Chapter Twelve
The Army
I watched helplessly as the galloping horses pounded across the ground towards Eduard. He finally heard them coming and turned to see death closing in on him, mounted on iron-shod hooves. Desperately he dragged two men round and together they levelled their spears to try to deflect or impale the horses.
It would not have been anywhere near enough to stop the charge and the armoured cavalry would have cut down our men like a scythe in a field of barley. Ironically, it was the Welsh themselves who saved my friends. What I had feared earlier − that more Welsh would emerge through the eastern passageways and surround us − now happened. A dozen Elmetae warriors had been pulled away from those following up Eduard and Grettir and had run down the adjacent passage. Emerging on the open ground, they swung round to cut off our men. In so doing, they saved Eduard and his companions’ lives.
For now, as the cavalry charged forward they saw with alarm that their countrymen were suddenly running in front of them and in desperation, they heaved on the reins and turned away, aborting their attack. They then circled off to the west to regroup. I knew that this was our only chance to get away and I took it.
“Aedann, a score of you come with me. Charge!” I ordered and off we went, crashing into the rear of the newly arrived Elmetae, who were surging around Eduard’s beleaguered band. Our attack took them by surprise and we cut down half a dozen before they reacted. The momentum took us right through them to join up with Eduard.
Now united, our desperation giving us the strength of madmen, we slew the Welsh surrounding us.
“Right, that’s it. Pull back!” I shouted and as a tightly huddled mass of thirty or so warriors, we retreated towards the gate. Shields overlapped shields; spears projected in all directions. The Welsh pouring out of the passageway harried us all the way, but they had suffered many losses and once we joined the others at the gateway, we had over eighty warriors and thirty townsfolk and were far too strong for them. Even so, I did not feel we were strong enough to force our way back through the fort to the east gate, for although we now outnumbered our foe, there was also an unknown quantity of horsemen to worry about. Had the Welsh been even a little more organised, they might have stopped us in our tracks, but their attack was not coordinated.
Outside the gatehouse the track led northwards. I had hoped to pass round the outside of the fort and reach the eastern road home to Deira, but I saw now that this was impossible. The ground dropped away steeply towards the river and at the bottom of the slope it was marshy and boggy. Half a dozen men might make it, but well over one hundred, including injured men and townsfolk, would not.
So, I turned my gaze north to the track exiting the gate: where did that go? Ah, I said to myself, Wallace’s map - that was the answer. I rushed over to where he was resting, supported by two men from Wicstun. Inside the fort, the Welsh were gathering and the horsemen were hovering fifty paces away. Still, there were only forty or so Welsh in all − too few to attack us, for the present. More may soon come though and I was anxious about how many horsemen they had in total. I had to decide what to do and quickly.
“My Lord” I said. There was no response.
“My Lord,” I said again and he at last opened his eyes and looked at me, but without recognition.
“Lord, it’s Cerdic ... Cerdic, son of Cenred from the Villa.”
Finally his eyes widened slightly and he focussed on me.
“Cerdic? Where are we?”
“Still in Calcaria. We are trying to escape, but I need your map, quickly!”
He nodded, but then coughed violently for several moments and I glanced anxiously at the gathering enemy, every second seeming an eternity. When he finally recovered, he reached inside his tunic and pulled out the oilskin-wrapped parchment and handed it to me.
“Cerdic ... I’m sorry,” he said.
I shook my head.
“Not your fault, Lord: just rest and we will get you home.”
His head had slumped again and I feared I was lying to him. As it was, he was not likely to make it home. Then again, were any of us? I rolled open the map and stared blankly at the markings and symbols. I recognised the lines representing the rivers: Derwent, just west of the Villa and the Ouse. There was also the fort of Calcaria - if that was the fort I was looking at - then the track, which looked like it was once a Roman road, curved north to pass over a tributary river that joined the Ouse further east. I followed the line beyond the crossing and saw that it reached a large town or city. There were letters next to it, but like most Angles I had never learned to read.
“Lilla!” I shouted. The poet jogged over to me. I showed him the map and asked him what the city was.
“Eoforwic, Cerdic: it’s Eoforwic, beyond the River Wharfe.”
“That’s only ten or twenty miles away, if I'm right,” I mused.
Lilla nodded.
“That is where we are going then.” I raised my voice to get everyone’s attention.
“We go this way. It’s about two miles to the river,” I jabbed a finger at the map, “and another ten to Eoforwic. Then we will be safe. Grettir and Eduard will lead with half the men. Then the townsfolk will follow them and finally Aedann and I will bring up the rear, with the other half of the company. Lilla, you come with me too. Everyone, keep your eyes open for more horsemen. Stay together and we will make it. Let’s go!”
So, off we went. The path sloped gently downhill. To our right the ground fell away steeply, but to our left it was all flat and open fields. Some distance away on the other side of the fields there was more woodland. All was clear in that direction. As I ran, I kept looking anxiously behind me at the Welsh. They let us leave, but most of them followed us at a distance of a few hundred paces, hoping perhaps that the column would begin to drift apart and there would be stragglers to attack. I was worried about that too and I did not let Eduard set a pace that was too quick for the women and children to keep up.
So, for an hour, we moved along the track at little more than a crawl and like wolves, the Welsh kept pace with us. A group of them even started to overtake us to our left, moving parallel with the road, but far out of bow range. I could do nothing to stop them, so I let them be. One relief at least was that there were no cavalry in sight. Lilla pointed that out.
“Those damned horses are not following,” he muttered.
“Thanks be to Woden for that then!” Cuthbert replied.
“You fool; it’s worse not knowing where they are than being able to see them,” Aedann grumbled and I glanced towards him. He was walking with his mother, supporting her as she stumbled along in his arms. I had misjudged him gravely and he had risen above that to – well, to all intents and purposes − to save us. Yet, where was I taking him? Back to slavery again under his old masters. Life must seem pretty grim for him.
“You had to say it, didn’t you? Tempted fate you did!” Cuthbert replied. Then I saw why. The cavalry had not left us: now they were back.
Out in the fields towards the woods, maybe half a mile distant, we could glimpse them moving from copse to copse and between small hamlets and farmsteads. There were a lot more of them now. They had not pursued us at once, as it seemed they had wanted to gather their whole strength. There was silence in the company as we walked along, each of us counting their numbers.
“Forty, I think,” Lilla said, squinting.
Cuthbert shook his head.
“No, I count nearer fifty.”
I believed Cuthbert, whose sight, like his archery, was acute and accurate. So then, there were fifty horsemen keeping pace with us and moving ahead and perhaps forty spearmen following on foot. We still outnumbered them, but not with warriors: we had many wounded and sick with us, as well as women and children who would not or could not fight. Our only hope was to reach the ford over the River Wharfe before they caught us up. I ran ahead to the front of the column. Eduard and Grettir had seen the horsemen too and were, despite my earlier orders to kee
p it slow, pushing the pace as fast as they could.
I looked ahead to see if I could see the river. At first I could not, due to the trees and hedgerows blocking the view, but we then passed over the crest of a small hill and there, half a mile away amongst marshes and woodlands the river lay like a dark green ribbon. I looked over to the horsemen and thought we might manage to reach it ahead of them.
“Master Cerdic, look that way,” Grettir urged me. He was pointing towards the horsemen.
Irritated, I snapped back at him, “Yes, I see them Grettir, I’m not blind!”
“No, look the other side of them!”
I looked beyond the horsemen. The small hill we were on gave us the advantage to see a long way and the woods had now become sparser and given way to open meadows, so we could see many miles to the west. It was hazy, but I could pick out the road: a long brown-black scar on the landscape, coming out of the fort and heading west, joining, it seemed, another road that ran straight as an arrow from north to south. A Roman road: there was no doubting that.
What Grettir had seen, though, was not just those roads, but smoke. Close to that junction smoke was rising from fifty or more fires: camp fires from an army, which this early in the morning would be cooking food and preparing for the march. An army of maybe five hundred men − all invisible at this distance, but betrayed by the many smoke plumes.
Samlen had marched that way the night before with two hundred men. Now what had happened? Had he been joined by others? Had Ceredig of Elmet finally consented to go to war? Was this the army of Elmet, paid for by my mother’s jewellery: One Eye’s amber treasure? Was poor Mildrith there amongst the enemy? Had Samlen touched her yet, or was he really planning to use her for his pleasure on the night they won the battle with us? Was Hussa there too, gloating about his triumph and enjoying his half-sister's anguish? I closed my eyes and swore.
“King Aelle needs to be told, come on,” I said grimly and pushed the pace even faster.
We dropped down the slope and the army was lost from sight. The horsemen, though, were not. They were now well ahead of us and starting to move back across the fields, trying to cut us off from the ford ahead of us. Looking that way, I felt hope rise, as it seemed they would not be able to reach us. The road was dipping down to a marshy plain that ran alongside the river. On the right side of the road the ground was now level with us, but on the left − where the horsemen were coming from − it fell suddenly away and I could see that ahead of us, the road followed the edge of a cliff. It was only fifty or so feet high, but quite impassable to cavalry.
Further ahead still, the cliff and the road dropped down to the level of the river, but it looked to me as if the marsh came right up to this point, effectively blocking off any access from the fields on our left up on to the road. As we got closer, however, my hope turned to fear as I now could see that I was wrong. There was in fact the narrowest of gaps between the end of the cliff and the boggy ground. The marsh appeared to be full of deep pools that would prevent the horsemen crossing. The cliff blocked them also, but there was a path of bare earth and clay running between them, no more than five feet wide. Five feet: enough for two horses to pass abreast. That was where the horses were heading: that was where the danger lay.
“Keep up the pace!” I shouted to Eduard and then ran back to the rear of the company. As I ran past them, I could see from the wild eyes and pale faces of the women, that many had seen the horses and knew that our chances of escape were small. When I reached the back of the column and looked at the Welsh warriors pursuing us, I grimaced, for I could see that our chances had just got even smaller.
The Elmetae following us on foot were now jogging along and were less than fifty paces behind us. They were close enough now for me to see the faces of the men who chased us: close enough to see the hungry expressions and in particular the smug, expectant smiles. The Welsh had not simply come hurtling after us, no indeed: they had been clever. Their leaders had known their land. They knew how the terrain lay up this road and with the forces available to them had laid a trap for us. Soon, we would be smashed between a hammer and an anvil: the hammer of their cavalry and the anvil of their shield wall. I flung a silent curse at Loki. The god was playing his tricks again: permitting us to escape and letting us feel we were safe, before finally allowing us be caught, a mere quarter of a mile from the river, the border with Deira and safety.
Unless ... unless we could reach the river first: then there was still a chance of escape. Well then, there was no time for hesitation: every second counted now.
“Run!” I bellowed. “Run like all the demons in the world are after you!”
Run we did. Eduard, making light of his wounded shoulder lifted Wallace onto his back and ran as fast as any of us, despite the burden. Even little Gwen dragged along by her son, picked up her heels and scampered along. If we could keep the pace up, we might yet manage to escape.
Then Loki laughed again and I saw we were doomed.
On the road ahead of us, the Welsh cavalry now stood. The hammer had arrived and we were still a hundred paces from the river. A hundred paces: that was all, but it might as well have been a mile. We stopped running and gasping for breath, awaited our fate.
But, one of us did not stop running. Aedann let go of his mother’s hand and carried on towards the horses. Twisting his head round, he shouted back to us.
“Come on, keep running. They are not all here yet. Keep running, you English bastards!”
Cuthbert pushed his way to the front and pointed.
“He’s right, there are only three of them on the road: scouts ahead of the main squadron, I figure.”
I could see it now and I glanced behind. The Welsh were less than fifty paces away, but in front, the hammer was not quite the threat I had thought. The other horses were coming, but were still a hundred paces away, moving into a narrow column to pass between the cliff and the marsh. Aedann was right: there was still a chance.
“Run!” I shouted and again we were off. Lungs and throats burning, the company and the townsfolk ran straight at the three cavalry. Horsemen are a threat to infantry and we fear them above all other enemies, but not just three against over a hundred. They knew it too and as we closed on them they spurred their mounts and veered away onto the fields to the east.
Meanwhile, Aedann was no longer running down the road. He had turned and headed into the little path between bog and cliff. There, he swung his shield round, drew his sword and braced himself in the gap. The horsemen would have to ride him down to get to the column. Eduard and Grettir saw what he was doing and ran to join him. They had spears as well as shields and stood either side of him, overlapping his shield and dropping the spear points towards the coming horsemen. Three more of the company joined them and formed a rear rank. Cuthbert had managed to scavenge half a dozen arrows and notching one of them on the string, stood behind and to the side of them.
The first of the company had reached the ford. I stopped them there and we let the townsfolk start to cross. The Welsh were closing in, seemingly keen on revenge and the rest of the company were milling about. I knew that I had only seconds to play with.
“Shield wall: form a shield wall now!” I shouted the order. It was the first time we had done this together since we had practised at the Villa just a few days before and they were all clumsy finding their places, but gradually our shield wall took shape. I started the wall just at the end of the cliff, so as to protect our men on the path and then slanted it across the road onto the bog beyond, angled to protect us from the three horsemen, who were circling about over there and still posed a threat if they chose the right moment to attack. The Welsh foot soldiers had stopped running and with a clattering of shields and spears, were also forming up opposite us.
Now, we finally had the advantage. There were more of us and we held a good position. The Elmetae hammered weapons on shields and screamed abuse at us, goading us into attacking them. Some of the company moved forward, but I
hauled them back.
“Don’t be bloody idiots − they want us to attack. Stay still and let them come to us.”
I was not going to be a fool that way, but I was worried about the one weakness we did have. If the Welsh cavalry could break through the tiny group on the muddy path, they would be round behind our main shield wall and would unleash a horror upon us. All now depended on Aedann and his five comrades. The pounding of iron hooves on clay told me that the moment of decision had come: the horsemen had arrived!
The leading one spurred his mount and shouted an incomprehensible war cry as, without hesitation, he charged towards Eduard. His lance was long and sharp and he targeted Eduard’s throat. Eduard pulled up his shield and the lance struck it hard, just above the centre. The blow knocked Eduard back, so that he ended up lying on top of the man behind.
There was a cry of triumph and the Welshman spurred on to ride them down. Aedann took one step forward and stabbed his sword hard straight up into the man’s belly. The triumph now turned to horror and then to agony. With a scream, he fell backwards. His horse, dragged over by the weight, reared up onto its hind legs. Eduard, clambering back to his feet, brought up his spear and plunged it into the beast’s groin.
There was a gut-wrenching squeal of agony from the animal as it fell with a crash, back onto its rider, crushing him under it. It then lay on the ground, thrashing and writhing, as its life poured out into the marsh beside the path. One hoof caught Aedann on the knee and he screamed as his leg gave way. The next horseman arrived and made to jump over the still twitching body of the first horse, looking to land on Eduard.
As it left the ground, there was a twang, followed by another and two arrows caught the rider in the throat. He fell off the horse and landed in a deep pool of muddy water in the bog. The weight of his armour pulled him down under the surface, where he choked on his own blood and drowned in the filthy water. His horse spun round and headed back the way it had come, crashing into the column behind. In the resulting chaos, two more horses slid into the bog. Twang-twang-twang and three more arrows followed, all finding their marks, so four dead and dying horses blocked the narrow path. At last, the horsemen reined in and hung back. Cuthbert had one last arrow loaded, but he did not fire, instead he stood, aiming at the horses and waiting for them to come again.
The Welsh shield wall had fallen silent. They had been expecting the cavalry to break through. Now that had failed, I could see their leader studying us and counting our numbers. Was he going to try and attack, hoping that the horses would find a gap to break through after all?
Out in the field, the three scouts moved over to talk to him and I could see that they were pointing across the river. I bent my neck to look that way, but at first I saw nothing. Then, there was movement: twenty, no thirty spearmen, moving down the road towards the ford from the other side. I had an anxious moment as I thought of that army we had seen earlier. Was this a part of it, already in Deira and coming to cut us off?
Then I saw that with the spearmen were some of the townsfolk from Wicstun. They were coming towards us and leading what I could now plainly see were fellow Deiran warriors. With a splash, they were across the river behind us. My knees trembling with relief I stumbled over to their leader: a severe looking bald-headed man, who looked at me sceptically as I approached.
“Where is your lord?” he asked.
“There he is,” I pointed at Wallace, who was sitting on the road, looking exhausted and only just conscious, “but he has been injured. His lieutenant was killed at Calcaria so ...”
“So, the lad took over. Did it bloody marvellously actually − saved us all ...” Wallace said weakly and then, struggling to his feet, he staggered over to us.
“But you have saved us all now, Lord ... erm ...?” I hesitated, not knowing who the man was.
“Earl Harald, of Eoforwic,” he answered. “But, it looks like the danger is over,” he added, nodding his head towards the Welsh, who were backing off down the road. In the fields to the west, the cavalry were also retreating leaving half a dozen men dead on the path and in the marsh.
I blew out a long breath: the enemy finally knew they could not beat us today, so we were safe. I went and helped Wallace and together we led the company across the river and back into Deira.
When we reached the far side, I turned back to see Aedann limping across, surrounded by men from the company who were clapping him on the back.
“For a Welsh bastard, you were pretty good there!” Eduard said to him and with a wink at me, he carried on down the road after the company. Grettir hung back and stood looking at Aedann, not saying anything. Suddenly, he nodded his head at the lad: the closest that the gruff old teacher ever got to saying he had been wrong about a man. Aedann had proven his worth, the nod said. He glanced at me and tilted his head for a moment, acknowledging that I had been right. Then he turned away. In a moment, I was left alone with Aedann.
“Well then, I went to Elmet to find and probably kill you, but you saved us all. I thank you for that. For a slave, you sure know how to fight,” I added.
Aedann looked pained now, reminded that here, on this side of the river, that was all he was − a slave. He tossed the sword down onto the road.
“You had better take that. You know what your father says about slaves having weapons.”
I reached down and picked up the sword, then studied him for a moment. Finally, I made up my mind. I turned the weapon round and handed him the hilt.
“You’re no slave. Take it, you’ve earned it,” I said.
“But, your father ...”
“Take it,” I repeated and this time he did.
“I will deal with my father,” I added.
He grinned at me and together we walked down the road.
The Amber Treasure Page 15