by Simon Lister
Arthur surveyed the two gentle slopes; one leading back to the frantic Haven, the other gradually falling to the wide valley floor where the Adren army would soon be appearing. Arthur weighed up his options. With their horses they had some mobility but the race from Caer Cadarn had brought every mount close to exhaustion. There were no walls, no towers, no bridges; there was nothing to defend and nothing to offer any cover for the defenders. With Gwyna’s Uathach down by the wharf there were less than a hundred warriors lined along the crest and the army approaching them outnumbered them by a hundred to one.
None of this was lost on Ethain. Ceinwen had never let him out of her sight or let him stray too far from her side. He was sick with fear and bitterly angry that he had come so far and done so much to secure his safety only to be finally trapped in open country with his chances of escape diminishing by the second. He looked over his shoulder down to the harbour and saw another ship slip away from the long stone jetties. If he could he would have gladly killed every single person around him just to be on that ship.
Ceinwen watched him twisting his hands together, raking his nails down the back of one hand then across his palm and then repeating the action on the other hand. Perhaps, she thought, he’s trying to clean the blood from his hands. She found herself wishing that Arthur had just killed him or let him go, in spite of what Merdynn had said. She was sick of watching over him and even sicker of the continual goodwill expressed to him by the other warriors. If I told them the truth, she thought, he’d be dead in seconds and I could set about preparing myself for the passage to the next life.
Balor’s voice brought her back to the present, ‘Looking forward to avenging Cei and the others?’
For a disconcerting moment she thought he was talking to her about her wish to be rid of Ethain but Balor was looking at Ethain and clearly addressing his question to him. Ethain swallowed the bile he felt rising at the back of his throat and managed a sickly smile before turning his back on them and staring out to where the Adren army was expected to arrive.
‘Where’s Morgund?’ Ceinwen asked him.
‘Still getting Seren and the other Cithol on board the ships. He’s taking his bloody time about it too. Bastard’s probably sneaking aboard himself.’
Ceinwen smiled, ‘He’ll be here before the Adren arrive.’
‘More fool him,’ Ethain said before he could stop himself. Balor mistook the bitterness for jesting and laughed again, thumping Ethain on the back and nearly undoing all the good work that Ethain had just managed by not vomiting.
‘And Morveren?’ Balor asked.
‘Riding to catch us up.’
‘They’ll miss all the glory if they don’t hurry up,’ Ethain said, pointing to the valley.
Even Balor caught the sourness in his voice this time but others along the line were shouting out the same news and he stared out to where they pointed.
Arthur looked back to the Haven. A third of the ships still stood along the wharf. Gereint rode up closer to Arthur, ‘They’ll have to speed things up if they’re all to get away!’
‘I’ll ride down and warn them – and bring the Uathach back!’ Ethain offered, pathetically grasping for a chance of salvation.
‘We need your courage here,’ Ceinwen pointed out. Arthur sent another of the warriors racing down to Kenwyn with the news. Ethain shrugged, desperate to believe that another opportunity would present itself before the last ship sailed for the West.
Arthur adjusted Cei’s axe that was tucked into the belts that crossed his back and surveyed the battlefield one last time. He knew that if they attacked the Adren flanks in an attempt to draw the army away from the Haven the enemy would just wheel off one or two thousand soldiers who would form up to meet the flanking threat while the main body marched onwards to the Haven. They had done as much when riders had previously attacked Adren columns.
Neither was there anything to be gained by holding their ground against so many, the sheer weight of the advancing army would just roll over them and they would have achieved nothing. No, for his plan to have any chance of success he needed to keep his war band alive. He decided to use the two of the advantages they had over the Adren; their longbows and horses. They would ride to within three hundred yards of the enemy vanguard, dismount, loose as many arrows as they could before retreating on horseback another three hundred yards and repeating the process. It would hardly slow their advance, the Adren had already proved themselves willing to die to gain ground, but die they would and Arthur was prepared to settle for that, for now. He called out his orders and the warriors of the South rode down to meet the Adren army.
They reined in their horses three hundred yards from the fore ranks of the Adren and leapt from their saddles. They pegged their horses’ reins into the soft ground and strung their bows. Many of them cast apprehensive looks to the dark clouds knowing that if it began raining heavily again their bows would soon be useless.
The scattered vanguard of the Adren were forming up into closer ranks as the first volley flew at them; the second and third were in the air before the first hit home. The arrows from the legions’ shorter bows arced higher than those from the longbows and the advancing Adren had to choose whether to hold their shields before them or raised. Their captains urged them onwards up the slope prepared to sacrifice casualties for speed. The Britons had loosed five hundred arrows in the time it took the Adren to cover two hundred yards and before Arthur shouted out to start the first retreat.
Thinking the Britons were fleeing a great roar went up from the Adren and they charged onwards. As they attacked uphill the army spread across the slope and any semblance of order disappeared in their haste to close with the enemy that had killed so many of their soldiers.
The Britons stopped and, without having to string their bows, fired over seven hundred arrows into the attacking mass. Once again they retreated and reformed, now lined along the ridgeline. Hundreds of Adren dead littered the hillside but their bodies were hidden by the swarming horde that now spread across a mile of the grassy slope.
Arthur left it until the last possible second before ordering the warriors to fall back once again; to their left and right the unchecked Adren were already further forward than the Britons’ position. Another roar echoed across the land as the enemy gained the ridge and saw the Haven below them.
As Arthur charged back to the next firing line he tried to count how many ships had yet to sail from the Haven.
Gereint was riding close by him and shouting out to him, ‘They’ll never all get away! We can’t even slow the Adren advance!’
With the enemy now almost all around them the warriors fired from their saddles, wheeling about to face their targets, loose their arrows and turn again to put enough distance between themselves and the charging mass.
*
Aelfric watched Arthur’s fighting retreat down the slope towards the Haven from the stern of a tall ship. People were crowded all around him and they too watched the unequal battle. Some were shouting out encouragement but most of the watchers were silent. The hillside was seething, covered by the advancing Adren who were overwhelming the small knot of mounted warriors as they turned, fought and retreated back to the edge of the town.
Aelfric watched the line from a tow barge rise dripping from the harbour water as the rowers took the strain and the bow of another ship turned slowly away from the wharf. He knew it would be the last to leave the Haven. Those around him knew it too and all eyes turned to the desperate crowd on the jetty, their frantic panic to escape being the very thing that would ultimately deny them any possibility of getting away. Behind him their own rowers were clambering on board and he turned to see Laethrig hastening towards him. Like everyone else on the ship he was unable to resist witnessing the death of the Haven. Overhead the topsail cracked in the fierce wind and the icy rain once again swept shoreward.
*
The warriors were being pushed back to the wharf. They fought a running battle in the mud-churned roadways of the
town. They fought from horseback with swords and axes, having abandoned their bows in the close fighting on the edge of town. The Adren were to either side of them and ahead of them. They fought as their horses were killed underneath them and then they fought on foot. It was impossible to form a defensive line or fight a cohesive battle. Desperate knots of warriors fought vicious skirmishes, whirling, hacking and killing the enemy that seethed around them while being forced ever backwards towards the wharf and the last remaining ships.
Ceinwen was nearly knocked from her saddle by a blow to her back. She hauled herself upright keeping a grip on her sword as Arthur swept past her already having cut down her attacker. She saw Elwyn being dragged from his saddle by a band of Adren and forced her horse towards him. Balor too had seen the unhorsed Anglian and he spurred his horse into them swinging his axe in single-handed, furious arcs that sprayed blood through the air. Dystran, the tattooed Mercian, joined him on foot and together they hacked down the Adren that had killed Elwyn.
Ceinwen turned her horse and saw Ethain trying to force his way towards the wharf and the ships still tied there. The Adren were already on the wharf slaughtering the Britons who were still trying to crowd onto the ships. She urged her horse after him, swinging her sword at the Adren in her way. As she neared him he reined in his horse and turned back towards her. Desperation lined his face as he stood in his stirrups trying to find an escape route from the town. She looked beyond him and saw oil-fuelled flames flicking from the portholes of the hold on the nearest ship. As she watched she saw thick smoke rising from another. Kenwyn was following Arthur’s orders and setting fire to the ships that would not make it away from the Haven. The ships were packed with people who were now trying to get away from the fires but the Adren were already storming across the gangplanks.
She heard her name being shouted and looked to see Balor screaming at her and pointing behind him to where Arthur had rallied the remaining warriors, most of whom were now on foot. She dug her heels in and tried to ride down the Adren who got in her way but her horse lurched and stumbled and she leapt clear as its front legs gave way. Ethain sped by her using the gap in the Adren that she had inadvertently created and she grabbed at his stirrup. She was wrenched clear of the Adren who had brought down her horse and she fought to keep clear of the horse’s legs as she was half-dragged to the relative safety of Arthur’s stand.
Ethain positioned himself in the centre of the warriors and looked back at the burning ships and the slaughter on the quayside. He was more appalled by the former than the latter and struggled to accept the truth that there was now no way to escape Britain; everything he had done had been for nought.
Arthur ordered those around him to begin a withdrawal from the doomed town. There were only twenty-nine of them left, ten from the legion and nineteen from the combined war bands of the South and between them they only had five horses. They moved quickly through the broken town heading towards the Westway that ran from the eastern edge of the Haven all the way to the Causeway and beyond to the villages of Branque and Eald where it had all began.
The wind shrieked through the town adding its cry to the screams from the massacre at the waterfront. It fanned the flames on the ships where the dry-stored provisions fed the fire and fuelled the thick smoke that was being torn across the Haven. The Adren had turned their attention to the dockside and Arthur’s band met little opposition as they fled from the town to regroup on the Westway where the heavy rain had turned the worn track to sucking mud.
They stopped half a mile from the Haven and watched the town die. They formed a straggled group, some standing, some half-kneeling in exhaustion, all of them silent. They watched the last ship clear the harbour and keel to port as the wind filled the unfurling sails. Smoke still spewed from the ships caught on the jetty as they burned down to the waterline. Few fires burned elsewhere but the Haven was being destroyed nonetheless; fire would have been a cleaner death.
Ceinwen finished doing what she could for the wounded among them. Those with more serious injuries had not made it away from the harbour. She went to stand by Arthur. His expression was unreadable. She let the rainwater drip from her hair and run down her face. No one seemed willing or able to speak and Ceinwen felt the bitterness of defeat burn away her strength and rob her of the last vestiges of resilience. It was over. They had fought as long as they could, from the Shadow Lands to the Haven; one long bitter road of retreat, each battle marked by the deaths of friends.
She looked at those around her who had survived to witness the sacking of their Haven. Of the Wessex only she, Arthur, Balor and Ethain had lived to see the last defeat. The irony that Ethain was still alive brought a sour taste to her mouth and she spat into the water pooling on the track-way. She wondered what had happened to Morgund and hoped he had made it onto one of the ships but in her heart she knew he would have died fighting his way to join them. She had not seen Morveren either and held a more realistic hope that she was still trying to get to the Haven.
Of the five Anglian warriors left she knew only Hengest and Lissa, and only Gereint and Dystran of the Mercians. She didn’t recognise any of the legion soldiers. Frowning she looked up at Arthur, ‘What happened to the Uathach? Gwyna and Ruraidh?’
‘Probably died defending the wharf,’ Balor said when no answer was forthcoming from Arthur.
Dystran sat on his haunches and without looking at anyone spoke up, ‘Cowards jumped on the last boat out. Bastards and whores every last one of them. They bolted for it.’
‘Are you sure?’ Ceinwen asked turning to face him.
‘Saw it myself,’ he answered then added, ‘Didn’t mean any offence, Arthur.’
Arthur just continued to stare at the smoke shredding across the Haven.
‘Bastards must have had it planned – that’s why Gwyna left immediately from Caer Cadarn,’ Gereint said bitterly.
There were a few oaths from the other warriors but no voice held any real conviction; retribution and revenge were beyond their means.
Gereint came to stand by Arthur, ‘You did what you could. Most everyone got away and they’re in the hands of the sea gods now. We need to get moving – that bastard on the hill will be sending his dog soldiers to finish us off.’
Arthur looked away from the town and studied the ridge above the Haven. ‘You can see him up there?’
‘There’s lots of standards and a close group of warriors, his guard probably, surrounding them. And if we can see him, he can see us.’
‘Good. I want him to.’
Gereint looked around at the others worried by what Arthur was implying and said in a measured voice, ‘There’s no point in us dying here now. We’ve done what we can and now it’s time to get well away from here, eh?’
Ethain was about to add his opinion on the matter but he caught Ceinwen’s eye and saw a recklessness there that made him shut his mouth. Arthur eventually turned his back to the Haven and faced the few warriors that Britain had left.
‘You’ve done all that anyone could have asked. You’ve done enough and more. Some of you have fought all the way from the Shadow Lands, others have done more than their share in the battles that followed. You’ve done enough. You’ve earned the chance to escape. There’s five horses that still have a few miles left in them and whoever wants them can take them. Neither I nor anyone else will ask or expect you to stay. As your warlord I free you from any responsibility other than to yourself.
‘If you accept defeat then go now. The Adren might return to where they came from; they may stay. You might have the whole wide land to roam; you may be hunted down. The others might return from the West and they might find the land empty. They may send a reconnaissance and find Britain garrisoned by the Adren and if so then our people will never return to our land.
‘If you believe everything you’ve fought for has been lost and can’t be regained then go now and know you’ve done everything you could. If you accept defeat then go now.’
The warriors lo
oked at each other, no one willing to be the first to suggest leaving and no one ready to admit aloud that they were finally defeated. Gradually their eyes returned to Arthur.
‘You want to carry on the war? Use raiding tactics to get as many of the bastards as we can?’ Dystran asked eagerly.
‘Or maybe raise and train a new legion in the Western Lands? Then come back and win back what we’ve lost?’ Gereint added.
Arthur remained silent, studying the warriors before him.
‘You don’t mean any of that do you, Arthur?’ Ceinwen said when he did not answer.
‘I mean to finish the war. The Adren army and Lazure destroyed before the sun rises in spring. The land free of their stain.’
The warriors stared at him. Ceinwen had forgotten just how compelling his assured authority could be and she found herself believing it was possible despite knowing just how hopeless it actually was. The others were clearly seeing the same thing and what they saw was not a heroically false bravado but hope; faith that leapt beyond what they thought was possible.
‘You can do this? We can do this?’ Ceinwen asked, smiling despite the circumstances.
‘Yes. But anyone who fears risking all to achieve it should leave now,’ Arthur replied looking directly at the self-appointed leader of the legion soldiers who did indeed fear risking all and as other eyes turned to him his pride overcame his fear and he kept his silence.
‘Well, bugger it, we’ve lost everything already,’ Balor said truculently then laughed out loud adding, ‘Just our lives left and we wouldn’t be warriors if we held those with any worth.’
Up until that point Ethain had managed to keep alive the flicker of hope that they might come to a sensible conclusion, one which gave him some chance of survival, but as the others joined in laughing with Balor he finally lost control of the charade he had kept up for so long.
‘You’re insane, stupid, mad! All of you!’
The warriors looked at him uncertainly, unsure whether he was joining in the joke or not.