The Saxon Shore cc-4

by Jack Whyte

  At a shout from me, we five who were mounted rallied, forming on our two beset companions, winning them time to mount. Then we were unassailable, wheeling and moving as one entity, and our opponents fled, some of them throwing down their weapons.

  "Let them go!" I roared, reining my horse tightly. "Now listen! What's afoot there, over by the gate? Listen!"

  Over the dwindling sounds of retreat from our erstwhile opponents we could clearly hear the sounds of battle coming from our left, still hidden by the pearly morning mist, yet swelling by the moment. Our horses snorted, their nostrils blowing plumes of vapour into the coldness of the morning air. Idly, my ears attuned to the noises in the distance, I glanced around at the corpses scattered on the ground. Ten I counted, before Rufio broke in on my thoughts.

  "Well, Commander? Are we to sit here all day while they have all the glory?"

  I glanced at him wryly, knowing he was being ironic. No man here among us retained the smallest illusion on matters of "glory" in battle. We were all too experienced for that, having lost too many friends in too many ungodly places.

  "We are no more than eight, Rufe," I said. "And all we have on our side may be surprise. After our first appearance, that will be gone. So we will wait a little longer, to ensure that our appearance is appreciated. We'll hit them line abreast the first time, hard and fast, right in the centre of their press, for my guess is they'll have no line of battle. Then we'll swing away and form an arrowhead on the gallop, circling completely to the left, and hit their centre, right before the gate, cutting through them and veering left again, along the line of the wall. As soon as we've won free of them the second time, we'll turn, form staggered lines, four to a front, a sword swing apart from side to side, and hit them again. Remember, the surprise will be gone after our first charge. After that, they'll fight for their lives, so we'll be relying on our weight and speed. Let's hope the horses frighten them to death before they think of striking at the mounts, rather than the riders." I listened again. The noises to our left seemed to have reached a crescendo. "Very well, let's ride, and God grant we may all feast well when this is over."

  I kneed Germanicus to a walk, pointing his nose towards the distant gates.

  By this time the light had brightened enough to be almost worthy of the name of day, but a heavy ground mist hemmed us in and swirled about us as we rode forward. Dedalus remarked on it, observing that it would help our efforts by keeping us concealed until we charged through it, and I knew he was right. The noise grew more appalling as we travelled and soon I brought my horse to a trot, then to a canter, straining my ears and eyes to find the optimal spot at which to kick us to the gallop and full charge. And then a breath of wind scattered a patch of mist and showed me running figures, travelling from our left across our front towards the walls of Athol's stronghold.

  "Come together! Dress your lines. On me!" I had been leaning forward as I rode, one hand downstretched to grasp the handle of my iron flail, where it hung from my saddle bow. Now I unhooked it, feeling the dangling weight of the heavy ball on its iron chain. I sank my spurs deep and swung the thing aloft and around, feeling the pull of it in my arm and shoulder muscles as my horse lengthened his stride, gaining full momentum.

  And then we were among them, falling upon their crowded press like a crushing mass of stone, our mighty horses trampling and battering their way forward and through them as our weapons rose and fell, swung from above and dealing death and crippling wounds to all who barred their passage. On the instant, it seemed the air was filled with noise of a different kind. Exultant battle cries gave way immediately to piercing screams of terror, and I saw faces raised to us in direst awe, screaming mouths widened in panic and superstitious disbelief. Mere moments we were among them, then we were through and swinging our horses wide and to the left, regrouping to narrow arrowhead formation as we rode, me at the point, tightening the circle, charging back again into their midst, scattering them like wind-blown leaves before us. I struck far fewer blows the second time, for there were none who sought to withstand me or argue passage. The gates loomed before me and I swung my mount hard left again, galloping flat out, then left again, where we regrouped to a double line of four, the rear filling the gaps left in the front, and back to the slaughter, save that slaughter fled us, in a rout, streaming to both sides of our charge, leaving the field scattered with abandoned weapons and the corpses from our first and second passes. I raised my arm and slackened my reins, allowing my horse to slow, and the gates swung wide and Athol's Scots emerged, howling with glee, to pursue their shattered foes.

  I looked about me. All present. "Is anyone hurt?" I shouted, ignoring the rabble of vengeful Scots pursuers who streamed by us. Miraculously, it seemed, no one had taken so much as a scratch. I turned my horse around, placing my back towards the open gates, and watched the slaughter being performed on the edges of the forest where some of Athol's blood-hungry warriors had caught up with the straggling remnants of the fleeing enemy. Dedalus moved into my line of vision, bringing his horse up to stand alongside mine so that only I would hear what he had to say.

  "Well, that's about as heavy a draw on Fortune's bounties as any of us can hope to effect for a long time. They thought we were devils, straight from Hades. I don't think I saw one thrust aimed at any of us. They folded and ran at the mere sight of us."

  "Aye. Total surprise, allied with terror. We'll never have a success like that again, for next time, no matter when it comes, they'll be expecting us and they'll fight us." I turned in my saddle to address the others, who were sitting patiently, awaiting my word. "My thanks to all of you, my friends. It has been short work, but effective. I doubt if they'll stop running before their legs give out. But I find myself wondering who they were. As you all know, there would be little point in taking to the forest in pursuit; they're being pursued thoroughly enough, and once we rode off the traffic-beaten paths, we would be at their mercy. I don't know how you feel about that, but I think I prefer matters the way they are." That won me a smattering of grins and chuckles, and I held up my hand for silence, aware that a number of Athol's people were standing around us, gazing up at us where we towered above them. "I doubt we'll see more trouble today, but it would be folly to assume all danger past, so we will remain mounted and ready, here, where we are. I go now to find the king, to discover his intentions. I'll not be long. Donuil, come with me."

  I swung Germanicus around and rode through the gateway, only to find Athol, Liam, Connor and several others on their way to find us, their jubilation evident even from afar in their bearing and their gait.

  "By all the spirits," Athol said to me, gripping my stirrup leather and gazing up into my face. "I have never seen, nor will I see again, the like of that attack of yours."

  "You saw it?" My surprise made me forget the formalities of addressing a king.

  "Saw it? Aye, I saw it. I was up yonder, on the tower to the east."

  I glanced in the direction he indicated and saw the square-framed tower, built of logs, the top of which was jammed with waving, cheering Scots. "A good vantage point!" I shouted.

  "Aye, for watching, though, not for being involved. Come you, to the Hall. Your men will not have eaten, and there's bread, and ale, and meat left over from last night. Bring all of them and join us there."

  "But sir! King Athol, is it wise to leave the gates unguarded?"

  He laughed aloud, a deep-bellied shout of a laugh. "Unguarded? When more than nine tenths of my own men have not yet wet their blades? Come, bring your people."

  XVII

  That early-morning meal, turned into a day-long celebration that escalated every time another contingent of warriors returned in jubilant triumph from the chase through the forest. It had become clear, almost from the first moments of the attack, that the invaders were the people I had come to think of as the Wild Ones, the anarchistic renegades in whose territories we had first been blown ashore. It was equally clear, however, that their attack could not have been occas
ioned by our trespass on their lands, for had they known of us, they would have been aware of, and prepared for, our horses.

  Whatever the reasons for their presence in Athol's territories, they had been destroyed by the sudden apparition of our cavalry, utterly demoralized by our swift and savage onslaught, and their lack of any form of discipline had doomed them. Once broken in their initial attack and frightened into flight, they had continued running, leaderless and without plan of any kind, ruthlessly hounded to the death by their intended victims.

  Estimates of their original strength varied from one hundred and fifty to three hundred men. My own guess was that there had been two hundred or so before the gates when we arrived, but I had been too preoccupied in closing with them to assess their numbers consciously. Some people, most of them observers from the walls, argued that as many as two hundred others had remained in the fringes of the forest, holding back from the attack on the gates, awaiting its success before committing themselves. I found that hard to credit, simply because it suggested a discipline that had otherwise been proved lacking. I felt confident that my own reckoning was close enough to the truth. Reports of the slaughter in the forest, however, became confusing. If the stories we heard were all to be believed, close to five hundred raiders had been hunted down and killed among the rocks and trees. It seemed to me there was much exaggeration in the celebrations taking place. No matter, I thought. The victory was real.

  The celebrations were truncated, late in the afternoon, by the arrival of two unexpected guests, Rud, whose disappearance had triggered the entire affair, and Fingael, the most truculent of Athol's sons, who returned without the mountain goat he had been sent to kill. They arrived slightly more than two hours apart.

  Rud's unexpected reappearance added, initially, to the celebrations, which had become almost riotous by the time he arrived. He had been found in the deep woods, tied and stifled, abandoned there to be collected later and hauled into slavery, and subsequently forgotten in the flight of his captors. He would have died there, hidden away from the main paths, save for the call of nature that fortuitously took one of his neighbours in search of privacy right where Rud lay.

  Pleased enough about being freed and delivered, Rud's blunt-hewn features were yet grim enough to intrigue me, so that I mentioned his apparent unhappiness to the king—who stood beside me at the time—asking him if Rud were always so dour at such celebrations. Athol, who had not noticed anything amiss until I pointed it out, called Rud to him and asked him what was wrong and why deliverance should cast such a shroud of gloom about his face. The answer he received quickly cast a pall on all within hearing distance.

  Rud had become captured just before dusk, he told us, when he had finished checking his traps and was preparing to head homeward. He had taken a prime marten in his last trap and was busy skinning it, bent upon his task, when he himself had been taken, all unawares, by someone who crept up on him from behind and clubbed him over the head.

  On regaining consciousness, he had found himself tightly bound, hand and foot, with a gag filling his mouth, making him want to vomit. There had been a small fire close by, masked behind a screen held up by sticks, and he had heard voices discussing him, briefly, and then the attack they would launch come daylight. One of them sought to kill him out of hand, not wanting the encumbrance of a prisoner. After tomorrow, this one said, they would have slaves aplenty, so he could see no need for keeping this one alive. Another, however, the one who had taken Rud, was adamant that Rud would be his slave. He had need, the fellow said, of Rud's size and muscles. Rud had felt a chill of despair on hearing that, knowing his life was over, no matter which way the discussion was resolved.

  Another voice diverted the first two from their argument, however, and Rud's fate was forgotten. This one, clearly a minor leader of some capacity, was unhappy that they should be here, in these woods, at this time, rather than awaiting the arrival of their allies, as they had promised. His opinion was unpopular and stirred up an altercation that attracted others to the unseen group around the fire, where the argument became loud and bitter. Most of the men, clearly, were in favour of the planned dawn attack on Athol's stronghold, and bitterly scornful of any dubious advantage that might be gained by waiting for outsiders to join them. They were strong enough by themselves, they said, to deal with Athol's folk, and their dawn attack would be sudden and lethal. Victory would bring them the treasures of Athol's people: weapons and tools, stored grain and livestock, strong men and ripe women. They had no need of help and no desire to share the plunder with foreigners. No one suspected their presence, and the gates of the stronghold had not even been closed, according to the information brought back by one of their own scouts. Gladud—Rud had assumed they spoke of the objector— was mad and deluded if he thought to put faith in the MacNyalls and the Children of Garn as allies. Creatures of night these were, and fit only for lies, greed and betrayal.

  Gladud had responded angrily to the slur on his integrity and had come to blows with at least one of his fellows. Unable to see what was happening, Rud had listened to the sounds of strife, terminated by a sudden, gargling cough, after which Gladud's voice had become permanently silent. In the relative quiet that ensued, no one had said anything to indicate the outcome of the sudden fight, and the gathering had soon broken up as men sought shelter and a few hours of sleep before the attack.

  I watched King Athol closely as he listened to Rud's tale, noting the unease that brought wrinkles to his brow when Rud named names. The names meant nothing to me, but they were plainly of concern to Athol. He restrained himself with difficulty, I could see, from interrupting Rud at their mention, and allowed the man to finish his story in his own way before congratulating him again on his deliverance. Rud nodded his thanks and stood there, obviously waiting to be questioned.

  "MacNyall," the king said, his voice low-pitched. "And the Children of Cam. You are sure those were the names you heard?"

  "Aye." Rud took no offense at the king's question.

  "Hmm. Did you hear talk of other names?"

  "No."

  "Nothing of the Sons of Condran?"

  Rud frowned, thinking hard, searching his memory. "No. But I heard the name Brian. Nothing more than that, only the name, and it might have been one of them."

  "Aye, it might. Thank you, my friend. Get you home now to your wife." The king watched Rud walk away and then spoke to Connor. "Summon my Council now. Cullum!"

  At the king's shouted summons, the giant whose boar spear I had used to kill the bear two days before stepped forward. Athol spoke crisply, issuing his orders.

  "Close off the ale. I want no more drinking this night. We may have need of clear heads again, come morning. See to it." As Cullum nodded and resolutely moved away, the king turned to me. "Merlyn, come with us." He swept away, followed by Connor, Donuil and their brother Kerry, Liam, me and several others of the king's counselors. I saw Dedalus standing off to my right, talking with Benedict and Paulus as I approached the doorway. I beckoned him to me and told him not to wait for my return, but to get the men back to our quarters and hold them ready. I did not have to tell him to mount a guard.

  Donuil had waited for me as I spoke with Dedalus, and now he led me to the skin-hung room where Athol had taken me the night I told him of my wife. By the time we arrived, the others were already seated, seemingly in no particular order, crowding the chamber, which had seemed spacious to me on my first visit. I sensed their Council meeting was about to begin without ceremony. Donuil found us two stools, and we seated ourselves at the rear, where we could see and hear clearly. Athol watched me until I had arranged myself, and then spoke, his first words bringing silence.

  "Master Merlyn and my son Donuil are here at my request, and neither of them knows of the matters for discussion. I intend, therefore, to speak of what has passed to this point mainly for their benefit, but also because the retelling may refresh all our recollections and hence bring some new insight into our current problem." The
re was a muttered chorus of assent and some nodding of heads among his listeners, two of whom, the corpulent man called Mungo and Donuil's other brother, Kerry, turned to look over their shoulders to where we sat. Mungo glowered, his face strained and red from the effort of twisting his great frame around, but Kerry grinned and winked at me, and I nodded back to him, permitting myself a slight smile of acknowledgment and wondering again at the familiarity I found in him.

  Athol sucked in a great breath, drawing himself erect and marshalling his thoughts, and then began to speak.

  "Let me begin by thanking you, Caius Merlyn, as king of my people, for your assistance this day. You and your. . . cavalry"—he pronounced the alien word with scrupulous care—"saved perhaps hundreds of my own, for this attack would have cost us dearly had you not been here." He paused, and as he did so I felt a liquid stirring in my bowels and a sudden cramp, not strong or long-lasting enough to cause me great discomfort, but sufficiently assertive to let me know that my intestines were about to demand my attention. As I tensed my stomach muscles against it, the king spoke on. "We are a strong people, and prolific, and our values, the love of family and clan, mark us as very different from our neighbours, some of whom you faced today. But at this moment we are weak in numbers, and hence open to attack." The cramp subsided and he had all of my attention now as I wondered whence this numerical weakness, which I had not suspected, had come. He did not leave me wondering.