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  Medieval IV

  Ring of Steel

  By

  K. M. Ashman

  Published by

  Silverback Books

  More Books by K. M. Ashman

  The India Sommers Mysteries

  The Dead Virgins

  The Treasures of Suleiman

  The Mummies of the Reich

  The Tomb Builders

  The Roman Chronicles

  Roman I – The Fall of Britannia

  Roman II – The Rise of Caratacus

  Roman III – The Wrath of Boudicca

  Roman IV – Boudicca’s Daughters (Coming Soon)

  The Medieval Sagas

  Medieval I – Blood of the Cross

  Medieval II – In Shadows of kings

  Medieval III – Sword of Liberty

  Medieval IV – Ring of Steel

  Novels

  Savage Eden

  The Last Citadel

  Vampire

  Audio Books

  Medieval – Blood of the Cross

  The Last Citadel

  See more of Kevin’s work at:

  kevin-ashman.blogspot.co.uk/

  Or contact him direct at:

  [email protected]

  Medieval IV

  Ring of Steel

  Copyright K M Ashman 2014

  All rights are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the copyright owner.

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  All characters depicted within this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Foreword

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Author’s Notes

  Author’s Message

  Foreword

  Medieval IV – Ring of Steel is the final volume in the story of Garyn Ap Thomas and covers the time of the revolt by Madog Ap Llewellyn in 1294 – 1295. Though it can be read as a standalone book, it would be better enjoyed if the other three books in the series were read first.

  Prologue

  Wales 1294

  Since Llewellyn’s death in 1282, Edward the first of England, also known as Longshanks, spent a fortune in time and money subduing the Welsh nation. To do so, he awarded lands and titles across Wales to those nobles and warlords who swore fealty to the English crown.

  To support the occupation he also embarked on an unprecedented building program erecting huge castles across Wales, the like of which had never been seen before. Each was unassailable in its own right but together they formed his famed ring of steel, an impregnable chain of oppression from which his forces could maintain their tyrannical grip upon the troublesome country.

  For ten years the castles and those loyal to the king held an entire nation beneath their heel and despite the occasional uprising from those frustrated by their masters’ brutality, the rule of Longshanks was never seriously challenged. However, as the decade ended some of the more nationalistic Welsh lords started to talk once more of liberty and though such conversations had taken place many times before, this time there was a realism to the plans.

  Edward dismissed the threat and concentrated on his forthcoming campaign to France but as the castles were stripped of cash and indeed manpower to fuel his campaign, the Welsh lords saw a window of opportunity. Resistance grew across the country and gradually an air of rebellion evolved into the beginnings of a full scale uprising and Cynan Ap Maredudd, a war lord from the hills of Mid Wales, gathered an army about him to prey on the supply lines of the castles throughout the country. Meanwhile in the North, a noble by the name of Madog Ap Llewellyn claimed royal lineage from Llewellyn Ap Iorwerth, or Llewellyn the great, as he eventually became known and also set about raising a force with which he could resist the occupation.

  The move took the English by surprise and within weeks, not only had Castell du Bere, one of Edward’s favoured fortresses fallen to Cynan but also the unthinkable had happened when Caernarfon, one of the most impressive castles on the north coast, was besieged and captured by Madog.

  The message soon got back to Longshanks and though it meant postponing his French campaign, he knew he had to wipe out the Welsh threat once and for all. As the winter of 1294 approached, the Welsh celebrated within the giant walls of Caernarfon and as there was no immediate reaction from the English crown, many thought Longshanks had no stomach for a fight.

  So it came to be that while Madog and his men enjoyed their impressive victory, across the border, Edward Longshanks, king of England, slowly but surely, drew up his plans.

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  Chapter One

  Brecon Castle

  1294

  The screams of the dying man had long faded into silence and Garyn could only guess at the pain the poor victim had suffered before a merciful death had overwhelmed him, the unseen torturer’s echoing laughter accompanying him on the journey to whatever afterlife he believed in.

  The dark corridor set deep within the castle walls was lit only by small candles at either end and echoed with the sound of the jailer’s footsteps as he patrolled back and fore, his face a picture of boredom as he waited for the change of guard that was long overdue.

  Garyn lay curled on a rotting mat that stank of human waste, yet still better than the coldness of the cell floor that seemed to reach deep into his very bones. A wooden bucket sat in the far corner, a rarely emptied receptacle for his toilet but since his incarceration three weeks earlier, he had been fed so infrequently, his body had little to pass.

  His body was black and blue, for his jailers were generous with fist and boot and on several occasions he thought he would be beaten to death but always they pulled up short, their ears ringing at the orders of the gaol commander.

  ‘Enough, the castellan wants this one alive.’

  When finished they would usually throw a bucket of water over him and leave him to shiver in the pitch darkness as they walked away laughing, his plight already forgotten as they contemplated their next tankard of ale.

  Garyn knew his situation was desperate for the continued beatings and lack of food meant he grew weaker by the day but though the pain was constant, the possibility that Gerald had been telling the truth and he did indeed have a son, kept him striving for life, hoping against hope that circumstances would allow him the grace to cast eyes upon the boy, even for the briefest of moments.

  His mind went over and over the events of the last few weeks. His discovery of the famed Sword of Macsen, or the Liberty Sword as it had become known, should have proved a unifying moment where all Welshmen could unite under a common cause and drive Longshanks from their country, but fate had stepped up in the shape of Gerald of Essex and that opportunity had been lost forever. The sword now lay in the hands of the English, for even as Garyn and his comrade Derwyn were in sight of Caernarfon Castle, Gerald had found him and informed him of the existence of his son now incarcerated within the walls of Brecon Castle and u
nless Garyn handed over the sword and returned with him immediately, the boy would be put to death at the hands of the sick Abbot of Brycheniog, Father Williams.

  At first Garyn hadn’t believed the English knight but Gerald was convincing and Garyn realised that if there was even the slightest chance he was telling the truth, then he had no option, he had to return. Unwilling to have the death of his own son on his hands, Garyn handed over the sword before riding back to Brycheniog as Gerald’s prisoner.

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  He lay in the darkness, desperate to catch whatever moments of sleep he could in the damp cell, no matter how fleeting. Sleep was the only escape from this continued hell but he knew as long as the Abbot stayed alive, then his own life was safe, albeit miserable. The only reason he hadn’t already been handed over to the torturers was because Father Williams had left express instructions that he was to die by his hands only, a double edged sword with only one outcome.

  The sound of hobnailed boots echoed down the corridor and Garyn sat up as he heard a key rattle in his cell door. A soldier entered holding a burning candle and placed it on a shelf before forcing Garyn back against the far wall with the point of his blade.

  ‘Stay back, Welshman,’ he said, ‘and don’t try any of your trickery.’

  Behind the guard another man entered the cell and looked around in disgust.

  ‘It stinks in here,’ said Gerald before turning to the guard. ‘Get out and lock the door behind you, I will call when I am done.’ The guard left the room and when the door was locked, Gerald wandered around the cell before picking up the bucket and emptying the contents onto the floor, turning it over to use as a seat.

  ‘So,’ he said eventually, turning his attention to the sorry figure of Garyn, ‘here we are again, Welshman, how have you found our hospitality?’

  ‘Your thugs are well trained, Essex, I’ll give you that,’ he answered.

  ‘Yes,’ said Gerald, staring at Garyn’s face, ‘I see they have been giving you some attention.’

  ‘Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?’

  ‘You know why, Blacksmith,’ said Gerald, ‘our mutual friend has ensured your life is his to take. If I had my way, your innards would have been strewn along the castle walls long before now, juicy morsels for the ravens. Still, there’s plenty of time for that.’

  ‘What do you want, Essex?’ asked Garyn, ‘spit it out or leave me to my misery. The air was decidedly cleaner before you came in with your treacherous stench.’

  ‘Hmm, it seems you still have spirit,’ said Gerald, ‘perhaps we should increase the frequencies of your beatings.’

  ‘Do what you will, Englishman, I will not beg for mercy.’

  ‘No, I don’t think you would,’ said Gerald, ‘a pity really, that would have been quite amusing.’

  ‘So what do you want?’

  ‘I want you to tell me more about this,’ said Gerald producing a package wrapped in course sack cloth.

  Garyn recognised the item, it was the Sword of Macsen, still wrapped in its original protective wrapping.

  ‘The Liberty Sword,’ he said eventually, ‘what about it?’

  ‘I want to know all about it, the significance, where you found it, where it came from,’ he paused and looked across at Garyn before adding, ‘and how much the Welsh would be willing to pay for its return.’

  ‘Is that all that matters to you, Essex?’ asked Garyn, ‘the weight of everything in silver pennies.’

  ‘I admit I have a healthy respect for money,’ said Gerald, ‘and am not averse to selling the occasional holy artefact but this is different, it is little more than rust and splinters. Why was it of so much importance?’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand.’ said Garyn.

  ‘Try me.’ said Gerald.

  Garyn turned back to face the knight.

  ‘Why should I aid you, Englishman? You are the opposite of everything my people believe in and the fact you see no significance in a thousand year old sword speaks volumes that no monk could hope to ever scribe.’

  ‘Perhaps so,’ said Gerald, ‘but my interest is roused and I would know its story.’

  ‘Then ask one of the traitorous Welshmen under your command. Many know the tale, you will hear it not from me.’

  ‘You are correct and some have already shared their understanding but each has a different version. However, they all share one similarity and that is that each claim the grave would contain the treasures of an Emperor. You found that tomb, Garyn and I would know where it lays. Tell me the tale from your own lips and in return, I will ensure your conditions improve.’

  ‘In what way?’ asked Garyn, sensing an opportunity.

  ‘A dry cell, perhaps with a window, a hot meal each day and a set of clean clothes.’

  ‘Can you guarantee my safety?’

  ‘Alas that is beyond me for the Abbott is a powerful man but at least however many days you have left can be lived in relative comfort. In addition, I will call off my men. No more beatings, Garyn, how does that sound?’

  ‘It sounds like one more of your empty promises,’ said Garyn, ‘yet another lie to obtain what it is you desire.’

  ‘Lies?’ said Gerald, ‘when have I lied to you?’

  ‘You told me I had a son,’ said Garyn, ‘an untruth spun like a web to get me back here. Well congratulations, knight, I fell for your lies once but never again.’

  Gerald laughed in the darkness.

  ‘Garyn Ap Thomas,’ he said eventually, ‘I have indeed lied during my life, usually as a means to bed some other man’s wife but I can assure you, in this case I told the truth. Your son sleeps within this very tower and it must be said, he gives me far less trouble than his father.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ said Garyn.

  ‘Believe what you will, my words are true.’

  ‘Prove it,’ said Garyn thinking furiously.

  ‘And why do I need to prove anything to you?’

  ‘Let me see him,’ said Garyn, ‘allow me ten minutes to speak with him and if I find he is indeed who you say, then I will tell you everything you wish to know.’

  Gerald sat back and stared in amusement.

  ‘Your words are indeed a cunning weapon, Garyn for I came armed with a bargain only to find myself upon the receiving end. A clever trait in any man.’

  ‘Well?’ said Garyn, ‘what do you have to lose? Whatever happens, it would seem I am to die in the near future anyway so surely it is a small price to pay.’

  ‘You would exchange ten minutes with a person you have never met instead of the comforts I just offered you?’

  ‘No, I want them both. The better conditions and time with the one you claim is my son.’

  ‘You push your luck, Welshman,’ said Gerald. ‘I may just withdraw my offer and get back to my mistress.’ He stood up to leave.

  Garyn also stood up and they faced each other across the cell.

  ‘You were right, Gerald,’ said Garyn loudly as the knight banged on the door, ‘I did find the tomb of Macsen complete with his body.’

  ‘And did you see any treasures?’ asked Gerald turning around.

  ‘I did not for anything of value had been taken by those before us but I will say this. The body was still wrapped in his shroud and I have heard tell that Emperors were buried complete with their finery. He lies there still and as far as I know, he may yet be adorned with jewels befitting an emperor of his status.’

  Gerald approached Garyn and stood directly in front of him, staring deeply into his eyes. For several seconds nobody spoke but finally Gerald broke the silence.

  ‘If I find out you have lied to me Welshman, I will make you watch your son die the most painful death my torturers can envisage and trust me, they are very inventive.’

  ‘It is not a lie,’ said Garyn. ‘The body of Macsen is intact within his coffin and the shroud lies unopened.’

  ‘So be it,’ said Gerald, ‘you will have your way. I will have you moved and on the morrow you
will meet your spawn.’ He turned to the waiting guard, ‘get me out of here,’ he said, ‘this place disgusts me.’

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  Chapter Two

  Caernarvon Castle

  1294

  Madog and Merion walked into the hall and looked around. Before them sat over a hundred men at arms, lords and lesser nobles from all across Wales. Some had been involved alongside his own men in the assault on Caernarfon, while some faces were new to him, and had journeyed many days to heed the Prince’s call.

  Messengers had been sent far and wide, extolling Madog’s astonishing capture of Edward’s most prestigious castle and inviting men to join the prince in his struggle against the English.

  Over the past week the victors had been busy burying the dead and repairing what defences they could in case of any counter attack by the English but no such retaliation had come and gradually the tension had eased as the implications of the victory sunk in.

  As he stared around the room, one man got to his feet and looked toward the prince. His full beard was grey and his hair was tied back from his face. His long moustache dripped with ale and his enormous hands made the tankard look small in their grip. His leather chest plate was dirty and blood stained and Madog guessed correctly he was one of the minor warlords from Mid-Wales, more used to fighting than banqueting. For a moment both men stared at each other in silence but just as Madog was about to speak, the grey haired warrior slammed his fist onto the wooden table, making everyone jump in surprise.

  For a second there was silence and the man repeated the action, following it swiftly with more strikes, making the table shudder with each impact. Over and over again he smashed his fist on the table and within seconds, all the men in the hall were banging their fists and tankards on the tables, displaying their admiration for the young prince’s unlikely achievement. Soon voices joined the banging and men cheered loudly, deafening all present with their support as Madog looked around in astonishment. These men were the backbone of the resistance across Wales and here they all were, together in his presence paying homage to him, Madog, Prince of Wales.