by Whyte, Jack
The wind dropped away again, leaving me shouting at the top of my voice. Germanicus sidled nervously. I curbed, him tight and continued, moderating my tone. "And on top of all that, you're angry at the weather itself, determined not to let it beat you. You don't want to let it push you into a position that you might later see, in your own mind, as weakness."
As I finished speaking my brother turned towards me in mocking disbelief, his mouth hanging open in exaggerated awe. "There you go again," he said. "You and your foreknowledge! How could you possibly know that? How could you know what I was thinking?"
I laughed outright at him and punched him on his mailed arm. "Idiot! You know as well as I do I've been thinking exactly the same things. I'll wager most of the others have, too. Each one, if you ask him, will probably admit that he has been thinking, longingly, about his warm bed, wishing he had stayed in it this morning instead of dragging himself out here to face a long, cold, wet and windy journey when there's really no need for it."
At this point, protected as we yet were under the stable's roof, everyone and everything was still fairly dry, although tousled and wind-blown. Only Ludmilla and Shelagh were missing, remaining sheltered indoors until it was time to leave. The others, a surprising number, had chosen to escort the Lady Ludmilla and her husband to meet the Eirish galley that would ferry them from Ravenglass back to the coastline close to Camulod. Dedalus, Rufio, Donuil and Lucanus were there, all of them wrapped, like Ambrose and me, in the dense, heavy, horsemen's cloaks of woven and waxed wool that were made to uniform specifications for all troopers by our weavers in Camulod. Arguably the most valuable foul- weather garment any of us owned, these military cloaks were modelled on those worn for hundreds of years by Roman legionaries, but had been redesigned to cover a mounted man warmly and completely, with a heavily draped, ample back that flared out to spread capaciously over the back of a horse, keeping the saddle, and hence the rider's buttocks, dry and protected.
Longinus, Derek's captain of artillery, was also there, but he was out in the roadway, sheltering from the elements for the time being beneath the leather canopy of the wagon that would transport Ludmilla and her belongings. His task in the forest completed, he was returning home to his normal duties and his family today and would ride beneath the driver's canopy on the wagon bench with Lars, Ludmilla's driver for the day.
The remainder of the party consisted of Arthur and Bedwyr, who had been permitted to accompany Arthur's uncle and aunt to bid them farewell. All four boys had sought permission to make the journey, days earlier, but in the interim the brothers Gwin and Ghilleadh had both come down with some form of sniffly sickness that had them, as Donuil aptly described it, flowing from both ends. They would now remain behind, despite their pleas to the contrary. The foulness of the weather would have kept the other two behind as well, had not Lucanus decided they would be better off out in the storm than stuck at home with their wretchedly sick companions.
As I watched the boys, admiring the confidence with which they sat their ponies, swathed in cloaks like ours but made to fit their smaller size, I noticed Dedalus coming towards me. His head was muffled in the cowl of his cape and his helmet made a bulky shape at his waist where he had fastened it to his sword belt by the chin strap.
"Cay, I'm going to go and fetch some coils of heavy rope to take with us. I'll throw them in the back of the. wagon. There's ample room. And I think we should take an extra pair of horses along, too." He glanced up at the roof above out heads as though he could see the leaden sky beyond it. "I think we might need them. There will be trees blown down everywhere, and the open roadway might have acted like a tunnel since this storm broke, channelling the wind. The road could be blocked, in places. If it is, we'll need to clear a passage for the wagon."
I glanced at Ambrose. "Ded's right. It could be a nasty journey, but the decision is yours, Brother, and now's the time to make it. Do we go, or stay and wait for the storm to blow itself out?"
Ambrose sighed and drew his cowl further over his head. His helmet, like my own, hung from his saddle bow. My horse Germanicus lifted his tail and made dung, and the warm odour of the fresh droppings mingled with the smells of wet earth and straw and horse sweat all around us.
"We go. Everything is ready, even Ludmilla. I promised Connor we would be there today, waiting for him. Neither of us considered the weather at the time, but a promise is a promise. I'll fetch the women. Tell the others to be ready."
I nodded to Dedalus, who left immediately on his own errand, and then, alerting everyone else to be ready for departure, I pulled myself up into the saddle as Ambrose disappeared through the rain in the direction of the quarters he and Ludmilla had been sharing with Donuil and Shelagh. He returned moments later, accompanied by both Women, and a very short time later we were beyond the gates of the fort, filing downward through the gusting rain to where the road led steeply down towards the valley of the Esk and Ravenglass, twelve miles away.
Four times we had to stop between our starting point and Ravenglass, to clear the road of toppled trees or massive, fallen limbs before we could proceed farther. On each occasion the effort of harnessing the extra horses and dragging the dead weight of the shattered wood aside caused us to look at each other and wonder what we were about, subjecting ourselves to such unnecessary punishment on such a day. For some reason, however, attributed much later to some communal form of madness occasioned by the storm, the complaints and wonderings remained unspoken.
We encountered the first and worst of the blockages halfway down the steepest slope from the plateau, in a spot that lay exposed to the worst of the onrushing winds. No mere fallen tree barred our way there, waiting to be dragged aside by newly harnessed, yet-fresh horses. Instead, we found a tangled snarl of interlocked branches and massive boles covering the entire roadway, an insurmountable barrier that made a mockery of our determination and should have driven us back up the hill to safety and shelter in the fort. As we sat cursing the obstruction, however, watching Dedalus explore the tangle for signs of weakness and ways of tearing the mass apart into smaller, more manageable clusters, young Arthur went exploring away from the road and discovered a route by which he thought we might be able to bypass the snarl, at the cost of only a modicum of work in cutting down a number of saplings to permit our single wagon to pass.
I went back with him to look at what he had found and discovered that he was right. There was a passage of sorts, a narrow, twisting, open way between the bare rock of the hillside and the overgrown, artificial bank of broken stone created by the debris displaced by the Roman engineers who had first built the road. It was a short bypass, adequate to our purpose, but it was a narrow, dangerous and steep descent—more of a rocky chute than a passage—cluttered in places with stunted, gnarled and ancient trees that would have to be individually removed. I assessed it carefully, then sent Arthur to bring Dedalus to look.
More than two hours later, close to noon, we re- emerged on the road beneath the blockage, soaked through and chilled, despite our celebrated foul-weather cloaks. It had taken all of us to negotiate the narrow descent; even the two women were called upon to leave their shelter and add their weight to that of the men holding the ropes, trying to keep the wagon from breaking away and smashing itself on the rocks all around. We wasted no time in self- congratulation but remounted and continued on our way, nursing our individual miseries. Compared to that episode, the struggles with the three remaining deadfalls were barely worthy of note. Nevertheless, it was approaching dusk on a grey, lowering afternoon before we drew within sight of the fields flanking the last three miles of the eastern approach to Ravenglass, to see the last thing any of us had expected to see.
Arthur and Bedwyr brought the tidings, because they were ranging far ahead of us as usual. They came thundering back through the driving rain, their ponies' ears flattened against their skulls, the boys themselves standing erect in their stirrups and shouting, waving wildly to gain our attention.
"Men!
Raiders!"
My mind accepted and absorbed the information instantly, without pause for wonder or curiosity. I sank my spurs into Germanicus's flanks and I was aware, as the big black horse's muscles bunched and uncoiled beneath me, his shod hooves striking sparks from the cobbled road, that my brother and at least two of the others were close behind me. And then I was reining in, dragging Germanicus back, almost to his haunches, as I looked and sought to make sense of what I was seeing through the misty curtain of rain that hampered my vision. Ambrose was beside me now, Donuil, Dedalus and Rufio slightly ahead of me and to my right. Arthur and Bedwyr were behind me, keeping out of my line of sight, I knew, lest I should notice them and send them back to safety with the wagon.
In the distance, barely visible through the driving rain and further obscured from view by the mud that coated them, a score or so of men were making their way in a straggling line across the fields, travelling southward; from our right to our left. Even from where we watched we could see that all of them were too tired for running. Dedalus turned and shouted to me over the noise of the wind.
"They're Eirish, but what are they doing out here?"
Ambrose shouted back, asking the question that was in my mind. "How do you know they are from Eire?"
"Their shields. Donuil, am I right?"
Donuil nodded. "Aye, the shields are Eirish, but the men are not ours. I thought at first they might be Connor's people, since he's expected today, but they're not. They look like Condran's folk, from here. But where have they come from and why would they be coming from the north? There can't be any more than a boatload of them, so they wouldn't be thinking of attacking Ravenglass, even from the rear."
"They're a rabble, too. Let's ride them down."
"No, wait!" I raised my hand, to hold Dedalus back. "You're right, Ded, they do look less than threatening, but let's think for a moment, before we go charging down on them, because Donuil's right, too. Why would they be coming from the north and attacking, in the condition they're in? A mass landing in the north to circumvent the town's harbour walls might make some sense, and Condran might have a leader clever enough or desperate enough to try it, but that would field an army, not a mere boatload."
"It's the storm!" Rufio's head was nodding as he spoke.
"What?"
"The storm! They've been blown ashore, I'll wager, their galley wrecked."
"Damnation! Of course! And they're headed for Ravenglass because they think there's safety there. The town must be under attack from the remainder of their fleet, despite the storm." I stood in my stirrups and looked back to where our solitary wagon sat motionless, some fifty paces behind us.
"Arthur, Bedwyr, back with you to the wagon and make sure that Lars and Longinus keep it well back, away from danger for the sake of the women. Go, now!" As the boys left, unwillingly and showing great disgust, I turned back to the others. "We'll close with them, but keep to the road until we are between them and the town. Once there, we can turn and face them. If they hold the pattern they have now, strung out as they are, we'll be able to roll them up like a strip of parchment. Let's go!"
None of us was ever in the slightest danger. As I had suspected, the sight of five heavily armed and armoured men on massive horses dismayed the bedraggled strangers and extinguished whatever fire might have remained in their hearts. Even before we drew abreast with them, with half the width of the field between them and the road on which we galloped, they faltered and stopped their advance, bunching together as they gaped at us. The wind that had been buffeting all of us for hours stilled abruptly. When we reached the point closest to them I called for the others to halt and ordered them to don their helmets. The mere sight of us sitting there on horseback, facing them and taking the time to throw off our hoods and strap on our heavy helmets, caused them to begin moving backwards, although they faced us still. Rufio's horse reared and whinnied—an angry, impatient sound in the silence of the suddenly windless day.
"How should we do this?" Dedalus asked, his voice sounding preternaturally calm and quiet.
"Line abreast, and not too quickly. Take your speed from me. We'll give them time to absorb the sight of our advance, but bear in mind, all of you, the going will be heavy. Our horses will sink in the mud the moment we leave the road, so be prepared. We'll take the largest group first, those twelve on the right, then veer left and take the next largest and any foolish enough to stand between the two. That should do it. If they choose to fight, so be it. Should they run, however, let them go, don't chase them. I think we might be better occupied in getting to the town without loss of time."
I unhooked the heavy iron flail that hung by its handle from my saddle bow and slipped my hand through the leather loop to grasp the short, thick handle, flexing my wrist against the weight of the weapon and very much aware of the lethal iron ball dangling on the end of its short chain. I glanced along our little line: Rufio on the left, then Dedalus, Ambrose, myself and Donuil. Rufio and Donuil both held spears. I had my flail and Ded and Ambrose both held long cavalry swords. I kneed Germanicus forward, off the road, and as I did so, without any warning, the rain stopped and a glimmer of bright light pierced the cloud cover, so that the sudden cessation of hissing sound and movement gave the entire scene, for a fleeting, transitory moment, an appearance of bright, gleaming, silent unreality. Then we were moving again, the sound of our horses' iron-shod hooves loud on the cobbles of the road before they stepped off into the mud of the field.
The first group we approached, a huddle of twelve men, bunched together even more closely as they watched us coming. But then, when we had halved the distance separating us from them and just before I urged my horse into a canter, when I was beginning to think they might break and run, they split apart and began running awkwardly towards us in a pincer movement, weapons drawn, evidently intent upon surrounding us. As soon as they did so, others who had been watching made shift to join them. I sank my spurs into Germanicus, feeling him surge beneath me.
"They're going to fight! Keep moving, through them and back again. They won't last long."
Nor did they. Three of them died on first contact, two on the spears of my companions and one by my flail, picked up and cast away like a shattered doll, his metal breastplate crushed and ruined by the iron clang of my backhanded, over-arm blow. I had already chosen my next target, but as he saw me look at him and sway my horse towards him, he turned and fled, his feet skidding and sliding in the treacherous, thick mud beneath his feet. I caught up with him in moments, towering above him. I could see his panic in the way he ran, cowering and flinching, cringing from my anticipated blow. Much in me wished to spare his life, to let him go, but there was a clarion need, too, in my mind, to demonstrate that we were here apurpose and were to be reckoned with. Clemency now might—and almost certainly would— be construed as weakness. I swung, hard, whirling the ball high and pulling it over and down and around even harder, backhanded, so that it struck the running man between the shoulders, rising upward, driving the breath and life from him in an audible grunt, smashing his spine and lifting him off his feet to throw him forward, his arms outstretched, to fall sprawling in the mud.
Now I reined in Germanicus, seeing the fleeing Ersemen everywhere. My companions had already stopped and were all watching me. I wheeled my horse and moved back towards the road, and the others fell into place beside and behind me as I passed. All of us knew now what needed to be done; we had to ride to Ravenglass immediately and hope that we were not too late and not too few to help. I stood in my stirrups and waved to Lars in the distant wagon to come now and follow us, and then we were on the move again, all five of us filling the width of the roadway as we rode abreast.
Eyes moving constantly, alert to the danger of entrapment and lurking bowmen, we traversed the short length of forest-lined road between the first of the fields and the outermost edge of the town that had grown up beyond the walls of the harbour fort. At the town itself, we reined our horses to a stop. Nothing moved any
where, nor was there any sound to be heard except the clatter of one set of hooves from behind us, where Longinus appeared, riding Shelagh's mount, pale-faced and tense with the effort of clinging on to the moving animal. I had no need to ask why he was here; Ravenglass was his home, and his place was there, commanding its artillery. I took hold of his horse's bridle as he clattered up to us and stopped.
"the outer town's deserted." Rufio's voice was rough. "They've all gone inside the walls."
"Aye, but why? I can't see any reason, can you? There's no threat here, no enemy."
Longinus was looking around him as he spoke, as were we all, and it seemed he was right. We were the only people in the outer town. We moved forward, alert for any sign of danger, and as we approached the walls of the fort itself," the missing sounds of the town began to make themselves heard from the safety of the other side. Then I saw movement above and realized that, for the first time since our arrival the previous year, the eastern walls of Ravenglass were manned. The guards were alert, too, but there seemed to be little urgency in their demeanour. They had recognized Longinus immediately, and the outer gates swung open to admit us. Longinus dismounted at once, nodding to me as he handed me the reins of his horse, then made his way swiftly and directly, I had no doubt, to the distant western wall and his beloved catapults.
Relieved that there seemed to be no immediate danger, Ambrose left at once to return and escort Ludmilla, who would, he knew, be concerned about what had been happening, and Donuil accompanied him to rejoin Shelagh for the same reasons. The rest of us, Dedalus, Rufio and I, entered the fort together and went looking for Derek, our ears and minds filled with overheard snatches of conversation and conjectures describing the storm, wrecked galleys and drowned men.
We found Derek up on the western wall overlooking the harbour, and as I mounted the stairs I saw Longinus standing with him, bent forward as he peered down from the battlements. I was surprised to see that there were relatively few defenders up there, but before I could say anything Derek nodded to us and pointed with his thumb in the direction of the wharf beyond the wall.