Here Be Dragons - 1 by Sharon Kay Penman Page A

Welsh arrow was being launched at his back.
"Who is Llewelyn?" he asked at last, and at once regretted it, for Godfrey gave him an incredulous look.
"God keep me if you are not as ignorant as de Hodnet!" But Edwin's discomfort was so painfully obvious that he relented somewhat. "You do know that Davydd ab Owain claims to rule most of North Wales? Well, Llewelyn ab lorweth is his nephew and sworn enemy. They've been warring for nigh on six years, and were I
to wager on the outcome, I'd want my money on Llewelyn. He's not much older than you, I hear, yet he's been able to get the people on his side, has forced
Davydd on the defensive. Davydd still holds a few strongholds like Rhuddlan
Castle, but Llewelyn now controls the countryside, owns the night."
Edwin decided he did not want to hear any more, lapsed into a subdued silence.
The rain had ceased, but the small patches of sky visible through the trees were an ominous leaden grey. Although it was unusually mild for January, Edwin shivered each time the wind caught his gambeson. Stuffed with rags, quilted like eiderdown, it suddenly seemed a poor substitute for de Hodnet's chain-mail hauberk. He ran his hand over the padding, trying to convince himself that it could deflect a lance.
As the men moved deeper into the woods, so, too, deepened their sense of unease. They were bunching up, all but treading upon each other's heels, moving at an unusually brisk pace for men who'd been on the march all day.
Edwin paused to fish a pebble from his boot, sprinted
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to catch up. Panting, he slowed, came to a bewildered halt. The men had stopped, were gathered around Giles. Edwin squeezed into the circle, straining to hear.
Edwin was very much in awe of Giles. A dark, saturnine man in his forties, laconic and phlegmatic, he was renowned for his icy composure, and Edwin was stunned now to hear the raw emotion that crackled and surged in his voice.
"We've taken too great a risk as it is, should have followed the coast road.
But if we take this path, we are begging to be ambushed!"
"I do not agree. We're losing the light, are wasting time even now that we can ill afford to squander. I have an urgent dispatch for Davydd ab Owain, a message that comes from His Grace, the Earl of Chester. I swore to my lord
Montalt that I'd get it to Rhuddlan without delay, and that is what I mean to do."
Giles stepped forward, stopped before the roan stallion. "Sir Walter, I urge you to heed what I say. You do not know the Welsh, you do not know how they fight. This is not war as you learned it. It is bloody, brutal work, with no quarter given. Let me tell you about the battle of Crogen. The old King, Henry of blessed memory, led an army into Wales, went up against Owain Fawr. The
Welsh won the day, and King Henry was forced to retreat back into England. But ere he did, he had a number of Welsh hostages brought before him, wellborn men all, including two of Owain's own sons. He ordered them blinded, Sir Walter."
The other's face did not change. "That battle was fought nigh on thirty years ago. Why tell me this now?"
"Because you may be sure the Welsh do remember. Because that's how war is waged in Waleson both sides. I've fought in Normandy, in Scotland, even in
Ireland, and I tell you true when I say the Welsh do make the worst enemies.
They do not play by your rules, they win when they are not supposed to, and they do not know when they're beaten. They're wild and cunning and treacherous, not to be underestimated. It's been only a week since we captured one of Llewelyn's men not a mile from Ha warden. When we put the knife to him, he admitted that Llewelyn was encamped in these woods. Knowing that, we'd be mad to take yon path, no matter how much time we'd save."
"Our guide assures me that this rebel you seem to fear so much is not in the area, that he's known to be in Arfon. He also assures me that this is the quickest way to Rhuddlan." Walter de Hodnet paused, his eyes moving from Giles to the encircling