The Retreat to Avalon

by Sean Poage

  “Our part is to harass Odoacer’s troops as Bedwyr presses the attack. With luck, we may even get to kill Odoacer. Ah,” Hyfaidd stretched up in his saddle to look back at the ranks. “Cei is coming to the front,” he said. “We’ll need to move shortly, so listen up. We’re the centre of the attack. We’re not intended to engage decisively but rather to use our javelins to disrupt and contain the Saxons. You all know the drill. Odd numbered turmae will start. Is this understood?” All voiced their assent and Hyfaidd nodded. He looked towards the city and exclaimed, “The enemy is moving! It’s time!”

  Cei galloped up to Hyfaidd’s position with his guard, and they arrayed themselves in the vanguard. The Decuriones sped off to their troops as Cei and Hyfaidd trotted towards the city. The line of cavalry started following in a wave-like manner as the more distant formations observed the order and began to move. Before them, the Saxons they faced had formed into several blocks and started moving towards their ships. The Saxons of the city renewed their attack on Bedwyr’s fortification.

  Gawain caught up with his moving troop and rode alongside, yelling out their orders before riding forward to his position. Peredur rode beside him bearing the unit standard, a green pennant with ‘IX’ embroidered upon it in white. He had obtained the longest, stoutest spear he could find so that their standard rode highest along the line.

  They were too far away to spot individuals in the Saxon throng, but the overall movements of the lines showed their mental state. As Cei’s force started moving towards them, the Saxons came to a jerky halt for a moment, then picked up the pace towards their ships. Moments later, horns sounded, and the small sections of the palisade on the east side of Bedwyr’s ditches fell forward to form bridges. About half of Bedwyr’s infantry swarmed across, forming up to face Odoacer’s Saxons. At that signal, Cei ordered his cavalry to a gallop to close the distance.

  The Saxon lines stopped, the blocks of men writhing in confusion. The southernmost units seemed close to bolting for the ships. Somehow their commander, probably Odoacer himself, brought them to order, and they compressed into dense squares, shields overlapping and spears bristling outwards.

  When the cavalry reached a point several bow-shots from the Saxons, Cei called a halt. The troops reformed, going from ragged to even lines smartly enough to elicit a rare smile of satisfaction from Cei. This would be where the cavalry would retire, so each man prepared by unslinging the bundle of spare javelins and spears he carried and stabbing each into the ground to make them easy to retrieve as needed.

  Bedwyr’s troops had formed up into their own companies and were approaching the enemy from the far side. Odoacer’s Saxons, who had arrived expecting to trap the Britons, now found themselves well outnumbered and nearly surrounded.

  Gawain surveyed the field. The Saxons huddled in their squares, shouting and slapping their weapons against their shields, showing no sign of fear. Cavalry were most effective for spooking an enemy into running and for chasing them down when they did. Cei did not try to surround the Saxons and instructed his riders to use harassing techniques only. If the Saxons thought there was no escape, they would fight like cornered badgers, and the cavalry would have a tough time against them.

  There was a stir, as five men stepped out of one of the central formations. They raised their shields above their heads to indicate they wanted a parley and strode across the field towards Cei and his entourage. One of the men carried a square standard depicting a black eagle on a yellow background. After they had passed two spear throws from their lines, Cei and four others rode out to meet them. All left their spears behind and slung their shields on their backs to signify their agreement to a peaceful talk. Bedwyr’s men, observing the request to negotiate, ceased their approach and firmed up their lines.

  Gawain could just make out the men as they conferred. The leader, certainly Odoacer, was an imposing man with his sandy hair pulled up and tied into a knot on top of his head. He was beardless but wore a thick moustache that drooped over his upper lip and down the corners of his mouth. His armour, oddly enough, was an ornate bronze cuirass and leather skirt like the Romans of old used. He gesticulated grandly, often looking over his shoulder to point at the city, speaking incessantly while Cei and his men sat in their saddles. Gawain began to wonder if the man was grandstanding or stalling. There was a great deal of movement in the Saxon lines.

  After a few minutes of this, Odoacer finally stopped talking and crossed his arms over his chest. Cei said a few words, to which Odoacer responded, then Cei wheeled about and trotted back to his lines with his staff. Odoacer laughed, turned and ambled back to his own lines.

  When Odoacer reached the Saxon formations, he lifted his sword high, then pointed it towards their ships, and shouted. His men roared in response, turned and started marching towards the river.

  Cei directed his cavalry forward at a walk, while about half of Bedwyr’s men resumed their approach and the other half turned south and paced the Saxons. The Saxons proceeded, shouting taunts and curses at the Britons. Finally, one of Cei’s staff raised a red pennant and dropped it towards the Saxons.

  Gawain expected the signal, but when it came, it seemed surreal. His heart pounding, his vision narrowing, time seemed to slow. It felt like his reaction was sluggish as he lifted his javelin, shouted to his men to follow him, and spurred his horse out. Gawain’s line leapt forward as a roar went up from Cei’s army. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that he was ahead of any others, the men of his file close behind him, Peredur trailing well to his left.

  Any sense of fear was left where he had stood. A hot rush of excitement filled him, the battle lust, the desire to triumph and the certainty of success. He laughed aloud. He did not think of winning fame or even the battle, but only of the ultimate of challenges, pitting his skill and luck against those of the men he faced and either triumphing or losing all.

  As the last rider in Gawain’s file passed out of the formation, Illtud called his men to attention so that as Gawain’s line threw their javelins, he would launch his attack. And so it would continue with Cadwal’s file. As the third line in each odd-numbered turma began to return to their starting points, the same process would start with the even-numbered turmae. In this manner, they would keep a steady stream of pressure on the enemy without exhausting the horses or getting in their own way. In training, it was a relatively simple tactic. But in the heat of battle, it would rarely be pulled off flawlessly.

  Cei’s attack caused the Saxons to halt their march and tuck in behind their shields to await the Britons. Gawain focused on the mass of soldiers ahead of him. As the leader of the file, it was his job to choose the best place to strike. If he could identify a spot in his portion of the enemy line where the morale was already shaky, his men would follow his lead, and it could cause a collapse in the enemy formation.

  Gawain rode straight at the enemy at a canter, looking for any sign of fear, but all he saw was an overlapping wall of round shields painted in various colours and designs, with a mass of spear points bristling like a frightened hedgehog. The only faces he saw, screaming, defiant, hellish visages, were in the second or third rows. The press was so thick it was difficult even to distinguish the rows. In seconds, he was at the point where he must decide, as he turned his steed to the left and kicked her into a full gallop.

  Flying by the wall, just beyond the reach of the spears, he tightened his thighs on the saddle, rising in his seat. His shield was slung over his back so he could grip his spare javelin and reins in his left hand. His right held the javelin he was to throw, gripped at the centre, thumb along the shaft, extending his arm forwards for balance with the point rearward. An enemy spear reached out towards him, but he swatted it away with the butt of the javelin.

  Perhaps two seconds had passed since he had turned along the wall, though it seemed like minutes. He must choose his target, but nothing stood out to him. Finally, he picked at random, his arm rising
and snapping forward, down and to the right, propelling the javelin into a gap behind the first row of shields. He wheeled his horse away to his left, not even knowing if his weapon had struck home. He glanced back to see his men looping into the attack and throwing their javelins. The Saxons responded with thrusts of their spears and a few thrown angons, the iron-necked harpoons that the Saxons favoured. It was difficult enough to hit a moving target, the more so with their heavy javelins, and his men came out unscathed.

  When he was far enough out from the Saxons, he slowed his horse to a trot and entered the gap to the right of Cadwal, who was just launching into the fight. Returning to his place, he plucked a javelin from the ground, patted his horse’s neck and made a quick check to ensure the horse was uninjured. Peredur reined in beside him, wide-eyed with excitement, and as he started to talk, Gawain held up his hand to silence him. He surveyed the field, watching Cadwal and his men run their attack, as Illtud and his line came back. All along the Saxon lines, the other turmae were busy doing the same.

  It was hard to see if their efforts were having any effect. In fact, there did not seem to be any, but that was to be expected at this early point. The Saxons apparently believed they could weather the storm of javelins and began moving south again. They shuffled, trying to keep their shields between them and the horsemen, stepping over the bodies of a few of their own. Any wounded who could move were pushed to the centre of their formations and helped by their fellows.

  Bedwyr’s men picked up their pace, concerned about letting the Saxons get too far away. Finally, a charge was ordered, and with a roar, his infantry rushed at the Saxons, once again causing them to stop and hunker down behind their shields.

  The charge was a longer run than Bedwyr would have liked, causing his infantry to lose the tight formation needed to breach the Saxon shield wall, but he needed to slow the Saxons’ progress. The Saxons threw their angons, javelins, hatchets and rocks at the oncoming Britons in the hope of weakening their attack.

  The Britons slammed into the Saxon lines with a horrifying crunch of wood, steel and screams. Some, worked into a frenzy, leapt onto or over the shields of the Saxons in their eagerness to get at their foe or pull down their shields. For most, this did not end well.

  As this fight was beginning, it was nearly time for Gawain to make another run. He looked back at his men, all of whom were enthusiastic, their eyes afire, their horses stamping and snorting at the commotion and sensing the excitement of their riders. He and Gareth locked eyes for a moment, and he got a grin from his friend. He nodded to Peredur as the men of the turma on their left finished their run, and spurred his horse forward. Their second run was much as their first, not overly aggressive as they gained confidence. They all returned with nothing but a minor wound to the flank of one horse and a bruise on Mabon’s arm, where he had been struck by a rock.

  The Saxons held against the assaults on both sides for the handful of minutes that Bedwyr’s men attacked their lines, pushing, stabbing and battering in an attempt to get through the shield wall. No man can fight at that intensity for long, so before they could be exhausted, Bedwyr sounded the horns to disengage.

  The Briton infantry began to withdraw unevenly, closing up for protection, slipping on the blood-churned grass and mud, stepping and stumbling over the dead and gravely wounded who could not be dragged back by their fellows. In several places, the Saxons, emboldened by their repulsion of this first attack, shouted and surged outwards after the Britons. Some were cut down before their leaders managed to bring them under control and back into the ranks.

  The Britons backed up until there was the space of a long spear throw between them and the Saxons. Bodies lay on the red-stained ground between the foes, a few crying out pitifully in pain and fear. The Britons in the front rows squatted or sat, panting and shaking as men from the rear rows stepped forward and became the front rank. After Bedwyr’s men had pulled back, Cei called a halt to the cavalry’s attack. They would need to regroup, rest and conserve their spears and strength for a concerted effort with Bedwyr.

  The Saxons, pinned between both attacks, stayed in place, dragging their wounded further in and shifting fresh men to the front lines. Then came the time-honoured interlude to battle, as each side hurled insults, challenges and the occasional spear that rarely found a mark. Sometimes a Briton or Saxon, eager to win fame, would rush out into the no man’s land to launch a spear with better effect. Others would dance in the centre, challenging the enemy to send out a champion for a duel. Occasionally the challenge was accepted, and single combat would occur, usually short and brutal. The winning side would cheer, as the losing side hurled curses at the victor and sometimes a spear. It could be difficult to convince men to run towards death. This intermission allowed rest but also restored the courage to resume.

  Beyond this spectacle, a different sort of battle raged at Bedwyr’s fortification. There had not been enough time for the Britons to prepare a proper siege fortification, but the ditches were deep, with the excavated earth mounded up on the inward sides to form a rampart. Sharpened stakes studded the muddy bottom of the trenches on the western side. It had required a tremendous effort, but it paid off by holding the enemy at bay.

  The portion of Bedwyr’s force that remained in the fortification included his small complement of archers. Over the last few generations, archery had become an uncommon component of British armies, as it was best used against massed infantry rather than the small, nimble raiding parties typical of warfare at that time. But the skill had been maintained by hunters, and Arthur had arranged for the Letavian Britons to include a levy of about five hundred.

  They held against the first series of attacks as the Saxons tried to claw their way up the embankment into British spear points. The Saxons tried pushing wagons from the city into the ditch to make crossing points but were driven back by Bedwyr’s archers and the defenders torched the carts.

  Gawain gazed across the field, wondering where Eudaf and the others of his coriios were and how they fared. To the south and north of his position, he could see that some of the other turmae had been less lucky than his, with a horse and a few men lying dead near the Saxon formations. It would inevitably happen within his own troop. Glancing back at his men laughing and chatting while they waited for the next charge, he felt a little sick at the prospect.

  “So, Peredur, what do you think?” He turned to the boy.

  “I want to take my place with the warriors!” Peredur exclaimed.

  “In due time,” Gawain grinned, nodding.

  “Will we have enough javelins if this goes on for long?” Peredur looked at the small collection beside each trooper.

  “We may have to begin picking up what the Saxons throw back at us,” Gawain shrugged. “Though hopefully the Rigotamos will arrive soon and this will end before it comes to that.”

  Almost as if they had heard him, the Saxons began shouting and broke into a run, again making for their ships. Bedwyr’s infantry could not respond immediately, so the battle line was shifting away from his men. Cei, with greater mobility available, had moved his reserve further south and recalled his northern-most units to be the reserve. Those closest were sent to speed ahead of the Saxons and get between them and their goal. They found this to be less effective than hoped, as Odoacer had put all of his archers into the leading block. As the cavalry tried to close in on that flank, the Saxons fired a few ragged volleys.

  The effect was not significant, though a couple of horses and a few men were wounded. But it did have the effect of slowing the Saxons and allowing Bedwyr’s troops to close the gap and attack. It also proved that cavalry alone would have a difficult time stopping their progress.

  Hyfaidd gave the signal for his men to renew their attack, so Gawain shot off, followed by his linemates. This time, they were more confident. Perhaps a touch overconfident, as most became more daring, riding closer to their foes or spending more time ru
nning parallel to the shield wall. Unsurprisingly, this is when Gawain lost his first man.

  It was during Illtud’s run. One of the last in his line, Atfodla of the Gododdin was struck in the armpit by a well-aimed Saxon spear. He tumbled to the ground, and a Saxon warrior leapt out and hacked him savagely. The last man in the line, Atfodla’s kinsman, Fidach, overshot but turned and tried to rescue his friend. He drove his spear through the Saxon, but as he struggled to recover Atfodla’s body, he had to dodge a shower of rocks and several spears. The stones left him and his horse bruised and cut, and one of the spears struck him in the leg. He was in danger of being overwhelmed when Cadwal’s line rode in and drove back the Saxons. They escaped and managed to retrieve Atfodla’s horse before returning to their lines. Fidach was sent to the rear area where the medici saw to the wounded. Atfodla’s body was laid behind their assembly area inside a circle of spears thrust butt-end into the ground.

  The loss of their comrade and the near loss of another had a sobering effect on the men. Gawain, feeling sick and angry, kept his focus on the battle to avoid being distracted by grief. He praised the efforts of Fidach and Cadwal’s men but warned them to avoid taking foolish risks. His speech was short, as it was time for his line to ride out again.

  The fight was nearly twice as long before Bedwyr called for withdrawal. His men had fought well but were exhausted and seemed to have made little impact on the Saxon morale. Again, the men rotated. The men in reserve jogged towards the river, attempting to get ahead of the Saxons and block their escape, while the northernmost companies moved into the reserve. Cei called back his cavalry to rest and prepare for the next round.

  The Saxons did not engage in the typical battle interlude and after shifting men around as best they could, immediately began moving towards their ships. Bedwyr and Cei responded by launching their attacks. The short break would impact the Saxons as well as the Britons.