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By the time they returned, the second phase of the battle should have begun. Simon's men had done their parts. Each fire was a blazing torch now, burning the brush and thin branches the men had gathered and dried and set upright in the flames. The village was alight so that the men-at-arms could see to fightbut there was no one to fight against. This time it was not because the Welsh had melted away. The hundred or so men who had come to the attack had fought hard. They lay where they had fallen, some dead, some wounded. A few, perhaps, had retreated. |
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Simon stared around. This was no feint and no raid. But what was it? Could he have been mistaken in thinking they were near the main encampment? That was possible. Perhaps more than one level of misdirection had been used. As Simon checked over his men and the fallen Welsh, however, a pattern began to show. More than one Welshman had died inside a hut; many had fallen at the doors. Certainly these men had come to rescue Llewelyn, and they had been desperate about it. But why so few? |
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The simplest answer was that only a few were in the area; there was no camp. Then Llewelyn would have been the leader of this one small group, and they had done their best to save him. Simon's heart sank. If they did not soon find a Welsh encampment, they would really starve. They could put the men captured to the question. Simon made a moue of distaste. It was a poor way to reward their devotion, but necessity |
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Nonsense! There was a camp. There must be. And it must be a major gathering point. Llewelyn had told him so with nearly the first words out of his mouth. He had expected to be tortured. Since by now the Welsh knew that Simon's troop did not torture their captives as a general rule, Llewelyn had expected to be put to the question because he knew he had important information. |
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Which brought Simon back to the question of why |
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