Chapter Nine
Ambush
It happened in a field between two woods. The corridor of open land was perhaps two hundred yards long and fifty yards wide; we had chosen it to avoid the Welsh village to the north. Wallace, with most of the Wicstun lads and Sigmund were in the lead, followed by those from Newbold, Sancton and Compton, whilst the men of the Villa brought up the rear. The whole company was tired, having slept poorly in the damp wood the night before and perhaps this had made us careless, so as a result, we were strung out in a loose, dawdling line, a hundred yards long.
We were almost half way across the field when, without warning, there was a guttural cry from the northern wood. The shout was taken up by a hundred voices and then two score men charged out from the trees to our north, blocking our path. We all stopped, startled by the suddenness of it but before we could respond, another forty Welsh warriors ran out behind us this time from the other wood − the trees to the south − preventing any thoughts of retreat. Finally, a further dozen emerged on each flank and lined the edge of the wood. These, being armed with bows and without giving us a chance to react, sent a volley of arrows spitting towards us. Most of these, mercifully, missed us although one unlucky man from Wicstun fell dead with three arrows sticking out of his chest.
“Men of Wicstun to me,” Wallace shouted, drawing his sword. We all moved in that direction, but the Welsh closing in from either side and pelting us with arrows, divided the company in two.
Grettir looked grimly at the Welsh and then at me, expecting me to take command. Father’s parting words came back and I heard him speaking.
“Lead them and they will follow ...”
I drew my sword and then thrust my spear up in the air, like a standard.
“Men of the Villa ... from Compton: to me!” I yelled. For a moment no one did anything and they still milled around confused and bewildered, like so many frightened sheep, so I yelled again.
“Come on, you bastards, to me!”
Eduard and Cuthbert reacted at that and moved to my side and Grettir followed. Cuthbert quickly strung his bow and reached for an arrow. Eduard braced his shield and spear and prepared himself for the fight. The other men took a moment or two to move, but another bellowed order finally brought them close.
Glancing towards Wallace, I saw he had his men ringed round him and I decided to copy the idea.
“Form a ring,” I yelled. They looked doubtful, as this was not a formation we had practised, yet they could see the danger coming from both in front and behind us. Soon, we had almost forty men in a ring, twenty in the front rank and twenty behind them.
The enemy were close now − only two dozen yards away. So, I thought to myself, here at last in this field is where I would first command men in battle. I prepared myself for the blow to come, unstrapped my shield and put away my sword. Then, I readied my spear, all the time praying to the gods that today would not be my last fight.
“Spears over shields!” I bellowed and the men obeyed, forty spears now pointing out at the enemy, who in just a few moments would be upon us.
Yet, the clash did not come. The enemy, having hemmed us in two rings, halted and surrounded us. Their archers moved up and threatened us with arrow fire, but did not attack. A broad-shouldered chieftain came forward out of the enemy ranks and inspected first my men and then those round Wallace.
“Saxons,” he shouted in strongly accented English, “I am Peredur, chieftain of these lands. Your presence here, armed and secretive, is illegal. My Prince will want to see you and know what you are doing here. We have you outnumbered and surrounded. Surrender and you will not be harmed. If you fight, many of you and many of us will die today. We will take you to Prince Samlen.”
I figured the odds and sighed. Peredur was right. We were tired, damp and hungry. I was stiff from sleeping last night in that copse. Eduard was clearly suffering from his wound and Cuthbert had only a few arrows and there were not many other bowmen in our ranks. Few of us had fought a battle before and if we fought one today, it was obvious that most of us would die. As much as I hated the idea, if we surrendered we might survive.
Wallace glanced over towards me and then at the Welsh surrounding us. Sigmund and he spoke for a moment then Wallace nodded his head and dropped his sword and his shield. A moment later, with a great clattering noise, the rest of us threw our weapons to the ground. The Welsh came forward and collected them and as one of them picked up my new sword, I felt an ache in my chest. I had taken the weapon from a vanquished foe only a few days before, but somehow it already felt like mine. After gathering up the spears, shields and swords, the Welsh herded us together and led us away.
Gloom descended on the company as what we had feared came true: we were now captives! No one said anything, but I felt the gaze of many lingering upon me and their thoughts were mine too: had my foolish act the night before betrayed us? A few moments of anger and now our chance of revenge, along with all hope of rescuing our families were gone − maybe forever.
No one said anything: they did not need to. I already knew it was my fault.
The Elmetae took us north and west, along a mud track that meandered through dense forest, which covered much of Elmet. Here and there, we saw swirling smoke rising from what were presumably villages and hamlets in woodland clearings. Eventually, we reached a stone Roman road running from the distant south and − I found out later − via Loidis across the south Pennines to Eoforwic. Strange how roads play such a large role in one’s life: armies march along them. Folk use them to go to market and back. As a boy I dreamt of where the road that ran past the Villa would carry me. Well, I did not know it then, but I was going to spend a great deal of my life on one road or another.
We turned northwards and as the sun began to fall behind the mountains we saw the fortress of Calcaria. It was an old Roman fort such as Caerfydd had told me their legions once lived in. It stood to the east of the road at the end of a short path, backing onto the river. The fort itself was oblong in shape with the short sides parallel with the main road. In the centre of the southern wall was a gateway accessed via a bridge, which led over a ditch. The ditch had once been quite deep, but had clearly filled up over the years with the debris of nearby trees and decades of mud that no one had tried to clear. Beyond it was an earthen embankment topped by a stone wall, which had once encircled the entire fortress. However, in the two centuries since the Romans left it had decayed and fallen down in many places. Here and there, I could also see signs that it had been attacked more than once since their departure. These defects were partially repaired by wooden palisades or loose rocks and bricks.
The Fortress of Calcaria
We marched through the crumbling gatehouse, closely observed by sentinels standing watch upon the walls and above the gates. Beyond the gatehouse, we entered a road that ran between two rows of long low buildings on either side.
Lilla was walking besides me and pointed at them.
“Those were barracks for their legionaries, or stables for their cavalry. Now look, see there,” he continued, indicating a number of large, square two-story buildings on the other side of the wide open space we had arrived at. “One of those would have been the Headquarters building for the legion or regiment that was barracked here, maybe that larger one. The slightly smaller one now, that would have been the Commander’s accommodation.”
We looked at them both. Massive they seemed to me, compared to the Villa which I had always thought to be a palace. Clustered around these, there were other, more diminutive structures and beyond them all, even more buildings. Like all Roman structures, these buildings were well-made, but once they started to decay, the Welsh, like the English, did not possess the skills to maintain them. But whereas we generally avoided such places, the Welsh still lived in them.
“What about those?” I asked, indicating some other buildings.
“Um ... maybe granaries, storehouses, possibly a workshop and those further on are more barracks.�
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“More? Just how many men did the Romans have here?”
“Hundreds, maybe thousands, if they needed them: and this was just one of many forts they had.”
We stood together, staring round at the impressive sight.
“They must have been giants!” Cuthbert said: reminding me of a similar conversation we’d had about the Villa years before.
Lilla shook his head.
“No, men just like us. They were just men but conquered the world. Then they died and their Empire is gone and these places are all that are left.”
It was a sobering thought. As if to emphasise the briefness of glory, a tile slid off a nearby roof and smashed on the ground. We all sank into gloomy silence, each maybe thinking how short our own lives might be, right now.
“Makes you think, don’t it?” Eduard muttered, after a moment.
“Silence! You’ll be silent!” Peredur shouted at us. While Lilla had been talking, he had left us under strong guard on the parade ground and gone into the smaller of the main buildings. A few minutes later, he came back and was standing in front of us, glaring. He turned to Wallace.
“You are the chieftain of this warband?” Peredur asked in his accented English.
“I’m the Lord of Wicstun and this is the Wicstun Company,” Wallace said, defiantly.
Peredur glanced at us all appraisingly and smiled.
“Some army, we caught you half asleep blundering around the countryside. I doubt you can even fight.”
“Give us our weapons back and we’ll show you,” Wallace countered.
Peredur looked amused but shook his head.
“I don’t think so. Now, bring your senior captains and come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“Prince Samlen wishes to see you and talk to you. I warn you to show respect, or you’ll regret it.”
Wallace nodded at Lilla, Sigmund and three of the village leaders and finally, after a pause, myself. My youth would cause him hesitation and maybe my rash behaviour at the village was still on his mind, but I did in theory command the largest number of men, after him.
Peredur, accompanied by five huge warriors, led us across the ground and up the steps of the largest building. We walked through a small passageway, which opened into a central courtyard similar to the one at the Villa, only much bigger. To either side were small rooms: offices, Lilla told me later. Opposite us were two large double doors, a Welsh warrior standing on either side. They opened it as Peredur approached. It led into a rectangular room in the corner of which were two statues of Roman gods, their once bright gold and red paint peeling off. To the left was another door and yet more guards. Peredur opened this and entered.
Samlen One Eye sat on a chair raised upon a small platform against the opposite wall. To either side more Welsh warriors and chieftains stood staring at us as we came in. We shuffled forward to stand in front of Samlen, who studied us in menacing silence much like a fox watches a goose waiting for the moment to strike.
Finally he spoke. He, like Peredur, knew and spoke English with a strong Welsh accent.
“Who are you and what are you doing on my land?”
Wallace stepped forward.
“Prince Samlen, I am Lord Wallace of Wicstun. King Aelle of Deira sends his greetings and bids me bring a message and a gift for you.”
Samlen rose and stood on the platform. Already tall, he now towered above us.
“Wicstun, where’s that?” he asked and then muttered some words in Welsh to Peredur, who replied.
“So, you rule that miserable shit heap full of hovels and filth, a day’s walk east of here? Bloody awful place that was, with very little of value,” he sneered.
“Still, you took something of value to us − our families and friends.” Wallace’s tone was cold.
Samlen laughed.
“Miserable and feeble lot those are as well. You should have been grateful I took them away and got on with life − found yourselves some new women and had new children with them.”
“We find we prefer to have them back.”
Samlen looked at his chieftains and roared with laughter now and they joined in, though many plainly were not following the English.
“What? You thought you would just walk into Elmet and take them, just like that. You really are fools. Well, you can be reunited with them soon: one big happy slave family.”
Wallace did not reply and just stood his ground, staring at Samlen.
“Well then, what is this message from the mighty and aged Aelle?” Samlen asked. “Is it to say there will be another delivery of slaves next Tuesday?” he asked and then he laughed again.
“No, I had to deliver a gift to you, so that you will not attack us again.”
“What gift would make me agree to that? It would have to be impressive!”
Wallace now smiled, but there was no humour in it.
“It is this,” he said and stepped closer. Peredur looked across at him now, anxiety etched onto his face and he moved towards Wallace, but he was already too late. Wallace had slipped a dagger out of his sleeve and quick as lightning, swung it up towards Samlen’s belly. The Prince’s arm lashed out like a snake’s head and grasped Wallace’s arm by the wrist. With strength like the jaws of a wolf he twisted the arm viciously, there was a crack. Wallace screamed and dropped the blade.
Peredur now arrived and punched Wallace in the stomach, so he collapsed winded on the ground. Sigmund and I started forward, but the guards ran out and rammed the butts of their spears into our guts and we too were forced to the ground. The spears swung around and now sharp points pricked at our throats.
Samlen was glaring at Peredur.
“Did you not take their weapons?”
“Yes, Sire, but he must have concealed this one, forgive me,” Peredur said, showing his own fear of the one-eyed chieftain, but now Samlen had turned his fury back to Wallace. He kicked him in the stomach and then slammed his foot down on Wallace’s broken arm, so that he screamed again in renewed agony.
“So, that is Aelle’s plan: to assassinate me and maybe stop our army marching. He knows we have armies gathering does he? Much good it will do him: I will burn his little country and make him pay.”
Wallace was back on his knees and spoke in a weak voice.
“It was not Aelle’s doing. It was my idea. I tried and I failed so, if you must burn someone, make it me.”
Samlen smiled at that.
“I may do that. Burning an English lord, eh? Yes, my warriors would like that. Take them away, Peredur, and lock them up while I decide their fate.”
We were abruptly herded out of the door. Peredur snapped out an order and his men pushed and shoved at us with spears and shields. The Welsh chieftain was angry at us now, perhaps thinking that we had tricked him and also feeling aggrieved that the botched assassination of Samlen was being blamed on him.
Around the side of Samlen’s hall there were a few large buildings that may once have been workshops. One of these had large double doors. We were pushed through and the doors were slammed and barred shut behind us. The rest of the company was already here.
Sigmund examined Wallace’s arm, then looking round the room he found a small length of broken pole − perhaps a table leg or a spear once − and taking strips of cloth from the bindings around his legs, strapped Wallace’s arm to it, having first had Eduard pull hard on the lord’s hand to straighten the bones as best as he could. Wallace grimaced and gave a slight groan at this, but stood the pain well.
Sweating and his face pale, Wallace now quickly told everyone about what had transpired in the other building.
“Well done, my Lord, for trying to kill him,” Eduard grunted and everyone nodded their agreement.
“Now what do we do?” Cuthbert asked loudly. Grettir growled at him to hold his tongue and wait to be told and so my friend went off in a sulk to the far side of the room and sat down alone.
“Cerdic?” Eduard said, just visible in
the dark room to my side.
“Yes, Ed, what is it?”
“While you were in that room, some Welsh villagers came in bringing food for the garrison here.”
“Well, what of it?”
“I recognised one of them.”
I felt my heart miss a beat, my hands bunching into fists.
“Do you mean ...”
“Yes, it was your slave: here in the fort.”
“Um ... well, if we can escape, I look forward to breaking the little runt’s traitorous neck,” I hissed.
With a scraping and juddering noise, the door swung open and a dozen armed guards moved into the room followed by Samlen. He too was armed and I gasped as I realised that he was carrying my uncle’s sword. Standing in front of us now, he glanced around the room and then at Wallace.
“You were fools to come here hoping to attack this place and rescue your people. Nevertheless, there can be courage in foolishness and your act,” now he pointed at Wallace, “showed me you have guts, so I offer you a choice.” He opened his arms to include us all. “In fact, I offer you all a choice.”
He pointed his sword, my uncle’s sword, at us.
“Your people − the Angles are doomed. You came to this land like a tidal wave and swept away all in your path. But the tides are turning. The seas are now going east and it is you who will be swept away. My people will reclaim what once belonged to us. What will become of you then? Will you be destroyed? You need not be: there is an alternative. You are warriors. Join me and you will write your names in glory in our songs and our stories. Our children will grow up knowing your names. That is the offer I give: be a warrior in my army. Forget your past and seize a new future.”
He stood, waiting for a response but none of us answered him. Eduard spat to show his feelings. Finally, Lilla came forward and everyone looked at him and I was not the only one holding my breath.
“You said that our names will be written in stories and poems and those songs will be known to your children. I agree.” Samlen looked with interest at the bard but Lilla shook his head. “You are right, but for the wrong reasons. These men will not betray their homes and their king for such a promise of false glory. If their names are written in song and poetry, it will be because I wrote them and it won’t be about Welsh victories over the English, but our revenge over you, Samlen.”
Samlen stared at him coldly and around at the rest of us. Then, he moved another piece on the table of our game with him. This move had me stunned.
“There is yet more to my offer that you have not heard. All of you can save your lives and those of any family I hold here, if you will just join me. Your families will be freed and if you serve me you will be given land to farm.”
So there it was. If I just stepped forward and knelt and swore loyalty to him, I would be a warrior in his army. I would have land and Mildrith would be safe. But, I thought I could now hear Loki laughing and I knew then that Samlen could not be trusted.
No one moved.
“There, you have your answer. Do with us what you will, but we will not join you,” Wallace said.
“You fools ...” Samlen started to reply, but then I just lunged at him with my bare hands, face snarling like a madman, fists flying and feet kicking. Samlen did not move but just smashed the hilt of the sword into my face, knocking me down. Then he swung the sword up and it looked like he would kill me.
“Fight me!” I shouted. The sword hesitated and Samlen looked down at me.
“Who are you, then?”
“That sword is mine, it belongs to my family. I will fight you for it.”
The one-eyed chieftain examined the blade for a moment. Then he laughed.
“I don’t think so. I killed the man who owned this sword and took it from him. Took his sister as well and brought her back, here.”
“It was my brother, it was his sword. She is my sister, Mildrith: fight me!”
“You are nothing. You refused my offer. You are no longer free: in fact you are a slave. I do not fight slaves. The sword is mine and I may take more from you − I may take your sister to my bed,” he grinned his ghastly smile, the knotted purple scar wrinkling the empty eye socket. I felt a brief gleam of satisfaction knowing that my uncle had done that to this man’s face with that very sword. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him so, but then he laughed and started to walk away.
“You should have taken my offer, fool!”
I was angry now and desperate to kill him. “Coward! You’re just a coward!”
He spun round and thrust the sword point at my throat.
“No, you do not get to call me a coward. You seem to think that I will want to defend my honour and meet you in single combat and that to refuse that challenge would be cowardly. Indeed it would, coming from a warrior of my race, coming from a man of rank, but you ...”
“He is Cerdic, son of Cenred of the Villa, warrior of Deira and heir to his father’s estates, he ...” Wallace started to say but was interrupted by Samlen who slapped Wallace with the back of his hand, splitting his lip which now started to bleed heavily. Wallace was knocked back against some of his men and was stunned into silence.
Samlen looked down at him in disgust and then turned and spat at me.
“Nothing, you are nothing,” he roared, his face red with fury. “None of you are anything. You take our land and enslave our people and think you are so mighty. Well, you are wrong. Here, you are filth. Here, you are slaves. Slaves have no rights. A free man and a prince cannot lose face to such as you.”
He stomped away towards the door and then turned and looked at the company.
“Your lives mean nothing. I may hang you all; I may sell you as slaves. I don’t care. When I come back, I will decide.”
He pointed at me and shouted some words to his men, who came forward and pushed Lilla, Wallace and myself out of the door. He then turned back to the rest of the company.
“Enjoy the next day or so in your fine residence,” he said gesturing with his hands at the decaying Roman workshop, “it may be your last!”
Then, the door was shut and barred behind us. Samlen and his men marched us out onto the parade ground and over to a gallows large enough to hang ten men. I thought we were going to hang, but Samlen had a longer ordeal planned for us, it seemed. They struck off Wallace’s makeshift splint, lashed our hands together and then passed a loop of rope under the knot. The other end of the rope was thrown over the crossbeam of the gallows and was heaved up until we each hung suspended from our wrists, our toes barely touching the ground. Finally it was tied off, around the crossbeam. Wallace by this time had passed out; the pain from his broken arm must have been intolerable.
Samlen now stepped back and addressed us. “I will be back in the fort soon. My men and I will lay bets on which of you are still alive by then.” He squinted up at the skies where gathering storm clouds indicated the warm spring days we had just enjoyed were over, for a while. “Looks like you are going to get wet,” he added then laughing, he walked away.
The rope dug into my wrists, cutting the skin so that blood was dripping down my arms, which were already going numb. The tension on my shoulders was unbearable and I was finding it hard to breath. Next to me, Wallace was groaning; I could not begin to imagine his agony. On my other side, Lilla had closed his eyes: perhaps to try and blot out the pain. I shivered. The sun was already low in the sky and soon it started raining.
I groaned in despair. We were fifteen miles from home and inside hostile territory, bound and strung up with no weapons, at the dubious mercy of a madman who might kill us all on a whim, at any moment... and I had absolutely no idea how to escape.
The Amber Treasure Page 12
