"Doesn't matter!" Captain Aloin cried in stunned disbelief. Gazing quickly around him, he counted those who had escaped the massacre. "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 God-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 bastards 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. "God help us, that must be near half their force-destroyed in one battle."
"There will be hell 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 grass.
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 passed 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 grass, 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.