by Sean Poage
As they marched, Gawain’s eyes strayed from the path and looked out beyond the river and across the fields. The lowering sun shone dazzlingly at a point above the horizon where rising dust met scattered clouds. The haze below seemed to undulate and sparkle, recalling stories Gawain had heard of doorways to the fairy world. The distant mass of the Vesi horsemen parted, and a cloud crossed the sun, clearing the glare. Thousands of spear points glinted red, swaying to the step of the soldiers marching towards them.
“We have a lot of Gothi to kill,” Gwittart, marching to Gawain’s right, said with a mixture of awe and bravado.
“Do we have time to destroy the bridge?” Gawain asked.
“Not without heavy axes and ropes, which we didn’t bring,” Gwythyr answered from behind him. “It’s not a wide bridge, so it won’t be much use to them in any event.” His father was commander of Cei’s first ala, and he had been one of Arthur’s warriors since he was fifteen summers old.
Arthur reached the bridgehead and halted, removing his helmet. The Artoriani stopped a few steps behind him. Tegyr, bearing Arthur’s dragon standard, took an extra step forward to stand behind the king. A steady breeze from the west extended the dragon’s tail. It was a good omen.
The Vesi army’s forward units were well ordered, armed and armoured. These were not the typical levies, but Euric’s veteran soldiers. Behind them marched a much larger, more haphazard collection of spears. The uneven terrain gave occasional glimpses of peasant soldiers with spears, shields and little else. Between the Vesi warriors and levies was a band of riders, difficult to see behind the front ranks, but armoured in mail and helmets. One carried a standard pole bearing a large, stylised eagle in gold and glittering gems.
Arthur stood still, leaning on his spear as if watching a farmer approach with a cart of cabbages. The Vesi army halted well back from the water, and the soldiers facing the bridge stepped aside, clearing a space for a mounted man to ride forward. Gawain assumed it was Euric, as the man was adorned in a gilded shirt of mail and brilliantly polished helm that stood in contrast to the dark iron of Arthur’s. Curling blond hair touched his shoulders and graced his lips in a long drooping moustache. He stopped shortly after passing his front lines, considered Arthur for a moment, then languidly turned his mount around and plodded back to his personal guard.
Seconds later, there was a soft, thrumming sound, and Henwyneb shouted, “GUARD UP!” Gawain, conditioned by countless drills, was jolted from his thoughts to leap forward with the others. Shields were raised as the Guard swept in around their king, who moved not a finger. In seconds, a wooden shell enclosed Arthur, and there was a noise like hail as hundreds of arrows fell on the Britons along the river’s edge. A few grunts, shouts and distant howls of pain were the only sounds for a few seconds before the thudding of arrows ceased.
A moment of silence passed, as the Britons assessed themselves and nearly all found they were unhurt. A roar of challenge mixed with relief answered the Vesi, the Britons banging their spears on their shields and yelling curses and taunts across the river. The few that were unlucky enough to be injured were quickly helped or dragged away.
Shouts from across the river signalled the march of several ranks of the Vesi levies past the veterans. At the same time, another storm of arrows was loosed. The Britons, watching for it, again shielded themselves against the attack and another right after. This time an arrow found its way between a gap in the shields and struck Gawain on his thigh, but it merely skittered off his armour to the ground.
A pause allowed the Britons to lower their shields to see the enemy sliding down the far bank into the river. Many hooted and laughed aloud to see the reaction of the men to the frigid water. As the Vesi struggled across the slippery stones and deep muck, some Britons threw javelins until a new volley of arrows forced them to shelter behind their shields again. The barrage continued until the Vesi infantry finally reached the bank beneath the Britons.
The arrows did little to harm the Britons but kept them immobile so that the Vesi could move within range. Now the actual battle began, with the Britons crowding towards the edge, stabbing downward at the Vesi trying to climb up or throwing javelins at those further back in the water. The foe was relentless but hampered in trying to climb the muddy bank and thrust up at the defenders. Rather than a battle of shield against shield, it was more like waves crashing on rocks.
Some of the enemy had clustered at the bridge and, when the arrows stopped falling, charged across, limited by the width of the bridge to four men abreast. The Guard, with Arthur in the centre of the second rank, surged forwards and blocked the bridge, locking shields and presenting a bristling front of spears. The Vesi hit the Briton shield wall, attempting to beat their way through, driven by the hope of being the hero to strike Arthur down. Gawain, out of reach of the men on the bridge, kept busy spearing over the head of the line in front of him to repel a tenacious attempt to climb the slope beside the bridge.
Bodies began to pile against the riverbank, some floated downriver, and Vesi warriors fell off either side of the bridge, landing on their comrades who struggled through the water. The attack began to falter, and, finally, the enemy commanders called for their men to withdraw by clanging metal bars against each other. A few impetuous Britons leapt into the water to chase the enemy, but most of those did not return.
The Briton leaders restrained their eager troops and reorganised them. Some of the companies were pulled back to the reserve while rested units were directed in to fill the gaps. The dead and injured were taken back to the village to be cared for and to watch the horses so that the younger soldiers could return to the lines. Gawain helped Llawnrodded, who had stood in the first rank, back to have a deep cut to his foot treated.
“That wasn’t as intense as I expected,” Gawain said, as Llawnrodded hopped, leaning on his shoulder.
“That was nothing,” the injured warrior said between clenched teeth. “A probing attack, to test us and find any weak points in our line.”
With that sobering news, Gawain helped him find a seat on the ground near the other wounded. He was about to return to his troop when he saw Gareth escorting Fidach to the circle. Fidach’s bloodstained cloak was wound about his spear arm, and he had a nasty gash on his cheek.
“Fidach, you have a knack for being in the way of pointy things,” Gawain quipped, relieving them of their extra gear.
“I’ll be back in the line as soon as hot steel is set to these,” he grimaced. “You should join us for the fun.”
“Why? They keep the wine back here,” Gawain joked, helping him to a place by the well at the village centre.
“How are you, my friend?” Gawain clapped Gareth on the shoulder.
“I’ve nothing to complain of,” Gareth grinned wearily. “Though given the choice, I’d rather be hunting boar.”
“Your luck seems better against two-legged beasts,” Gawain laughed as they turned to walk back to the river. “How are the men doing? I thought your troop would be with Cei.”
“We were traded for a turma of Arthur’s heavy cavalry,” Gareth replied. “We’re doing well, a few minor wounds. Fidach got the worst of it, though Teilo nearly took an arrow in the eye trying to watch the iron rain.”
A commotion began towards the river; short blasts on horns alerted all that an attack was imminent.
“Back to work,” Gawain said. “We’re past due for wine around the fire.”
“We are if you’re buying,” Gareth grinned at him, turning to jog off towards his company.
Arrows began to fall as Gawain neared the river, and he could see the enemy infantry wading into the water again. Gawain started running, unslinging his shield from his back and pausing to avoid the missiles. He reached his place, now in the front rank where Llawnrodded had stood, as the next wave began. Gawain squatted down, resting his shield on the ground, while Gwythyr held his shield above both of their
heads. All the men in the company squeezed in close to give the arrows little chance to find their way through the wall of shields. One arrow, however, did nearly penetrate Gwythyr’s shield, stopping just above Gawain’s eyes. He flinched, then studied the black iron arrowhead while waiting for the scattered thuds to stop.
When they did, the Britons found the Vesi infantry nearly upon them. They stood, spreading out a step or so to permit room to use their spears, which closed up the space between different companies. Gawain glanced to his left to see that Etmic ap Caw stood there in the front rank. They exchanged a nod of respect moments before the enemy came within range.
Gawain had to keep his shield low, as the foe’s easiest targets were the legs of the defenders. It was more intense this time, as the Vesi pushed harder to get at the Britons. Gawain drove his spear to the left, right and over the top of his shield, sometimes using his shield as a bludgeon against an opponent who managed to get too close.
A thrown spear glanced sharply off the side of his helmet, and he heard a grunt behind him. Gawain was nearly toppled by the heavy weight of a man falling against his back and right shoulder. Glancing down, he was dismayed to see Arthur’s cousin, Sulyen ap Iaen, lying beside him, the spear through his throat. Sulyen looked at Gawain, gurgled and spit blood, and his eyes stilled.
The distraction nearly cost his life, as a Vesi warrior made the top of the embankment and thrust his spear at Gawain’s head. Gawain managed to deflect the attack and drove his spear into the man’s chest. The point lodged in the man’s ribs and tore the shaft from Gawain’s grasp as he fell backwards into the river. Gawain drew his sword and continued to fight, yelling over his shoulder for someone to pass him a spear. One came forward, but the fighting was too frenetic for him to pause long enough to exchange weapons. The moment he tried, several unarmed Vesi leapt up and tried to pull down the shields of the front rank with both hands. Behind them, several others waited for a clear target for their spears. Gawain was nearly dragged over the bank, but his sword made quick work of the man clinging to his shield, and Gwythyr killed the spearman behind him.
In the chaos, Etmic was not so lucky. When the barbarian pulled down his shield, the man behind plunged his spear into Etmic’s chest, and he collapsed. Before Gawain could respond, another wave of attackers clawed their way over the bodies of their fellows and struck the Briton lines.
To his right, he could see Arthur in a frenzy of killing, shielded by the men beside him. Dead Vesi piled up to either side of the bridge, forming a low wall across it. It was an awe-inspiring sight and motivated the Britons to hold their ground, yelling up and down the line, “Arthur fights!” In places, the line bent but the men held, and almost as suddenly as it had started, the Vesi energy was spent, and they withdrew back across the river.
The Britons again consolidated, their dead comrades pulled back from the battle lines, the injured helped to the village. Both cases were more numerous, and the men looked impatiently to the east for any sign of Bedwyr’s approach. Gawain, shaking and exhausted, dropped heavily onto the bloodied ground, his mind a blank to avoid focusing on the horror around him. The respite did not last long. Buckets of fresh water were carried to the ranks, and as Gawain was drinking a cupful, horns and cries of “Arrows!” announced the next attack. Gawain barely had time to bring his shield up before the deadly shower began. The poor boy carrying the bucket of water was not so fortunate.
The sun approaching the horizon made it difficult to see the swarm of arrows through the air or even details of the men beyond the river. This time, the Vesi infantry struck the Britons before their last arrows had stopped falling, certainly hitting some of their own. They came on more ferociously than before, hoping to take the bridge before nightfall ended the battle. The lines began to bend to the north of the bridge, and for a moment, there was a breakthrough that would have panicked a less disciplined force. Arthur’s trust in his subordinate commanders was well founded, as the reserves quickly sealed the gap and killed the Vesi who had got through. Nevertheless, the Britons were growing weary, and as the sun touched the horizon, there were doubts about their ability to hold them back much longer.
Horns blowing from the east caused a hitch in the fighting on both sides. It became uncertainty for the Vesi and elation among the Britons, whose reinforcements had finally arrived. The Artoriani found new strength in their relief and pushed back against the enemy. The first of Bedwyr’s infantry jogged into view near the town, rank upon rank as they arranged themselves across the field, the setting sun causing them to shine like a host of angels.
A cheer erupted from the Britons as the Vesi sounded their withdrawal, and the fight ended. Most of the Briton defenders sat on the ground or knelt and prayed their thanks for Bedwyr’s arrival. Arthur stood, leaning heavily on his spear and surveying the state of his men up and down the line. The fading light hid the true extent of the carnage. It would take time to learn how many Britons had been killed, but the many wounded were obvious.
Bedwyr’s men were tired and footsore from their rapid march, but they were quick to relieve their exhausted comrades at the riverbank. While the cavalrymen cared for their dead and wounded, the infantry recovered weapons and armour and cleared the field. The dead Vesi were pushed down the bank, and any found still breathing were dispatched. Before twilight faded, sentries were placed and watch fires built that were mirrored across the river.
Gawain and the guard were exhausted, covered in mud and gore, but undaunted. Most had minor injuries, but skill and their heavy armour prevented serious wounds for all but a few. Sol had taken a vicious spear thrust to the abdomen that had penetrated his armour. He was not expected to see the dawn. Gawain, Defon and Sol’s stoic brother, Gwadyn, each took an arm of his litter, Arthur took the fourth, and together they carried him to the hospital point.
It had grown from the space near the well to include half the square and several of the abandoned buildings. The bodies of the fallen were laid respectfully out of the way. Arthur walked about the square and into the houses, speaking to the injured men, encouraging them and their caregivers. Gawain and the other members of the guard followed at a respectful distance.
Something caught Gawain’s eye. The firelight reflected off the whitewashed walls of two houses, illuminating the space between them. He paused, lightheaded, unwilling to go forwards but unable to turn away. He took a few slow steps towards the spot. Gawain choked and fell to his knees. Years of images flashed by, from a little boy running after sheep, to a young man laughing around a fire, to a peaceful face, seemingly asleep, sandy hair and sparse beard combed and clean, his hands folded on his chest. As much a brother, more even, than blood could claim. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he reached out and took Gareth’s cold hand, his head bent to his chest. He was unaware of time until he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Many have been lost today,” Henwyneb said gently, so unlike his usual gruff demeanour. “See to your duty, first. We will have time to mourn, or be mourned, later.”
Gawain suppressed a surge of misplaced anger, nodded, wiped his face, took a deep breath and rose to his feet. He turned to see that Arthur was further around the square with most of his guard, but a few had tarried, waiting for Gawain, while pretending to look about at nothing. Gwythyr gave Gawain a sympathetic nod as they fell into step.
It was late when Arthur finished his rounds, spoke with his commanders and inspected the sentry posts. Word came from Cei that Euric had indeed attempted to send troops through the other ford, but they had been stopped.
Tents were erected and rations distributed before Arthur finally allowed himself to go to his rest. He ordered that the village buildings be left alone, except for the care of the wounded. Gawain, not due to stand watch for several hours, found himself standing near a fire, unable to think of what to do next.
“Gawain?” a voice softly called from behind.
He turned and saw Peredur and I
lltud walking towards him. They had cleaned up some, but Peredur had a bandage on his right forearm, and Illtud had blackened eyes framing a broken nose. They stopped beside him, but no one found words. Peredur and Illtud proceeded to remove Gawain’s armour and had him sit. Peredur fetched water while Illtud used sand to clean the blood and filth from his kit.
“What happened to you?” Gawain asked Illtud, finally.
“Ah, I put my face too close to the edge of my shield,” he replied sheepishly. “And a Vesi knocked it against my nose to remind me.”
“Let me see,” Gawain said, peering closely. He touched it gently, then warned Illtud not to move. A quick press to either side of his nose, a crackling sound and Illtud lurched back, eye’s streaming.
“By, God!” he yelped. “That hurt worse than getting it broken in the first place!”
“And it would be done, if you hadn’t moved,” Gawain admonished him. “It’s almost straight, one more go should have it, if you hold still.”
Peredur arrived with the water as Gawain finished and Illtud sat blinking and thanked him. After Gawain had washed, he checked Peredur’s gash and cleaned it.
“So, what happened?” Gawain asked, unwillingly. Peredur and Illtud looked down, now that the inevitable question had come.
“We were doing well,” Illtud spoke up. “But somehow the Vesi broke through the turma on our right. We held, but the enemy swarmed up before the gap could be closed. Gareth fought like a badger, but a Vesi soldier on the ground stabbed deep into his thigh. He bled out quickly.”
“But fighting until the end,” Peredur said. “And he avenged himself on that bastard. I have the armour you lent him.”
“Teilo died, also,” Illtud continued after a long pause. “But he fell forwards and into the river. We haven’t been able to find his body, yet.”