by Sean Poage
Different units took turns acting as scouts in all directions, reporting to Cyndelic, a warrior who excelled in the arts of guiding men through foreign lands. It was vital that no one saw the force moving. Illtud remarked that he was stunned at seeing no farmers or herdsmen, as if the entire country had been emptied of its population. But they were not entirely alone.
When it was time for Gawain’s turma to act as forward scouts, they learnt that, periodically, they would be met on the road by a man who would make a certain signal. These were spies that had been in place for some time. It was their duty to help guide the army along the correct paths and report any sign of enemy agents. As they moved further south, the spies worked in small groups, acting like petty brigands to drive away anyone who might come too close to the army’s path.
Progress was slowed by the narrow trails and the need to remain hidden. Under the best of circumstances, moving many men is difficult to do in secret. Each night the camps were cold and cheerless, the men forbidden to light fires or speak above hushed tones. They did not have the usual trail of camp followers who would perform the menial tasks that soldiers loathed. Morale slumped, particularly during two nights of rain, but the anticipation of the upcoming action kept the men focused. Food for the men and horses had been hidden near each campsite, revealed by the local spy who guided them to their place of rest.
On the sixth day, after passing through lowlands with distressingly few trees, they entered a hilly forest and encamped in a narrow valley. This was where they were to stay hidden, a few miles north of a road between Namnetis and Andecava. Scouts were dispatched to watch the road and areas around them as rough shelters were made amid the trees, and clearings found for the horses. The soldiers were tired and irritable, and the conditions were poor. Jokes about preferring death to another day in camp were common. The next sweltering day did nothing to improve their moods.
Gawain’s turma was assigned to a segment of the perimeter that overlooked the river. Gawain saw to the relief of each picket, finishing with Gareth and Teilo watching the river and road.
“How long must we stew in this marsh?” Teilo grumbled, digging a louse out of his matted scalp and crushing it between dirty fingernails.
“Until Odoacer has brought his army to Namnetis,” Gawain answered, wiping the sweat from his forehead, leaving a streak of dirt.
“And he’ll march that army down that little track?” Gareth indicated the road below them.
“More likely they’ll take boats down the river,” Gawain replied. “Though if they do go overland, they’d probably use the Roman road, south of the river.”
“If they do, how will we know when they’ve passed?” Teilo frowned.
“Or what if they don’t attempt to relieve Namnetis?” Gareth pulled a branch out of his view of the river. “Or worse, what if they’re already there?”
“I’m sure someone will come and get us,” Gawain sighed. “The Rigotamos is counting on Odoacer springing an ambush, and messengers will need time to report when Bedwyr is near.”
“Bedwyr will be sorely pressed,” Gareth said. “What if we don’t arrive in time?”
“I’m sure he’ll prepare against the attack,” Gawain responded. “And I’ve heard rumours that ours is not the only aid he expects. There’s another commander, Drustan, who took an army west to—”
“Do you hear that?” Teilo interrupted, stretching towards the road. “Are horses approaching?”
The others strained to hear for a moment before the staccato rhythm came to their ears, and a moment later a pair of horseman came into view, riding east at a canter.
“Teilo, you could hear the sunrise,” Gareth quipped. “Are they Saxons? Gawain, you have the eyes of a hawk; can you tell?”
“They appear to be,” Gawain nodded. “I’d wager that Bedwyr’s approaching Namnetis, and those are Odoacer’s messengers.”
“So we let them pass,” Teilo grinned. “And soon we should see Saxons sailing west.”
“It may take a day to travel downriver,” Gawain mused. “Longer if they march. I should bring this news to Cei immediately.” He scuttled back from their hiding place and jogged down the hill to his horse. He rode as quickly as the narrow path and low branches allowed until he arrived at the southern edge of the oblong camp.
The guards admitted him, pulling aside a tall fence woven from leafy branches. Gawain jogged to Cei’s tent in a small glade surrounded by thickets. Guards took his message, and a moment later Gawain was ushered in.
The sides of the tent were rolled up, but the thick brush made the hot air still and oppressive. Cei, in a simple tunic, sat on the carpeted ground on cushions, speaking with Cyndelic, Hyfaidd, and Greidawl, the leader of Cei’s other ala, Llary and Rhun of Bedwyr’s legion, and Cynwyl and Carnedaur of Drustan’s legion. Wine was served by a young soldier who stood behind them. Even in these conditions, Cei reserved some sparse luxuries afforded his position.
“You have news from the perimeter?” Cei addressed Gawain without greeting.
“Yes, my lord,” Gawain bowed. “From the point overlooking the river path. We observed a pair of horsemen riding hard from the west.”
“Any better description?” he asked with a touch of impatience. The heat would do that to anyone.
“They appear to be Saxons,” Gawain replied. “By their clothing and kit. I saw them myself.”
“Humph,” Cei chuckled derisively. “Well, I daresay you would know a Saxon on sight.”
Gawain bristled, but Hyfaidd interjected, “It would appear Bedwyr has arrived on schedule. We should see Odoacer before long.”
“Or more likely his deputy,” Rhun yawned. “Odoacer probably stayed in his city.”
“It is not his city,” Greidawl growled.
“Should we send a couple of men to see what’s going on there?” Cyndelic asked. “I wonder if Odoacer hasn’t already sent his forces to Namnetis.”
“If those were his messengers,” Llary said, “it would be a good sign that he hasn’t already reinforced the city.” The others nodded in agreement, as Cei stroked his beard in thought.
“I’m not sure how much we can learn without exposing our existence,” Cei said. After a long pause, he continued. “We will wait a day. If we’ve received no sign in that time, you, Cyndelic, choose a man and see what you can learn.”
The leaders concurred, and Gawain was dismissed. He returned to his campsite and spent a few minutes quizzing Peredur on his Latin studies. Illtud was also teaching him, and he was making excellent progress.
Peredur had stretched a hide between some thin branches for some shelter and cut some rushes from the stream bank to make a bed for Gawain. He settled down to get a short nap before going out to check on his men again. That was how the day crawled by. As evening approached, Gawain saw to it that his men were relieved by the night watch and received their evening rations. Clouds from the north were beginning to obscure the sky, bringing the threat of more rain.
Peredur prepared a meal for Gawain, as best he could, from the stale and bug-infested flatbread, bruised fruit and unidentifiable dried meat that had been cached by Arthur’s agents. They sat on the ground, swatting flies and gnawing on their dinner while discussing aspects of horse care. Even the usual camaraderie of the camp was missing, as the men, excepting the leaders, were forbidden from gathering in groups greater than four, to prevent the raising of voices and laughter that could give away their position.
Soon after sunset, there was a sense of energy in the camp, a discernible rise in the intensity and volume of voices and the rustling of movement. Gawain perked up, trying to peer through the gloom and listening for any sign of danger. A small group passed nearby, and he got up to follow them when Cadwal appeared out of the brush.
“Word from the lookouts. They saw ships passing west,” he grinned. “It was just light enough to see them, not enough
for a good count, but it’s at least dozens.”
“The Saxons?” Peredur exclaimed, eliciting a sharp hush from Gawain. Illtud appeared at his elbow, causing him to jump a little.
“Almost certainly,” Gawain said. “Cadwal, Illtud, get accountability for your men. Peredur, find Gareth and have him account for the first line. Stay put, but be ready to move at a moment’s notice. I’ll see what’s happening.”
A throng had gathered outside the thicket hiding Cei’s tent, and the whispers combined to sound much louder. It looked as if every Decurion was present, eager to learn what would come next. The excitement caused the level of noise to rise until someone stuck his head out of the entrance and hissed for everyone to shut up.
“Return to your ala’s assembly place!” he said. “Your praefectus will give you instructions when he has his.”
The group settled down to near silence and dispersed. Gawain lingered until most had gone. Quiet voices came from the thicket, rising and falling in seemingly heated debate. Feeling anxious and impatient, he picked his way to the clump of trees where Hyfaidd slept and joined the other leaders of his ala. A light rain started as he found a place to sit and listened to the quiet conversations speculating on what would happen next.
After some time, Hyfaidd appeared among them, wet, tired and annoyed. He motioned for his Decuriones to gather around and verified that all were there.
“It appears the plan to draw the Saxons to Namnetis is working,” he said. “Cei has determined that we won’t move until dawn.” Grumbling rose up around the group, but Gawain thought it was a wise decision. Moving so many men in the dark, in rough terrain, close to the battlefield, could cause more time lost than waiting for enough light by which to see.
“Our ala has won the honour of leading the army to Namnetis – Quiet!” Hyfaidd growled as the men nearly erupted in vocal excitement. “There’s nothing more to say. Ensure your men are well prepared when the first stars are doused.”
Gawain made his way back to his shelter and found Illtud, Cadwal, Gareth and Peredur huddled there. They tried to make room for him, but Gawain could only squat down at the edge, close enough to get his head undercover and be rewarded with a cold trickle of water off the hide and down the back of his neck.
He briefed them, answered several questions by saying he had no other information and dismissed them to inform their line-mates and ensure they were ready to go before dawn. He left Peredur to prepare their kit and walked with Gareth to update the men of the first file.
“This time tomorrow we may be a cold meal for the crows,” Gareth said in a light-hearted tone.
“I’m sure we’ll be providing their meals,” Gawain grinned in return, “but will not be the feast ourselves.” He glanced at Gareth, whose face was set in a placid smile. “Are you ready for this?”
“I think so,” Gareth’s façade slipped a little. “The closest I’ve come to battle is chasing a pair of cattle thieves. And they got away.”
“Well, tomorrow we’ll be veterans of a battle like our people haven’t seen in generations,” Gawain replied. “That’ll be something to take home.”
“My mother begged me not to go,” Gareth looked down sadly. “I could only say this to you, brother,” his voice lowered. “As children, we played at war and spoke of valour and of quests to slay giants, but in truth, I’ve always preferred to raise crops and catch fish.”
“I know,” Gawain nodded. “Our farmers get too little honour.” He was quiet for a moment. “Gareth, when this is over, if I do nothing else, your family’s debt will be settled and the claims on your father’s lands withdrawn.”
Gareth stopped, looking at Gawain, then lowered his head. “Gawain, you...” He faltered and became silent. Gawain glanced at him, smiled, slapped him on the shoulder and continued walking.
“It’s nothing. I’m just tired of watching you chase women with an eye to their dowries,” Gawain grinned. “You’re too ugly to win a rich woman.” Gareth chuckled, and they continued on their errands.
The rain tapered off, but few slept well that night, if at all. As the eastern sky began to lighten, the men formed into lines and began leading their mounts out on foot along the narrow trails towards the river.
On leaving the valley, the path widened considerably and followed the river. With grassy banks on either side, the men were able to ride four abreast, shortening the length of their column. It was further compacted by the eagerness that caused them to narrow the gaps between units.
Hyfaidd rode at the front of his ala with his staff, the Decuriones in line behind so he could give orders quickly when needed. His swiftest scouts went forward, but he kept the pace even and relaxed. It would take a couple of hours to reach the city, and it was vital that the horses would not be fatigued upon arrival.
As they progressed westward, they saw a smoky haze in the direction of the city. At the ford of a small river that fed the Leger, a pair of scouts galloped back to inform Hyfaidd that Saxon horsemen had spotted their approach and fled back towards the city. They were too far away for the scouts to catch, so it was certain that Odoacer knew they were coming, though he likely did not know their numbers.
They crossed the ford and turned south-west towards Namnetis. The scouts made frequent trips back and forth to report to Hyfaidd, and messengers were dispatched to Cei, further back in the column.
The pace picked up as they got closer. Hyfaidd directed his turmae to spread out across the fields and come inline. Gawain’s turma was on the front line of the left wing of the ala. They crested a slight rise and saw the city and the conflict surrounding it below them. Gawain’s breath caught as excitement, fear and awe rushed through him.
Chapter Nine
The late morning sun shone in a clear sky, perfectly illuminating the scene before Namnetis’s walls to Cei’s forces. Those looking eastwards into the sun at the arriving cavalry had difficulty discerning the numbers they faced.
The city stood at the end of a long, narrow peninsula formed by the Leger on the south and the Erdam on the west and north. Roman walls of stone, mortar and brick surrounded it to a height of about thirty feet. Semi-circular towers jutted from the wall at regular points. Two gates faced the east, with more on the other sides of the city. People stood on the walls and towers, but the gates were closed.
A narrow strip of land separated the walls from the Leger, with the remains of razed buildings. It looked like the buildings had been destroyed for some time, but smoke rose from beyond the west side of the city.
Bedwyr’s troops had been busy since their arrival. In a remarkably short time, they had dug parallel defensive ditches beyond bowshot of the walls. The dykes protected a strip about fifty paces wide, running roughly north to south between the two rivers. It cut off the land approaches but would not stop the Saxons from using the river-facing gates to access boats.
Short sections of wooden palisade had been erected at various points along both sides of the fortification as if the Britons had started building the walls in different spots before being interrupted. At the furthest northern end of the fortification, the Britons had organised their oxcarts and baggage into a long, narrow pen for the animals. Somewhat south of that point, outside Bedwyr’s fortification, a large pile of logs and unusual timber frames smouldered.
Bedwyr’s army had taken refuge between the ditches to lay siege to Namnetis and hold off Odoacer’s reinforcements until Cei could arrive. On either side, they faced a mass of Saxon warriors, most from the city on the western side. Somewhat fewer were on the eastern side, having arrived from more than a score of ships beached on the shores of the Leger.
The Saxons had made some preliminary assaults against both sides of Bedwyr’s position before word arrived of Cei’s approach, and had pulled back to assess their new situation. A handful of Saxon horsemen, messengers more than cavalry, made several feeble attempts to approach Cei’s men
to determine the size of his forces. These were quickly driven off by the light scouts Cei had sent ahead of the main body.
Hyfaidd ordered his ala to halt and form up in line of battle while the other alae flowed towards their positions on the wings and in the reserve. A priest stepped out in front of the host and called out a prayer that most could not hear as they dropped any gear not used for fighting. The Decuriones were recalled to their commanders for last minute instructions, so Gawain left Illtud in charge and trotted to the centre. Hyfaidd conferred with his staff there, messengers arriving and departing rapidly.
“That’s the end of Arthur’s siege equipment,” one of the older warriors nodded towards the piles of burning wood.
“It matters not,” Hyfaidd replied distractedly. “They served their purpose.” Hyfaidd counted the Decuriones waiting and nodded.
“We’ve arrived as planned, causing Odoacer to face Bedwyr’s spearmen on one side and our lances on the other.” He pointed to the city. “Drustan led an army from the west as we approached from the east to confuse the city defenders and alert the Rigotamos that the attack is underway. That smoke is his work, the burning of the Saxon ships outside the walls on the western side.”
“The Rigotamos isn’t here?” one of the men asked, alarmed.
“He’s arriving by ship, with the remainder of the army,” Hyfaidd replied, scowling at the soldier. “It’s been his task to ensure no Saxons remain downriver and to prevent them from taking to their ships to escape.” He returned his gaze to the battlefield and continued.