The Shadow of a King (Shadowland Book 2) (28 page)

 Chapter 21 
Isca

Dawn brought another crisp, cold and beautiful morning, beautiful at least to any who could appreciate it after such a frigidly cold night. As the last of the darkness retreated, the stars were replaced with a sky, the rich blue of tribal woad paint. Snow still lay thickly and showed no signs of melting, but even the winter chill could not dispel how perfect the morning was as Uther walked from his pavilion in search of food to break his fast. He pulled the woollen shawl more tightly about his neck as a chill wind danced about him, sending small puffs of snow falling from the branches above.

'Greetings, King Uther,' - Sir Ector rose from where he had been crouching feeding wood to a crackling fire - 'a fine day for a battle.' He turned and pointed out towards the palisade walls of Isca. 'We've watched several deserters drop from the walls, quite amusing as they scuttle off into the forest. There must surely have been more of them during the night. I've sent some warriors in search of a couple so we can ask a few questions. I can only imagine that Duc Gerlois is also feeling the strain of us being here, he may be a little more open to speaking this morning when we approach.'

Uther smiled and sat down beside Sir Ector. 'Let us hope he has spent a night worrying and lying in remorse at his actions, I doubt it, but we shall surely see. It is my fervent wish that he throws open those gates, and we are welcomed so that we can discuss cooperation and the solidarity of our tribes, but firstly I wish to eat, so let him keep his gates closed a little longer.'

'The Duc is indisposed, King Uther. I am to ask you to await him while he attends to business within the town.' The speaker gazed down from the palisade above the gate and appeared genuinely sorry that he could not bring Duc Gerlois to speak to Uther. 'He said that you would come and that he would join with you as soon as he was able.' The man shrugged as if saying 'what can I do about it?' There were several warriors of the Dumnonii and Cornovii grouped there; Uther couldn't easily tell them apart, their tribal colours and armour very similar and their speech carrying the same heavy burble no matter who spoke, male or female.

Uther and Sir Ector had ridden to the gates of Isca after breaking their fasts and were accompanied by just a small group of mounted warriors. 'I have no arguments with the warriors of the Cornovii and Dumnonii tribes. We are all one, united under the name of Britons. Yet you know your chief and leader Gerlois is hiding from me, disrespecting me, his King. He cowers behind you as he throws his insults at me and leads you all to shame.' Uther's horse shook its head and danced to the side, its hot breath steaming in the cold morning air. He took a moment to pat its neck and whisper softly to calm it before continuing.

'The Dumnonii and Cornovii are valued members of the united tribes. We have fought the Saxons together and together we will fight them again. I am asking you to open the gates and let me ride into your fortress. The Duc does not deserve your loyalty; you may aid me in choosing a new leader for your tribes and together we will…'

'Together we will what, King Uther?' Duc Gerlois appeared next to his men and sneered down at Uther and Sir Ector. 'Allow us to bow and scrape to you while you lead us on more ridiculous quests, then turn tribe against tribe with the Druids' games and attempt to make off with our women. In Dumnonia, we are free men, as we were before the Romans, as we were under the Romans and as we will continue to be without your interference. Leave us and perhaps we will speak again once the winter thaws.'

'You condemn your men and women with your words and with your actions, Gerlois.' Uther sat straighter in his saddle and raised his voice so as many within earshot could hear his words. 'Hear me warriors and people of the Dumnonii and Cornovii. You are hereby instructed to hand over Gerlois, former Duc of those tribes to face judgement before me, his King. If you do not surrender the coward Gerlois, then we shall have no regress but to bring war to your fortress and take him. You have until midday to hand him over.' Without waiting for any reply, Uther wheeled his horse and rode back to his camp trailed by Sir Ector and his men.

Moments after Uther entered his own camp his drums began to beat the call for war, and the horns rose to send their long melancholy wail across the snow filled expanse between the two groups. It seemed to all the world as if blood was soon going to be shed.

The walls of Isca were not the mightiest of barriers, but the trouble that Uther had, he soon realised, was his lack of any war machine capable of bringing them down. They had all heard tales of the Roman siege machines, onagers – large travelling platforms with slingers capable of sending a number of rocks, each bigger than a man's head, into wooden gates and breaking them asunder. He knew that in the days before the Romans had occupied Britain then his ancestors had their own siege machines, but times and the art of war had changed, and now he had none. Uther's troops were quick, mobile groups that could raid, fight from horseback or from chariots, could stand side by side in a shield wall and scream into the face of their enemy while exchanging blows, which was a fine tactic against the Saxons who fought in much the same manner, but the gates and walls of Isca were a problem. Uther knew it and obviously, Gerlois knew it too.

'They give us the answer within the problem they present us.' Merlyn smiled as he gazed about the fire at the gathered Council of War, and then frowned as he was met with blank questioning looks. 'We are held back by the walls of Isca, and so, in turn, we should build our own wall around the town and close the fortress off from the world.'

'A worthy plan, Merlyn, yet I hadn't planned on this taking years,' broke in Uther. 'We need to humble the Duc and have his people deliver him to us as quickly as possible; there must be a quicker way.'

'We need to scale the wall, this is all,' muttered Sir Ector. 'Once we have men inside, then they will give us the Duc. I have fought with these warriors many times and each time it was under the banner of Pendragon; they have been loyal to you, Uther. These men and women have stood shoulder to shoulder in the shield wall facing the Saxons with us. We have laughed together, spilt blood together, cared for each other, these are good warriors. They must surely be feeling some confusion between their loyalty to you, and their loyalty to the Duc. They know by now of what transpired upon the quest to Erin. The Duc's hold over them must surely be weak. I feel that once we have men the other side of those walls, then they will begin to break and more and more will come across to join our ranks.' Sir Ector pointed to the walls behind them. 'I suggest we cut trees and branches and construct a hill against their wall, something our tribesmen can scale. Or ladders, big enough for many of our men and women to climb. We will set our archers to protect those climbing; we don't want them speared from the wall.'

'Another good plan,' said Uther. 'What I am hearing is that we need to give them time to turn from Gerlois and join us, and I agree. I don't want to kill our brothers and sisters. It's not their fault that the man who leads them is a self-obsessed fool. We require a plan to break the Duc, but not the Dumnonii or Cornovii; we will kill as few of their warriors as possible.'

'If the Duc were a warrior,' said Sir Ector, 'then it would be a simple task to call him out and challenge him to single combat.' He shook his head and spat into the fire, it hissed angrily, 'but our Duc will not be lured onto a battlefield, we have seen that already.'

Uther stood and looked from Sir Ector to Merlyn as he tightened the belt holding Excalibur. 'Cut the wood, lots of it. We will provide the Duc with a little entertainment and warm his feet at the same time. I want wood piled by the gate, make it as high as possible, and Merlyn…'

'Yes, Uther?' asked Merlyn warily. He looked up at Uther, his bushy white eyebrows raising in question.

'I will want a little of your Druid mystery sometime later. We will upset our Duc and perhaps provide the distraction that I need. I have always found that you're the master of upsetting and distracting people, Merlyn, so let us use that talent of yours to our advantage.'

The lone Briganti warrior dragged his spear against the snowy ground. He rode a dappled mount that flicked its head in annoyance at how slowly it was being forced to walk. They were keeping just outside the range of any arrows, along the line of the palisade. The warrior's head was turned to the side and wore an evil grin under his blue woad paint as he watched the Cornovii and Dumnonii warriors lining the wall, pushing past each other in their haste to match his progress. He was bare legged below leather riding shorts and a cloak and tunic decorated in the blue-green plaid of his Northern tribe. He hadn't been the first warrior to seek single combat that morning, two men had died, one from each side and a Dumnonii woman had been taken back within the fortress after her fight with a female warrior of the Trinovantes had not gone so well for her.

The Briganti stopped and turned towards the wall. 'Come, I tire of waiting. Who will face me? Who will join with me in the warrior's dance?' He raised a skin of ale and tipped it, so the liquid fell into his open mouth. Unfortunately, as he lifted the skin the horse danced beneath him, and he coughed, dropping the skin to the floor where it landed with a loud splat to spill the remains of its contents in the snow. Laughter and jeering rang out from the palisade as the Briganti tried to regain control of his horse, which he did remarkably quickly and then snatched up his spear and yelled even louder.

'
Cowards…
will nobody answer my challenge or will you keep cowering behind each other whispering and crying? Send me a challenger or surrender your fortress to me… I would like that.' The horse turned beneath him again, almost spilling him to the ground, but he held on, controlling it once more. He was clearly intoxicated, but then most of the warriors on both sides had been drinking some form of alcohol since the moment they had awoken to lend them strength and fire as tensions were raised.

The sound of wood grating against wood rumbled as the remains of the fire blackened gateway to the fortress was unbarred and then heaved slowly open, creaking in protest as it moved. A lone horseman emerged riding at a canter and the gates dragged closed behind him. His colours of deepest red and the dull yellow of a late summer flower reflected the Dumnonii tribe. Leather greaves were strapped to his legs and forearms, a plain conical helm with nose guard and cheek flaps protected his head, and at his left side, he clutched an oval shield. He rode well and with confidence, a roar of approval coming from those spectating from the palisade as their champion hefted his own spear in mocking salute of his Briganti opponent.

'I, Withel, of the Dumnonii answer your challenge. Prepare to enter the Shadowland.' He kicked his mount into action, and it jumped forward as he let out a cry,
'Hahhh!'

Some fifty paces away the Briganti did the same,
'Yahh, yahhh,'
lowering his spear as his horse powered forward, seemingly as eager as he to attack the foe, clouds of snow kicked up by its hooves. The watchers on the palisade screamed and cheered, driving their champion on while warriors emerged from Uther's camp to add their own encouragement, calling their support whilst jeering and taunting those within the security of the fortress.

The riders clashed amid an explosive confusion of snow and loosened bits of armour. Horses clamouring for footing, warriors swaying trying to keep their seats, a mental reckoning of damage as the shock of the moment seeped past, and the horses walked on. The Dumnonii had lost his shield and swayed upon his horse having almost fallen, whilst the Briganti was shrieking and cursing, trying to pull his pony round to face his opponent once more. Blood was streaming from a wound to his side, but he seemed not to have noticed as he raised his spear once more.

'Again you stupid goat, find your spear and face me again.'

'The Dumnonii rode back to retrieve his spear, leant down and scooped it up without dismounting or slowing, then held it above his head as more enthusiastic cheers echoed from the crowd on both sides. The riders wheeled their horses and rode at each other again.