Fire & Steel (4 page)

The moon was climbing higher as the night wore on, its silver glow slanting down to light the waters of the Afen as the column trudged warily along its eastern bank. The river divided to either side of a large island, and the burnt out remains of a small settlement there told of the conflict which was ongoing as the rival tribes wrestled for control of the area. The valley sides steepened as they moved steadily inland, and the wild wood which capped the pass closed in on them a little more with every mile trod. Soon the road was hard pressed by trees on the eastern side and the meandering waters of the river to the West. Although the roadway itself was wide and well constructed, a sombre air of abandonment hung over the vale and the warriors, Briton and Engle alike, gripped their weapons a little tighter as they searched the gloom for any sign of opposition.

As the first grey light lit the eastern sky and the moon paled above them, the men watched as a herd of deer emerged from the tree line on the far side of the vale. Led by a large hart, the heavy fronds of its antlers spearing the air as it rolled its neck and snorted defiance, the females watched impassively as the armed group ghosted through their domain. A light mist had risen to fill the hollows with a milky wisp, tendrils snaking down to the river as the light began to chase the shadows away.

Suddenly the hart snapped its head to the North, and the hinds which had grouped in his wake skittered nervously. Eofer shared a look of concern with Thrush Hemming who marched at his side, and soon their fears were confirmed as the shadowy figure of a British scout came rushing back along the road towards the column. Within moments the man was reporting to the British magister, and they watched as Cynric left his father's side and trotted back along the column towards them, concern writ large on his features. As the Belgic warriors instinctively began to check their equipment and grip their shields a little tighter, Cynric reached the English eorle.

“You had better come up, Eofer,” he panted. “There is an army blocking our path.”

THREE

Eofer strode purposefully forward as the men of his troop rechecked buckles and fastenings. Untying the peace bands from his own sword, Blood-Worm, he greeted Cerdic with a smile. “We have company, I understand. What do we know?”

The British leader was nodding earnestly as the scout completed his report on the armed force which had appeared ahead, and Eofer felt a kick of optimism as he watched a smile spread slowly across Cerdic's face. Finally he clapped the man on the shoulder and turned to the eorle.

“It's a small force, most likely the men from the fort at Clausentum. Here,” he said, smoothing a patch of earth with his foot, “this is what I believe the situation to be.”

Eofer watched as Cerdic hastily sketched out a map of the area with the point of his spear.

“This is the valley of the Afen and we are here.” He stabbed out to left and right of the line in the soil. “These are the two great woodlands which border it and here is where we left your ships at the coast. This bay,” he stretched across and outlined a great oval, “leads up from the Soluente almost as far as the capitol at Venta, and Clausentum at the head of the bay guards the mouth of the River Icene and the roadway which lead directly to it. There is another good road which skirts the woodland and leads directly to the ford up ahead where they have set up their line of defence.” He looked up and flashed a smile. “It is known locally as Cerdicsford, after the victor in a battle which was fought there a decade or so ago. It's my guess that our Jutish friends from last night reported our presence to their masters at the fort, and they in turn realised that your ships very likely carried myself and Cynric.” He raised a brow in question. “What would you have done in their place?”

Eofer replied straight away. “Send word to the main army at Venta and then rush across and try to delay you here until they come up and finish you off.”

Cerdic nodded. “It's the obvious thing to do, the only thing really,” he agreed. “I can't fault their bravery. Their cause may be misguided but they have my respect.”

Eofer interrupted. “If you know this fort, you should know how many men usually garrison it.”

“Cedwyn just confirmed that we are facing a hundred or so, that would be the full compliment, so with my two hundred, plus the hundred and...” Cerdic let the sentence hang in the air and wrinkled his brow.

“One hundred and twenty-five, without the four left at the ships,” Eofer answered.

“So we have the advantage in numbers and quality. But,” Cerdic added with a grimace, “it is an excellent defensive position. I should know,” he snorted, “I defended it in the previous battle. There is a pinch point there where the woods come almost down to the river. It can't be outflanked from the West because a smaller river joins the Afen there so you would need to cross the Afen, this other river, the Nootr, and then recross the Afen to get to grips with the enemy.” Cerdic shook his head. “Even if we attempted it, it would take time, and time is something we don't have. There could be a thousand warriors riding here as we speak, only God knows how close they are. We must punch through these men blocking our path or we shall be overwhelmed.”

Eofer sucked at his teeth as he thought. Suddenly an idea came to him. “There are a hundred men blocking our route ahead, and these men came from the fort at Clausentum.”

Cerdic nodded.

Eofer raised an eyebrow as he asked a question. “Tell me again how these men got here so quickly.”

The British leader looked uncomprehending for a moment before a smile lit up his face. “Do it for me,” he said excitedly. “Quickly!”

Eofer crouched in the shadows and ran his eyes across the scene before him. Hemming stood at his shoulder as the pair noted the number and position of the guards. The sweet smell of horse came to them as the animals grazed contentedly on the lush summer grasses which grew at the roadside, despite the noise of fighting which carried up from the vale beyond the tree line. The woodland bowed to the North there and the road fell away before it turned the corner and was lost from sight. The lads of Eofer's youth were fighting there alongside the other English crews and Cerdic's Britons, and he sent a plea to the gods to watch over them until he could enter the fray.

Hemming turned his head and murmured to the eorle. “I can't see any more than those four, lord.”

Eofer gave a small nod of agreement. “No, neither can I Thrush. Let's get on with it.”

He estimated that the four young Britons who had been left to tend the horses were about ten or eleven winters. Their boyish excitement as they peered in the direction of the fighting, clearly told the experienced English warriors that here were four lads who had yet to endure the special terror which accompanied the push of shields as armies came together. A terror which could twist the guts and liquefy the innards as ably as any spear thrust. He would let them live if he could.

He drew his sword with a flourish and glanced at the men of his duguth. “Fierce faces lads. Let them go unless they resist. They can do us little harm.”

Eofer stalked from cover and glowered beneath the boar brow rim of his helm as he led the four warriors towards the backs of the gesticulating boys. Caught up in their excitement, the Britons were unaware of the danger until Eofer bellowed out as he closed on the group.

“Go!”

The boys spun around and Eofer almost laughed as he saw the excited smiles drain from their faces as their jaws gaped and a look of horror came over them. The larger of the boys was the first to recover and he began to lower his spear. The other boys looked to him, and Eofer knew that he had found the leader of the group. The delay had allowed him to close, and he brought Blood-Worm across with a contemptuous sweep. As the spear shaft was sent spinning from the boy's hands he reversed the blade and struck him on the side of his head with the flat of the blade.

“This is your last chance boy, go now.”

Despite the unlikelihood that any of the lads spoke Eofer's tongue, the instruction should have been obvious enough to even the dimmest of them. He jerked his head to the east to make it as clear as he could and barked out again.

“RUN!”

The spell which had held them in place finally broke and the Britons dropped their weapons and fled. Imma and Octa had already moved across to cut the ropes which the riders had used to hobble their mounts before they left for the valley, and Eofer and Hemming sheathed their swords and drew their own knives as they moved across to help.

Hemming looked across to the East and shook his head. “Should have killed them lord, when we had the chance.”

Eofer looked and saw that the Britons had run as far as the crest of the nearest rise and he frowned. If more riders arrived from that direction they would be well placed to help them with directions and the latest news.

“It's too late now. Anyway,” he spat, “we will be long gone by the time that their main army arrives.”

The horses were ready, and they chose the largest animals with the finest saddles and most ornate bridles, knowing from experience that these would belong to the most important warriors among the British force. Like their owners, these horses too would be the pick of the herds and the other animals would instinctively follow their lead.

Eofer and Hemming guided their mounts towards the sound of fighting as Imma led Osbeorn and Octa to the rear of the herd. Eofer twisted in the saddle as he checked that the three were in position and, as Imma raised his arm to signal that they were set, the thegn dug in his heels and whooped for joy. The great war horse bounded forward, and within a heartbeat the roadway reverberated to the thunder of hooves as the herd gathered speed and dipped towards the valley floor.

Eofer tugged at his reins as the power of his own great mount threatened to outpace the following horses and he reached across himself to draw Blood-Worm with a flourish. He sensed Thrush Hemming draw level on his own war horse, and Eofer risked a look as they rounded the wooded outlier and the valley floor came into view. His duguth was crouched low over the neck of his mount, his own sword swinging in wide arcs above him as the horse put back its ears and charged on. Clear of the trees, the roadway curved to the left and then straightened as it hugged the tree line and swept down to the crossing place, half a mile ahead.

The sun had fully cleared the hills to the East, the slanting light driving a great shadow before them like an angry cloud. Eofer glanced up as the harsh note of a war horn cut the air, watching as a gap opened up between the rival forces as Cerdic's men withdrew to safety. A moment later the first of the enemy warriors became aware of the headlong charge which was bearing down upon their flank.

Faces turned their way, and he was taken aback as the nearest members of the enemy formation stabbed the air in triumph, mouths voicing silent cries of joy, beckoning the wall of death onward. With a jolt, Eofer realised that the hard-pressed men from Clausentum must be thinking that the mounted column which had burst from the eastern woodland were their saviours, the warriors which would be hastening to their aid from the garrison at Venta Belgarum. With Cerdic's men apparently withdrawing in disarray before them, the men were intent on celebrating their heroic stand against the odds and anticipating the reunion to come as the pretender and his force was ridden into the dust.

Unable to believe his good fortune Eofer spurred his mount on, desperate to reach the disordered ranks before they realised their mistake. As the road straightened out and dipped down to the crossing, the first signs of alarm could be seen ahead as men began to notice that this relieving force carried very few riders. The first spear points were pointed in their direction as men finally woke up to the danger bearing down upon them, and men hastily scrambled to swing their battle line around to face the new threat.

It would be too late, Eofer knew, as the road bottomed out and his horse began to charge across the flood plain. A heartbeat later he was among them and he brought Blood-Worm crashing down onto the helmeted head of the nearest Briton. A crimson arc misted the air as the blade bit through metal, bone and brain, and Eofer was already bringing the weapon back across, hacking down to the opposite flank as the horse forced its way deeper into the enemy ranks. A mighty crash to his rear told the eorle that the riderless horses had acted as he had hoped, blindly following the big stallion which was carrying him on, further in to the mayhem, and a flicker of silver to his right told him that Hemming had forced his way to his side.

A spear point glanced from his mail shirt and Eofer instinctively twisted his torso to send the leaf-shaped blade sliding harmlessly across the face of his chest. He glared down at the man who had made the thrust and watched him take a pace backwards as he hacked down to shatter the shaft. Eofer drew back his arm, readying the sword thrust which was to follow, but his intended victim disappeared in a flash as the rampaging horses created chaos among the British warriors and he was swept away. The horses swirled around him, the dun coloured sea driving the enemy before them in an irresistible tide to fetch them up against the riverbank like bloody wrack. Lifting his gaze, Eofer could see that men there were already starting to abandon their weapons, leaping into the waters of the Afen in a desperate attempt to survive the slaughter.

Their work was done, and Eofer exchanged a look of joy with his weorthman as the herd milled about them.

Hemming laughed. “That worked well!”

Eofer shot him a triumphant grin. “Did you blood your sword, Thrush?”

The duguth held up his reddened blade with a look of delight, and his eorle smiled and nodded at the sight.

From their left, the warriors of Cerdic and Cynric were streaming back across the meadow as they fell on what remained of their enemy with relish, hacking into the flank of the panicked warriors as they attempted to regroup with their backs to the Afen. A quick reckoning told Eofer that about a third of the men who had rushed across from Clausentum in the night to block their path had fallen in their attack, a few to the swords of Hemming and Eofer himself, but most beneath the hooves of the stampeding horses. Many of the dead lay broken by the impact of the charging animals, the arms and legs which lay in grotesque patterns about them telling the tale of the shattered bones within. One warrior lay on his back his face a bloody cup, no doubt Eofer mused the result of a stamp from one of the hooves of the war horses which had carried him here. A momentary image of a goblet of red wine came into his mind and he turned away and forced his mind to other things.

A voice cried his name from the tangle of bodies which lay scattered about the floodplain, and Eofer looked across to see that Osbeorn and Imma Gold were frantically beckoning him across. As a stab of apprehension flared within him, he exchanged a look with Hemming and hurried over. The body of a horse lay on its side, the left foot of its rider still held fast in its stirrup, and Eofer realised immediately that it could only belong to Octa. Hopping across the scattered dead, he rounded the rump of the horse as Osbeorn and Imma heaved against the back of the animal. To his relief Octa was still alive and conscious, and his duguth forced an ironic grin as his lord came up. “I picked the wrong horse, lord,” he gasped through bloodied teeth, “the stirrups were made for a dwarf. I tried to jump clear but my foot was jammed tight” Hemming was already using his knife to hack away at the earth beneath his friend's trapped leg and Eofer saw that they would soon have him free. Glancing across to ensure that no enemies were close by he saw for the first time the shaft of a heavy spear protruding from the horse's chest. Little remained to be seen of the stout weapon and Eofer was in little doubt that the force of the onrushing horse had driven it deep, dividing its great heart, killing it instantly.

Hemming scooped out the last of the soil and scampered around to grip Octa by the shoulder.

“Ready? After three!”

Octa's eyes went wide and he grunted with pain as Osbeorn and Imma put their shoulders to the horse and Hemming pulled their friend free.