by Jules Marks
They’d waited until they had our full attention, perhaps three hours past sunrise, before they actually began cooking the men. By then Akimba’s troops gathered on the town’s outer walls, to see what the enemy was up to, the better to watch the horror on the plain below. I pitied Ioan, for his vision was far better than anyone else’s. Both Rebeccah and Akimba knew this; Akimba kept asking him for details. Ioan could see the men’s faces, their very features, and in a voice so low and grim that only those nearest us could hear, he told Akimba that two of the scouts were still alive. I turned to see the Lady Rebeccah’s reaction. Her expression changed little, but the muscles in her jaw tightened. She discreetly moved a step closer to Ioan, and, keeping her hand at her side, she reached over and gripped his hand in her own.
The Uplanders stoked the fires. I glanced at Sir Hugh, who stood beside me on the wall. He was quiet; he hardly moved, yet I had never seen such a look of active hatred in those gray eyes. We were too far away to smell the smoke, but I knew he could imagine it as well as I. Those poor souls began to scream…even from a distance their plaintive wails were nightmarish…and the Upland warriors answered back with terrifying sounds of their own: they howled. They didn’t stop there: they howled, they danced, they held their weapons in the air and taunted us with guttural, primitive chants.
There were so many of them! It was as if a swarm had gone wild before our very eyes. Though I was no judge of numbers, Hugh told me there were as many as two thousand Uplanders in that camp, and the sound they made was horrifying. None of us, not one, could help but feel dread at the hellish noise coming at us in waves.
We had, at last reckoning, around six hundred men to face that hoard of monsters. Though there had been a boost in morale in the previous days, the spectacle we were witnessing made it void. We all of us looked at that mass of chanting Upland warriors, and we felt we were readying ourselves to enter the very jaws of Death.
The strategy was obvious: we realized there would be no attack on the castle. The Uplanders didn’t need to attack us; we had to attack them. We couldn’t watch as more men were cooked and eaten, and they knew it; they counted on it.
Every man among us knew what was expected; Akimba and his commanders had gone over battle plans for the past week. We all went to arm ourselves; we had just enough time to prepare to die.
Fortunately, Larkin hadn’t been with us at the walls; Sir Hugh had sent her to the armory to sharpen her dagger and get more arrows. She’d known it was a pointless errand—the dagger was already razor sharp—but she didn’t argue with Hugh in the same way she might have argued with me. She was in our chambers, donning her mail, when we returned to arm ourselves. What the three of us had just witnessed made us all resolved: we planned to talk her out of coming into battle with us.
I placed my hands on her shoulders and gently forced her to sit upon the edge of one of the beds. “Stop and listen to me for just a moment.” Hugh, Ioan, and I stood in a unified front before her.
Larkin remained seated, but her erect posture revealed her defiance, even as she shook her head. “But we’ve been over this, Gael. I haven’t changed my mind. Rebeccah is fighting, as am I.”
“Have you heard what’s going on out there?” Sir Hugh leaned forward a bit as he spoke; his face was grim. “Larkin, those are not soldiers we are going out to face. They are monsters! You need not come; no one, not one of us will think the less of you.”
“I will think the less of me,” she replied in an equally serious voice. “You know that I am as capable as many of our soldiers. In point of fact, I’m a much better shot than most of them. You need every man you’ve got…”
“Every man…not every young girl,” interjected Ioan with bitter tone.
Larkin glared up at him, and then shook her head. “If our warriors fail, the young girls, the old women, the children…all will die. If we’re all to die anyway, I’d rather die fighting…with you, where I might at least do some good.” She pointed a finger at Hugh. “Not long ago you told me we were a band, a brotherhood of warriors. I fought beside you, and I proved myself worthy. If we are to die, I want to die with my brothers…” She directed her eyes to me. “…And with you.” Her chin was trembling, but she held my gaze. “We shall be together, the way it should be.”
I closed my eyes to keep back the tears that were pricking at my eyelids. “Your mother was stubborn, too,” I murmured as I gripped her shoulder.
“I hear she had a good teacher,” answered Larkin as she leaned her cheek onto my hand.
Ioan grabbed my arm. “You’re giving up so easily?”
Annoyed, I shook off his grip. “Go and try to talk the Lady Rebeccah out of coming, if you think it’s such a simple task. If you succeed, feel free to come back and censure me.” I knew those gruff words were harsh even as they left my mouth, but I was already frustrated and worried beyond all measure.
Though he stayed where he was, Ioan’s chin dipped down and he put a hand over his eyes.
“She’s so very young,” he whispered.
“He knows, Ioan, he knows.” Hugh took him by the shoulder, and pulled him away. “Come, we need to hurry. You are wearing mail, aren’t you?” He began arranging his armour. “I wish you’d wear breastplate, but I suppose I can’t change your mind at this point, can I?”
In a way, I was grateful that we were rushed. I knew not what to say to Hugh and Ioan; there wasn’t time for any drawn-out farewell. They were to ride with the mounted knights; Larkin and I were to the archers. Our Llewellan band stood in the castle courtyard and looked at one another. Hugh stood next to Larkin, his arm around her shoulder. In a quiet, infinitely patient voice, he was reminding her of certain fighting techniques, reassuring her that all would be well if she kept her head. As they spoke, Ioan stood in front of me and adjusted the strap to my quiver…a strap that needed no adjustment.
“I meant no disrespect, Gael,” he began in a hushed voice.
“It was I who was disrespectful,” I answered. I’d been looking down at the dusty ground of the courtyard, but I forced myself to look him in the eyes. (They’d gone dark purple…another eerie look.) “I should never have spoken to you in that manner.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why?…because of our respective stations? Surely by now you know that I…” He stopped, because I was shaking my head.
“…Because you are my friend, Ioan, and I hold you in the highest regard.” I wanted to say more, but the look on Ioan’s face told me that I’d said all that was necessary. He left off fiddling with my strap, and then gave me a quick hug and a hearty thump on the back.
“Take care, Gael,” said he as he flashed me one last, dazzling smile. He turned to bid Larkin farewell, and I found myself facing Hugh.
Sir Hugh cupped his hand around the back of my neck and gave a squeeze. He tipped his head towards me and touched his forehead to my own before standing back to address me.
“I know not whether we shall meet again in this world or the next, but know you this: I am proud to have counted myself your friend.” He bit his lip, and then continued: “God be with you, Gael.”
The lump in my throat allowed me only three words in response: “…And with you.”
<><><>
A priest said prayers and blessed us all.
The warriors were separated into their respective groups: archers, infantry, and mounted knights. We were massed in the area just inside Beckman’s outer wall. The huge gates and drawbridge were still closed and secure, but we were nearly ready to exit them. Every man was armed to the teeth…with weapons, that is. Few of the bowmen actually wore armour. Larkin and I were fortunate to have mail vests, but most of the archers wore sturdy leather doublets for protection. On their heads were fitted boiled-leather caps. We archers all carried a variety of weapons: in addition to our bows, men had hatchets or battle-axes, daggers, long swords, falcon-beaks, and even mallets fastened to their girdles.
The infantry/foot soldiers tended to be better protected. Most wore m
ail, a few wore breastplate; nearly all had sturdy round shields held fast in their left hands. Their weapons were similar to the archers, but instead of bows, nearly all carried spears.
Their shining armour glistening in the sun, the knights were absolutely resplendent. The majority wore a traditional combination of mail and breastplate, the only exception being Ioan, who, as expected, had refused the plate, favoring ease of movement and speed. In addition to this anomaly, he was the only knight who had no helm; he cursed the things and said they restricted a knight’s vision. He had that morning forsworn his cowl, saying that his days of hiding behind it had come to an end. He said that if any man wanted to kill him for being Hydorian, they could find him after the battle.
Most knights kept several lances to use; all, of course had their long swords, and more than a few carried huge battle-axes as well. Their shining shields were emblazoned with all manner of heraldry. Knights had come to assist Halwick from as far away as Gratzvania. Polished metal was not the only bright touch: many of the knights had banners unfurled. No soldier could see those beautiful standards and not feel his heart lift with pride in our troops.
I could sense a change in the men. I had always believed that the act of arming oneself had a bolstering affect, and I could see that I was not the only man who reacted that way. To feel those arms, to see such strength and stand shoulder to shoulder with one’s comrades…it was a tonic, to be sure. The very air seemed energized. All that was needed was one last speech to urge us on.
Akimba was ready to give it.
With Lady Rebeccah at his side, he stood up on the battlements and waited for the rattling and clattering of arms to cease. Every man became still, looking up at him; all waited for words of to sustain them in battle; they waited to hear words to die for.
He’d taken off his helm; his black skin glistened, and he stood there, magnificent and powerful in the flashing sunlight.
His voice was strong and clear: “More than any of you, I wish my father was standing here in my place addressing this assembly of warriors, this group of heroes.” He bowed his head for just a moment, and then continued. “But he isn’t here to speak to you, and that honour has passed to me. Most of you have been up on these walls and have seen what we’re facing this day, the rest of you have heard of it. I’ve witnessed your expressions of doubt and dismay, and I am here to tell you this: we have a fearful challenge to face—I won’t lie to you about it—but we can face these odds and win the day. They have strength in numbers, but we have our own advantages: we are more disciplined, better armed, better trained, and, most importantly, we are in the right!” As he spoke those words, he punched his fist into his cupped palm. “This barbarian horde has been violating our borders, burning our crops, and killing our livestock. Those crimes alone make our cause a just one. But there’s more to it, and you know of it one and all. Those murderers of children have turned to a new war-chief, one who has corrupted their very souls. I tell you this: any man who eats another man’s flesh is cursed by God in Heaven!” His voice gained even more strength; his words had more power. “We will avenge our peoples’ deaths with the Uplander’s blood, and the Devil will take their souls!”
He had to pause, because the men began to cheer. After a time, he held up his hands to quiet them. The noise diminished within the city walls, but all heads turned as we heard new sounds coming from without: the Uplanders were answering our cheers with war chants of their own. The sound was muffled by distance and by the sturdy walls around us, but it proved a distraction…and as I looked around me, I saw men’s expressions change from fervor back to fear.
Akimba saw this, too. He called the men to attention as he tipped his head in the direction of the Upland camp. ”They sound formidable, do they not?” He had to raise his voice, but as every man listening was dead silent, his voice carried enough to be heard over the chants. “All of you know that I am not native to these lands, that I was born in a country across the sea.” He passed a hand over his shining ebony skull, and then surprised us by baring his white teeth and flashing a brilliant smile. “If your eyes have failed to see that I am different…well, I hope you’re not one of my archers.” The men laughed at this joke and relaxed a bit…precisely as Akimba had planned. He continued: “What none of you know—not until today—is that I’ve seen men like the Uplanders before. In my native Rwadia there was a tribe of men who ate their enemies: cannibals, we called them. They terrorized civilized men; the very thought of them made most people cower with fear. But like the Lord Halwick, my Rwadian father was a brave leader. When the cannibals attacked our village, he fought and killed many, and captured two of their men.” Akimba held up his palms. “What we learned from them may surprise you. Those fierce, terrible cannibals were, in truth, frightened, weak and mortal men. They feared us…our tribe, our civilization, and even our god!” He pointed to the unseen enemy outside the walls. “Those men are trying to deceive you; they want you to think they can beat you! They want to strike terror in your hearts…because they feel that same fear in their own miserable breasts.” Again he pointed, but this time to the west wall of the castle’s battlements. “You’ve all seen that Uplander hanging on our wall? He knew the truth…he knew that his people had been corrupted, that this sick, soul-eating corruption would ultimately be the end of them.” He paused for effect, and then continued: “And who is to bring about their end?” He pointed a finger randomly at men in the crowd. “You…you…and you! We are in the Right; we will have our vengeance; we will bring this war to an end. No longer will our women and children have to flee from these barbarians’ knives and clubs. We will liberate our people from this fear: the Uplanders’ blood will flow like rivers upon our ground…” He saw that they were about to cheer, and he held up a hand to stop them. “One day, when our people look back upon this battle, they will name our names and remember our sacrifice, for we are the warriors they will hark back to in legend. We will be called the champions of our people. With a righteous cause and Holy God on our side, we will be the victors this day!”
At first the cheers were disorganized, but from the infantry came an ordered rumble. In voices deep and fearful, they began a chant that was taken up by all of the men. Even as I chanted with them, and thrilled at the sound of the noise bouncing and reverberating around those walls, I imagined the effect that sound had on the Uplanders. The chant had a dark and mysterious sound…like rolling thunder. One word was repeated over and over:
A-kim-ba, A-kim-ba, A-kim-ba…
At least the weather had held. It was a splendid early autumn day. There was just a touch of gentle breeze rippling through the long grasses in the vast, open plain, and the air was cool and mild. Some fluff-filled clouds chased one another across the bright sky, and I could see more in the distance, but if we were to see rain, it would likely be much later in the afternoon. I wondered if the battle would be over by then; I prayed that I would be alive to feel the rain on my face once more.
I looked to Larkin on my right. She paid no heed to the weather. Her mind, energy, indeed, all her concentration seemed focused upon the verdant plain before us. She stared out at the mass of Upland warriors, and I watched as she swallowed convulsively and tried to control her breathing. I knew those signs; I’d experienced them myself, and though a veteran of battles I might be, the blood was pounding in my ears and my extremities felt numb. I feared Larkin might vomit…several men already had…but she made no sign that she was ill. She was pale, but steady.
“Don’t lock your knees,” I’d warned her. “We may be standing here for quite some time.”
We archers were among the last to exit the castle gates. We’d remained on the walls, to fire at any Upland warriors who might be foolhardy enough to launch an assault as our own soldiers exited the gates, crossed the bridge, and formed their lines. We’d stood at ready to keep our comrades safe; now it was our turn to file past those massive wood and iron gates. I saw more than one soldier look at those gates with longing. I kn
ew not whether they wished for their protection, or whether they might be hoping to enter therein once more before the day was through.
We had just over 600 men…and two women…to fight the invaders. Included in our number were 67 knights, approximately 210 archers, and 350 infantrymen. The troops were arrayed in one large body of men. Infantry lined up in the middle, with a contingent of 25 knights forming a wedge in their center. The archers were placed on both wings, with the rest of the knights divided on the archers’ flanks.
I regretted that Sir Hugh and Ioan were on the side opposite Larkin and myself, but I could see them well enough for the time being…though I expected the situation to change as soon as the fighting began. Akimba was with the knights in the middle group, and Rebeccah was on our flank.
My heart soared to see such a fine array of trained fighting men. The rabble across the field didn’t seem quite so formidable…even as we began a slow, orderly advance to meet them.
In a traditional battle between civilized men, a parley would have preceded the engagement. As a formality, delegates from both sides would meet and work out conditions and details.