Stronghold

'You were the English knight who advised me that further war was futile.'

'And I now advise it again.'

He stepped forward. She retreated, but halted when he took the crumpled letter from a pouch and offered it to her. She opened it and read it. Her eyes widened with wild hope.

'You recognise your daughter's hand?' he said.

'Of course. Is she safe?'

'For the time being. I can't say what will happen to her if this siege drags on.'

Countess Madalyn glanced again at the letter. 'This tells me that you harbour feelings against Earl Corotocus and that you aren't alone. How many do you speak for?'

'At present just myself. But our men are weary and many are wounded. When they arrived here, they thought the war was over. Even the hardiest of them are now losing their appetite for it. What's more, whatever black gate you've opened to summon this hellish horde has left them terror-stricken. Few question the earl's authority thus far. But that state of affairs won't last.'

She folded the letter and regarded him sternly. 'Earl Corotocus did not hang and butcher my people alone. Why should I spare any of his wretches?'

'Because one atrocity fuels another, countess. Victory for you here will only provoke the marcher barons to make more incursions into your land.'

'Then they too will die at the hands of my army.'

'That possibility won't stop them coming,' Ranulf said. 'They won't believe mere rumour. With no-one alive to tell them the truth about what happened at Grogen Castle, they'll bring even greater forces. And with King Edward's might and wealth behind them, they'll soon find a way to tame your festering rabble. The war will go on, an endless cycle of brutality and counter-brutality.'

'Interesting to finally hear an Englishman speaking so. Of course, the main change is that now it is you who stares defeat in the face.'

'Believe what you wish about me, countess, but you have negotiated peace treaties before. I know you seek a better way than endless violence.'

She pursed her lips as she pondered this, before finally saying: 'And how do you respond, Gwyddon?'

Ranulf was startled when a second figure stepped out of the shadows. He looked like a druid or priest of the old faith. He had broad, pale features, with a long, jet-black beard and eyes like lumps of onyx. He walked with a knotted staff, but looked young and strong, and had adorned himself with ornate jewellery.

'Don't be alarmed, English knight,' the countess said. 'When Wales belongs to the Welsh again, Gwyddon will be my first minister. No counsel of mine shall be closed to him.' She turned to her advisor. 'You heard?'

'I did, madam.' Gwyddon nodded, never taking his eyes off Ranulf. 'And I urge you to tread carefully.'

She turned back to Ranulf. 'Not only will you return my daughter, but you claim that you will either hand Earl Corotocus to me, or punish him yourself?'

Ranulf nodded, more disconcerted than he could explain by the priest's unexpected presence. He'd faced enemies before, but the hostility emanating from this fellow was almost palpable. The inscrutable onyx eyes never left him.

'And how do you propose to do this?' Countess Madalyn asked.

'I'll need to plan accordingly,' Ranulf replied. 'But I had to come here first. I had to know if you would be receptive to my offer.'

'So you claim to come to us with a plan, though in truth you have no plan at all?' Gwyddon said.

'I didn't say that.'

The priest turned to his mistress. 'If the choice were mine, the answer would be 'no'. Why should we hear terms from an enemy who has already been crushed?'

'Gwyddon… or whatever your name is,' Ranulf said. 'The army that King Edward is bringing into Wales has not been crushed, and likely is ten times the size of your miserable host.'

'You see,' Gwyddon retorted. 'He is crafty, this Englishman. Even now, he seeks to elicit information about the progress of his reinforcements.' He sneered at Ranulf. 'We will tell you nothing. Return to Earl Corotocus and prepare yourselves firstly for death, and secondly for everlasting service in my regiment of the damned.'

'Countess, this is madness,' Ranulf pleaded. 'There is no point continuing this fight.'

Gwyddon laughed. 'The point is that Wales is on the verge of greatness.'

'Wales is on the verge of annihilation,' Ranulf countered. 'It doesn't matter how long it takes King Edward to get here, or whether he saves us or not. In fact, the longer it takes him to get here the better, because during all that time your army will be rotting to its bones.'

'And all that time we will replenish it,' Gwyddon said. 'The more who die, the greater our reserves of strength.'

'Is this what you want?' Ranulf asked the countess. 'Queen Madalyn of Lyr, reigning supreme over a nation of mindless corpses? Or will it be First Minister Gwyddon reigning over them? I'm not quite clear.'

Countess Madalyn's lips trembled as she heard him out, but she said nothing. Ranulf pleaded to her again.

'Listen to me, I beg you. If we return to England, we can tell everyone what we saw here. We can tell the king himself. If all you want is Wales for the Welsh, I dare say you've won it already.'

'Until such time as Edward Longshanks invokes aid from the pope,' Gwyddon interrupted. ''Holy Father', he will say. 'There are demons in Wales. Instead of directing our crusader armies east, we must send them west.''

'If that's what you think, shaman, you don't know King Edward very well,' Ranulf said. 'No foreign armies will ever be permitted onto the island of Britain.'

'King Edward does not control the island of Britain.'

'As I say, you don't know him very well.' Ranulf turned back to the countess. 'Madam, however invincible this fellow might have convinced you that you are, it is better to be King Edward's friend than his enemy. Your army of monsters has given you an advantage, so I pray you don't waste it. With might on your side as well as right, isn't it better to talk?'

Gwyddon made to respond, his face written with scorn, but Countess Madalyn signalled for silence. She read her daughter's letter again.

'You speak well for a common knight,' she finally said. 'But you have no authority to make this treaty.'

Ranulf nodded, as though pondering this. And whipped the dagger and curved sword from his belt. 'These are all the authority I need!'

The countess stepped back. Gwyddon's eyes narrowed.

'If I was as treacherous as you fear,' Ranulf said. 'Wouldn't I plunge these blades into your two hearts right now? Instead of vowing to plunge them into Earl Corotocus when I return to Grogen?'

'This is true,' the countess said. 'He has taken quite a risk to come here. It would be easy for him just to kill us.'

'He seeks only to save his men, so they may fight another day,' Gwyddon argued.

Ranulf laughed. 'After their experiences here, I doubt any of 'my men' — as you call them — would ever glance past Offa's Dyke again, let alone enter Wales. We'll leave our weapons, our booty. I promise we'll march home and harm no-one. Think, madam, how that would help your position once King Edward arrives. I can plead with him on your behalf. Tell him how you punished the criminal Corotocus, but spared the rest of us. Could there be a greater gesture of good will?'

She gazed at him intently, as if he was slowly persuading her. She was about to speak when there came a frantic shouting from outside the pavilion. It was in Welsh, but Ranulf knew enough of the border tongue to recognise an intruder alert — apparently the English were in the camp.

'See how he lies and manipulates!' Gwyddon roared. 'See how he buys time for his assassins!'

The countess's expression froze with outrage.

'Ignore my offer at your peril,' Ranulf said as he backed towards the entrance. 'You've thrown your lot in with a pagan sorcerer. Continue on this path, and who knows — when you get to Hell, you may share your dungeon with Corotocus himself.'

He turned and dashed outside, where he met another of the young priests at the stockade gate. The priest had a scimitar in his hand, but was too stunned by the sight of the intruder to react. Ranulf slashed his throat and