“Because Count Falkes de Braose—the ruler of Elfael before he was driven into exile—had no stomach for such tactics. He thought it important to gain the trust and goodwill of the people, or some such nonsense. He said he could not rule if all hands were against him at every turn.”
“And now?”
Gysburne smiled to himself. “Now things have changed. Abbot Hugo is not so delicate as the count.”
“And Sheriff de Glanville?”
“What about him?”
“Where does he stand in this matter? It was de Glanville who begged our services from the king. I would have thought he would ride out with us today.”
“But he has,” replied Gysburne. “He most certainly has—as you shall see.” The marshal lifted the reins. “Walk on,” he said.
Captain Aloin raised his fist in the air and gave the signal to move out, and the double column of soldiers on horseback continued on. Upon reaching the farmstead, the knights quickly arrayed themselves for battle. While half of the company under the command of Gysburne rode into the yard and took over the holding, Aloin’s division fanned out to form a shield wall to prevent any approach to the property and discourage anyone who might be minded to take an interest in the affair.
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 passed 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 assault 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?”