The Dragon's Banner

by Jay Allan

  On the other flank, the nobles of Cornwall faced the larger contingent of Catigern's cavalry and the two forces locked in a bitter and confused melee. Leodegrance watched the fighting on both flanks and, as the infantry lines in the center crashed into each other, he led the hundred mounted men he'd kept back on the hill around the left. With the king in the forefront, they charged into the flank of Catigern's cavalry. Engaged to the front and flank, and overwhelmed by the ferocity of Leodegrance's charge, they broke and fled.

  Catigern was unnerved by the fighting on the flanks, though he had Saxon noble infantry positioned as a reserve behind both, and those troops had formed shieldwalls and prepared to face the victorious enemy cavalry. The battle in the center was much more in his favor, as his numbers were greater, and his position was uphill from the attacking forces. Now was the time...he would commit his infantry reserves and break then enemy center before Leodegrance's horsemen could fight through his shieldwalls.

  "Lord Catigern!" The cry came from a young warrior riding hurriedly to his position. "The camp is under attack from the woods. They are behind us, my lord!"

  The Visigoths, he thought bitterly, just as I feared. If Caradoc's army attacked them from behind while they were still fighting to their front, not one man in ten would escape. "Sound the withdrawal." His voice was cracking and high-pitched from fear. "Retreat. The army will retire."

  The horns blew and all across Catigern's host the confused and startled warriors paused and gave ground. Fully engaged, they found it difficult to retreat, and they fell back slowly, still fighting. But confusion and fear sapped their morale and within a few moments panic began to spread. First in small groups, and then all across the line they dropped their weapons and fled.

  Most of the infantry in the center escaped, but the Saxons posted on each wing were almost wiped out by the pursuing cavalry. Only a few survivors reached the woods and relative safety. Catigern himself was overcome with fear and fled the field ahead of his army, whose retreat became a confused rout of abysmal disarray. In their desperation to escape, his forces left their camp and all their baggage and fled for their lives.

  In the woods near the abandoned camp stood Owin, master hunter and gameskeeper to King Leodegrance. He and fifty of his fellows emerged from the dense woods from which they had been throwing javelins and pretending to be several thousand Visigoth warriors preparing to attack the camp. Owin was tall, more than six feet, and gray of hair, for he had seen five and fifty summers. He had served three generations of Leodegrance's house, but never had he rendered greater service than that which he and his hand-picked fellows had done this day. The plan was Merlin's, but it was Owin and his men who had seen it done.

  Into the empty camp they swarmed, and if they took the chance to pick out the best of the spoils, such were the fortunes of war. Owin was sitting on a felled log and enjoying some of Catigern's finest ale when King Leodegrance rode up to the camp. With the king was Caradoc, who had convincingly played his part in the ruse, and Gareth of Cornwall. Owin leapt to his feet and bowed to his king. Leodegrance's arm was bandaged, and his tunic was torn in several places.

  "Greetings, Owin. Good service have you given this day my noble woodsman. Indeed, this day you are a hero of Cameliard."

  Owin bowed deeply. "You are too kind, sire. My life has been service to your noble house. I am yours to command, now and always."

  Leodegrance smiled. "Today my command is simple, for if you and your band of freebooters have not yet had your pick of loot from the camp, then I bid you take what you will, for well have you earned it this day." A cheer went up from the hunters and woodsmen who were close enough to hear the king's words. Owin bowed again and walked back to his men, for while they had indeed already plundered the camp, he thought there would be no harm in appropriating bit more with the king's blessing.

  Leodegrance, meanwhile was receiving riders sent from across the field. The foot in the center had lost heavily against the more numerous foe, and while the mounted companies had fared better, still he had over 400 slain in total, and many more wounded. It took many hours to count the enemy dead, and while Leodegrance never knew how many wounded had fled, on the field lay over 1,200 of the foe, most of them killed as they tried to flee. The army of Catigern was defeated and dispersed, and it would be many months before the south was again under serious threat of invasion.

  "We must pursue." Gareth’s tone was arrogant and prideful. “The enemy flees in disarray."

  Leodegrance sat atop his horse in silence for a moment, as if considering his options. "Nay, Gareth, for though I also long to follow and destroy the foe, we know not what other forces await to the east. Indeed, the army we have just faced was beaten largely by deception and not force of arms, and despite their losses here today, they still outnumber us greatly. Our appointed task is to hold the south and to protect our lands and people, not to invade far to the east, away from our support and supplies. I ache to give the order, but as king I must consider more than my heart's longings. We shall return to Caerleon and regroup. At least until we can send scouts east to truly determine what we would face.

  Gareth wore a sour expression, for he clearly did not agree with the king, though for once, the troublesome lord kept his tongue and obeyed without question. He took his leave of Leodegrance and rode off to organize the Cornwall forces for the march back to Cameliard.

  Leodegrance dismounted and sat on the log that Owin had left, and he sighed heavily. His page handed him a wineskin, and he drank deeply from it, wiping his lips with his tattered sleeve. Well, Uther, he thought, we have held the south for you, at least for now. Fare thee well, my friend, in your battles in the north.

  Uther's men had marched three days, and great was their misery, for the weather had turned colder still, and a foot of snow fell. Men struggled to move forward, and each step was bought with pain and perseverance. But Uther would not relent, for since Caelin had arrived at Caer Guricon, he was resolved to save King Urien no matter what the cost. Everywhere in the host Uther seemed to be, rallying the men and driving them forward, and little did it appear he slept. Nothing he asked of his soldiers that he himself did not endure, and by this example - and by ruthless discipline - he kept his ragged army together and moving. Over a mile they stretched, two abreast on the narrow old road.

  Each day men died, and any who fell from fatigue were soon frozen where they lay. Faster even than the men perished the horses, and while Uther left his castle with 400 mounted men at arms, over 100 of the great warhorses had already succumbed. The smaller pack mules fared better, but they too were dying, and men had to carry what load a fallen animal had before.

  Uther rode with Caelin, and all day he questioned the young warrior regarding the siege. Again and again he asked about the enemy's numbers, their dispositions, the state of King Urien and the defenders within the beleaguered city. Slowly they continued north, fighting the weather every step. Their exertions were past the endurance of normal men, and only Uther Pendragon's iron will held the army together until a fortnight and a day since they'd left Caer Guricon, when even his mighty resolve seemed no longer force enough to press the men onward.

  "The ruined inn!" It was Caelin who shouted excitedly. He pointed toward the fire-ravaged wreck of an old building. "I passed this hulk no more than four hours after I left Carlisle. We are but a half day's march from the city."

  Uther halted the column and ordered that the camp be made at that spot, though several hours of daylight remained. He intended to surprise the Picts, and he would not chance moving closer until the morrow, when they would attack. Word spread rapidly through the army that they were near to their destination, and the news of the early stop to the march was greeted with great joy, tempered almost immediately by Uther's order that no fires be set. He would not allow smoke to warn the enemy of their presence, so he and his soldiers would endure without.

  The troops ate their cold supper and covered themselves the best they could to pass the froz
en night. For Uther, there was no sleep, and he wandered the camp, watching the men trying to stay warm under whatever piles of coverings they could find. He spoke to any he found still awake, giving words of encouragement before sending them off with orders to rest.

  Uther pulled his fur cloak tighter about him and looked up at the starry sky and the moon's tiny sliver. Tomorrow it will be new and the night black, he thought. Perhaps darkness is the ally I seek. We must have surprise, for we will be outnumbered, and we cannot long stay in the north. We have other enemies to face ere long. He fell to his knees and softly prayed. "God, grant us victory tomorrow, and give me the strength to unite this bleeding land. All that is important to me I have sacrificed to this fight, and my blood also I shall give if that be thy will. I beseech thee to instill strength into my soldiers hearts, lest their courage fail them on the field. Help us smite the heathen enemy whose banners are stained with the blood of thy children."

  All through the night Uther walked about the camp, thinking, planning, strategizing. By the first flickering rays of dawn's light, he had resolved on a course of action, and as his lords rose he collected them, and together they broke their fast as he laid out his plans.

  It was long past midday when the army broke camp, for Uther wanted to reach the enemy after darkness had fallen. Before beginning the march, they did much preparation, for each man was given a torch, and all were fully arrayed for battle as they left camp. There would be no stop, no time to prepare later - they would attack immediately upon reaching the enemy.

  Caelin rode in front with Uther, and he directed the army stealthily to the reverse slope of the ridgeline south of Carlisle. Orders were passed throughout the host, and in each company men kindled fire pots and the torches were lit. Weapons at the ready and blazing torches held aloft, Uther's army awaited the order to charge. They were arrayed with mounted troops in the first line and infantry behind, and in the forefront, ready to lead the attack, was Uther Pendragon himself.

  He turned upon his horse and looked upon the rows of flickering torches…his army ready to attack. "Now is the time, my brave warriors. For this we have marched through snow and ice and over the bodies of our fallen brothers. For you who fought last year, your vengeance is at hand, for to this enemy we shall be death incarnate. Nowhere would I rather be than here, at the head of this fearsome host. Curse those who sit before their fires this night drinking spiced wine, for it is we who wield God's bloody sword. Bring me no prisoners; let not one of them live. Follow me, and charge home crying Britannia!"

  With that Uther spurred his mount and galloped over the crest of the ridge. Throughout the host a great war cry came up, and as one the mass surged forward. Many cried "Britannia," as Uther bade them, yet still more screamed, "Uther" or "Pendragon," as they surged up and over the crest and down the hillside.

  The lookouts in the Pictish camp stared in stunned silence as a storm of fire swept over the hillside toward them. They screamed and sounded the alarm, but then the flaming death was upon them. First came the horse, over 200, carrying javelins and torches. Into the camp they thundered, hurling their spears and torches with deadly effect, then drawing swords and slaying any they could reach. Uther's sword, the blade of an emperor, struck again and again, and all around him were heaped the bodies of those he'd faced.

  More and more Picts emerged from burning tents and ran from the other camps, but hundreds were cut down, and the rest broke and fled, running back toward the city and away from this new doom that had fallen upon them. From the battlements atop the wounded city came a cheer, soft and ragged at first, but growing. Soon there were hundreds of warriors on the wall screaming wildly as Uther's men sliced through the foe, pursuing the routing survivors as they broke right and left around the walls of Carlisle.

  Just as the fleeing Picts neared the walls, the south gate opened, and King Urien charged out at the head of 150 men at arms, riding the last mounts in Carlisle. Trapped between the two converging forces the enemy threw themselves to the ground begging for quarter. Uther looked upon the miserable Picts huddling together groveling for mercy, but his heart was ice. "To the sword," he screamed again and again. "Put them all to the sword. Every one." It was but a few minutes before the bloody work was done, and nary an enemy warrior remained alive outside the south wall, but only the wretched camp followers - women and children who cowered and awaited their fate at the hands of the victors.

  But the battle was far from done, and Uther rode to King Urien and hailed his royal cousin. "Well met, Urien, my brother. Will you ride with us around your fair city? For to the northern end we now go to finish what here we have started. Then behind him, to the host he issued his cry. "Around the city! To the north! For our work is not yet done this night."

  Uther did not await Urien's stunned response, for the King of Rheged was shocked to see him at the head of the relieving army, and no words came quickly. In an instant, Uther was gone, riding around the walls to engage the foe on the other side. "To the northern wall," Urien called to his own men. "Follow Uther Pendragon!" And with that Urien rode off after Uther, drawing his sword and shouting again, "Follow Uther Pendragon!"

  It was warm in the great hall of Urien's stronghold, truly warm. The massive hearth was piled high with logs and a roaring blaze was going. Uther realized he had hardly remembered what it felt like not to be cold, and he savored the wave of heat coming from the fire. He still wore his armor, and his tunic and cloak were slashed and soaked with blood. He had a torn rag tied over a nasty gash on his arm, where a Pictish chieftan had scored a hit before Uther ran him through. The battle had raged all night, for the enemy on the northern side of the city had been warned and fought back fiercely. Once the two sides were engaged it was a confused melee, warrior against warrior, and by midday the field was covered with the fallen. All around the walls the dead and wounded lay in the bloodstained snow.

  Urien had sent Caelin back into the city to bring orders for the infantry within to sally out and take the enemy in the rear, and once again the young warrior made his way past the foe and carried out his king's command. He and 500 infantry streamed out of the main gate, and the Picts, already exhausted and now beset on all sides, broke and ran, with Uther and Urien leading their mounted warriors in vengeful pursuit.

  Across the frozen river they had chased the foe, slaying all they could reach, and then they charged into the force besieging Uxelodunum, sweeping all away. All save one band, which stood fast under their giant chieftan, and for a time looked as though they might become a rally point.

  Uther, dismounted when his horse took a spear to the thigh, faced the Pictish champion in single combat. It was an epic battle, and for long they traded blows, each unable to gain the advantage. The Pict was the stronger, but Uther the faster, and their swords clanged loudly amid the din of battle. Finally, the Pict slashed Uther with the tip of his sword, opening a long, ragged gash in his arm. Uther stumbled as if he were about to fall, but then spun around and plunged the point of his sword through his adversary's back, shoving with all that remained of his strength. The Pict bellowed loudly and then looked confused for a moment as he stared down in bewilderment at the bloody sword protruding from his chest before it finally occurred to him to die.

  Uther pushed the body of his enemy to the ground, letting it slide slowly off his blood-covered sword, and then he raised his weapon over his head and screamed a terrible war cry. Seeing their great chief slain, the rest of the Picts lost heart and fled in rout. Uther's men began a half-hearted pursuit, but they were at the end of their strength and soon returned to the field and sank to the ground in exhaustion. Uther stood in the center of the field, blood pumping out of his wound and dripping into the snow. Caelin rushed to his side, and tearing a section from his own tunic, he bound the wound the best he could. He then bade Uther take his horse that he might ride into Carlisle with King Urien as was his due.

  As Uther mounted, a cheer arose from the assembled warriors, his and Urien's, and even Gorlo
is' men from Cornwall. All along his route back to Carlisle they chanted, "Uther, Uther, Uther!" He waved as he rode, but finally he could feel his strength fading, and once they were through the main gates he slumped forward and let the horse bear him into the stronghold.

  Now, the warmth of the fire brought some feeling back to his frozen and exhausted body. Servants arrived, bearing flagons of hot wine and trays of food, and King Urien himself poured a cup and served it to Uther. "My thanks to you, Lord Uther and my loyalty and friendship for all time. You have saved my kingdom and people, and ever shall you and your brave warriors be welcome in Rheged."

  "King Urien," Uther replied, "honored I am to count you as an ally. Much there is we must discuss, for little can you know of events in the south."

  "I am most anxious to hear all you have to tell me. Yet a poor host, and worse friend, would I be if I did not offer you food and see your wounds properly tended."

  "Indeed, I am hungry. I had quite forgotten food for the cold and the battle, but now the warmth of your hall restores my vitality, and I would gladly accept your hospitality. Let us sit and eat and talk of things, for the wound will wait until supper is finished. Caelin has done a credible job of bandaging, and I am sure it shall hold for now." They sat together and ate, for Urien's servants had brought large plates heaped with bread and salted meats and cheeses.

  "Alas, I fear my larder is rather bare. I wish that I had more to offer than this poor fare."

  Uther smiled. "After a fortnight on the winter trail, such as you have set before me is a feast worthy of an emperor." He took his knife and skewered a large hunk of salt pork, dumping it on the plate in front of him and sawing off a slice.

  After Uther had filled his plate, Urien took a hunk of bread and a large slice of cheese. "I have given orders that all of your men be fed and their wounds tended. Your warriors shall all sleep indoors tonight, for I cannot imagine the ordeal you all suffered in marching to our aid in such weather. We had been rationing our firewood, but now with the siege broken, there shall be no hearth unlit tonight."