The Battle
He had always been fascinated by history, especially battles, perhaps something he had inherited from his dad. His father was too old for it now but Mark still took part every year in the annual battle re-enactment in Evesham, the Worcestershire town close to the village lived in. Over the years Mark had become a major player in the re-enactment group; few could wield a sword as convincingly as he did without injuring anyone. He was also a volunteer digger for the Council of British Archaeology and liked nothing better than spending time digging with a like minded group of people, having been involved in a number of digs throughout the UK.
He was obviously delighted when a dig came up on a site that was not only right next to his own village but possibly connected with his favourite battle. The battle of Evesham was a major event in British history in which, in 1265, Prince Edward defeated Simon De Montfort, mutilating his corpse and effectively restoring authoritarian royal rule to Britain. It was too early to be sure but the new local site of archaeological interest could be linked to a minor and poorly documented part of the same battle. According to limited reports, a smaller group of Prince Edward's forces had become separated and got involved in a much lesser battle with Montfort's largely unreliable Welsh allies a few miles east of the main battle site. The early finds of a battle axe and some human bones in a field right next to the village green were found to be of the right date.
It was his old friend Paul who lived in the same village and was an equally obsessed member of the Evesham Battle Society who suggested it. Maybe they could have their own little re-enactment on their village green to commemorate this skirmish that could have happened in that very place. They held a meeting in the village hall and there were mixed views. Some thought that it was premature, one axe head and a few bones was hardly proof that a significant skirmish had ever happened on the village site. Others, the vicar especially, thoroughly disapproved, saying that re-enactments glorified conflict and sent an unsuitable message to children. They were overruled by the majority who thought it would be fun and couldn't wait for a chance to start waving swords about.
You have to be careful waving swords about, even wooden or plastic ones, and the 18 inexperienced volunteers would need training to ensure there were no injuries. Mark and Paul were just the guys to do it and five weeks later the little group was safely, fairly safely anyway, hacking away with their fake weapons and looking quite convincing. Mark and Paul played the group leaders. Mark was playing Cleddyv Kyvwlch, the leader of the Welsh Montfort supporters who was said to have been been killed in the battle. Paul played the leader of Prince Edward's men whose name was unknown. Nothing was known about how the battle played out either, so a lot of invention went into the event. They had it that the Welsh were being pursued and turned to fight, that most on both sides would succumb and the others would flee leaving an epic battle between the two leaders played by Mark and Paul until Mark feigned his death. As the only experienced fighters, they alone could act out a fight without a sound track, using convincing heavy weapons made of metal that swung realistically and made a proper clashing sound.
Came the day, it was all going well and the crowd was enthralled. The other players had fled or were lying still feigning death and Mark and Paul squared up, swinging their swords. The onlookers gazed open mouthed, it was all so realistic. The sun shone in Marks's eyes and he briefly closing them, feeling a little dizzy. He opened his eyes and it all seemed so realistic to him too. A moment before he could see the pretend deceased lying complete and unstained, covertly watching. Now he was surrounded by mud and blood and dismembered corpses and could hear awful screams. His left arm hung uselessly in agonising pain. In front of him a figure much shorter than Paul was hacking wildly at him and he had a job defending himself. He no longer knew who he was and in pure instinct he hacked back.
What the hell was he doing? Paul had no idea what had got into Mark, he seemed to have got carried away and was not following their carefully rehearsed actions. He was swinging wildly, and one of them could be injured. He feigned the fatal stab that they had rehearsed so many times and moved back out of the way. Mark stood there, hacking at thin air for a few moments, then keeled over. The crowd were applauding, having noticed nothing untoward, not until they saw Paul had dropped his sword and was kneeling down, shaking his friend's body.
Mark came round a few minutes later in the first aid tent, the terrible memories in his head. It would be a long time before the horror of those few seconds would dim in his mind. He never told anyone what he had experienced, knowing he would be scorned, just said that he had blacked out. It took him several months before he felt like himself again but even then he had no further interest in battle re-enactments. He had experienced, however briefly, the real horror of an ancient battle and nothing would induce him to act them out and bring back those vivid memories. He wanted them buried, like the participants in that tiny but real battle.
He was still into archaeology and he and Paul took part in the dig next to the village green. It was not long before significant finds were detected beneath the green itself and, subject to stringent conditions regarding renewal, the team was permitted to expand their search there. He was present on the site when, a few months later, they came across a skull among some deliberately arranged rocks that could indicate the hasty burial of someone of relative importance. Could this be the body of Cleddyv Kyvwlch? It was getting late and the find was roped off
In the pub that evening Mark and Paul could not help but talk about the strange coincidence if it was Kyvwlch. The body was in about the same place that Mark had feigned his death. Had the man he played been right underneath him when he fell? Mark felt cold all over, maybe it was that physical closeness combined with the pretence that had let something into him that day. He shuddered and changed the subject. "That reminds me, did you ever find the sword you were using that day?" "Fraid not" said Paul "I've asked around but no sign of it. Some bastard in the crowd must have nicked it when I left it on the green to help you get to the first aid tent. Cost me a small fortune that did."
Digs have to be done very carefully to avoid damage, especially when the find is so old and fragile, so the skeleton was unearthed very slowly. It was nearly a week before it became apparent that the remains of a sword were still in the ribs. This was surely the weapon that had killed him. Preserving sprays were applied to stop it falling apart and it was another week before the team leader started to work it out very slowly. He laid it on a sheet for them all to look at. Then he turned it over. There was a small white patch on the handle, just below the hilt. Cleansing spray had to be applied before they could see what it was.
A plastic label marked, "Heritage Weapons Limited. Made in China"
He had always been fascinated by history, especially battles, perhaps something he had inherited from his dad. His father was too old for it now but Mark still took part every year in the annual battle re-enactment in Evesham, the Worcestershire town close to the village lived in. Over the years Mark had become a major player in the re-enactment group; few could wield a sword as convincingly as he did without injuring anyone. He was also a volunteer digger for the Council of British Archaeology and liked nothing better than spending time digging with a like minded group of people, having been involved in a number of digs throughout the UK.
He was obviously delighted when a dig came up on a site that was not only right next to his own village but possibly connected with his favourite battle. The battle of Evesham was a major event in British history in which, in 1265, Prince Edward defeated Simon De Montfort, mutilating his corpse and effectively restoring authoritarian royal rule to Britain. It was too early to be sure but the new local site of archaeological interest could be linked to a minor and poorly documented part of the same battle. According to limited reports, a smaller group of Prince Edward's forces had become separated and got involved in a much lesser battle with Montfort's largely unreliable Welsh allies a few miles east of the main battle site. The early finds of a battle axe and some human bones in a field right next to the village green were found to be of the right date.
It was his old friend Paul who lived in the same village and was an equally obsessed member of the Evesham Battle Society who suggested it. Maybe they could have their own little re-enactment on their village green to commemorate this skirmish that could have happened in that very place. They held a meeting in the village hall and there were mixed views. Some thought that it was premature, one axe head and a few bones was hardly proof that a significant skirmish had ever happened on the village site. Others, the vicar especially, thoroughly disapproved, saying that re-enactments glorified conflict and sent an unsuitable message to children. They were overruled by the majority who thought it would be fun and couldn't wait for a chance to start waving swords about.
You have to be careful waving swords about, even wooden or plastic ones, and the 18 inexperienced volunteers would need training to ensure there were no injuries. Mark and Paul were just the guys to do it and five weeks later the little group was safely, fairly safely anyway, hacking away with their fake weapons and looking quite convincing. Mark and Paul played the group leaders. Mark was playing Cleddyv Kyvwlch, the leader of the Welsh Montfort supporters who was said to have been been killed in the battle. Paul played the leader of Prince Edward's men whose name was unknown. Nothing was known about how the battle played out either, so a lot of invention went into the event. They had it that the Welsh were being pursued and turned to fight, that most on both sides would succumb and the others would flee leaving an epic battle between the two leaders played by Mark and Paul until Mark feigned his death. As the only experienced fighters, they alone could act out a fight without a sound track, using convincing heavy weapons made of metal that swung realistically and made a proper clashing sound.
Came the day, it was all going well and the crowd was enthralled. The other players had fled or were lying still feigning death and Mark and Paul squared up, swinging their swords. The onlookers gazed open mouthed, it was all so realistic. The sun shone in Marks's eyes and he briefly closing them, feeling a little dizzy. He opened his eyes and it all seemed so realistic to him too. A moment before he could see the pretend deceased lying complete and unstained, covertly watching. Now he was surrounded by mud and blood and dismembered corpses and could hear awful screams. His left arm hung uselessly in agonising pain. In front of him a figure much shorter than Paul was hacking wildly at him and he had a job defending himself. He no longer knew who he was and in pure instinct he hacked back.
What the hell was he doing? Paul had no idea what had got into Mark, he seemed to have got carried away and was not following their carefully rehearsed actions. He was swinging wildly, and one of them could be injured. He feigned the fatal stab that they had rehearsed so many times and moved back out of the way. Mark stood there, hacking at thin air for a few moments, then keeled over. The crowd were applauding, having noticed nothing untoward, not until they saw Paul had dropped his sword and was kneeling down, shaking his friend's body.
Mark came round a few minutes later in the first aid tent, the terrible memories in his head. It would be a long time before the horror of those few seconds would dim in his mind. He never told anyone what he had experienced, knowing he would be scorned, just said that he had blacked out. It took him several months before he felt like himself again but even then he had no further interest in battle re-enactments. He had experienced, however briefly, the real horror of an ancient battle and nothing would induce him to act them out and bring back those vivid memories. He wanted them buried, like the participants in that tiny but real battle.
He was still into archaeology and he and Paul took part in the dig next to the village green. It was not long before significant finds were detected beneath the green itself and, subject to stringent conditions regarding renewal, the team was permitted to expand their search there. He was present on the site when, a few months later, they came across a skull among some deliberately arranged rocks that could indicate the hasty burial of someone of relative importance. Could this be the body of Cleddyv Kyvwlch? It was getting late and the find was roped off
In the pub that evening Mark and Paul could not help but talk about the strange coincidence if it was Kyvwlch. The body was in about the same place that Mark had feigned his death. Had the man he played been right underneath him when he fell? Mark felt cold all over, maybe it was that physical closeness combined with the pretence that had let something into him that day. He shuddered and changed the subject. "That reminds me, did you ever find the sword you were using that day?" "Fraid not" said Paul "I've asked around but no sign of it. Some bastard in the crowd must have nicked it when I left it on the green to help you get to the first aid tent. Cost me a small fortune that did."
Digs have to be done very carefully to avoid damage, especially when the find is so old and fragile, so the skeleton was unearthed very slowly. It was nearly a week before it became apparent that the remains of a sword were still in the ribs. This was surely the weapon that had killed him. Preserving sprays were applied to stop it falling apart and it was another week before the team leader started to work it out very slowly. He laid it on a sheet for them all to look at. Then he turned it over. There was a small white patch on the handle, just below the hilt. Cleansing spray had to be applied before they could see what it was.
A plastic label marked, "Heritage Weapons Limited. Made in China"
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