Excerpt Three of Sons of the Wolf

Ralph’s forces had ridden out two miles north of Hereford when they came across the amassing forces of Gruffydd and Alfgar. The Earl sensed the unease that was spreading throughout his men as the realisation that they were facing a far greater force than they had expected began to unsettle them. The horses felt it too; their ears were splayed back and they were baring their yellowed teeth. Their riders’ anxiety fizzled down through their trunks and their legs so that it seeped into the horse’s spine and nervous system. Fear filled the air with its unmistakeable tension and aroma.

“My Lord,” William said to Ralph apprehensively. “There must be four thousand of them.”

“But the scout said that there was half that number,” Ralph replied incredulously. “How can he have got it so wrong?”

“The sly vipers split up so that we would not know there was so many of them,” Malet replied. “Who would have thought that Alfgar could be so cunning?”

“Not Alfgar; Gruffydd more like. Alfgar would not be so clever. Gruffydd is the brains behind this.” Ralph shifted uneasily in his saddle. The enemy army was fast approaching. “We must send for reinforcements!”

William looked at him aghast. It was an absurd comment. “How can we? There’s no time. They’re bloody well upon us!”

Fitzscrob, captain of the middle-guard, rode over to them. “My Lord, the enemy are advancing. What should we do? We are overwhelmingly outnumbered!”

“What of it? We have the advantage. We have more cavalry than they. A man on a horse is worth two on foot. We can cut them down if we use the double circular formation and feigned retreat to break their lines,” Ralph replied. He knew that he was asking a lot from his inexperienced troops who were used to fighting in a shieldwall, but he had to save face...somehow. He looked out across the plain and saw the enemy vanguard advancing toward them, their pace quickening now as they got closer. The noise was thunderous. Trumpets were blaring and men were screaming obscenities at the “Saes bastards!” as they loomed toward them.

“My Lord, we will be cut to pieces! The men are untried and full of fear!” Fitzscrob shouted. “We must retreat and defend the town. It’s our only hope!”

Defend Hereford? This mob would overrun it in seconds, Ralph thought, his bravado beginning to wane. The enemy were thundering toward them now. Ralph’s fear began to overwhelm him. He lost all control of his bladder and his bowels as he sat quaking in his saddle. The ‘great’ army he had raised did not seem so great now.

Excerpt One from Sons of the Wolf

Chapter Nineteen

The Battle of Hereford

Hereford, October 24th 1055

Ralph walked along the rampart of his palisaded defences as the chilled late autumn morning swathed the burgh in a cloak of mist. He was proud of his strong timber and earth castle that he had built inside the burgh of Hereford not long after his uncle King Edward had invested him with the office of earl four years ago. If he looked out over the parapet on a clear day, to the north of the burgh, he would be sure to see any sign of the enemy coming.

This morning would be like any of the other mornings that had passed since, upon hearing Burghred’s news, he had wasted no time in gathering his huscarles and racing across the ancient tracks to the West Country, sending out summonses to all the mounted men that Edward had commended to him. Looking out over the fog-laden hills, he contemplated another morning of watching and waiting. Down in the courtyard, his men would be on standby. He was proud of his accomplishments in Hereford and fiercely proud of the mounted cavalry he had trained. Some of the Englisc looked upon his ideas with derision, but he would show them just what his mounted army could achieve. He had stubbornly refused Harold’s offer to rally the Wessex fyrd to aid him, convincing everyone, except for Harold, that he had no need of them. This was not, he had said, a matter of national emergency. His mounted soldiers would be match enough for Alfgar and Gruffydd, he had guaranteed them.

“Another morning and still they do not come,” muttered William Malet, joining him in leaning against the wooden barrier. Dressed and ready for battle, the men wore their armour of little metal links skilfully chained together to form the hauberk, the tunic of maille that protected the length of their torso, arms and upper legs. Under them they wore a padded jerkin which would stop the metal from chafing them, adding to the protection that their maille already afforded them. “I am beginning to think that they never will.”

“Oh, they will come alright; your cousin Burghred was sure of it. It seems your uncle has been collecting his forces all summer.” Ralph looked sideways at Malet. “And when they do, Will, we shall be ready for them. Ha, we will soon have our chance to prove to Godwinson that we are quite capable of sorting out our own defences!”

“In hindsight, do you think it was wise not to accept his offer to call out the Wessex fyrd?” Malet asked retrospectively.

“What? And have nice, golden, shiny Harold take all the glory? No, my friend, this one is for us. Besides, it would be a great waste of manpower. Costly too. Our combination of cavalry, light infantry and bowmen is the right formula needed to win the battle against the Wéalas.”

Malet looked a little sceptical and Ralph looked at him scornfully. “You do not doubt that the victory will be ours, William?”

“No, Ralph, I do not. It is just that—”

“I know that perhaps it is hard for you to go to war against your uncle,” Ralph suggested sympathetically.

Will shook his head and replied firmly, “You know how I feel about that brainless idiot! He has the intellect of a newt, uncle or not.”

“Then why do you have that doubtful expression on your face?”

“I just thought that perhaps it would have been advantageous to have the Wessex fyrd here, just in case. After all, Harold is—”

“Harold is not here!” Ralph responded angrily. “And what’s more, we do not need him!”

“But the men are untried and inexperienced, Lord,” Malet gently argued.

“Are you doubting me, Will?” Ralph thrust a disturbed look in his friend’s direction.

“No, Lord. No…”

“You know how I have been waiting for this chance to ingratiate the Witan, Will? And why should I not? I have royal blood coursing through my veins. I am throneworthy! An atheling!” He thumped the edge of the wooden strakes in earnest. “Why should I work so hard all these years only to have Harold Godwinson come along at the last minute and interfere in my command? This victory will gain me the accolade that I deserve and put an end to the threat that comes swamping over the marcher borders!”

“My Lord, you are indeed throneworthy!” Malet said supportively. He frowned slightly, changing his cynical expression to one of fervent loyalty.

“If only the Witan would recognise me as so,” Ralph said regretfully. “Mon Dieu! They send out to lands afar, searching for long-lost Englisc princes, doing deals with that bastard in Normandy, dropping hints at Swein of Denmark  and, all the time, here I am, a prince with the blood of Alfred, right under their snotty noses! So what if I was born on the distaff side of the royal line? I am just as much a contender, if not more. The King, my uncle, loves me, does he not? And yet still I have to prove myself...and prove myself I will!”

“My Lord, we will win this. If they come today, I swear we will win this!” Malet replied with genuine sincerity.

He was standing in front of Ralph as the earl leaned with his back against the parapet, the wind blowing his short dark hair forward. The Earl put a grateful hand on Malet’s shoulder. “Thank you, Will. When I finally sit on the throne of this damned kingdom, I will see that you are rewarded for your loyal service.”

“Good God!” Malet interrupted. “Look, my Lord!”

“What?”

Ralph saw that Malet was surveying the valley behind him intently. He swung round and faced the view over the hills. He felt his stomach tighten as he realised what his friend had been staring at: the fast moving shadow of a lone horseman, galloping amidst the thick morning haze that drifted toward them across the plain.

“It’s one of your scouts, my Lord. Look, he holds your banner aloft. That means they are coming…At last they are coming...”

 “Then we must see that the men are ready. Fitzscrob!” Ralph yelled loudly for his captain. He grabbed his helmet and shoved it onto his head.

“Yes, my Lord?” A small, lithe Norman dressed in maille came running up the wooden rungs of the rampart to join them.

“See that the men are armoured and the horses ready,” Ralph ordered. “Alfgar and Gruffydd are on their way. We will ride out to engage them.” He felt a ripple of excitement in his veins and a fluttering in his stomach. “Maintenant! Now, Fitzscrob! Que vous attendez? What are you waiting for? Allez, allez!”

“Yes, my Lord,” replied the little man dutifully as he turned and ran quickly down from the parapet.

Ralph breathed in deeply as he secured the chinstrap of his helm. He had been waiting for this moment and now it had arrived. At last he could show the world his worth and that Edward and his Englisc subjects need not look to that far-off place, Hungary, for their next king. He pictured himself sitting on the throne in Edward’s Palace of Westminster with his wife Gytha by his side. Yes, now his chance had come…

The Battle of Hereford

October 24th 1055 was a date I am sure would stick  in the minds of many of the people who lived in the Earldom of Herefordshire and in those of the people of Wales, for many years to come. For the poor, unfortunate survivors of Hereford, the names of Gruffydd and Alfgar would most likely invoke terrible memories of burning buildings and blood strewn streets. As for the Welsh people, the Cymry, they would remember it as one of their great successes, a victory over the Saes invaders who had stolen their land. These days, the ravaging of Hereford is a little known battle and mostly, only those who have an interest in this period of history, would be able to admit that they knew of it. It certainly wasn’t a fight on the scale that the Battle of Hastings was and it wasn’t a hard won victory for the vanquishers; but it was a devastating blow to the Franko-Norman Earl of Hereford, who, in his effort to pre-empt the Welsh King Gruffydd and the outlawed English Earl Alfgar from sacking his burgh, lost both his reputation and his standing in English affairs, when he and his guard, left the field of battle leaving many of his mounted army to die. 

Photo Attributed to Len Howell

          
            Gruffydd, self-proclaimed King of Wales, became so after he had won his bid to become supreme leader over the other Celtic kingdoms of Wales. He had been King of Gwynedd and Powys and had fought successfully against a Mercian army c 1040, killing Edwin, Alfgar’s paternal uncle. He soon began to harbour ambitions of uniting Wales against her enemies and so set about ridding himself of any impediments to realising his goal: Gruffydd ap Rhydderch, ruler of the South was one of them. This he did, probably with the aid of the exiled Alfgar of Mercia.    
          Alfgar had washed up on the shore of the River Conwy at Gruffydd’s palace at Rhuddlan, Northern Wales after being found guilty of uttering treasonable offences toward his King, Edward the Confessor. With him he brought a fleet of mercenaries from Dublin. It would be the second time that Gruffydd had used a renegade outlaw exiled from England to assist him. The first was Swegn Godwinson, the scandalous older son of Godwin, outlawed for bad behaviour. This shows that Gruffydd was not above taking advantage of the discord that often went on at the English court. He was an astute and ruthless ruler, and to the Welsh, he was the Shield of the Britons. Unfortunately for him, he was to be betrayed by his own people some years later when  murdered, they sent his head to Harold, Earl of Wessex.          
           Alfgar, son of Leofric, Earl of Mercia and the legendary Godiva of naked horse ride fame, appears to have been an unruly, truculent man, envious of the success the Godwins were  having. The Anglo Saxon Chronicles don’t go into a lot of detail but  he was banished from England after some angry outburst which could have been treasonous. He was stripped of all his wealth and lands. Like the Godwinsons before him, he was determined to return and first went to Ireland to gather a force before approaching Gruffydd, his family’s natural enemy.          
           The King’s nephew Ralph was made Earl of Hereford around 1052. Ralph was the son of Edward’s sister Goda and her deceased husband Drogo de Mantes who had been the Count of Valois, the Vexin and Amiens. His older brother Walter, became the Count after Drogo and appears to have died along with his wife in tragic circumstances. Ralph may have been raised at the court of  Normandy and travelled to England either with Edward or perhaps arriving shortly afterwards. He was most likely to have been in his mid to late twenties at the time of the battle. Ralph wanted to introduce Norman style tactics into English warfare and although it was probably not unheard of for English troops to fight on horseback, it was not the usual preferred method. 
           The mounted warrior would have looked very different to previous warriors who fought on foot. The maille that was being worn by this time was becoming longer than the usual byrnie that had formerly graced the bodies of 11thc warriors. The byrnie (or haubergeon) was more of a maille ‘shirt’ where as the hauberk generally well covered the thighs and groin areas. Kite shields were also becoming popular as we see in the Bayeux Tapestry and they were more practical for using on horseback as the kite shield gave greater coverage to the unprotected side of the warrior’s body. He could hack or spear with his weapon-hand which would defend his other side from his shoulder down to his foot whilst he was horsed. He would also wear a conical shaped helmet like these spangenhelm wearing warriors.

              Most likely he would go into battle with a few javelins to project at the enemy, or a spear to skewer them with. His sword or hand axe would be for closer hand to hand fighting when proximity to his opponent made the longer arms too difficult to use. If he was able to afford them, he would no doubt be wearing some maille chausses on his legs to protect them whilst he was in the saddle.           

             Ralph had been working on his Norman style defences too, building wooden structures with palisades, the pre-runner to castles. These would have consisted of a motte, a mound of earth with a towered structure within an inner bailey. The wooden fencing would have contained ramparts and lookouts. These were posted around the marcher borders and in Hereford itself. Ralph was obviously out to impress his uncle the King and may have considered himself worthy of being his successor, although there is no evidence to believe that he ever did, apart from the fact he was of the Royal bloodline through his mother. This might have been one reason why he was never declared an atheling, because he came from the distaff side of the House of Wessex. A great resounding defeat against the Welsh might have brought him the adulation and respect that he desired. Perhaps it would have gained him the title atheling. Unfortunately for Ralph, it was not to be.   

            On October the 24^th, the two armies faced each other across the plain. Here is what the D version of the AS Chronicle said about it

".....And soon after that, Earl Alfgar, son of Earl Leofric,
was outlawed well-nigh without fault; but he turned to
Ireland and Wales and there got himself a great band ,
and travelled thus to Hereford; but there Earl Ralph came
against him with a great raiding party, and with a little
struggle they were brought to flight, and many people
killed in that flight, and then turned into Hereford market
town and raided it, burned down the famous minster which
Bishop Athelstan built, and killed the priests inside the min-
-ster, and many others as well, seized all the treasures in
there and led them away with them. And then when they had
done most harm, it was decided to reinstate Earl Alfgar, and
give him back his earldom and all that was taken away from
him. This raid was made on October the 24th....."

           The Abingon Manuscript elaborates a little more and states that after Alfgar was outlawed, he went to Ireland and raised an army and then sought asylum with King Gruffydd of Wales. The allied forces then go into Hereford and Earl Ralph comes against him with a 'great army'. "But before a spear could be thrown, the English people fled because they were on horse; and great slaughter was made". The Manuscript also states about 400-500 English were slaughtered and the enemy lost none. It has  also been suggested that Ralph and his men left the field leaving the English to die. Hence he is later known as Ralph the Timid. As there is little evidence of a full eyewitness account of what happened that day, one has to imagine how this might have occurred. Whatever happened, the day belonged to a victorious Gruffydd and Alfgar. Alfgar, we see was reinstated and Gruffydd most likely given Lordship over the lands around Archenfield. Harold Godwinson had come with a great army to chase the Welsh and their allies back into the mountains but there was no return match and Gruffydd’s Welshmen and Alfgar’s Hiberno-Norse made away with slaves, livestock and treasures from the church they had sacked.
          The people of Hereford were left to lick their wounds and Harold rebuilt the defences that seemed to have been neglected by Ralph. The fact that Alfgar was never called to account for this outrage shows how brutal and non-consequential life could be in these days. The fact that he got away with it shows how little regard there was for the ordinary people concerned. The razing and ravaging of lands was often a punishment levelled at the nobility but although it is an absurd notion for us to protest the irony of it with our 21^st century outlook, the lower echelons of life in medieval times mattered only to their immediate lords for what they were worth in economical terms. A simple local thegn may have been devastated at the loss of his ‘people’ but for the major nobility it was more of a financial disaster than an emotional one. As for Ralph, it seemed he may not have ever got over the disgrace and he disappears from the pages of history until he dies in 1057. The Earldom of Hereford later passed to his son Harold, after the Conquest.

References

Barlow F (1997) Edward the Confessor (2^nd ed) Yale University Press, US.  

Stenton F (1971) Anglo Saxon England (3^rd Ed) Oxford University Press, Oxford.

Swanton M (2000) The Anglo Saxon Chronicles (2^nd ed) Phoenix Press, London.

This Battle features in my novel Sons of the Wolf and was part of the research I did for it.