by Sam Taw
Blydh warmed to this idea. He lowered his axe and heaved a sigh. “I don’t need my brother to forge a deal with a back-stabbing kyjyan like this. I am just as much Metern of the Dumnonii as he is.”
Before we could sit down and begin the talks, a loud and haunting sound echoed through camp. My blood ran cold, sending gooseflesh throughout my arms and legs. It was the watchman’s horn blowing from the southern gates. The Duros were in sight of the walls.
A second call sent everyone scrambling for their weapons and running for the posts assigned to them. Only Blydh, Cryda and I were left standing around the shelter, wondering what we should do. A third blow on the watchman’s goat horn and the sharpest long bow shooters mounted the battlements. Others stood by with filled water buckets and spears.
Women wept with fright, corralling their children into the safety of the Long Hut, just as I had suggested. All about me, our tribe were following the recommendations I had mentioned to Tallack. I hoped to Cerridwen that I’d thought of all possibilities.
“Cryda,” I said, pushing her in the backbone to force her into action. “Get your slave to take the babe into the Long Hut, and for kyjyan sake, find Tallack!”
This was it, the day we’d been waiting for since I first caught sight of the Durotriges camped along our borders on the moors. Would it be just those who were not burnt or scattered from the night raid, or had Faolan’s warriors joined them on land to overwhelm us? I admit to feeling more fear than I should at my time of life, but no one wants to die a violent death in a muddy field. There is no honour in that.
I was only half way across the compound when Kewri came running towards me. Before I could give him any instructions, he picked me up with one arm and flung me over his shoulder. I smacked his back and kicked out for him to let me go, but it made no impact whatsoever.
He ran into my hut and dumped me down onto my bed without ceremony. “Stay here and no harm will come to you, I promise.” He said, standing guard over me in the doorway.
I rolled off the bunk onto my feet. “You great, giddy lump. How do you expect me to heal the injured?”
“They can come in here.” He said, folding his arms across his chest and glaring out between the door skins.
“Move yourself, Kewri. I mean it. As much as I appreciate your protection, you have to let me help the tribe.” He narrowed his eyes and wouldn’t budge. “Look,” I softened my tone of voice. “If it will make you happy, you can stay by my side as I go out there and do my bit.”
He thought about it for a moment and then nodded. Together, we rushed down towards the southern gate to see Tallack climbing the battlement ladder. He was preparing to give the order to fire. A mixture of men and women crouched low on the raised walkway against the high walls. Lower sections were cut out for the bowmen to aim through. As frightened as I was, I was desperate to see how many warriors we were up against. Spinning about, I muttered this to Kewri.
“I know a spot where you can peek out. Follow me.” We rushed down the boardwalk, past the horse pen until the fencing changed directions and joined up with the compound walls. Kewri opened the gate to the enclosure and pointed to where a tributary snaked through, allowing the horses and the white hart fresh drinking water. Where the brook disappeared under the wall, Tallack’s warriors had forced huge posts into the stream bed to prevent anyone from entering through the gap. There was just enough space between the wooden poles for us to peep through.
The horses bolted, snickering and fussing from the tense atmosphere building in camp. I could see Tallack in the distance at the top of the wall. His arm was raised, waiting until our enemies were close enough to receive a barrage of raining arrows. I peered through the gap, angling myself to see towards the southern expanse of the chalky training grounds.
There was a long line of warriors, all with blue woad painted on their faces and necks. Each one carried a shield above their heads. They had anticipated our moves. What struck me the most, was that there was only one row of men, far fewer than I’d expected. Surely the night raid of fire balls did not kill that many Duros?
“This doesn’t feel right, Kewri. There are too few. They must be distracting us from another entry point.” I back-tracked and called to my usual pony. He came close the moment I clicked my tongue at him. With a little help, I mounted the horse and gestured for Kewri to open the gate. Cantering through, I kicked my heels into his flanks and made short work of the distance across the island. Passing through the weaving shelters, leather stretchers and butchers huts, I pulled up the reins when I got to the eastern fringes and called up to the watchmen. “Keep your eyes peeled. They are playing us for fools on the southern side.” I was right. The moment I’d said it, one of the watchmen blew the goat horn and shouted down.
“Boats heading north.” He yelled. Those bowmen and women on the eastern battlements ran down towards the tower to get into position. I felt so helpless. Kewri was puffing and blowing on foot, trying to catch up with me. Before he could sling me over his shoulder again, I dismounted and began climbing the battlement ladder. I had to see for myself.
Their canoes were sturdy, with two warriors paddling at either end while the rest held their shields overhead for protection. The storm had swollen the river levels. I wondered whether the shallow hulls of the boats would clear our defences, rendering them useless.
“Fire at will. Send them all into the arms of the Morrighan!” I bellowed, as loud as I could make my voice carry. Those on top of the battlements, wasted their arrows. Some darts dug into the shields while others bounced off and into the water. One or two of the lower level shooters found their mark, but it made little impact on their progression upstream. While their attention was on our bowmen and women, none noticed the submerged spikes at random intervals. Just as they steered towards the section of the wall closest to the water with their axes, the leading edge of the first canoe hit a spike. Rather than splitting the timber and sinking the vessel as I had hoped, it tipped them all out into the river.
“Now! Let loose your arrows. Do it now!” I screamed. A bolt whipped past my ear in a flash. There were more warriors hiding in the marshland shooting back. I ducked under the battlements before they could better locate their target.
A man at my side caught a direct hit. It sliced through his neck with a squelching thud and protruded from the other side. He had just enough time to raise his hands to staunch the blood flow before toppling from the ledge. Pink foam spilled from his mouth. I shuddered as he hit the muddy ground beneath me. He was the first of our tribe to fall.
There was no time for contemplation or grief. The Duros had spotted the other spikes hidden in the water course. Those that remained afloat steered away from the walls to the opposite bank. They were trapped. If they tried to get out of the water, our bowmen would massacre the lot.
“Keep them pinned down. Don’t let them get their axes at our walls.” I screamed, hurrying down the ladder to my horse.
Kewri was out of breath. He bent double with his hands resting on his hips having caught up with me on the eastern side. Between the forge and skin stretching racks, I could see the southern gates bowing inward at regular intervals accompanied with a loud thudding noise. What was happening? Why wasn’t Tallack protecting the entrance?”
Shielding my eyes from the low sunlight, I could see Tallack’s unmistakable silhouette on the battlements, screaming out his orders for the bowmen to shower our enemy with arrows. Climbing back on my horse I cantered towards the gates as the first axe cut its way through the wood. “Kewri!” I called over my shoulder. He was already in pursuit. Two lonely warriors stood on our side of the gate jabbing their spears through the holes the Duros had created. How were the arrows missing these axe men? As the second hole punched through, I saw the shields suspended over their heads by their fellow tribesmen.
The hand of a Duro poked through the gap and threaded a thick bronze chain around the posts. One of our men unsheathed his blade and slashed him at the wrist. Th
e first cut sliced down to the bone. The second followed on quickly and took it clean off.
Our man picked up the hand as a trophy, waving it at its owner through the hole in the gate, laughing. Blood gushed from the stump, pooling on the ground. Within moments, our warrior’s laugh stopped as another sharp shooter struck him between the eyes with a well-aimed bolt.
That was all the time the Duros needed to get the chain in place. I shouted at the remaining man to shatter it with an axe, but my voice was lost amid the clamour and bellowing of the crowd. I peered up at Tallack’s shadow, waving my arms about to gain his attention. He did not turn around. He too was firing a bow taken from one of the fallen.
Desperate, and fearing that we were about to be inundated with perhaps as many as a hundred of our enemies, I pulled on the reins and galloped towards Tallack.
Blydh had staggered to the foot of the ladder and was trying to climb. Kewri was at the south gate yanking on the chain, trying to free it from the massive ropes attached on the opposite side. Digging his heels into the soft earth, he pulled with all his might but the chain stood firm. Just as he took his hands away to get a better grip, the slack in the chain pulled taut against the posts.
“Tallack!” I cried at the top of my voice. He turned to see Blydh half way up the ladder. His body swayed from one side to the other like he was addled on ale. The gates were a key part of our defence. “You must stop them from smashing the gates.”
Tallack threw his hands in the air. “They have a team of oxen. They are out of firing range.”
“Then find a way to cut the ropes.” As soon as I yelled it, I knew my suggestion to be madness. The only way that could be achieved would be to lower someone down the outside of the wall with an axe. They would get picked off by Duro bowmen before they could get close.
Another horn sounded from behind us. The northern gate was under attack. Where our men had cleared away the forest for the timber and for better lines of sight, the Duros had found another angle for attack. As I predicted, every arrow arching overhead from the north carried with it the potential to burn our thatched roofs to the ground. Women holding shields over their heads, scurried about, stamping out the fires and dowsing huts with buckets of water from the stream. They could hardly keep up with the constant bombardment.
Blydh saw the northern watchtowers ablaze, and climbed back down. “I’ll take command at that end. You find a way to keep them from the gate.” He said, though I knew that he’d never make it in time. The watchman had already succumbed to the flames. His falling body and screams of agony filled all our hearts with dread.
I slid down from my horse and gave him the reins. If he was insistent on fighting, at least he could ride to his enemies and not waste what little energy he had on running while half done in on resin. He stepped up on a wooden post and lay along my horse’s back. The loyal old beast began walking immediately, even before Blydh was able to right himself.
Kewri was standing at the south gate with one warrior and the dead body of another. He thrust a spear through the holes every now and then, but I knew that the Duros had retreated under their shields to a safer distance.
I knew their plan. They would wait until all their forces could join them. When they were all assembled, they would force their oxen to pull down our gates, allowing them to swarm into the compound.
I cupped my hands around my mouth to direct my yell. “Tallack, pull your men down here. They must form a line of combat. The gates will fall.”
He shook his head. “It’ll stand. We can thin the numbers better from up here.” Obstinate fool. What good are men half way up a wall when a massive horde were set to stampede through our camp?
Without my horse, I hurried as quickly as I could between the flaming arrows and churned mud to the gap in the wall. From my westerly position, I could see men running from the northern side to join up with those at the south. It was exactly as I’d feared. One tug from those oxen and there’d be no one to stand in their way.
How could Tallack not see their game? The arrows were little more than distractions to keep us busy firefighting. At least there appeared to be only Duro warriors. From what I could make out, every one of the men had the distinctive neck tattoos visible under the blue woad.
Perhaps Faolan’s sons were holding back in the knowledge that their kin were inside. Several of the warrior’s tents were burning next to the eastern wooded area. That was where all our pigs and chickens foraged.
Torn between hurrying across once more to set them free and heading south to reason with Tallack, I chose my nephew. We had to stop them from entering in one huge mass. I stuck two fingers in my mouth and blew a shrill whistle. Tallack turned and scowled at me.
“The gates… send everyone to hold the gates.” The chain links clanked against each other and bit into the wood. A loud creak sounded as the poles bowed from the strain. Tallack screamed to his warriors to slide down the ladders in all haste and prepare to fight. At last the headstrong young Metern was listening to me.
The creaks and groans were followed by an enormous crack, as the posts gave way, wrenching a gaping hole in the panels. This was it; we would stand or fall defending our homes. Our men and women grabbed their spears, axes and shields and staggered their positions across the smashed gateway. I could see them hurtling towards us in a great wave of fury. At the head of the line was the leader of the Duros and my nephew, Paega the Wily.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It was a shock to see my banished nephew at the front of the warrior line, running at top speed towards us bearing the mystical sword that he’d stolen. He was not one to put himself in danger at the best of times. Perhaps he too thought that the sword was blessed by the gods and would protect him from all harm. It had, after all, shattered Blydh’s bronze axe as though it was made from clay. From Tallack’s expression, he believed it too. He held his newly commissioned axe up high, swapping his grip over and over, revealing his nervous state.
Kewri back stepped nearer to me. “You shouldn’t be this close to the action. Move away before I carry you out of here.”
“Dear boy, do stop treating me like an addled child. I have to see what’s happening. Tallack is too mixed up in the action to figure out their plan.” From my slightly elevated position on the island, I had a perfect view of the team of oxen across the training ground and a woman mounted on a dappled grey horse. Even at that distance, I knew it was Brea. She had planned the entire attack.
Our best warriors rushed forwards and engaged the leader of the Duros and his men in bloody battle. Spears ripped through guts, knives slit gizzards and entrails were spilled. The whole camp stank of innards, attracting rats and dogs in equal measure. Mangled bodies fell on top of others as our men ploughed through theirs. It was just as Senara had said, our lands were too marshy for them to have approached on horseback. That helped to even the score. The Duros may be skilled horsemen, but they were less formidable on two feet.
Paega spotted Tallack on the left side and strode towards him holding the god sword with both hands. Steadying his stance, Tallack gritted his teeth and waited for the first move.
Over confident, Paega swaggered to his younger half-brother and they began their dance. “You are no match for me, Tallack. Surrender as Chieftain and I will spare your mother.”
That only angered our Metern more. He lunged at Paega swinging his axe upwards towards his chin. The blade scuffed the tip of his jaw, sending him reeling backwards to regain his balance. Before he could retaliate, Tallack spun around in a giant arc, his new axe flying at head height.
When he was facing his brother once more, the axe connected with the shiny blade of Paega’s sword flicking it from his grip. It soared through the air and dug into the mud with a twang some distance from them both. Disarmed and witless, Paega fell to his knees.
“Please, brother. Forgive me. This was all Brea’s idea. I was content on the moors until she met up with us and forced us to align ourselves with the Duros. Ple
ase Tallack, have mercy.” He wrung his hands together in front of him. What a pathetic sight he was. He had learned nothing and changed little over the years. I knew from the moment I watched him claim the auroch bull from the twins in his warrior quest that he would come to no good.
Tallack curled his lip in revulsion and walked over to the sword. “This blade was never meant for you, brother.” He spat on the ground, missing Paega by a fraction. “If it was truly yours it would have protected you from the swift death I now offer by its keen edge.” He lifted it from the soil and rested the tip of the blade to Paega’s neck.
“Nephew.” I interrupted from behind him. “Do you not think that justice would be better served if your brother had the honour of the death blow?”
He looked over his shoulder at me. “You’re right, Aunt. That seems fair considering I now bear the sword. We’ll let Blydh take his life.” He altered his stance lowering his weapon from his brother’s throat. “Kewri, find something to bind him with and stick him with the Novantae. All the traitors together in one tent. We should burn it down with them inside. That would serve them right.” Tallack admired the sword for just a moment, before giving me the broadest grin. “It has finally found its true keeper. I wield the blade of Cernonnus. Let no one stand in my way.”
Our women shooters knelt behind the line of fighting warriors and fired a volley of arrows at the Duro horde. I encouraged them to keep going, while Kewri dragged Paega by his bound wrists to the other hostages.
Blydh returned on my horse. His scalp oozed pus and blood, his skin was clammy and pale. How was he able to continue? He must have been in extraordinary pain. Together we watched as Tallack cut through his foes as though they were made from butter. The blade was the most incredible thing I’d ever seen. It sliced through bone and sinew better than any butcher’s knife, better than an axe, better than the curved Phoenician blades of the foreign travellers I’d known.