The Good Knight (A Gareth and Gwen Medieval Mystery)

moved his force south to higher ground, though still some fifty feet below the elevation of the castle. He planted those men-at-arms and knights who could double as bowman within striking distance of the castle, two hundred yards away, sheltered behind their long shields. He then arrayed the remaining one hundred and fifty men in a ring around the castle, out of arrow range, but within sight of the walls so Goronwy would see what he faced.
    Cadwaladr couldn’t have left more than twenty men in the garrison, though if Danes were among them, that number might be doubled. Even so, forty could hardly charge out to attack two hundred with hope of success. And if they did, that would leave the castle empty. Hywel could take it intact in that case, or burn it down empty, just to show Cadwaladr his father’s power.
    The men hastily rigged regular arrows with knotted bits of cloth, ready for lighting moments before being loosed. Others scoured the woods for firewood, more easily found in August than at other times of year. Two men went into the village of Aberystwyth to garner oil with which to soak the cloth and make the fire more difficult to put out. The tied cloths would make the arrows wobble in the air, but Hywel wasn’t interested in accuracy, or even in killing anyone. He wanted to burn the wood and thatch that comprised the interior of the castle.
    “Loose!”
    The first flight of arrows blazed into the sky just as the sun began to set behind the castle. The day had been a bright one and the night promised to be more beautiful still. Some of them fell short, falling to the ground outside the walls, but Hywel didn’t move his men any closer for fear of the archers on the battlements. Still, one of the opposing arrows, surely loosed from a mighty bow, reached their lines and hit an archer in his right shoulder. He screamed and Gareth raced forward to drag him from his place.
    “Move! Move!” That was Alun, directing another archer to fill the downed man’s spot.
    “Fire at the men on the wall!” Hywel said. “Regular arrows! Force them to keep their heads down!”
    Flight after flight arced into the air, with more and more finding targets. Fire blazed over the top of the wall. This was how Owain Gwynedd and Cadwaladr had defeated this very castle in their battle against the Normans six years before, after which Anarawd retook the title of King of Deheubarth. It was how Hywel would take the castle now, and why King Owain had started the process of rebuilding all of his bastions in stone.
    “It will soon be done.” Hywel folded his arms across his chest and gazed with satisfaction at what he’d wrought. He turned to Gareth. “Take Evan and some others. Circle around to the north. I want to know what’s happening with the men on the other side.”
    “If Cadwaladr’s men flee, should we stop them?”
    “Not at the cost of your lives,” Hywel said. “In truth, they have nowhere to run. Between what we accomplish today, and what King Cadell plans in the coming weeks, we’ll deprive Cadwaladr of all his holdings.”
    Gareth gathered a half dozen men and led them along the bank of the Ystwyth River. They followed it west, passing between the castle hill and Pen Dinas. Before they reached the beach, they rode upwards towards the plateau on which the castle sat. Now that the sun had fallen into the sea, they’d be safe enough in the growing darkness, and certainly Goronwy and his men would be too busy trying to contain the fires to worry about who and how many were coming against him from the rear.
    A moment later, however, they found a downed man-at-arms lying in the grass. He was one of the scouts Hywel had sent to survey the area an hour earlier.
    “What happened?” Gareth sprang down from Braith.
    “Danes.” The man moaned and held his side as blood seeped through his fingers. “They ran from the postern gate not long ago. Me and some others thought to stop them, even if Prince Hywel said we needn’t.”
    “Which way did they go?” This came from one of Gareth’s men.
    “They carried heavy goods towards the beach,” the man said.
    “And you couldn’t stop them?” Evan pressed a cloth to the man’s wound before giving way to another soldier who knew more of healing.
    “They just kept coming—twenty at least,” he said. “We couldn’t move out of the way fast enough.”
    Gareth pointed at a man-at-arms, still mounted on his horse. “Ride to Prince Hywel. Tell him what has happened.