by Peter Rhodan
The man arriving in front of Dileen, took two big breaths and said “Scotti!”.
Dileen suddenly came alert. “Where and how many?”
The man was still sucking in air, sweat running down his rather red face. “Maybe three hundred, perhaps a bit less.” He panted. “They be half a days’ march south. Moving up the coast smashing everything.” He stopped, leaning forward his hands on his knees taking big grasping breaths. Farmers might work hard all day but there was a difference between manual labour and running a marathon and the fellow was obviously done in by his run.
Dileen clapped him on the shoulder. “Good work Mabwen. Go get a drink and rest.” He turned to Arturo and cocked his head sideways as if trying to discern Arturo's thoughts. “You will fight with us?” He asked simply.
Arturo nodded and turned to his men. “Valerius, Oween, Radovas.” He called waving his arm to indicate they should come to him.
Dileen turned to his own force. “Con.” He called and his man came forward to join the impromptu staff meeting forming in the middle of the space between the two forces.
Arturo’s men being mounted did not take long to arrive, Valerius, dismounting with a smile said “You two didn’t waste any time.”
“Hah. We were interrupted before we could sort out our differences by another problem. Nothing like a few Scotti to make everyone friends.” Dileen commented.
Arturo nodded adding “Something like three hundred are a half a day’s march to the south of here.”
“Ah, good.” Said Radovas, the big man grinning as everyone turned to him questioningly. “Much better to try out our new weapons against them than our neighbours.” He said by way of explanation , nodding at Dileen.
Arturo laughed, clapping on his shoulder. “Damn straight.” He paused and saw everyone was looking to him. Good he thought to himself, he already had the leadership, even of those he was about to fight. “First thing is intelligence. Valerius organise some scouts please so we have a better idea of numbers and where they are and if they are just raiding or marching north with purpose.”
The Ruman nodded, remounted and headed back to his cavalry force. “Dileen. Is this all the men you can raise?”
Dileen shook his head. “These are the ones with decent equipment and some training from the immediate area. I can call out a total levy but mostly that will be just boys and old men with a few farmers who lack proper gear in amongst them.”
“That will have to do. I am thinking that we need a suitable battlefield and something to cover our flanks given we are outnumbered. Call out your levy and we will move south towards the Scotti.”
Dileen looked a little surprised at this combination of ready acceptance of responsibility to defend Wern and the authoritarian way Arturo had immediately taken charge of the defence. He went to resist but looking at the disciplined, well equipped troops Arturo led he hesitated for a moment and then nodded. He went back to his men seemingly happy to have someone else making the decisions. “Radovas, we will get our men underway. Oween you are with me.” He turned to the other man from Wern. “You are?”
“Con Llewellius.” He answered. Con was nearly as tall as Arturo, in his late twenties or early thirties Arturo surmised although he was still having trouble guessing local ages. He was equipped in scale armour rather like the stuff Arturo had his own men protected by, a Rufanig helmet with a red horsehair plume and leather dangling things hanging down from his waist, something a lot of the Rufanig soldiers seemed to like wearing. He supposed it offered some protection to their groins.
“Greetings.” Arturo said and held out his arm and they clasped forearms. “We will give these Scotti a surprise I think. They have come expecting to roll over you like what happened at Alauna but they will find things are not quite as easy as they imagined.” He smiled.
“I hope you’re right.” Con said not looking as confident as Oween did. In fact Oween had a huge smile on his face although Arturo was not sure why.
Arturo’s companion clapped the fellow on the shoulder. “Don’t worry Con. You haven’t seen our men in action yet. The Scotti are not exactly the heaviest armed troops around. Our men will shoot them down in droves. See if we don’t.”
Arturo smiled. “Well it may not be quite as easy as that but in essence Oween is right. Or at least that is the theory. No battle plan survives contact with the enemy of course.” He grinned at Con.
Con smiled in return. “I have never heard that phrase before but it is all too true.” He shook his head and turned back to the Wern forces. Dileen appeared to have finished organising word to go out and waved his hand to Con. “It appears Dileen is ready to march. Shall we?”
Arturo turned to Radovas. “Have our men follow the men of Wern please Radovas.”
Radovas clapped is arm against his chest and returned to the miniature army. Arturo remounted his horse, followed by Oween. He signalled to Valerius and the remainder of the small cavalry force rode up. “My men will follow yours Con. Valerius, we will ride ahead and look for a good battle spot.”
Valerius nodded. “Good idea Primarius.” And Arturo smiled at the way Valerius was reinforcing Arturo’s authority here in the field with others around. In private he had been critical of the plan to march down here believing their small force was inadequate and that diplomacy should be continued for a bit longer. No matter. It looked to have been the right thing to do for not the right reason. Arturo led them south, splashing across the stream, which everyone insisted on calling a river, at an obvious low point that was clearly used regularly as a ford from the flattened ground on each side.
About a kilometre beyond the stream there was a fold in the land running roughly east west. There was a small stream that cut through the centre of the higher ground and wandered away south westward till it reached the coast about six or seven hundred meters further south. Arturo reined his party in at the top of the small rise and considered the situation. On the right the small rise continued right to the sea, with some small cliffs at the water’s edge upon which a lazy almost grey looking sea sent smallish waves to crash against the shore in a desultory manner. The waves were so small you could hardly hear them even this close to the shore. In front of them the gradual slope away to the south was broken by outcrops of rock and small bushes but had obviously been cleared at some point and from the occasional cow pat in evidence it seemed some local ran cows on it occasionally.
Directly in front of them to the east of the stream the ground was open farmland gently rising to the crest of the fold which was a little higher this side of the stream. On his left was a patch of woods and scrub in patch of rocky ground that had obviously not been farmed. Beyond that the ground rose and there was a fairly heavy looking wood stretching away inland towards the mountains looming hazily in the distance. The usual grey skies leant a sombre aspect to the whole scene making the sea look dull and cold, the green of the grass and shrubs lacked vibrancy and the mountains appeared to glower down at them.
“We fight here.” He announced turning to his men. “Dileen and his force over there.” He indicated the area to the seaward of the stream. “We will form up here along the crest and the farm levies such as they are can hold our flank in that scrub.” He pointed to the left.
“Pretty large front for our small force.” Valerius said.
“Yes I know. But these men are barbarians are they not? And fairly lightly armed from what I have been told. If we set up here in the centre they will almost certainly assault us I think. Do you agree Oween?”
“Oh aye. Them Scotti are not too bright. They see us standing on the ridge here they will come straight up at us a whooping and hollering without any question.”
Arturo looked at Valerius and waved an arm behind them. “We will keep our cavalry below the ridge line out of sight. That way we can use it on either flank of our infantry if looks like they will flow around. You agree?”
Valerius looked around the proposed battlefield again then nodded. “Yes. Sounds l
ike a workable plan with the force we have. I have not fought Scotti but if they are like the tribes up north they will be hard chargers but flighty. Give them a scare and they will probably run.”
An hour later the three cavalry scouts Valerius had sent out, one being his son Julianus, returned with the news the Scotti were maybe half an hour behind them. No sooner had he reported than a column of smoke could be seen rising in the distance where some poor farmer’s house had be set on fire by the invaders. There was an almost continuous trickle of refugees now, fleeing ahead of the invaders along the old, overgrown, Ruman road that ran through the middle of Arturo’s line heading south. Dileen and his trained villagers took up a position on the right while the untrained volunteers were assembled under Con Llewellius in the scrubby wood off to the left.
Arturo had his men sitting down on the forward slope of the small rise so as to keep them rested. It would both give the Scotti a target but at the same time not be a particularly threatening one. Eventually the Scotti appeared, marching up the road in a disorganised mass. In the distance behind them there were now several columns of smoke as farms were burnt. The whole mass stopped maybe a kilometre away and several better dressed individuals moved out in front apparently conversing about the forces arrayed against them.
Eventually after much arm waving some sort of consensus was reached and the force split up. Approximately a hundred or more moved against Dileen and his armed villagers, clearly the most dangerous force, at least that is how it would have appeared to the Scotti. A second force of maybe a hundred moved against Arturo while a third force of maybe forty or fifty moved against the wooded area on the left. This force looked to be the weakest armed and once closer was seen to be mostly younger warriors carrying little more than a spear and knife with only a few small hide covered shields scattered amongst them.
The two larger forces were better equipped, most having round if flimsy looking shields and spears of a similar length to those carried by Arturo's men. The force in front of Arturo’s position came forward slowly till about six hundred metres away then began a jog. At this point Radovas stood up. “Up and ready!” He bellowed and the small army stood, their spears already embedded in the ground in front of where they had been sitting, still with their shields leaning against them so they were both easily available but for the moment leaving their hands free to work their crossbows. Radovas and Meries had been surprised when Arturo had said he wanted their shields to be made with a flat edge at the bottom but they quickly seen the point to the idea once it was explained why.
The mass of Scotti to their front came bounding forward yelling and screaming. As they neared the tree that marked the five hundred pace range which Meries and Radovas had measured out earlier, Radovas’s stentorian voice bellowed out. ”Prepare to fire!”
The men brought their loaded crossbows up in readiness. As the Scotti passed the tree he bellowed again. ”Front rank Fire!” Then moments later after the fifteen arrows had shot out. “Reload. Second rank prepare to fire.” Two or three men in the Scotti ranks went down and several more fell over them. He finished the count to ten. “Second rank fire! Reload.” Another wait. Fifteen arrows slammed into Scotti ranks taking down four or five more men and causing a little more confusion.
“Front rank prepare to fire.” Came the command. “Fire! Reload.” And another volley shot out. And then another and another. By the time the closest Scotti were only fifty paces away their cohesion was broken completely. Maybe a quarter were down and many more were straggling behind having been delayed by fallen comrades, either tripping over them or trying to help them back up and into the charge. Another volley crashed into the leaders, taking down nine or ten men. Then another ten or so went down to the next volley, yet they still came on although now there were none left from the original front line of the enemy.
Their ranks were thinning drastically as the range closed and the Arturo’s soldiers accuracy was going up. The effect was telling. The next volley took out another ten or so of the charging men and the remnants of the original mass were down to a bare twenty or so, all rather disorganised, with the remainder strung out behind. Many of those following were wounded some extent while others had given up and were nursing their wounds. The leading Scotti threw javelins at twenty paces and then before they could close the next volley took down all those closest to the Republican line. One of Arturo's men reeled out of line with a javelin in his thigh but miraculously that seemed to be the only casualty. The whole impetus of the attack was gone and whilst more of the Scotti were merely injured rather than dead, there was no mass or even a solid body of men in one group any more. Their leaders were down, the crossbowmen having concentrated on anybody who looked like a leader and all cohesion was lost. Maybe fifty Scotti were still on their feet but they were a ragged mob rather than a serious force. Arturo watching decided the fight had gone out of them and signalled to the hornist standing with the drummers and instantly his horn blared out behind the Republican line.
“Fire, reload.” Came the monotonous command. Then it changed. “Second rank will advance three paces.”
The men moved forward past their brethren in the front rank. “Prepare to fire. Fire. Reload." Came the commands. “First rank will advance three paces.” And so it went. The ever decreasing numbers of healthy Scotti kept trying to close for three or four more volleys but finally the thirty or forty survivors, most having some injury or other, broke and fled.
On the left, the villagers, having seen the damage wrought by the Republican troops came charging out of the woods and the Scotti in front of them who had only been cautiously advancing turned and ran too, not waiting to try their luck with the armed levies.
Valerius turned to Arturo as the Republican line began its advance. “I didn’t really believe the crossbows would be that effective.”
Arturo turned to him and smiled. “Neither did I.” He laughed. Then he sobered. “If they’d had armour or more discipline it would have been different.”
Oween piped up. “I think you’ve the right of it there sir. But even so they would have been sorely damaged by the time they closed, even if they’d all had mail.”
Arturo waved a hand in acknowledgement then glanced around the battlefield. “Right, time to move.” He commented and rode forward. “Cennard Radovas. Take the first and second squads and pursue that rabble please.” He said waving at the fleeing Scotti. “Take prisoner of those that will surrender. Cease at nightfall. We will follow them up tomorrow.”
“Aye sir.” He nodded and gave the orders to the squads to secure bows and retrieve their shields and spears, making ready to advance.
“Decius Halan!” He bellowed and the young warrior stepped out the ranks of the third squad. “Secure the battlefield. Take as many prisoners as you can. Strip the dead and make an account of the loot. You understand?”
“Yes sir.” The man responded and turning back to his force he started them heading out behind the other two squads who were now advancing purposely after the fleeing enemy. One of the rules Arturo had laid down early on was that any loot was to be collected and then shared equally. The Government getting one third, the officers one third and the men the remainder.
“Valerius, I think we need to let them know they’ve lost.” Arturo smiled at the cavalry man whilst waving at the still active mass of Scotti facing the armed villagers from Wern.
“What did you have in mind?” Valerius responded trying for the same light hearted tone Arturo had spoken in.
Arturo looked over at where the Scotti and the men of Wern were locked in a line of combat. “I feel if we make a lot of noise and come charging in on their flank they should probably run for it. Or am I being too optimistic?”
Valerius looked at the fight going on. The Wern men were being slowly pushed back by the superior numbers but they were holding up well even so. They were favoured by the rougher ground and the fact they were uphill of their opponents, even though the slope was not that steep. Most
of them had large Rufanig shields which formed a good defensive wall against the Scotti onslaught. So far casualties on both sides over there appeared to have been light, which was usually the case in primitive battles like this Arturo had read. The real casualties came when one side fled.
“They haven’t realised they’ve lost yet, have they. A charge from behind their flank should change that. Could take a few blows but I don’t see them standing when the rest have all buggered off.”
“Good. Let us advance then.” He said waving his sword in a forward motion, Oween and Valerius took up position on either side and the other horsemen spread our beyond them,
“Julianus, sound the horn.” Valerius said loudly and his son sounded his horn. The line of cavalry broke into a trot. “And again my son.” Valerius commanded and as the horn blared again they urged their horses into a canter. The pennons on the spears began to stream out behind them as the pace picked up. Arturo found that his lack of horsemanship began to tell almost immediately the speed increased beyond a slow canter. Instead of boldly riding forth like the others he found he himself having to hang on for grim death as they rode over the rough ground at increasing speed. He glanced round but everyone was intent on the enemy to their front. Already he could see men looking around from the milling combat across the creek. As the cavalry splashed across the creek barely slowed by the shallow water and then with the horsemen bearing down on them the Scotti nearest began to fall away.
“Time Julianus.” Valerius yelled and the lad blew the horn again in a longer blast. The cavalry lowered their spears and urged their mounts to the gallop. "Keep blowing my Son" he yelled grinning gloriously as he charged down on the Scotti. Arturo found it was all he could do to keep in the saddle with the wild motion of his careening horse. By some miracle he managed to hang onto his spear as the galloping line thundered forward.
