The Dragon's Banner

by Jay Allan

  In the valley there was much commotion, as lords shouted orders to their warriors, forcing them into a ragged line as quickly as possible. On the plain behind the newly assembled formation was Vortigern, mounted on a large brown stallion, a mail shirt over his usual red silk robes. "Curse Uther Pendragon," His voice was bitter. "How did he move so quickly? Not for half a fortnight did we expect battle."

  But Uther had Leodegrance's huntsmen, the same company that had convinced Catigern they were a host of Visigoths, and he had them deployed to watch Vortigern's movements. When the great army began to march north, slowly and in disorder, riders were sent immediately to King Uther. The king acted at once, leaving a small force screening Eboracum and marching south with great haste, driving his troops to make 25 miles a day. By such efforts, they reached the field in a week. The army facing his was disordered and caught by surprise, but they were more than half again his number. Twenty thousands of warriors did Vortigern bring to Verulamium, and his lines extended past Uther's on both flanks.

  Uther's strategy was simple. In the center he positioned his best heavy cavalry, for he would lead their charge himself and split the enemy army in two. The horsemen were in the woods, out of sight of Vortigern's men, and in front of them was the lightest of his foot, mostly peasant levies from the west, armed with javelins and shields.

  To each side he deployed his heavy infantry, spearmen to the left, opposite the best ground for an enemy cavalry attack, and his own axemen on the right. On each flank was a large company of horse, mostly lighter-armed levies from the northern borderlands. Leodegrance commanded the foot on the left, while Caradoc led those on the right. The other kings were with Uther, leading their men at arms as part of the great mounted force.

  Uther rode along the entire frontage of the army, shouting to his troops and bidding them fight more fiercely than ever they had. "Today we win this war." He shouted his exhortations and swinging his sword wildly as he rode before the cheering multitudes. "After this victory you shall all return to your homes, to your wives, to your children." His words cut at him as he uttered them, for he would return only to loneliness and an empty castle. But now was the time for battle, and his own pain he ignored.

  "Free men of Britannia, never has a king commanded more courageous and noble soldiers. I bid you fight like no men have ever fought! Fight for your families. Fight for Britannia! Fight for your high king! For I shall lead you in this battle, and I swear I shall not leave the field other than in victory! If it not be victory then you can leave my broken body a meal for the buzzards."

  All of this he repeated as he rode down the line, and the warriors worked themselves into a screaming frenzy, thrusting spears and axes and swords high into the air and shouting again and again, "Hail King Uther!"

  Their foes had no such encouragement, for Vortigern could not inspire men in the field as Uther Pendragon. Indeed, his vassals and allied kings were hard pressed to get their men into line in time, for the massive army was a disorganized mob. The miserable levies and hastily assembled men at arms looked across the field at their shouting foes and their morale was leaden.

  Vortigern's army was deployed conventionally, with the heavy cavalry on each flank, but they were still forming up to charge when the sounds of horns blared from the center of Uther's army, and the king galloped down the hillside with two thousands of heavily armored men at arms thundering behind him.

  The earth shook from their charge, and the waiting infantry saw their doom approaching. They wavered, rallied for a moment at the urging of their captains, and then broke. Uther's horse plunged into their ranks as they fled, slashing and slaying wildly. With javelin and sword the men at arms massacred the routing foot, and soon the ground was littered with bodies and the surviving infantry from the center was in headlong flight.

  Once they had broken the center infantry formations, another horn blew, and the horsemen rallied and split into two groups, one led by Uther and the other by Urien. They rode behind the remaining infantry lines toward Vortigern's cavalry forces on each flank.

  Vortigern was stunned, for never had he seen mounted troops break off so abruptly from pursuing a broken enemy and reform to charge another target. But Uther's men obeyed his every command, not only out of respect but because none would risk his terrible wrath. Fear of Uther Pendragon overcame even bloodlust, for he had declared that any who ignored the blasts of the horns would be hanged, and none doubted his word.

  Vortigern's men at arms hastily turned to face the threat from the rear and, with some disorder, they were able to meet the oncoming charges. Uther's men had morale and the disorganization of their foe in their favor, while Vortigern's fresher troops had numbers. On each flank, horse met horse in tumultuous melees, and for long they fought before the smaller cavalry forces Uther had posted on his flanks charged and struck the enemy men at arms in the rear. Beset on all sides, Vortigern's horsemen fell back in disarray, with Uther's exhausted men pursuing.

  Throughout the melee, Uther Pendragon fought like a madman, and by the time Vortigern's cavalry were retreating he had slain at least twenty. On the other flank, Urien fought fiercely as well, and if his tally didn't equal Uther's, it was impressive nonetheless.

  For another hour the cavalry forces fought, Vortigern's troops giving ground steadily. When the rout finally began, it happened quickly. First small groups of horsemen turned and fled, dropping their weapons and galloping away as quickly as they exhausted mounts could carry them. The panic spread rapidly, and within a few minutes, most of the survivors were in flight, and the few who stood were quickly overwhelmed. Pursuit wasn't an option this time, because the victor's mounts were exhausted and needed rest before they could charge again. Uther led a small force of the less-fatigued lightly armed cavalry behind the enemy army to aid Urien, but by the time they arrived the enemy had been put to flight on that flank as well.

  While the horsemen were engaged, the infantry clashed all along the battle line. Uther's men charged down the hillside and slammed into the enemy foot, and the two sides were soon locked in a desperate struggle. On the right, Uther's forces steadily pushed back their more numerous adversaries, and losses were heavy on both sides. But on the left, Hengist's Saxons stood firm, positioned on a small hillside from which they repulsed the repeated charges of the infantry of Cornwall and Cameliard.

  The giant Germanic king stood in the forefront of his men and laid low all who came near him. Five times did they send the free Britons retreating down the hillside. For hours they stood firm, while all over the field their cause was being lost. Finally, Uther himself led the victorious infantry from the right around to assail the Saxons from behind, while Leodegrance rallied the defeated infantry and led them in one more charge.

  Facing enemies both to the front and rear, Hengist formed his men into a circular formation and, using the hillside to great advantage, held out against the overwhelming assaults until late in the day. Finally, exhausted and no longer able to hold, Hengist led the best of his men as they cut their way through the encircling forces and fled the field. All along the hillside, scattered groups broke free and ran, while hundreds of others were cut down trying to flee.

  The Saxons had been the last organized resistance remaining, and with their flight, Uther's victorious army stood alone on the field. The Battle of Verulamium was over.

  Chapter Seven

  The Vengeance of Uther Pendragon

  478 AD

  The Field of Verulamium

  Uther stood grimly on the hard-fought hill where Hengist's men had made their last stand, and he watched the red sun setting slowly over the field of battle. Before him was a scene that could have been a vision of Hell. Nearly as far as the eye could see, the hillsides and plains were covered with the dead and wounded. The dead, at least, were at peace, but thousands yet remained alive, bleeding and broken on the field, and their moans chilled even Uther's soul. Horses, too, had been killed and maimed in hundreds, and the sounds of the wounded animals
was louder and more piteous still than that of the men. And in the skies, the carrion birds screeched wildly, for never had such a feast been presented to them.

  His men wandered over the field, gathering their wounded and dispatching the poor, terrified horses as quickly as they could reach them. They were all fatigued, and the task was overwhelming. Uther's body burned with exhaustion, for he had fought all day like a demon, and it had been long since he'd slept. Still he could not take his eyes off the bloody field. The wind had picked up, and the tattered banners rippled eerily in the fading light.

  This is victory, Uther thought darkly. It is for this we fought so hard and sacrificed so much. These thousands have died that I might be high king instead of Vortigern. Was it worth it? Will the thousands of souls I have sent this day to petition before God speak my praises? Does it matter so much after all who rules?

  It was indeed victory, for though Hengist and Vortigern escaped the field, their armies were shattered, and many of their allied Britannic monarchs had fallen. There was work still to be done, but the issue was no longer in doubt. Uther Pendragon was high king of Britannia, and there were none with the strength to challenge his rule. It was Leodegrance's voice that woke Uther from his trance. "So we have prevailed, my old friend." He spoke softly, his voice hoarse, showing his fatigue. "And you are high king. Long may you rule." He bowed before Uther then walked up to stand beside him.

  Uther turned and smiled grimly at his friend. Leodegrance wore a bloody makeshift bandage, for a Saxon sword had slashed open his shoulder, a wound messier than it was dangerous. With him stood Caradoc and Merlin. Caradoc too, was stained with blood from head to toe, though little of it was his own. He had fought with great passion and skill, and he'd slain ten foes that day. He looked at Uther and laughed softly. "It is quite a journey I embarked upon when I swore myself to your service. Though I am not a native of this land, I am proud to hail you as my king. And my friend."

  Uther nodded to Caradoc, though still he was silent, for he knew not what to say. Blood flowed slowly from his arm where a javelin had pierced him, though he hardly seemed to notice the wound.

  "Let me tend to that." It was Merlin who spoke, and he retrieved a small wooden box from his robe. He removed the top to reveal a foul-smelling black salve, which he then smeared on Uther's arm while the others made faces at the stench.

  "Gods, Merlin," said Leodegrance, "from what rotten carcass did you harvest that evil concoction?"

  "My concern is not the delicacy of your nostrils, my friend, but rather the effectiveness of my remedies. I daresay we have greater need of kings than to watch them die needlessly from festering wounds. Indeed, you are next, for that filthy wrapping covering the gash on your shoulder is far from adequate."

  "Mercy, Merlin. For they shall mistake me for last year's compost when I enter the camp."

  "It is better than this year's corpse."

  The taunting exchange finally dragged words from Uther. "I beg you, no more. Allow Merlin to finish spreading this hideous ointment, for no chance is there he will relent."

  They all laughed, even Merlin, and then were silent while both wounds were treated and wrapped in swaths of fresh linen.

  "It shall soon be dark. Uther looked grim, his face stern and resolute. "We have yet have hard business this day."

  "Still mean you to slay the prisoners?" Leodegrance fidgeted uncomfortably.

  "Such was my declaration.” There was no compassion in Uther’s voice, no emotion at all. "For we shall set an example for all time to any Britons who would take the part of an invader against their own brethren. What we do here shall be remembered for a century. Though I loved battle once, I have had my fill of war. I would have the legacy of this conflict give pause to any who might conspire in the future. Perhaps today's harsh measures shall forestall tomorrow's war."

  He could see hesitation still on their faces, and he continued, his tone darker, more ominous. "You are my closest friends, but I need neither your counsel nor approval in this, only your obedience. Will my orders be obeyed, or must I see this done myself?"

  Chastised, Leodegrance bowed. "Now as always, I shall obey your commands." He turned stiffly to go and give the orders, with Caradoc following close behind.

  "I see you remain behind, Merlin. There was a grim smile on Uther's lips. "No surprise should this be, for I can scare everyone but you, old friend. You disapprove, no doubt."

  Merlin looked at Uther, his expression uncertain. "It is not my place to approve or disapprove of your commands. I, too, am aware that harsh methods are ofttimes needed. Yet, I would have you rule with justice and not fear if such be possible."

  Uther laughed bitterly. "Men forget justice, Merlin. They speak of it with great longing, but they value it not unless it serves their needs. They cease to regard it as just when it goes against their desires. My father was a just king who held back from enforcing his rights to the high kingship. His diplomacy, bribery really, forged this alliance, but only my victory has held it together. These kings fight because we win battles, and because they know that if they betray me I shall seek them out wherever they may run and destroy them utterly. Thus is the true basis of their loyalty. They fear me. If they value me otherwise, it is as a leader our enemies also fear."

  Merlin looked sadly at Uther. "Are you sure you do not strike out at the world to ease your own pain, my old friend?" His tone was gentle, sympathetic.

  "There is no easing for my pain, Merlin. I shall bear it to my grave. These prisoners for whom you weep, these lords and barons and warriors, they are the cause of my pain. I hate my father for what he did, yet I also recognize that he had little choice. But these traitors, they are the root cause, not only of my heartbreak, but of the pain of thousands of wives and children, those of the many warriors who shall not return home. Now they must pay the price of their perfidy. If they wish forgiveness they may seek it from God, for they shall not have it from me."

  "But surely there is also a place for mercy, Uther."

  "Is there?” His tone was bitter. "Is there indeed? For whom? For Huarwar, who rewarded my father's loyalty and charity with treachery and murder and nearly took both you and I as well? Had he succeeded, all of Britannia is like to have been sold to slavery. For Vortigern, the architect of this calamity, who tortures young girls to recruit his assassins? Nay, Merlin, for men believe what they want, though life seeks to teach them otherwise. They find truth in whatever cause serves their base needs at each moment, and I do not believe most of them capable of more. My justice will be soon forgotten, and my mercy but a passing remembrance. Yet the fear shall remain."

  "Long indeed have I lived, my dear friend, and little trust do I place in men's goodness. Yet also I have seen that some worthiness there is, often in unlooked for places. You must rule as you see fit, but I beseech you not to discount the good in all men because of the hurts you have endured."

  Uther said no more, but he looked thoughtfully at Merlin and nodded an assent he did not feel. He then took his leave of the counselor, for he wished to be alone for a time. He pulled his cloak up over his head that he might not be recognized, and he strode down the hillside to wander the field.

  Before long a new sound was added to the wails of the wounded, for Uther's orders were being carried out, and from the pens where the prisoners had been confined there came terrible cries. Uther’s warriors moved in from all sides, grimly putting the defenseless captives to the sword. His warriors were tough fighters all, and hard men, but they disliked this work. Butchering unarmed captives was not to their liking, yet they were bound to carry out the king's commands, and they did so with expediency. They surrounded the makeshift camp where the enemy warriors had been herded and moved inexorably forward, tightening the ring and slaughtering the prisoners like so many cattle.

  Kelven commanded the force tasked with the job, and though he liked it no better than they, he pushed his men forward ruthlessly until not a prisoner was left alive. Whenever a man slowed or sto
pped in the work, Kelven would be there, slapping him with the flat of his sword and shoving him back to the task. When they had finished he dismissed the men and walked slowly toward the woods where, once he was out of sight of the field, he fell to his knees behind a great oak and wept.

  Throughout the host there was no elation, no shouts of celebration, just a grim satisfaction that they had prevailed. Though the victory was theirs, it was tempered by the losses they had borne, for fully a third of their number had fallen. They slept that night where they were, on the field among the dead and dying, for they were too exhausted to move, or even to care.

  Hengist ran quickly through the woods, surrounded by his most loyal warriors. For two days and nights they had fled without stop, for they sought the relative safety of the stronghold at Canterbury. Ten thousand men had Hengist led to Verulamium. There were fewer than a hundred with him now, though he was certain that several thousand had escaped from the field. Some were themselves also bound for Canterbury, while others had, no doubt, fled to the coast to seek any boats that might sail them home. Yet others had surrendered to Uther's men, but by the king's order, all of these had been slain. Still, Hengist was hopeful he could rally perhaps two thousands when he got back to his stronghold, for he had left a garrison of 700 there when he had marched out to join Vortigern.

  The men still with Hengist were mostly his personal guards, and they were the best of his warriors. Many had light wounds; Hengist himself wore a bloodied bandage around his head. Those more seriously injured had fallen behind and were likely to be taken by Uther's men, which meant they were likely to die.

  "Vortigern is the architect of this disaster." Hengist spat the words bitterly. "We have squandered our strength supporting his war, and now we must look to hold our last stronghold. At least we laid in supplies before we marched; we are well-provisioned to withstand a siege."