Medieval III - Sword of Liberty Read online

  ‘Astute as ever, Geraint,’ said Tarian, ‘there is indeed business to be discussed and I am here to put in place the final piece of a puzzle that has been many years in the making.’

  ‘I assume you are talking about the coming of age of a certain young man?’

  ‘His birthday is indeed known to me but is a coincidence for I would still be here even if he was five years younger.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The time is upon us, Geraint, the day we dreamed of for so many years has come to pass. The mood of the country is one of rebellion and men whisper in dark corners, each making plans against the shadow of Longshanks.’

  ‘Men have plotted so since he returned from the holy-land but nothing ever transpires. Even those brave enough to chance their arm are soon betrayed by those loyal to Longshanks and it has been said there are so many Welsh heads displayed on the walls of Worcester, the crows grow fat from eyes alone.’

  ‘And it is that sort of sentiment which stirs the beast into action,’ said Tarian. ‘Our people have had enough, Geraint, they are taxed to a standstill, yet see those in the pay of Longshanks grow fat while our children starve. Taverns are raided by his soldiers and our churches are stripped of their relics in a bid to raise funds for his next war. Our farms are going untended as the young men are coerced into joining his army and it is said he intends to sail against the French in a matter of months.’

  ‘So why exactly are you here?’

  ‘You know why I am here, Geraint, I am here to fulfil the pact we made all those years ago. We have nobles in the south waiting to rise against the English and it is all I can do to hold them from attacking immediately. Our numbers are strong, the swords are sharpened and the young men chomp at the bit to strike against their oppressors.’

  ‘Then why do they wait?’

  ‘Geraint, as you have already said, there have been many such uprisings since Llewellyn fell and all were doomed to fail. Not because the men lacked heart but because they set forth about their task in isolation while the rest of the country slept. Would we send lone riders out to confront the enemy on a battlefield? No, we would not but that is exactly what those men did, took on the might of the crown by attacking in isolation. They were doomed to failure from the start and it was the actions of desperate men.’

  ‘So what has changed?’

  ‘This time we are organised. For the last few years, men of note have been coordinating the resistance and there are ten thousand men at arms waiting for the signal.’

  ‘Ten thousand?’ said Geraint raising his eyebrows in surprise.

  ‘And more,’ said Tarian. ‘That number does not count those who will be caught up in the fervour. We estimate we can double that number within weeks of showing our hand.’

  ‘And what is it that stops you taking that next step?’

  ‘We need a spark, Geraint. A beacon to lead us back to freedom. I know it has been a long time but we always knew this day would come. From the very first time we talked on the forecastle of the Coronet, we shared a dream that would eventually bring us to this point. It has taken far longer than any of us would have liked but that has not been a bad thing. The time is right, the mood of a nation is behind us and all we need is a figurehead. The time is now, Geraint, you have to tell Madog of his destiny and charge him with leading this country back into freedom.’

  ----

  Across the courtyard, Madog walked into the banqueting hall of the manor. His mother, Angelique was at his side and they took their place at the head of the table running across the width of the hall. The two runs of tables stretching away from them were populated by nobles from across Ynys Mon, as well as minor officials from Cantrefs across north Wales. Though the occasion was not great in itself, it was always prudent to receive any delegation from Longshanks with due ceremony and displays of wealth.

  Their guests were already there, two men granted the honour of sharing the top table and each stood behind a chair to either side of those reserved for Madog and Angelique. Everyone nodded slightly as Madog entered for though he was not royalty, he was the Lord of Ynys Mon and as such demanded respect.

  ‘Please be seated,’ said Madog and as everyone took their place, Madog turned to the man sitting beside him.

  ‘Simon of Kent,’ he said, ‘I trust you have travelled well.’

  ‘Indeed we have, My Lord,’ answered Simon, ‘and have been well looked after since we arrived. Your hospitality has not gone unnoticed and I will personally ensure Longshanks hears about it.’

  Madog nodded almost imperceptibly. It would not be good to indicate that he accepted any blessing from Edward but similarly, acknowledgement was expected in such matters. For the next two hours they enjoyed the best the manor kitchens could offer. The first course consisted of boiled ground beef in a spiced wine sauce and a side dish of onions with almonds and currants. Other courses followed including baby rabbits and curlew, but the finale was a fattened roast swan stuffed with tiny swallows and plums. The guests clapped in appreciation as Simon was invited to carve the bird and eventually the feast ended with a selection of fruits and wafers.

  Once the meal was over, the servants produced a selection of the best wines from the continent and ales to slake the thirst of the driest of throats. Minstrels came next as well as tellers of tales and as the conversation flowed, Simon of Kent turned to Madog.

  ‘You keep a magnificent table, Sire. Never have I eaten such splendour outside of the royal court.’

  ‘I am pleased you think so, Simon,’ said Madog. ‘We may not be a rich people but we will not be found wanting when entertaining messengers of the King.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Simon, ‘which brings me onto the business of the day.’

  ‘Will it not wait until the morrow?’

  ‘Alas no. Your hospitality is second to none and I would love to stay for the merrymaking but we must be away before dawn for many more miles lay before us. Could I beg a few minutes of your time to share the purpose of our journey?’

  ‘Can you not do it here?’

  ‘A quieter atmosphere may be more conducive to such business,’ said Simon with a forced smile.

  ‘So be it,’ said Madog and rose from his seat. For a few moments the noise in the hall quietened as the guests feared the evening was over but Madog soon put their minds at rest.

  ‘Please,’ he said, ‘enjoy the hospitality to your heart’s content. I will return as soon as certain matters are laid to rest.’ Cheers echoed around the room and as he and Simon of Kent left the hall, the festivities resumed behind them.

  The two men walked through the cold stone passages before heading into an ante chamber warmed by a roaring log fire.

  ‘Bring wine,’ said Madog to one of the two servants standing by the door. He turned to Simon who was staring up at a magnificent portrait above the fireplace.

  ‘Do you know him?’ asked Madog joining the messenger before the fire.

  ‘If I am not mistaken, it is Llewellyn Ap Gruffydd.’

  ‘You have the correct name but wrong generation,’ said Madog. ‘This man is Llewellyn Ap Iorwerth, or Llewellyn the Great as he is known to us Welsh.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Simon, ‘though the title depends on your viewpoint, I suppose.’

  ‘Granted you see him in a different light,’ said Madog, ‘but to us he always was and always will be known as Llewellyn the Great.’

  ‘We digress,’ said Simon turning around, ‘let’s get down to business.’ He opened a leather bag hanging at his side and retrieved a series of scrolls sealed with red wax.

  ‘These are communiques from the King himself,’ said Simon. ‘They report the need to raise taxes for his coming war in France.’

  ‘More taxes?’ sighed Madog, ‘our people are already taxed to a standstill. They struggle to afford even bread.’

  ‘We all need to tighten our belts, Madog. The King is about to set forth on a campaign against the French and it is in all our interests to ensure he
is well resourced. A few extra pennies may not make a difference to a family while collectively they could ensure the security of our country.’

  ‘I disagree,’ said Madog. ‘Those same few pennies could mean the difference between life and death to the hungry. He can’t keep raising the tax burden, Simon, the people will only take so much.’

  ‘On the contrary, Madog, the King can do as he sees fit and I would suggest you keep such exhortations of what he can or can’t do to yourself.’

  Madog stared at him, struggling to contain his ire.

  ‘I can see you are upset, Madog,’ continued Simon, ‘so will leave you with your thoughts.’ He threw the rest of the scrolls on the table. ‘Within these you will find the King’s expectations, men at arms, weapons, stores and horses. The list is detailed. The Constable of Caernarfon will arrange the collection within four weeks. In addition, every person will be taxed one third of all moveable possessions.’

  ‘Moveable possession? Are we not already taxed a quarter of all value.’

  ‘And that will remain but in addition, there will be an extra tax on possessions. It’s not hard to understand, if it moves, it’s taxed. If a man has three carts, he must give one to the crown or the equivalent value in coin, such value to be determined by the Constable or his officers.’

  ‘But that’s unsustainable,’ said Madog, ‘the burden of tax will drive people to their graves.’

  ‘War is an expensive pastime, Madog and there is a need for every man to share the burden.’ He stood and sealed the bag containing the scrolls meant for the next manor. ‘I will leave you to it; Madog for the road is hard before us. You will find everything is in order within the scrolls and I would encourage you to embrace this opportunity to support your monarch, after all, Edward is King of both England and Wales, you would do well to remember that.’

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left the room. Madog stared after him before turning and throwing his tankard against the wall in a fit of rage.

  ----

  Across the courtyard Tarian and Geraint were saying their goodbyes. Tarian was astride his charger while four other horsemen waited patiently for him to join them.

  ‘Are you sure you won’t stay?’ asked Geraint. ‘The barracks are humble but warm or I can arrange a room at the main house.’

  ‘No, the fewer who know of my involvement the better. I have arranged lodgings at an old friend’s place not three miles from here.’ He paused. ‘Speak to Madog, Geraint; make him see the value in joining our cause.’

  ‘I will try, Tarian but cannot promise success.’

  ‘Do what you can. In the meantime, try to judge the mood of Ynys Mon. We will need every blade in the field if this is going to succeed.’

  ‘And what will you do?’ asked Geraint handing up the reins.

  ‘I have to meet other men such as me to arrange a time to strike. It is important we act together otherwise we will fail as those before.’

  ‘When do you anticipate such action?’

  ‘We will wait for Edward to set sail and when his army is in France, we will sweep through our country, eradicating the English from our lands. By the time message reaches Longshanks, Wales will be free and in possession of a united army. Even if he returns to face us, which I doubt, he will find nought but Welsh steel waiting for him.’

  ‘My heart races with the thought, Tarian; let’s just hope the nation’s heart beats the same.’

  ‘We will see, Geraint, we will see.’

  With that he turned and galloped his horse out of the courtyard closely followed by his men at arms. Geraint watched him go and turned back toward the barracks. Before he reached the door a voice called out from the rear door of the manor kitchens.

  ‘Geraint, come quickly.’

  Geraint heard the urgency in the woman’s voice and raced across the flagstones to find one of the housemaids wringing her hands with worry.

  ‘Anne, what causes you such angst?’ he asked.

  ‘Sire, it is the master, he is wild with rage and threatens to have my John sent to the stocks.’

  ‘For what reason?’

  ‘Something to do with the English visitors, Sire. My John says he has never seen the master in such a state.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘In the room with the big picture.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Anne,’ said Geraint, ‘I will see what worries him so.’ With that he crossed the kitchens and strode down the corridor to the family rooms. Within moments he saw the worried face of one of the servants outside a closed door.

  ‘John,’ he said, ‘what is his mood.’

  ‘Still sour, Sire. He says I will be in the stocks by dawn.’

  ‘Fret not, John,’ said Geraint, ‘they are the words spoken in temper. Go back to Anne and ease her worry.’

  ‘Thank you, Sire,’ said John and ran down the corridor.

  Geraint watched him go before opening the door and walking into the room. For a few seconds he could see no one but then realised Madog was seated in a large chair facing away from him.

  ‘Get out,’ roared Madog without standing up.

  ‘Sire, it’s me,’ said Geraint quietly and walked over to the table to pour himself a tankard of wine.

  ‘And what do you want, Geraint?’ sneered Madog, ‘has my overbearing mother sent you here to calm my ire?’

  ‘On the contrary, Sire, your mother does not know I am here.’

  Madog fell silent as Geraint poured his drink and sat in the seat opposite him.

  ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he said with a sneer.

  ‘Is this a problem?’ asked Geraint.

  Madog stared into Geraint’s eyes but soon lowered them as his older friend’s steely gaze bettered him once again.

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ he said.

  ‘Good,’ said Geraint. ‘So, why don’t you tell me what this is all about?’

  ‘Just venting my frustration, Geraint,’ said Madog, ‘better within these four walls than in the gaze of my staff.’

  ‘And since when have you taken out your anger on those whom you better?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean?’

  ‘Even as we speak there is a servant trembling in fear at the thought of a week in the stocks. Is this the actions of a noble man?’

  ‘Oh, that? Empty words, no more. I will make it up with him on the morrow.’

  ‘See that you do,’ said Geraint.

  ‘You are very free with your demands, Geraint,’ said Madog, ‘I am no longer a mere boy under your instruction, I am Lord of this manor and will act as I please. You would do well to remember that.’

  ‘Why, Madog?’ asked Geraint leaning forward, ‘what punishment do you have in store for me? Placed in the stocks, whipped in the village square or what about having me beaten by your men at arms? Feel free, Madog, I will not resist and when you are done and you feel less anger, perhaps we can discuss this thing as fellows.’

  Madog stared once more, but this time did not lower his gaze.

  ‘You have entered this room uninvited, drunk my wine and talked down to me as a mere boy, yet you know there will not be punishment for you are the only man I respect. The rest are but cattle at the feet of Longshanks.’

  ‘You are wrong, Madog. There are many men who demand respect, not just in this country but across Christendom and in that I include Longshanks himself as well as many of his nobles.’

  ‘What treason is this?’ gasped Madog, ‘how can you sit here and lavish praise on someone who has brought our country to its knees?’

  ‘I lavish no praise, Madog but respect him as a strong enemy for make no mistake, that is exactly what he is.’

  ‘He is a tyrant.’

  ‘He is a King who keeps his enemies at bay on three fronts, Scotland, Wales and France. Any man who can do that while maintaining an iron grip on his own country has to be respected.’

  ‘You are quick with your praise, Geraint yet know nothing of politics. What ruler ta
xes his people to breaking point then pushes them further for his own aims, knowing full well that many will starve as a result of his edicts?’

  ‘Your meaning escapes me,’ said Geraint.

  Madog leaned forward and pushed the scrolls toward him.

  ‘Read the latest from this man you so admire, Geraint, see the esteem in which he holds your countrymen.’

  Geraint picked up the scrolls and for a few minutes, the room was silent as he digested the contents. Finally he replaced the scrolls and sat back in the chair, sipping at his tankard of wine.

  ‘Well?’ said Madog.

  ‘Well what?’

  ‘What do you think about these latest demands?’

  ‘I think they will be crippling,’ said Geraint.

  ‘As do I,’ said Madog. ‘I fear not for myself or family, Geraint for we have enough lands to make sure we survive but what about those who look to me for leadership. I can’t feed every mouth from my treasury or soon we would be as destitute as those who serve us.’

  ‘And you are angered by this?’

  ‘Of course I am angered,’ shouted Madog, ‘but I am getting more incensed by your failure to understand the seriousness of the situation. Do you not care?’

  ‘I care, my Lord but do not exhibit my frustration as I am more interested in your reaction.’

  ‘My reaction? Why on earth does that concern you?’

  ‘Because there are things afoot that may have a bearing on the situation and depending on whether your feelings are genuine or just a fleeting reaction, you may well have a great say in the outcome.’

  ‘You speak in riddles, Geraint. Explain yourself or leave me to vent my anger in my own way.’

  Geraint paused and stared at Madog for what seemed an age.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Madog.

  ‘You are right,’ said Geraint, ‘you deserve an explanation. I was waiting for the right time but things are happening fast and perhaps we can’t afford to wait.’

  ‘You are making no sense!’

  ‘Regain your seat, My Lord and refill your tankard for I have a tale that will be hours in the telling. When I am done, you will see things from a different perspective and you will have a decision to make that will decide the future of Wales. All I ask is that you listen to everything I have to say without interruption and when I am done, I will leave you with your thoughts.’