, I’ll do what I can. Certainly there’ll be some sympathy for the assistance given to our wounded. There’ll be no killing of innocents or ravishing and I’m reasonably sure that no captives will be carried away as slaves.” Alan paused and continued, “You might like to conduct a dawn Mass in the morning and invite us raiders. It’ll be Sunday. Even somebody as hard-hearted as Earl William might find it hard to burn down the houses of people with whom he’s just said Mass.” After another pause Alan pointedly said, “Prior Gryffyd at St Asaph refused to say Mass. You probably saw the smoke from here.”
Cadwy gave Father Madoc a sharp look and the priest took the hint, “Of course, we often celebrate Mass at dawn on a Sunday,” lied the priest. “Your people are Christian, as are we, and it behooves us to pray together for peace and understanding, and the safe and early return of your people to their homes. Would English or Latin be preferable?”
Alan managed to keep a straight face at the way that Father Madoc had managed to place absolutely no emphasis on the word ‘early’. “Probably Latin,” he replied. “Most of the men are Normans. They’re still unlikely to understand the service, but at least it’ll be more familiar to them. Do you have somebody who can translate into Norman French the readings and prayers and your homily? I’m sure that you will choose these very carefully. No? Well, if you wish, Edric can do that, from English to Norman French, if you keep things short and use simple words. If not you’ll lose your audience anyway. The Norman men-at-arms and knights are simple men with simple ideas. In that case you may prefer to do those parts in English, as you’re more comfortable with that language. Excellent! I look forward to seeing you and all your villagers at dawn!”
All three raiding forces returned together. Basset and Painel had paused at Betws to support fitzOsbern and de Craon as they rode back. De Neufmarche had done the same, returning to Abergele after destroying the coastal fishing villages. There had been no fighting- at least with the Welsh, although some arguments had occurred amongst the Normans over booty. Alan had ensured that food was ready. Cooked meat, vegetables and fresh bread and butter were on tables set on the green. The villagers had attended to the cooking and had also produced items such as cheese and nuts, and had gathered fruit. It appeared that Cadwy had been having discussions with his people.
Those in the raiding parties were fatigued after a hard day’s riding and looting and retired early with replete bellies.
Next morning the church bell rang just before first light and the villagers streamed towards the small wooden building. Father Madoc had in fact set up for an outdoors service, and the Normans and English also answered the familiar call of the bell. The bell kept tolling until there were few who were not present, other than the sentries and the guard party on the bridge. The smoke and aroma of additional food being cooked behind the tavern and fresh bread from the bakery wafted about.
Father Madoc appeared to have been burning candles during the night preparing for the service. The Gospels and homily repeated the themes of love for fellow man, helping your neighbor, the Good Samaritan- and God’s vengeance and damnation against those who sin.
After taking the Host fitzOsbern stood next to Alan at the back of the gathering. “I suppose you had nothing to do with this?” he said
With an expression of total innocence Alan replied, “With what? The villagers have been accommodating, despite having their valuables removed the first day we were here. The priest has been equally accommodating. They prepared dinner last night and breakfast today, which it looks like it should be ready soon.”
FitzOsbern gave him a flat look. “I have a reputation to maintain! Burn the mill and the salt-house. Despoil the salt. Slaughter enough animals to feed us for the day. Leave the rest of the grain, flour and animals. Except the horses- bring them with us. Everything else can stay. They’ve earned that much charity. I want my reputation to be hard, but fair! Let’s eat and get under way!”
Prestatyn was not so lucky and three hours later it lay behind the marching army, sacked and burnt and with its animals all slaughtered. Holywell lay next in their path. The army had not moved far, only fifteen miles, but looting two substantial villages takes time to do thoroughly and after sacking Holywell the army camped for the night. As indicated by its name, Holywell was a place of considerable local religious significance. St Winefride’s Well with its adjacent chapel was a place of pilgrimage. The chapel, well and church were left untouched when the army departed the next day, but the rest of the village was burnt.
As the small army moved forwards fitzOsbern kept the men under close control. There was a long history of savagery and atrocity committed on both sides of the border. The discipline rigorously imposed on the Anglo-Normans was not out of any benevolence or compassion, but the need to keep a small force in hostile territory under control and ready to fight at a moment’s notice. FitzOsbern and most of his leaders had no objection as such to a little rape and murder, but such activity was distracting. Looting was taken as normal. Rape, torture of civilians and the abusing of children was frowned upon.
Miscreants who overstepped the line were strung by the neck from convenient trees in summary judgment when caught. Each village was professionally plundered by men who obviously had considerable experience in locating places where valuables may be hidden. Generally, the villagers and the occupants of the scattered hillside cottages had seen the approach of the army and had fled into the hills and forests. However, Alan was suspicious that the armed bands visiting the dwellings which were away from the main route of march were extracting revenge for those killed or enslaved in Welsh raids or ambushes- and were then perpetuating the ongoing circle of violence.
Holywell to Flint was five miles and was reached at about seven in the morning. Because the Welsh living on the northern border itself did not raid frequently and were fairly peaceful, fitzOsbern directed that the village, and the others on the further sixteen miles to Chester, remained unmolested other than having to provide food for 800 hungry men and nearly as many horses. They crossed the River Dee into Chester in the early afternoon. The castle was immediately on their right as the army crossed the bridge and fitzOsbern gave orders that the bridge guard be increased to 100 men, that the downstream Saltney and Higher ferries be guarded and men be sent upstream to Aldford. He didn’t expect Bleddyn to launch a major attack, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.
With the castle barracks full and Englishmen not being given priority for available accommodation, Alan and his men set up their tent with many others outside the town walls on the meadow by the river. Their share of what booty was available from the campaign was thirty Welsh ponies. Short, at twelve or thirteen hands, but strong, sturdy and intelligent, they would be of benefit and Alan would pay his men a good price to buy them. He also had twenty or so swords and helmets as part of his share of loot.
Alan went to the abbey to check on the wounded. From his troop, Wulfwick, the man with the spear wound to the stomach had died. Manwin, who had received a bad arm wound, appeared as if he would live but the churgeon had removed his left arm near the shoulder. If he survived, Alan would arrange his transport home and a suitable job and pension.
After a week and a half of abstinence Alan took his men to a local tavern for a good meal and a few pints of ale. Six hours later and blind drunk, the local town guard were more than happy to open the gate to let them out and get rid of them, after one urinated in the guardhouse and another vomited on the Captain of the Guard. The whole town was delighted to hear of the successes against the perfidious Welsh, and so the recently returned troops were given some leeway instead of being beaten or clapped in irons. The guard captain, as he wiped himself off, did make it clear to Alan that the courtesy would not be repeated and that Alan in future was required to keep his stomach’s contents to himself.
The following day Alan was not well. It must have been something he had eaten, he thought as he lay on his straw palliasse in the tent on the Green outside the town walls, wishing that the bells of the many churches in the town would fall silent. Fortunately his troop was not on duty that day.
The next day, while Edric led the troop on a mounted patrol upriver south to Aldford in accordance with the instructions of fitzOsbern’s Constable, Alan himself called to see the earl at mid-morning. This was a time that he had heard the earl was usually busy with the paperwork and minutiae of running the earldom, the martial nature of commanding on the Border Marches requiring constant attention. He wanted the earl busy and distracted when he saw him.
As befitted both his station and standing, Alan was shown immediately into the office where the earl was sitting behind a table piled with pieces of parchment, talking with his Steward and his Victualler, while two scribes sat at each end of the table making notes. “Good morning, Sir Alan. Take a seat and I’ll be with you when I can,” said FitzOsbern waving Alan towards a stool.
“No hurry, Lord William. Whenever you are ready,” replied Alan as he sat. Moments later a servant poured him a cup of wine.
After about five minutes the Steward rose to leave, the Victualler remaining, presumably with other unfinished business. FitzOsbern looked up at Alan and asked, “Yes?”
“Lord William, now we are back at Chester and no further sorties intended, I thought that I would ask your permission to leave my knight’s service here early and travel to my estates near Hereford to ensure their readiness should Bleddyn attack in the south, rather than remain here in the north,” said Alan. “You’ve more than ample men here to cover any response by the Welsh here, but methinks the forces in the south may be stretched a little thin. Bleddyn is just as likely to strike there as here. Indeed, more likely if he has any sense.”
Another flunkey hurried into the room and stood waiting, holding several pieces of parchment. After a moment’s pause fitzOsbern nodded and replied, “Yes, you have my leave. Let me know if you see any shortcomings in my garrison at Hereford.” FitzOsbern paused again and continued, looking Alan in the eye. “You and I need to have a long talk before next summer about strategy on the border. This year the king intends to wear his crown at Gloucester at Christmas. We can talk then. My thanks for your advice over the last two weeks. You have a clear head on your shoulders and a fine appreciation of what can and cannot be done. I look forward to working with you next summer.”
“Can’t I do castle-guard at Ipswich?” asked Alan plaintively. “Duty in your service is onerous!” FitzOsbern gave a bark of laughter at what he was certain was a joke, as every knight wanted to be where the fight was. As he waved Alan away he was still chucking.
Alan and his men rode out of Chester at first light the next morning as the gates were opened, crossed the wooden bridge over the River Dee and headed south. The men were armed but not wearing their armour, as the road didn’t run close the border for most of its distance. Each man led a chain of three or four ponies, each with saddle and tack. They pushed hard. It was 94 miles from Chester to Hereford and Alan intended to cover that distance in one day, with the men swapping between the several horses they led to keep the animals fresh. It was 20 miles to Whitchurch and a further 21 to Shrewsbury, where they stopped for a meal at mid-morning, moving at 10 miles an hour. Then Shrewsbury to Leominster, crossing the River Lugg several times as it also wound its way south. Then the short ride further south to Hereford.
The land, particularly in the river valleys, was rich and closely farmed, with a number of villages at regular intervals- most of which still bore the marks of the Welsh invasion the year before. The road was dry. High cloud kept the summer day from becoming too warm. Making good time, Alan decided that rather than stop at Hereford they would push on the further 9 miles to the west along the River Wye valley to Staunton, where they arrived an hour or so before dark, after 14 hours on the road.
Dirty, sweaty, sore, stiff and tired, the men dismounted and walked about to stretch their legs. In the time since Alan had last been here the villagers had completed building the Hall, barracks and stables. The protective ditch had been dug, the earthen rampart constructed from the spoil of the ditch and revetted with turf to make a nearly vertical earthen wall which was about half completed, as were the eight small wooden towers. The gate and the drawbridge over the ditch were complete and in place.
In the Hall the window shutters were open to let in the breeze and the last of the light- Alan and Anne had no intention of ordering expensive window glass for what was a rough but adequate frontier outpost- and where they didn’t themselves reside. Robert, Warren the archer and Leofwine the huscarle were in the Hall. Ledmer was leading the mounted Wolves on a patrol up the Wye towards Hay-on-Wye on the border.
Robert reported that the border had been unusually quiet and that there had been no reports of movement of warriors in the upper reaches of the Wye Valley from the spies that they had recruited in Hay-on-Wye and Rador. Training of the villagers of the manors as militia spearmen, swordsmen and archers was progressing well. The thirty Welsh bows ordered from Cardiff had arrived, the bowmen were starting to become moderately proficient and the fletchers had made a reasonable supply of war-arrows.
Alan advised his seneschal that a further supply of swords and helmets, from his share of the spoils of the northern campaign, would be arriving by wagon in a few days, which would complete the intended outfitting of the militia, giving fifty each of spearmen, swordsmen and archers- most of the adult male population of the four manors. The weapons Alan was providing were similar to those used by the Welsh, mainly taken from them in the raid made by Alan’s men earlier in the year and the recently concluded expedition. Only Alan’s mounted men-at-arms and huscarles, ten of each being stationed at Staunton, were provided with chain-mail armour. The militia would fight unarmoured in the manner of the Welsh or the English fyrd, or themselves fashion armour out of thick boiled leather.
“I’m glad things are quiet,” commented Alan, taking a pull from a quart of ale to wash the dust of the road from his throat. “That means that the rest of the men I brought from Essex can go home. They’ll be needed for the harvest in a few weeks, and that’ll cut down the amount of supplies we need to bring in here. Today is Tuesday. They can leave on Friday the 13th and will be back home in three days. We’ve got 70 ponies now. I’ll leave 40 here, so you can move your infantry and archers quickly. The others can go to Thorrington, or more likely Wivenhoe and Great Bentley. You’ve already got 25 chargers and hackneys for your men.”
“There is some news that probably hasn’t reached Chester yet,” commented Robert. “Three of Harold’s bastard children who fled to Ireland returned last week with a raiding party of Irishmen and landed near Bristol. Godwin Haroldson was in charge. They raided the shipping in the channel and in Bristol harbour on the Avon and tried to take the city. The locals repelled the attack- they didn’t want anything to do with him and the thegns and fyrdmen led the fight. Then the raiders moved down the coast in their ships to Weston, sacked and burnt that village and then moved up the River Axe, about four miles south of Weston. That was one of Gytha’s old manors, so perhaps they thought they may get a better reception there. Eadnoth the Staller caught up with them there and beat them in battle, but he was himself killed leading the fight. Tovi the sheriff was also there, as was Eadnoth’s son Harding, and they pressed the fight after Eadnoth fell. The Haroldsons then packed up and went back to Leinster in Ireland. Gytha departed at the same time, apparently with several boatloads of treasure and household goods.”
Alan gave a small sigh on hearing the loss of his friend, one of the few remaining influential Englishmen and who, as confirmed by his actions, had been loyal to his oath to the new king. “So we’re likely to be having the Irish continue to raid the west coast,” he commented.
“That won’t affect us much up here,” replied Warren. “They’re unlikely to go up the Wye past Gloucester.”
The bulk of Alan’s men departed east several days later, one of the three carts previously brought west with them returning under escort carrying the armour and heavier equipment. Thirty of the archers and infantrymen now rode ponies, and the twenty Wolves rode their chargers. To avoid attention they split into four groups, one of which included the wagon. Three groups were on horseback and one on foot. No danger was expected but they took to the road with weapons handy.
Alan spent another week checking the progress of training of the fyrdmen and was well satisfied with the work that Robert, Warren, Leofwine and Ledmer had achieved, and was confident that if the occasion arose that his men would be equal to the challenge. He also spent time visiting each of the manors, talking to the head-cheorls at Monnington, Bobury, Staunton and Norton Canon, visiting each to inspect the repair of damage from the Welsh invasion the previous summer and how the current harvest was progressing.
The grain was standing high and thick and, absent any heavy rain or high winds, the harvest promised to be good. As most of the livestock that had been stolen had been replaced when Alan had in his turn raided the Welsh, full granaries would restore his manors to relative affluence- although most of the remainder of western Herefordshire would not be so lucky and shortage of livestock and grain would continue to cause hunger in most of the shire during the coming year. The suffering of the other villages on the border meant that Alan’s manors would receive a high price for any produce they sold. The fishery at Bobury had been repaired and dried fish were being sold to the merchants in Hereford. The repairs to the water-mill at Monnington would be completed in time for it to be used for grinding grain after the harvest.
Satisfied that all was as well as could be, Alan rode east for home with Edric, the six remaining Wolves and his servant Leof.