Sitting on his great warhorse in the centre of the yard, Gysburne gave the command to begin.

Knights and men-at-arms swarmed into the house and dragged out the farmer, his wife and daughter, and three grown sons. There were several others as well, hauled out into the early-morning light to stand in the yard surrounded by enemy soldiers and watch while all their possessions, provisions, and supplies were bundled into wagons. None of the Welshmen made even the slightest attempt to interfere with the sack of their home. The farmer and his sons stood in stiff-legged defiance, glowering with pent rage at all those around them, but said nothing and did not lift a hand to prevent the pillage-which Gysburne put down to their display of overwhelming military might. For once, the superior Ffreinc forces had cowed the indomitable Welsh spirit.

The ransacking of the house and barn and outbuildings was swiftly accomplished. The fact that the soldiers had not had to subdue the hostile natives and the piteous lack of possessions meant that the raid was finished almost as soon as it began. "It is done," reported Sergeant Jeremias as the last grain sacks were tossed into a waiting wagon. "What is your command?"

"Burn it, Sergeant."

"But Sire-Sheriff de Glanville said-"

"Never mind what de Glanville said. Burn it."

"Everything?"

"To the ground."

The sight of torches being lit brought the farmer and his sons out of their belligerent stupor. They began shouting and cursing and shaking their fists at the Ffreinc soldiers. One of the younger boys made as if to rush at one of the knights as he pa.s.sed with a torch. But the farmer grabbed his son back and held him fast. They all watched as the flames took hold, rising skyward on the soft morning air. The farmwife held her head in her hands, tears streaming down her face. Still, none of the Cymry stirred from where they stood.

When it was certain that the flames could not be extinguished, Marshal Guy gave the order for the knights to be mounted, and the company moved off.

"That went well," observed Aloin when the last of the wagons and soldiers had cleared the yard. "Better than I expected-from what you said about the Welshies' love of fighting."

"Yes," agreed the marshal slowly, "in truth I expected more of a fight. Just see you keep your sword ready. We cannot count on the next one being so peaceful."

But, in fact, the Cymry at the second farm were no more inclined to take arms and resist the pillagers than the first lot. Like those at the previous settlement, the second clan put up no struggle at all, bearing the a.s.sault with a grave and baleful silence. If they did not voice their fury outright, their doomful expressions were nevertheless most eloquent. Again, Marshal Guy could not quite credit the odd docility of the natives when faced with the destruction of their homes. But there it was. In spite of this conundrum, he decided to burn the second farm, too-the better to provoke King Raven to show himself.

"What now?" asked Captain Aloin as the smoke rolled skyward. "The wagons are almost full."

"Almost full is not enough," replied Guy. "We go on."

"And if this King of the Ravens does not appear? What then?"

"Then we'll take the wagons back to the caer and raid again tomorrow. We keep at it until he comes."

"You're sure about that, oui oui?"

"Oh, yes, he'll come. He always does."

The third farmstead lay almost within sight of the walls of Caer Cadarn. It was small and, owing to its nearness to the town and stronghold, it had suffered plundering by Ffreinc troops before, and Guy remembered it. The farm was quiet as the soldiers surrounded the property. No one came out to meet the soldiers as they entered the yard, so Gysburne ordered Sergeant Jeremias to go in and bring the farmer and his family out.

The sergeant returned a moment later. "There is no one here, my lord."

"They must have gone into hiding," concluded the marshal.

"They knew we were coming?" asked Captain Aloin. "How so?"

"The Welsh are uncanny this way," explained Gysburne. "I don't know how they know, but word travels on the air in these valleys. They seem to know everything that happens." Turning back to the sergeant, he said, "Ransack the barn and granary. They will not have had time to carry anything away."

Jeremias hurried off. "Strip it!" he called. "Take everything."

The soldiers dismounted and, while the wagons were driven into position, they moved off to the buildings. The first man-at-arms to reach the barn threw open the doors and started in-to be met by the angry wasp-buzz of arrows streaking out of the dark interior. He and two other soldiers dropped dead to the ground; three more staggered back clutching their chests and staring in horror at the oaken shafts that had so suddenly appeared there.

Marshal Guy saw the arrows flash and realized they were under attack. He turned to the soldiers who were just then about to enter the house. "Halt!" he shouted. "Don't go in there!"

But the knight's hand was on the door and he had already pushed it open.

With a sound like that of a whip snapping against naked flesh, the first flight of arrows struck home. Four knights fell as one. An errant arrow glanced off a soldier's helmet and careered off at an angle, striking a horse standing in the yard. The animal reared and began bucking in a forlorn effort to relieve the lethal sting in its side.

Then all was chaos, as everywhere knights and men-at-arms were stumbling back, colliding with one another, fleeing the deadly and unseen a.s.sault. With desperate shouts and screams of agony they shrank from the arrows that continued to stream into the yard, seemingly from every direction at once. There was no escaping them. With each flight more soldiers dropped-by twos and threes they fell, pierced by the lethal missiles.

"To arms! To arms!" cried Captain Aloin, trying to rally his troops. "Seal the barn! Seal the barn and burn it!"

In answer to the command, three well-armoured knights leapt to obey. Through the deadly onslaught they ran, their shields high before them as shaft after shaft hammered into the splintering wood. One of the knights reached the right-hand door of the barn and flung it closed. He put his back against it to hold it shut while his two comrades flung the left-hand door closed.

"The torches! Get the torches!" shouted the first knight, still bracing the door shut. He drew breath to shout once more and shrieked in agony instead as, with the sound of a branch breaking in a storm, the steel point of an arrow slammed through the planking and poked through the centre of his chest. He gave out a strangled yelp and slumped down, his body snagged and caught by the strong oaken shaft of the arrow.

His two companions holding the left-hand barn door heard the sharp cracking sound and watched aghast as three more arrows penetrated the stout timber doors to half their length. Had their backs been to the door they would have suffered the same fate as their unfortunate comrade.

Meanwhile, arrows continued to fly from the house-from the door and the two small windows facing the yard, which had become a tumult of plunging horses and frightened men scrambling over the bodies of corpses. The wagon drivers, defenceless in the centre of the yard, threw themselves from their carts and ran for safety beyond range of the whistling shafts. This left the oxen to fend for themselves; confused and terrified by the violent turmoil, the beasts strained at their yokes and tried to break their traces. Unable to escape, they stood in wild-eyed terror and bawled.

When the barn doors burst open once more, a tall slender figure appeared in the gap: a man's form from shoulders to the tips of his tall black boots, but bearing the head of an enormous bird with a weird skull-like black face and a wickedly long, narrow beak. In its hand, the creature clutched a longbow with an arrow nocked to the string. The smooth, expressionless face surveyed the churning turmoil with a quick sweep of its head, picked out Gysburne, and directed an arrow at him. The marshal, who was already wheeling his horse, took the arrow on his shield as three more archers joined the creature and proceeded to loose shaft after shaft at will into the melee.

"Retreat!" cried Gysburne, trying to make himself heard above the commotion. "Retreat!"

Arrows singing around his ears, Guy put his head down and raced from the yard. Those soldiers still in the saddle, and those yet able to walk or run, followed. Five more met their deaths before the last of the knights had cleared the yard.

The Ffreinc raiding party continued to a place beyond arrow's reach and halted to regroup.

"What was that that?" shouted Captain Aloin as he came galloping in beside the marshal. "What in the holy name was was that?" that?"

"That was King Raven," replied Guy, pulling an arrow from his shield, and another from the cantle of his saddle. "That was the fiend at his worst."

"By the blood," breathed the captain. "How many were with him?"

"I don't know. It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter!" Captain Aloin cried in stunned disbelief. Gazing quickly around him, he counted those who had escaped the ma.s.sacre. "Are you insane? We've lost more than half our men in a one-sided slaughter and you say it doesn't matter?"

"Six or sixty," muttered Guy. "What does it matter? We were beaten by those G.o.d-cursed arrows."

"This is an outrage," growled the captain of the king's men. "Mark me, by heaven, someone will pay for this."

"I daresay they will," agreed Guy, looking away towards the forest, where he imagined he saw the glint of sunlight off a steel blade.

"What are we to do now?" demanded Aloin. "Are we to retreat and let the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds get away with it?"

"We run, but they won't get away," said Guy. "Sheriff de Glanville will see to that."

CHAPTER 28.

Are they gone?" asked Owain, his fingers tight around the arrow nocked to his bowstring.

"Shhh," said Iwan gently. "Stay sharp. We'll wait just a little and then take a look round." He turned to Siarles, crouched low behind the doorpost of the farmhouse. "See to it, Siarles, but keep an eye out for the wounded. There might be some fight in one or two yet."

Siarles nodded and continued to watch the yard from one of the small windows. Nothing moved outside. The three archers waited a few moments more, alert, arrows on string, listening for any sound of returning horses-but, save for a low, whimpering moan from one of the fallen soldiers, all seemed quiet enough. Siarles rose and stepped lightly through the door, paused and looked around, then disappeared into the yard at a run. He was back a few moments later saying, "They've gone. It's safe to come out."

As they stepped from the house, Bran, Tomas, and Rhoddi emerged from the barn. "To me, men!" Bran called, pulling off the hooded raven mask. When everyone had gathered, he said, "Strip the dead of anything useful. Throw it in the wagons and let's fly home. Scarlet and the others will be tired of waiting."

"Aren't we going to give back all the supplies they've stolen?" asked Owain.

"Aye, lad," replied Iwan, "but not now, not today."

"Your concern does you credit, Owain," Bran told him. "But the enemy will return to the caer and muster the rest of the soldiers to come and retrieve their dead. Unless we hurry, we'll meet them again, and this time we'll not own the advantage."

"Too many Ffreinc around for the few of us," Iwan told him. "We'll return the supplies when it's a mite safer."

"There's eighteen fewer Ffreinc now than there were a while ago," announced Siarles, who had been making a count. "And four more that will likely join 'em before the sun is over the barn."

"Twenty-two!" gasped Rhoddi. "G.o.d help us, that must be near half their force-destroyed in one battle."

"There will be h.e.l.l to pay," muttered Tomas as the realization of the enormity of their success came over him.

"Too right, there will," agreed Bran. "But we must make very sure it is the abbot who pays. Come, men, let's be about our business before the marshal comes back."

So while Siarles kept watch, the other five archers stripped the dead and dying, tossing the various articles into the wagons the soldiers had abandoned in their retreat. Then, leading the oxen from the yard, they departed-not by the road which led away to the fortress and town-but by the field track that led up through the valley towards Coed Cadw, the Guardian Wood.

Owing to the weight of the wagons and the slowness of the oxen, they could not travel as swiftly as the demands of the situation warranted; even so, they reached the edge of the forest in due course without any sign of pursuing Ffreinc. As they drew in towards the line of trees, however, the leaves of the nearby hawthorn bushes quivered, rattling an alarm.

Bran, in the lead, glanced up in time to see the round gleaming top of a Norman helmet rising from the brush.

The spear was in the air before Bran could shout a warning. He dodged to the side, and the missile caught Owain a few steps behind him. The young man gave out a yelp and fell back. Bran had an arrow in the air before Owain's body came to rest in the gra.s.s.

The stone point struck the helmet and shattered, scattering shards into the attacker's eyes. He screamed and sank out of sight. Instantly, another soldier was there in his place, and others were appearing in a ragged rank all along the forest line.

"Ambush!" shouted Bran, loosing an arrow at the nearest head to appear.

"Fall back!" shouted Iwan. Stooping low, he scooped up the wounded Owain, put him over his shoulder as lightly as a sheaf of wheat, and ran to the nearest wagon, ducking behind it as the spears began to fall.

The four archers joined the champion behind the wagon, and all looked to Bran for a way out of their predicament.

"How many are there?" asked Siarles. "Anybody see?"

"Plenty for each of us," Iwan said. "Never you fear."

"Owain?" said Bran. "Owain, look at me. How bad are you?"

"It hurts," groaned the young man through gritted teeth. He held his side above his hip; blood seeped through his fingers. "I'm lying if I say otherwise, but get my feet under me and I can walk."

"We can't stay here," Iwan told them. "They'll charge soon and cut us down in the open like this."

"Right," said Bran. "Everyone nock an arrow and be ready to move. They can't run and throw at the same time, so as soon as they mount the charge, we go for the greenwood."

"Go into them?" said Tomas.

"Aye," replied Iwan. "Headfirst into the charge."

"Smack 'em hard in the teeth," said Siarles, glancing up as a spear head chipped through the side of the wagon above his head. "It'll be the only thing they're not expecting."

"Once we're in the trees we have a chance," Bran said. Reaching over the side of the wagon, he pulled down a Norman shield and handed it to Owain, then took the young man's bag of arrows and pa.s.sed them around to the others.

"Did anyone see which manjack is leadin' 'em?" asked Siarles as he peered around the back of the wagon towards the tree line.

The question went unanswered, as there came a rising cry from the forest and Ffreinc soldiers rushed up out of the brush towards the wagons. "Ready!" shouted Bran. "Now! Fly!"

Out from behind the wagon he darted. Raising his bow, he drew on the foremost knight just then charging up out of the bush. The bowstring slapped, and the arrow blurred across the distance, lifting the onrushing soldier off his feet and throwing him onto his back. The sudden absence of the soldier created a hole in the line, and Iwan, running hard behind his lord, opened it a little wider by taking out the soldier to the left of the first.

Spears sailed in deadly arcs, slicing through the sun-drenched air, sprouting like leafless saplings in turf. The archers dodged those that sprang up in their path, loosing arrows as they ran. The gap which Iwan and Bran had opened narrowed as more knights, screaming and cursing, drove in, desperate to close on the fleeing outlaws before they could reach the wood.

Bran loosed the last of his arrows, put his head down, and ran. Two heavily armoured knights lurched into the gap, low behind their spears. The nearest lunged, making a wide swipe with the spear blade, and the second let fly. The throw was low and skidded along the ground. Bran leapt over it easily; but Iwan, coming two steps behind, was not so lucky. The sliding shaft snaked through the gra.s.s, gliding between his feet; he tripped and fell onto his left side.

The knight was on him instantly, sword drawn. With a shout of triumph, he swung the blade high and prepared to deliver the killing stroke. Iwan, defenceless on his back, saw the blade flash as it swung up, and threw his hands before him to ward off the blow. But the knight's cry of triumph stuck in his throat, and he seemed to strain against the blade that had become inextricably caught in the air.

The knight, sword still high, crashed to his knees, his eyes wide in shock and disbelief. Iwan had just time enough to roll aside as the knight's body jolted forward with the force of the second arrow, which drove him facedown into the ground.

As Iwan scrambled to his feet, he saw twin shafts protruding from the knight's mail hauberk.

"Here! Iwan!"

The champion looked to the shout and saw Scarlet, bow in hand, waving him forward.

The first knight, still gripping his spear, made a second swipe at Bran, who grabbed hold of the spear shaft with his free hand, pulling the soldier towards him. As the knight fell forward, Bran swung his longbow like a club into the man's face. The knight lowered his head and let his helmet take the blow, then thrust again with the spear. Bran lashed out with his foot, catching the knight on the chin; his jaw snapped shut with a teeth-shattering crack, and his head flew back. Bran swung the body of the longbow down hard, and the mail-clad knight went down. As he sprawled on the ground, Bran, light as a deer in flight, took a running step, planted a foot in the middle of the man's back, and vaulted over him.

He reached the shelter of the trees to find Scarlet waiting for him. "Here, my lord," said the forester, thrusting a handful of arrows at him. "You'll be needing these, I think."

"Thanks, Will," said Bran, breathing hard.

"This way." Scarlet led him along the tree line, and together they loosed arrow after arrow into the Ffreinc from behind until the remaining archers had reached the wood.

Now King Raven and his men occupied the wood, and the Ffreinc were exposed on open ground. As the lethal oaken shafts struck again and again, some of the knights sought shelter behind the wagons. Others crawled back into the wood.

Bran and Scarlet gathered the archers. "How many arrows have you got left?" Bran asked as the men gathered under cover of a bramble thicket. "Two," said Siarles; Tomas and Scarlet each had two as well. None of the others had any.

"Then this fight is over," said Bran.