Seven woad-painted warriors surged up from the grass and tore towards the stable doors. Without missing a step, they all hurled javelins at the Angalsax.
As one, Osbert and Bragg slammed together in front of the princess, their shields locking, and their own spears poised ready to strike out like deadly serpents. The Pict javelins sank deep into their thick shields but none of the steel tips reached the bodies beyond.
The night erupted with battle screams as the Picts drew their swords and charged to the stables, totally ignoring Will who lay frozen on the ground.
Osbert and Bragg threw down their shields, useless now as they were weighed down with javelins. Osbert pushed Rowenna back inside then he and Bragg both skewered the first Picts with their heavy fighting spears. They yanked out their swords just in time as the rest of the Picts closed on them.
The raiders swung their long, wickedly sharp blades and punched out with their small bucklers. Bragg parried desperately but was pushed back towards the stable door while Osbert stepped calmly back to hold the line straight, his own sword parrying and slashing in a blur of moonlit steel.
For a moment, it looked like the two of them might hold as the Picts could only meet them two at a time in the doorway. But the wild warriors were in a battle frenzy and didn't care about their own lives. All five crushed forward stabbing and slashing with their blades and punching out with their shields. Osbert and Bragg were pushed back, almost inside the stables.
The Picts were going to get in there with Rowenna.
Get up. Do something.
Will broke out of his frozen state and scrambled to his feet. He ran silently to the backmost Pict and stabbed his seax blade into the man's broad back.
The warrior only grunted as the nine-inch blade punched in and out of him. He spun around, swinging his sword in a wide arc at head height. Will ducked low and slashed his blade across the warrior's thigh. The Pict staggered to the side but circled his sword around his head and down to cleave Will's skull in two.
Will leapt to the side and the Pict's blade whistled past his shoulder and sank deep into the earth. Cat-quick, Will dashed forward, his small blade high and ready to sink deep into the Pict tugging his sword out of the ground.
Surely this time…
Before Will could strike, the Pict dropped to one knee and slammed the metal boss of his shield into Will's stomach. Will staggered back and went sprawling to the ground.
'Will!' Rowenna's voice rang out above the clashing metal.
Splayed out on the grass and struggling to breathe, Will caught a glimpse of the princess's face staring at him between the battling shoulders of Osbert and Bragg.
'Watch out,' Rowenna screamed and Will refocussed on his adversary. The man was on his feet again, staggering towards him, with his sword raised high.
Will scrambled to his knees. I need a bigger blade.
Something flashed in the moonlight and the Pict went rigid, his sword still in the air. He twisted, dropped his buckler and tried to reach his back. Rowenna's seax was lodged between the man's shoulder blades.
Now, now, now!
This time Will made no mistake. He rolled forward, came up on one knee and sank his blade up under the warrior's ribcage.
A wave of heat flowed up his arm and strength surged into him. An instant later, his arm froze as the energy was sucked back out and the Pict's body and soul disintegrated into a vortex of black flecks to be snatched away by his god.
The man’s clothes and weapons dropped around Will.
It was his first ever kill. Will stared stupidly at the pile of leavings that lay on the floor – a moment ago, there had been a living person inside them.
Suddenly he caught a movement from the corner of his left eye. He grabbed the Pict's fallen sword with his free left hand and jumped to his feet, heaving the heavy blade awkwardly around in an arc.
An iron grip caught his wrist before the blade hit anything. 'Sword too big for you, nithing?'
Bragg held his wrist. His big face leant down over him and thick lips split into a grin. He pushed away Will's wrist and wiped his hand on his tunic as if he had touched something dirty. ‘It’s lucky someone can use a blade,' he said and bent down to pull out Rowenna’s seax from the Pict’s leavings. With a final sneer, he managed to wipe it once on Will’s tunic before Will could pull back.
The rest of the world opened up around Will again. The Picts were all gone and Osbert was calmly retrieving his weapons and kicking through the leavings for valuables.
Four-hundred feet crunched to a halt. Cenhelm’s shield wall had formed up in an arc defending the front and side of the longhouse. Thegn Hrodulf's half shield formation stood fifty feet back like a bristling hedgehog caught in torchlight. Hrothgar and his captains were just taking their places.
‘Skirmishers to the perimeter,’ Cenhelm shouted, ‘get those torches lit. Hrothgar get your men formed up twenty paces back from the trees. Move!’
Boots crunched away and torches began to spring into flame all around the clearing.
‘I’ll take that.’ Rowenna appeared to one side of Bragg.
The big shield bearer bowed and flipped her seax to hold it out hilt first. ‘Of course, Princess. It was a very fine throw.’
Will felt his throat tighten. He had rushed over here meaning to protect her, but Rowenna had been forced to save his useless life instead.
‘Thank you for your help, apprentice – you fought well,’ Rowenna said.
Will’s head dropped. Unlike me.
Bragg grinned at her, holding her gaze for far too long before bowing again and swaggering off to retrieve his weapons.
'Are you all right?' Rowenna asked Will quietly. She didn't look at him as she wiped her blade clean on the Pict's tartan britches.
'Yes,' Will said, still trying to get his thoughts together. His head was spinning - the whole attack had only lasted a few minutes. 'Thank you for… you know…'
'Rowenna!' A voice boomed through the air and King Godric appeared, pushing his way through the shield wall with a sword and flaming torch in his hands. His huscarls, were all around him, including Will’s master, Brant. The man’s huge Scandian long-axe was still held ready in both his hands. Its blade dripped blood.
'We'll talk later,' Rowenna whispered, still not looking at him. She smoothly straightened up to greet her father.
The flickering torchlight half blinded Will.
What – my eyes are suddenly as useless as the rest of me now? He quickly rose and bowed to the king, keeping his eyes away from the flame.
Godric didn’t even notice him. He grabbed his daughter in a fierce embrace. 'Gods, Rowenna – where in Wotan’s name were you? If I hadn't sent Osbert looking for you before the attack…'
‘I had my sword, father,’ Rowenna said. ‘I killed one of them in the stables.’
The king wasn’t listening. His eyes roamed over the bundles of Pictish clothing and weapons scattered around the stable. Osbert and Bragg sauntered up to him.
Godric grinned and grasped each by the shoulder. 'By all the gods, men, how many did you have to kill to keep my daughter safe?'
‘A few more than she could have handled alone, Sire,’ Osbert said. ‘I think the princess should have a constant guard now we are so close to the border. I’d be happy to—’
The hulking warrior didn't get a chance to finish as a shout rang out from the warband camp.
'They've taken the horses – all of them.'
Chapter 5
The Romani Wall
The two warbands finally marched out of the forests and clumped to a halt as the sun sank behind the trees to the west.
Losing the warband’s twenty or so horses to the Picts had not slowed them down too much. Angalsax hardly used horses in battle, only the royals and commanders rode, using the extra height to better see the battlefield and give commands. Horses were mainly used to pull supply waggons and allow a few Skirmishers to scout farther afield. The warbands had marched as normal,
distributing the carts’ contents amongst around six hundred soldiers had caused grumbles but not much loss of speed.
Will had read a lot about the devastating effect of cavalry employed by ancient armies. He had always thought the Angalsax should at least try it, but who would listen to the battle strategies of an orphan outsider? He also appeared to be the only one concerned about the reduced range of the scouts – everyone else had seemed solely focussed on reaching the Romani Wall. There had hardly been any discussion about hunting down the Picts. Small raiding parties this far north were still fairly common, but they were always either hunted down by the Romani Wall garrison or skulked back across a quiet section before Angalsax warriors from the mileforts caught them.
No, the Angalsax were not interested in his ideas – most of them barely even talked to him. And now it was even worse. The rumours had quickly spread about how he had run from the shield wall to hide in the dark only to find himself in the middle of a fight.
Bridget, now playing her true role as a battle-runner to carry messages from the commanders, had marched only a few feet away from him but even she had kept her distance.
Brant was the only one who had said a word to him since they had struck north from the longhouse sixteen hours ago. He had told his master he was running to the stables because he thought that was where the scream had come from and then went through the fight with him. Will had spoken a little louder than normal, hoping the explanation would reach Bridget and many others.
‘I trust you boy, but people will believe what they want to believe,’ was all his master had said about the rumours after Will had finished.
Will hoped that Rowenna had at least told her father that he tried to help. Not that the king would be interested in what he did or didn’t do anyway. As the miles had passed, he had become more and more furious that such a large raiding party of Picts had got a day’s march into Bernicia without any sign of pursuit coming from the Romani Wall. He was totally focussed on reaching the Anvil, the largest of their forts, before the day ended and then he would hold the commanders to account.
And now they had arrived, but it didn’t look like anyone would be giving any explanations.
'There are no fires,' Will whispered to Bridget, 'no torches… nothing at all.'
‘Well spotted,’ Bridget whispered back. ‘Now we know why there’s been no sign of anyone hunting down the raiders.’
‘They wouldn’t have been enough to take out The Anvil.’
Bridget looked around nervously. ‘Nope, not on their own.’
The warbands were arranged on a low ridge, buffeted by a cold north wind. It was fast becoming fully dark now, made more intense because King Godric had given the order to extinguish their torches before they left the cover of the trees.
The dark didn’t bother Will. His night-sight had always been good, but six days away from the constantly torch-lit capital city must have made it even keener.
He easily followed the silhouette of the great Romani Wall a mile or so in front of them. It stretched out like never-ending eagle wings, running with deeper shadows in the cloud-rippled light of the quarter-moon.
The wall had been abandoned by its Romani builders two hundred years earlier as they pulled back across the sea to defend their dying empire, but it was still as strong as anything the Angalsax could build now. A crenulated walkway ran along the top and, directly in front of them, the wall ran out south to form a rectangular fort.
Will tried to focus inside the walls. A mass of long, dark barracks and buildings hunkered down around open squares before the north and south gates. A score or more of much smaller huts clustered together outside the southern wall.
Every window was dark – there were no fires or lamps lit anywhere. There were supposed to be two hundred or more Bernician warriors living in the fort alone and that number again of civilians inside and out. Why wasn't there a single light in the whole place or anywhere along the wall for as far as they could see?
Will shivered in the wind. His first sight of the glorious Romani Wall, centuries-old bastion against the Pict savages, was not meant to be like this.
Rowenna nudged her horse alongside her father’s but didn’t take her eyes of the night-shrouded fort. ‘The raid might have been part of something much bigger.’
Cenhelm, captain of the royal warband, leant in on the king’s right. ‘Rowenna is correct, Sire. It would take more than even their biggest clan to… darken The Anvil. We should prepare to return to Yeavering.’
‘What?’ Brant snapped. As First Shield, he was Cenhelm’s second-in-command, but he never acted like it. ‘We’re going to run back home with our tail between our legs without even seeing what happened here? Are we cowards or—’
‘Enough, Osbert,’ Godric said, holding up one hand for silence, ‘give me peace to think.’
The king stared at the fort for long moments then looked at Cenhelm. ‘The warbands need to rest before a forced march back if that’s what we need to do. And we need to be sure what happened here.’
Cenhelm, fifty years old and always calm and reasonable, nodded once. ‘As you say, Sire.’
'Brant,' the king said quietly, 'circle out and scout in from the east.' He glanced back at Will who had been walking behind his mounted master. 'Take your apprentice with you – he will want to start proving his worth to us again, I should think.'
‘I beg pardon, Sire, but is that wise?’
Godric sighed, then turned to his left where a thin young man sat tree-trunk straight in the saddle of a fine black horse. Long, lank greasy hair framed a thin face and fell around bony shoulders. The young man somehow managed to straighten up even further under the king’s scrutiny and smoothed down his brown robes.
Will groaned inwardly. This was Wyatt, acolyte to the highest priest in Bernicia. He despised Will and always seemed morally outraged at his being allowed anywhere near the court despite being apprenticed to one of the royal bodyguards.
‘We are grateful for Wotan’s council as always,’ Godric said. ‘Perhaps you could enlighten us struggling souls as to your questioning my command this time.’
‘Oh, never questioning, Sire,’ Wyatt whined in his thin, reedy voice, ‘just offering the gods’ advice.’
Why does Wotan offer advice mainly through your nose? Will wondered.
Godric took a slow, calming breath. ‘So, offer it quickly, we have things to do.’
‘Of course, of course.’ Wyatt said. He glanced down his long nose at Will then turned back to the king. ‘I am afraid that last night, Will Foundling proved himself to be the coward I always suspected him to be. He deserted Captain Cenhelm’s shield wall to run for safety. Is it really wise to handicap your Scandian bodyguard with him any longer?’
Murmurs ran back through the columns of the warbands, soldiers passing the conversation to those too far away to hear.
Will took a breath to argue back but Bridget grabbed his arm to stop him. Commoners did not simply join in with the discussions of the nobles and priests.
Godric shook his head slightly and turned to Brant. ‘Well, my Scandian bodyguard – do you feel handicapped by a cowardly apprentice?’
Brant fixed his fierce blue eyes on Wyatt. ‘The boy ran from the protection of two hundred, fully armed, highly trained, battle-hardened Shields to find safety, you say?’
‘Indeed,’ Wyatt said, ‘I have it from a witness who tried to stop him.’
Brant frowned, his mouth straightening in thought beneath his blonde beard. ‘Greater safety would perhaps be found standing next to the king, in amongst his huscarls, I suppose… or inside the longhouse where you were praying for our salvation.’ He looked back at Will. ‘Where were you running to, Will?’
‘He was running to hide, I told--’ Wyatt snapped.
‘I was running for the stables,’ Will cut in quickly.
‘…because?’ Brant asked.
‘That’s where I thought the cry came from,’ Will said. ‘I thought I could get t
here faster than the Shields.
‘Liar,’ Wyatt shouted.
‘Enough,’ Godric hissed. ‘Rowenna has told me the boy ran at one of the Picts attacking her, armed only with his seax. He did what he could. Take him with you, Brant.’
'Yes Sire,' Brant said and leant down from his horse holding one hand out. Will grasped it and swung up behind his master.
'Wait,' ordered the king. He turned back to the column of troops shifting restlessly behind him. 'Mildred.'
The Mistress at Arms jogged over to him. 'My liege?'
'Brant's boy will need something other than a spear if he is to be of any use from horseback – do you have Rowenna's training sword to hand?'
Will felt his face burn. The king was actually going to give him a girl's sword to use –lighter and slimmer than a male shield-bearer's blade.
A few yards away, Osbert coughed away a laugh but cuffed Bragg as he started to snigger – no one ridiculed the king's judgements… not openly anyway.
‘Osbert, circle in towards the fort from the west – leave Bragg here – he's too heavy if you need to ride quickly,' King Godric said quietly, without even looking at his champion.
'Yes, Sire,' Osbert grumbled, cuffing Bragg again before kicking his stallion into a canter away from the warband.
Determined not to show his shame, Will forced a small smile as Mildred brought him Rowenna’s training sword.
'It's plain and the blade is nicked,' Mildred said as she handed the weapon and scabbard up to Will and took his spear from him, 'but it's much better weighted than the training swords you are used to. Look after it.'
Will couldn't bring himself to say anything as he strapped it around his waist, but he nodded his acknowledgement.
Mildred stared at him for a moment then quietly said, 'Don’t sulk, boy. The king has given you a chance to prove yourself, here.'
'Our thanks, Sword-Mistress,' Brant said in his rumbling voice and then, with a lurch, they were racing off into the night.
Will clung onto Brant's muscular torso with the Scandian’s massive axe head bobbing just inches in front of his nose.
Divided We Fall Page 3