A Wounded Realm Read online

  ALSO 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

  The Fall of Britannia

  The Rise of Caratacus

  The Wrath of Boudicca

  THE MEDIEVAL SAGAS

  Blood of the Cross

  In Shadows of Kings

  Sword of Liberty

  Ring of Steel

  THE BLOOD OF KINGS

  A Land Divided

  A Wounded Realm

  INDIVIDUAL NOVELS

  Savage Eden

  The Last Citadel

  Vampire

  AUDIO BOOKS

  A Land Divided

  A Wounded Realm

  Blood of the Cross

  The Last Citadel

  Follow Kevin’s blog at:

  www.KMAshman.co.uk

  Or contact him direct at:

  [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2016 K. M. Ashman

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503948433

  ISBN-10: 1503948439

  Cover Illustration by Alan Lynch

  Cover design by Lisa Horton

  Contents

  MEDIEVAL MAP OF WALES

  Character List

  Prologue

  Chester

  Ireland

  Hen Domen Castle

  London

  Windsor Castle

  The Village of Dinefwr

  The Forests of Gwynedd

  Pembroke Castle

  Dublin

  The Island of Ynys Mon

  Windsor Castle

  Windsor Castle

  The Island of Ynys Mon

  Chester

  Dinefwr Castle

  The Dock at Pembroke

  Chester Castle

  Chester Castle

  Windsor Castle

  Oswestry Castle

  The Island of Ynys Mon

  Dinefwr Castle

  Pembroke Castle

  Pembroke Castle

  Hen Domen Castle

  Ten Leagues West of Oswestry Castle

  The Marshlands

  The Outskirts of Brycheniog

  Dinefwr Castle

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  MEDIEVAL MAP OF WALES

  Though the borders and boundaries of early Wales were constantly changing, for the sake of our story, the above shows an approximation of where the relevant areas were at the time.

  Character List

  Although correct pronunciation is not really necessary to enjoy the story, for those who would rather experience the authentic way of saying the names, explanations are provided in italics.

  THE HOUSE OF ABERFFRAW

  Gruffydd ap Cynan: King of Gwynedd – Gruff-ith ap Cun-nan

  Angharad ferch Owain: Married to Gruffydd – Ang (as in hang) Harad

  Cadwallon ap Gruffydd: Oldest son of Gruffydd

  Cadwaladr ap Gruffydd: Second Son of Gruffydd

  Gwenllian ap Gruffydd: Daughter of Gruffydd

  Adele: Angharad’s maid – Ad-Ell

  The ‘ll’ can be difficult to pronounce in Welsh, and is formed by placing the tongue on the roof of the mouth, while expelling air past the tongue on both sides. Non-Welsh speakers sometimes struggle with this – audible representations are available online.

  Cynwrig the Tall: Ally of Gruffydd – Cun-rig

  Osian: Warrior of Gruffydd – Osh-an

  THE HOUSE OF TEWDWR

  Gwladus ferch Rhiwallon: Queen of Deheubarth – Goo-lad-iss

  Hywel ap Rhys: Oldest son – How-well

  Gruffydd ap Rhys: Youngest son (known as Tarw) – Tar-oo (roll the letter ‘R’)

  Nesta ferch Rhys: Daughter – Nessa or Nest-A

  Marcus Freeman: Loyal soldier of Gwladus

  Dylan: Farmer – Dill-an

  Emma: Maid of Gwladus

  THE HOUSE OF POWYS

  Cadwgan ap Bleddyn: Prince of Powys – Ca-doo-gan

  Owain ap Cadwgan: Son of Cadwgan – Ow-ain

  CHESTER CASTLE

  Huw D’Avranches: Huw the Fat

  Alan Beauchamp: Knight of Henry

  Beatty: Innkeeper

  Guy: Son of Beatty

  BATTLE OF YNYS MON

  Hugh of Montgomery: Second Earl of Shrewsbury

  Robert of Rhuddlan: Cousin of Huw the Fat – Ruth-lan

  Magnus Barefoot: Viking King

  THE SIEGE OF PEMBROKE CASTLE

  Hywel ap Goronwy: Lord of Radnor – Known as Goronwy Gor-on-woy

  Uchtryd ap Edwin: Minor lord of Englefield – Known as Edwin

  Godwin: Knight of Henry

  Gerald Fitzwalter: Known as Gerald of Windsor

  HEN DOMEN

  Lord Belleme: Castellan of Hen Domen – Bell-e-me

  Sir Broadwick: Knight of Henry

  OTHER CHARACTERS

  King William the Second: Also known as William Rufus

  Henry Beauclerc: Brother of William the Second

  Lord Walter Tirel: Norman Lord serving King William the Second

  Arnulf of Montgomery: Norman Lord serving King William the Second

  Hugh of Montgomery: Second Earl of Shrewsbury

  Merriweather: Rapist

  Meirion Goch: The Traitor of Mynydd Carn – My-ree-on

  The beginning of ‘Goch’ is simply ‘Go’ but the second half is more difficult to pronounce. In Welsh, the letters ‘ch’ form a guttural sound at the back of the throat by drawing the tongue fully back while allowing air to escape over the top of the tongue. Non-Welsh speakers struggle with this – audible representations are available online.

  PLACE NAMES

  Aberffraw: Ab-er-frow

  Brycheniog: Brick-eye-knee-og

  Carew: Car-rew

  Deheubarth: Du-hi-barrth (roll the ‘R’)

  Dinefwr: Din-e-foorr (roll the ‘R’)

  Gwynedd: Gwin-eth

  Hen Domen: Hen-doe-men

  Mynydd Carn: Mun-ith Ca-rr-n (roll the ‘R’)

  Powys: Pow-iss

  Ynys Mon: Un-iss Mon

  Prologue

  The year is AD 1094 and the battle of the five kings at Mynydd Carn thirteen years earlier is a fading memory in the minds of those lucky enough to have survived the bloody horrors of those few cruel days. However, the lasting impact of the battle lives on.

  Three Welsh kings met their destiny on the battlefield that fateful day, three monarchs who had made a pact with the Norman invaders and sought to carve up Wales between their greedy hands. However, despite their strength and overwhelmingly large armies, they had failed to factor in two other Welsh kings who saw subservience to a Norman ruler as a price they would never pay. Loyalty to their country proved more successful than loyalty to the purse.

  Gruffydd ap Cynan was in exile in Ireland having lost the crown of Gwynedd Trahern ap Caradog while Rhys ap Tewdwr, king of Deheubarth in the south, was in hiding in Saint David’s Cathedral on the west coast, having been ousted from his ancestral lands by Caradog ap Gruf
fydd of Gwent.

  Despite this, with the help of Irish mercenaries and those few free men still loyal to their respective crowns, Gruffydd and Tewdwr managed to forge an army out of the ashes of their kingdoms and marched on the three-king alliance at Mynydd Carn, determined to win back the freedom their county so deeply craved.

  Against overwhelming odds, the two exiled kings emerged victorious in a war that took the lives of many, and the three conspirators who had attempted to sell Wales to the English, died at the battle, armies dispersing back to whence they came.

  After the battle, Rhys ap Tewdwr returned to Deheubarth and spent the next twelve years seeking his missing son, Hywel, who, at ten years old, had been abducted by Caradog. Although he received constant reports that his son was still alive, Tewdwr eventually died at the battle of Brycheniog in AD 1093, having never found Hywel. His grieving widow, Gwladus ap Rhiwallon continued to run the estate in Tewdwr’s absence along with her daughter, Nesta, vowing one day to find her missing son.

  Gwladus had another son, known as Tarw, but as the sole surviving heir to the Tewdwr dynasty, Tarw’s life was at risk from those who saw the south as easy pickings. Without a strong male adult to lead the family, the way was open for any pretender to the throne to march his armies into Deheubarth and even if the boy wasn’t killed immediately, he could easily disappear over the ensuing months. Subsequently, Gwladus sent Tarw across the sea to Ireland for his own safety.

  In the north, Gruffydd headed home to try and rebuild his shattered kingdom but made the mistake of trusting a man named Meirion Goch, who had already proven himself to be a most duplicitous man, having betrayed his own king, Trahern, at the battle of Mynydd Carn. After the battle, Meirion Goch arranged a meeting between Gruffydd and the infamous Earl of Chester, Huw the Fat, at Chester Castle. Although the welcome was initially warm, the meeting turned out to be a trap and many of Gruffydd’s men were slaughtered at the banquet.

  Gruffydd was taken prisoner and kept in the most squalid of conditions. For years he was moved from prison to prison, displayed at English tournaments as a pathetic king of Wales and often flogged in public to remind the people that no man, whether pauper or king, was above the reach of English law. Eventually, Gruffydd faded from the public’s memory as he was incarcerated in the stone dungeon of the keep at Chester Castle. Meirion Goch pocketed the reward money from Huw the Fat and returned to Wales, quickly disappearing, safe in the knowledge that only two men knew of his treachery: Huw the Fat, who had sworn an oath of secrecy, and Gruffydd ap Cynan, the Welsh king who would soon be dead.

  Across Wales, family and opponents of the fallen had moved quickly to fill the voids left by the events at Mynydd Carn, and though the new rulers did not wage war against each other, there was still suspicion between all of the Welsh kingdoms.

  The Normans and their English allies combined with Flemish mercenaries to apply even more pressure along the marches on the border between England and Wales, and though there was no formal war declared between the nations, gradually vast swathes of Welsh land fell to the invaders, subsequently resulting in most of the south coming under Norman rule.

  Chester

  October 10th, AD 1094

  The fettered prisoner struck a pitiful sight as he staggered through the narrow streets of Chester. Tangled thickets of filthy hair fell down past his shoulders, matching the matted beard hanging to his chest, his skin parchment-thin from many years of sunless captivity. The hot baths he had once taken, the servants who had shaved him, were memories from a lifetime ago.

  Blood-sodden rags wrapping his feet offered scant comfort and his wrists were nought but open sores where manacles ate at his flesh. The pathetic fabric hanging from his skeletal frame was useless against the wet autumn weather, but he had learned long ago that to protest invited nothing but beatings.

  But this man kept hope beating in his heart. This was the same hope that had saved his life many years earlier, and though it seemed futile, the prisoner remained defiant. Such confidence is the wont of kings.

  The citizens of Chester walked quickly by, some glancing briefly at the criminal in the custody of the earl’s men but most just looking down, avoiding any reason to be engaged by the riders. It was, after all, none of their business.

  ‘You there,’ called one of the guards, known as Howard, as he reined in his horse, ‘is there a tavern hereabouts where a man can get a meal and lodgings?’

  The passer-by nodded quickly and pointed further along the narrow street.

  ‘Aye, my lord, turn right at the stocks and cross the bridge.’

  The rider kicked his horse and continued between the daubed walls of the narrow lane. The prisoner jerked as the slack was taken up and he staggered forward, hopeful he would soon be able to rest as his captors sought food and shelter.

  ‘That looks like the place,’ said one of the soldiers.

  ‘Aye, it will do for me,’ said one of his comrades, ‘a hot meal and a cot is all I ask.’

  They made their way over the bridge and dismounted before the tavern walls. A young and eager boy ran out to take the horses’ reins closely followed by an enormous man, red of cheek and fat of belly.

  ‘Welcome, strangers,’ said the older man, pleased at the opportunity for more custom. ‘Can I be of service to you on this wet evening?’

  ‘Indeed, you can,’ said Howard. ‘We seek cots for four men as well as hot food. Do you have such fayre?’

  ‘I do,’ said the man with confusion, ‘but I count five.’ He nodded towards the prisoner now sitting in the mud against a fence post.

  ‘Make no account of him,’ spat the soldier, ‘he is nought but a filthy Welshman and as such is lower than a dog.’

  ‘He is truly in a wretched state, what crime is he guilty of?’

  ‘That is the business of the Earl of Chester,’ came the terse reply, ‘and is of no interest to you. Now, do you have this food or not? For I can easily take my coin elsewhere.’

  ‘No, come in,’ said the innkeeper hastily, ‘and please forgive my impertinence, I did not realise.’

  Outside, the boy took the four horses, one by one, to the stable behind the tavern. He stripped them of their saddles before wiping them down and placing a net of hay before each as well as a few hands of oats in wooden buckets. When he was done he returned to the tavern but paused to stare at the forlorn figure laying prone amongst the mud and manure.

  The prisoner became aware of someone watching him and slowly opened his eyes to meet the servant’s gaze. Though his body was exhausted and he felt he could barely speak, the sight of a bag of oats in the boy’s hand was too good an opportunity to miss.

  ‘What is your name, boy?’ he asked, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper.

  The servant remained silent.

  ‘Your name?’ said the man again. ‘You do have one, I suppose, or are you nought but a wretched beggar beholden to every man?’

  ‘I am no beggar,’ answered the boy, ‘for I am a working man and make my living tending the horses. I am called Tom, though some know me as Tom the Horse for I have a way with such beasts.’

  ‘I am pleased to meet you, Tom,’ said the prisoner, ‘I would take your wrist but alas I am fettered.’

  ‘I can see that,’ replied Tom, ‘be you a murderer?’

  ‘I have killed many men, Tom,’ replied the man, recalling the heady days of conquest and battle, ‘but all in the name of a just war. So the answer is, no – I am not a murderer.’

  ‘Then why do you lay in fetters about my feet? Surely this is the fate of the most wretched.’

  The starving man stared at the small sack in the boy’s hands.

  ‘If you give me a handful of whatever is in your bag,’ he replied, ‘I’ll tell you a story so great it rivals the tales of Arthur himself.’

  Tom’s eyes widened slightly. Everyone knew the stories of the great Arthur, and though Tom knew he would never reach such heights in life, it was every boy’s dream to achieve knighthood.<
br />
  ‘I cannot,’ replied Tom, glancing at his sack, ‘for to do so may earn me a beating.’

  ‘Just a handful,’ begged the prisoner, all pride gone at the thought of some food, ‘nobody will ever know.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said the boy.

  ‘Tom, you seem like a good man. I am not your enemy nor am I a criminal. I am a hungry soul arrested for nought but fighting for freedom, and I promise you this. A handful of oats for a starving man is a gesture more noble than the greatest of victories upon the field of battle. Grant me this boon and I swear that one day, I will repay your kindness a thousandfold.’

  Tom hesitated a moment longer before digging his hands into the sack and with a furtive look around, ran forward to pour the oats into the prisoner’s lap. Immediately the Welshman hid them beneath a fold in his garment and looked thankfully up at the boy.

  ‘You have my gratitude,’ he said, ‘and this makes you greater than the noblest knight. One day, you can ride in my armies and be known as Tom the Kingsaver.’

  ‘You are no king,’ said Tom, laughing at the man. ‘You are a mere scoundrel in custody of the true king, William Rufus.’

  ‘I admit my appearance would state the opposite,’ said the prisoner, ‘but I assure you I am King Gruffydd ap Cynan of Gwynedd, incarcerated these past twelve years in the dungeons of Chester Castle. You, kind sir, have just aided a man of royal birth descended from Sigtrygg Olafssen himself.’

  The boy’s eyes widened in awe.

  ‘You are descended from Silkbeard?’

  ‘He was my grandfather.’

  ‘Then why do you lie in fetters?’

  ‘I was tricked by means most foul, for my comrades and I had just won a mighty battle against traitorous countrymen. When I was summoned by Huw the Fat to attend a feast in honour of my victory, we were pounced upon by a great army and thrown into the deepest dungeon.’

  ‘Why did he not have you killed?’

  ‘He sees me as a mere plaything to be displayed at village fayres across England. Gruffydd, the caged king, they call me and oft am I pelted with the filth of the street. Despite this I hold up my head for I have nought to be ashamed of. I am the true king of Gwynedd and one day I will retake my seat in that noble land.’