It took a moment for the rest of the knights to realize what had happened, and by then it was too late. Three more arrows sped to their marks with lethal accuracy, dropping the enemy in their tracks.

The phantom of the greenwood gave out a last, triumphant scream and disappeared once more as the arrows began to fly thick and fast, filling the air with their hateful hiss. The Ffreinc fell back and back again, stumbling over one another, over themselves, over the corpses of the dead to escape the feathered death assailing them from the rocks. Those still coming up from behind choked off the escape, holding their unlucky comrades in place, thus sealing their fate.

And then it was over. The last soldier, an arrow in his thigh, pulled himself into the undergrowth, and all that could be heard was the clatter of the Ffreinc knights in full-tilt retreat… and then only the distant croak of gathering crows and the soft, whimpering moans of the dying.

Coed Cadw

The war between Bran ap Brychan and King William for the throne of Elfael continued as it began-with short, sharp skirmishes in which the Grellon unleashed a whirlwind of stinging death before disappearing into the deep-shadowed wood. These small battles were fought down in the leafy trenches of greenwood trails, down amongst roots and boles of close-grown trees and the thick-tangled undergrowth where Ffreinc warhorses could not go and swords were difficult to swing. The Welsh rebels struck fast and silently; sometimes it seemed to the beleaguered knights that the Cymry materialized out of the redolent forest air. The first warning they had was the fizzing whine of an arrow and the crack of the shaft striking leather and breaking bone.

And although there was never any telling when or where the dreaded attack would come, the result was always the same: arrow-pierced dead, and wounded Norman soldiers lurching dazed along the narrow trackways of the greenwood.

After a few disastrous running battles, the Ffreinc knights, whose fighting lives were spent on horseback, quickly lost all interest in facing King Raven and his men in the dense forest and on foot. In this, Coed Cadw lived up to its name-the Guardian Wood-providing the rebels with an immense and all-but impenetrable defensive bulwark against an enemy whose numbers far exceeded their own many times over.

Without the use of their horses, and forced to traverse unknown and difficult terrain, the knights' supreme effectiveness as a weapon of war became nothing more than a blunt and broken stub of a blade. They might thrash and hack along the borders of the wood but could do little real damage, and the elusive King Raven remained beyond their reach.

Still, the king of England was determined to bring this rebel Welsh cantref to heel. He insisted that his commanders pursue the fight wherever they could. Even so, rather than send yet more men to certain death in the forest, they made endless sorties along the road and told themselves that at least they controlled the supply route and enforced the peace for travellers. King Raven was more than happy to grant William the rule of the road, since it allowed his archers time to rest and the Grellon to make more arrows and increase their stockpile.

As it became clear that there would be no easy victory over King Raven in the forest, King William moved to take the Vale of Elfael. The Ffreinc army set up encampment in the valley between the forest and Saint Martin's, laying siege to the Welsh fortress at Caer Cadarn. William invaded the town of Saint Martin's with a force of five hundred knights and men-at arms with himself in the lead. There was no resistance. The invaders, discovering only monks there-most of them French, under the authority of an ageing Bishop Asaph- and a few wounded soldiers and frightened townsfolk with little enough food to supply those already there, simply declared the town conquered and effectively reclaimed for the king's domains.

Caer Cadarn was not so easily defeated. The occupying Ffreinc troops quickly learned that they could not approach nearer than three hundred paces of the timber walls without suffering a hail of killing arrows. But as the old fortress itself seemed to offer no aid or support to King Raven and the rebels in the wood, William decided to leave it alone, and trust to a rigorous siege to bring the stronghold into submission.

Day gave way to day, and sensing a cold, wet winter on the near horizon, with no advancement in his fortunes and the time for his departure for France looming ever closer, the king decided to force the issue. He called his commanders to him. "Our time grows short. Autumn is at an end, and winter is soon upon us,"William announced. Standing in the centre of his round tent with his earls and barons ranged around him, he looked like a bear at a baiting, surrounded by wolves with extravagant appetites. "We must leave for Normandie within the fortnight or forfeit our tribute, and we will have this rebellion crushed before we go."

Hands on hips, he glared at the grim faces of his battle chiefs, daring them to disagree. "Well? We will have your council, my lords, and that quick."

One of the barons stepped forward. "My lord and king," he said, "may I speak boldly?"

"Speak any way you wish, Lord Belleme," replied William. A thick-skinned warhorse himself, he was not squeamish about any criticisms his vassals or subjects might make. "We do solicit your forthright opinion."

"With all respect, Majesty," began Belleme, "it does seem we have allowed these rebels to run roughshod over our troops." The Earl of Shrewsbury could be counted on to point out the obvious. "What is needed here is a show of strength to bring the Welsh to their knees." He made a half turn to appeal to his brother noblemen. "The savage Welshman respects only blunt force."

"And yours would be blunter than most," remarked a voice from the rear of the tent.

"Mock me if you will," sniffed Belleme. "But I speak as one who has some experience with these Welsh brigands. A show of force-that will turn the tide in our favour."

"Perhaps," suggested Earl de Reviers of Devon, stepping forward, "you might tell us how this might be accomplished when the enemy will not engage? They strike out of the mists and disappear again just as swiftly. My men half believe the local superstition that the forest is haunted by this King Raven and we fight ghosts."

"Bah!" barked Earl Shrewsbury. "Your men are a bunch of old women to believe such tales."

"And yet," replied Devon, "how is this show of strength to be performed against an enemy who is not there?" He offered the craggy Shrewsbury a thin half smile. "No doubt this is something your vast experience has taught you."

Shrewsbury gave a muttered growl and stepped back.

"The rebels refuse to stand and fight," put in Le Noir of Richmond. "That is a fact. Until we can draw them out into the open we will continue to fail, and our superior numbers will count for nothing."

"To be sure," agreed the king, "and meanwhile our superior numbers are eating through all our supplies. We're already running out of meat and grain. More will have to be brought in, and that takes time. Time we do not have to spare."William's voice had been rising as he began to vent his rage. "My lords, we want this ended now! We want to see that rebel's head on a pike tomorrow!"

"Your Majesty," ventured another of the king's notables, "I would speak."

William recognized his old friend, the Earl of Cestre. "Lord Hugh," he said, "if you see a way out of this dilemma, we welcome your wisdom."

"Hardly wisdom, Sire," answered Hugh. "More an observation. When facing a particularly cunning stag, you must sometimes divide your party in order to come at the beast from unexpected quarters."