by Whyte, Jack
I snapped my fingers impatiently, seething with frustration. "What can you tell us of the enemy? How many? How strong? Do they have cavalry? How are they disposed? Are they using poisoned arrows?"
He forestalled me by raising a hand, palm towards me, and I subsided in surprise. "Please, Commander Merlyn," he said, "I have all that."
"Good," barked Uther, smothering a laugh. "Spit it out then."
The soldier turned towards Camulod, placing himself between Uther on his right and me on his left, and gestured with his left hand towards the south. "The enemy's main camp lies over there at the base of the hill, about two miles from where we stand. The fires are all out, otherwise we could see them from here. We have estimated their full strength as somewhere between five and eight thousand men, although it has been difficult to judge because of the constant stream of new arrivals, always from the southwest. Many of them are on horseback, but they hardly qualify as cavalry. They show no sign of discipline or training. We saw no evidence of organized manoeuvring. They are mounted, but most of their beasts are mountain ponies." He paused, and then went on, "On our way out here earlier, my companions and I tried to gauge the number of campfires. We estimated half, perhaps more, of the enemy are in their main camp, asleep. The remainder are attacking our camp on the plain, trying to wear our people out and, we think, trying to distract their attention from whatever is happening above in the fort. And no, Commander Merlyn, no poisoned arrows have been used as far as we know."
He stopped again, to let us digest what he had told us, but it was clear that he had more to say. Uther and I said nothing, waiting for him to resume. When he began to * speak again his voice was different, dropping, now that he had finished speculating, into the trained, familiar monotone of the soldier repeating a dispatch.
"The Legate Titus will be prepared to bring his men out from behind the wall at daybreak, but he will not emerge until you have shown yourselves to the enemy and distracted them enough to allow him to attempt a safe and disciplined exit. He suggests that you might wish to launch your attack along a staggered front, committing your left in strength first. The Legate has observed that the enemy's main camp effectively blocks the exit from the plain to the south. His suggestion is that your opening attack, with your left, will begin to force the enemy northward in strength. By reserving your strength and committing it in staggered waves, the Legate feels that you could compress that northward movement into a rout, since he and his infantry will leave our camp by the south and east entrances and attack the enemy from the side and rear as you complete your advance, effectively cutting them off from their camp completely.
"Once their northward movement has started, the Legate suggests that our combined forces work together to increase its momentum. He suggests further that you withhold your extreme right in deep concealment in the forest to the northeast until the time comes to commit it. As the press of the enemy begins to clear the north-east corner of our camp, a third contingent of our troops, a cohort strong, will issue from the north gate in a new flank attack, supported from your side by the last squadron you have that is visible and uncommitted, charging them directly from the east, their right. No great need for discipline here, the Legate feels, merely timing. Then, at the correct moment, which will be signalled to you by a charge from the fort itself by the Legate Flavius and his four hundred cavalry, you will produce your uncommitted reserves on the right, in strength, out of their concealment to the north-east."
He stopped again, and smiled grimly before ending the proposed plan. "In the meantime, as soon as the final battle is committed, your left wing, at the rear of the rout; will disengage, turn about and capture the enemy encampment, leaving our infantry to follow up on the retreating enemy."
We had been listening to him in motionless concentration, visualizing the entire battle as he laid it out, seeing the stark, pristine simplicity of it and growing increasingly conscious of how important timing would be for the entire enterprise. When he had done, there was silence for several seconds before Uther spoke.
"Whose plan is this?"
"General Picus's, Commander."
"I thought so." He turned to me. "It will work, Merlyn. What side do you want, right or left?"
I shrugged. "Makes no difference. Your choice. But we are running out of time and we have much to do."
"Good, I'll take the left and go in first. How many men . will I have?"
I was already estimating our forces. "Three hundred, but you have to move them quickly. To gain effect, you have to launch your charge from behind their camp, almost directly south of them, so you have to move now."
"I'm gone already. But what else should I know?"
My mind was racing. I spoke to the young messenger. "You command a squadron?" He nodded. "Then today you command our centre, with four hundred men. Choose a subordinate to lead two hundred, south of a median from here to the fort, to strengthen Commander Uther's thrust once he has achieved his surprise. You yourself choose the time to commit your own two hundred to the charge, when the enemy has cleared the north-east corner of our camp. I will , stay hidden with our remaining three hundred and await Flavius's sortie from the fort. Now, let's move."
Uther was watching me closely. "Merlyn," he said, "you look displeased. What's wrong?"
"Nothing. But I would like to know what's going on up at the fort. Flavius may not be able to bring out his cavalry."
"Then he'll be dead. That's the only thing that will stop him."
"I know," I concurred, "but as I said, we don't know what's going on up there. If Flavius does not come out, my three hundred will not make much of a difference."
Uther barked his strange laugh again. "By that time, if that happens, it will not matter, Cousin. We'll be in the hands of Mithras. Anyway, I will keep watch. If Flavius does not come out, I'll turn my own men and come to help you rather than capturing their camp. One way or another it will be an ending, have no fears."
I grinned at him in the greying darkness. "I have no fear, Uther. I'm too terrified for fear!"
He laughed again and punched me in the shoulder. "See you later, Cousin."
I can take no credit for the conduct of the battle or for the successful unfolding of the plan. I can say only that it worked perfectly when it did unfold. We had the better part of an hour to make our troop dispositions before daylight revealed our presence to the enemy. By then I had my own three hundred men well hidden, far to the right of Uther's launching point, with time on my hands to worry over whether he would make it to his own position in time to begin his attack with surprise on his side. I had nothing else to do but wait for the sounds of his charge, but I waited and waited and the sky grew bright. Finally, when I could wait no longer without seeing for myself what was afoot, I went back alone towards the forest's edge and found a spot where I could see through the screen of trees. There was no sign of Uther's force on the plain to my left. He had not yet moved his men out of hiding.
I can recall my initial reaction of anger clearly as I wondered why he would have delayed so long, and I leaped from my horse and went forward on foot. Ahead of me, on the very fringe of the tree line, stood a mighty oak tree, and I climbed high into its branches and looked out over the campus that stretched unbroken from its base to the hill of Camulod. The citadel on the hilltop was obscured by drifting smoke, but as I looked a wind sprang up from the east and began blowing the roiling clouds away from the walls. I could see no flames, but I was far away. And it was only then that I perceived the reason for Uther's delay in launching his attack.
The enemy was on the move, in massed, seemingly disciplined ranks, towards our camp at the bottom of the hill. As they moved, I guessed their numbers at around five thousand, with a leading assault force of some three hundred war chariots. I stared at these in disbelief, not having known until that time that war chariots still existed in Britain. To my knowledge, none had been used in battle for decades, and then only in the far north. They moved with pomp and purpose,
and as they neared our embattled camp their brethren who had been attacking it, some two to three thousand strong, fell back to give them access.
As these retiring fighters streamed away, their numbers mingled with and crossed through the confident, advancing army, so that for a space all semblance of disciplined movement disappeared, and it was then that Uther committed his forces from the south, behind them, his brazen trumpets neighing loud and clear. His surprise was absolute. Lot's melding armies, advancing and withdrawing through each other, wavered in confusion for a fatal interval as their commanders sought to assimilate and respond to this unexpected apparition. By the time their ranks started to wheel in some semblance of formation, Uther's three hundred cavalry, charging in five tight-knit, invincible wedge-shaped squadrons, each with three individual twenty-man wedge formations, had halved the distance separating them. I watched spellbound in admiration, clearly seeing Uther's great dragon standard at the apex of the central squadron. This was the formation manoeuvre we had spent month after month preparing but had not used in battle until now.
Then, a half minute before the opening clash of battle, another rally sounded to my left as the first half of our centre, two hundred horse, broke into their charge, their formations emerging as they built up speed, advancing to hit the enemy on the now-open flank. I glanced back towards Uther's charge and, in the moments that remained before the action joined, I saw the morning light reflect from massed spearpoints as Titus sent his infantry out through the southern and the eastern gates in maniples of one hundred and twenty men each.
Caught up in the excitement of the scene, I almost lost sight of my own role in the events that were unfolding. Lot's people came to pillage, I exulted. They had not known what they would really face. They had not expected Roman tactics combined with the strategies of Alexander! Then I threw myself down from the tree, leaping from limb to limb, castigating myself for my doubts, but already beginning to anticipate the launching of my own three hundred men. I swung myself back onto my horse and rejoined my troops, signalling them to stand fast, then I sent one of Uther's Celts up into the tree where I had been, bidding him pass the word to me when the enemy had passed the northeast corner of our camp and the final assault of our centre had begun.
It seemed to take hours for that to happen, and in the meantime we sat and waited, seeing the battle only through the eyes of the man up in the tree although, from his shouted commentary, it soon became clear that all was unfolding as planned. I experienced again the agonies of waiting and wondering, and in my agitation I found myself fidgeting with the weapon that Uther had made for me, the iron ball on the length of chain. I untied it from where it hung by my saddle and slipped the loop over my wrist, gripping the thick, wooden handle and enjoying the substantial, solid weight of the apparatus. I was standing in my stirrups, vainly trying to see through the screen of leaves ahead of me when the cry came from the man in the tree above: the gates of the fort were open and our cavalry coming out. I swung the iron ball around my head, shouted to the men ranked behind me, sat back in the saddle and kicked my horse hard, seeing the man in the tree coming down almost as fast as I had, and then we were out in the open and driving hard across the path of Lot's demoralized army, trumpets blaring, lost in the growing thunder of our hooves as our mounts increased their speed with every stride, moving into the tight, arrowhead formations that were designed to slice through any mass of foot-soldiers. And as the distance closed between us and the enemy, I raised my eyes again and again to the summit of the hill in front of us and heard my own voice soaring in exultation as I watched my father's cavalry swarming out from the curtain wall and pouring down the hill to join us for the killing.
In the heat of the battle, Uther's new weapon impressed me more than anything else. It felt feather light in my grasp and yet each time that swinging iron ball hit someone, it threw the man bodily aside like a child's doll of cloth and straw. At one point I felt a heavy blow on my chest and then a pain in my wrist and briefly saw a spent arrow fall down by the side of my horse. I ignored it and killed another man on the ground, caving his helmet and skull with my swinging ball before the realization hit me that I might be dying from one of Lot's envenomed arrows. I felt a wave of panic sweep upwards from my gut and I reined in my horse violently, oblivious of the fighting around me, my eyes fastened to the small, shallow cut on my left wrist. And then my proud horse went to its knees with a stricken grunt of pain and I found myself standing on the ground, my feet still in my stirrups as the horse heaved under me in its death agony. Even as I regained my senses I saw the broad blade of a spear directed at my chest and I threw myself to the side, vainly trying to kick my feet free of the stirrups. One of them came free, and luckily it was the one I needed free to save my life. The spearhead hissed along my side, beneath my arm, and then the man holding it crashed into me, throwing me backwards and driving the breath out of me. Through eyes suddenly awash with tears I saw him come to his knees above me, shortening his grip on the spear, and then he was gone, smashed backwards himself by a swiping sword across the face. A second later there was a horse directly above me, rearing to keep from trampling me, and I heard a voice yelling my name.
"Commander! Merlyn! Can you rise?"
It was Catius, one of my own officers. I nodded to him, scrambling to my feet, even then admiring the way he controlled his mount, circling it on its hind legs, keeping an army at bay. I grasped the handle of my ball and chain in both hands and began flailing it around my head, dropping three men and clearing a space around me, and as I did so, I remember thinking that the noise and confusion was far worse here on the ground than it ever appeared from the back of a horse. It also occurred to me that I was obviously not poisoned. Then I heard Catius again, screaming at me to climb up behind him. I glanced around and saw the carcass of my own horse not three paces away, with only two of the enemy between it and myself. I swung my new weapon aloft with a roar and charged at them, catching the first full in the breast with the lethal iron ball, seeing his companion slip and fall at the same time in the bloody grass. I continued the momentum of my swing, spinning on my feet like a wild man, to shatter the second man's skull at the full swing, my arms fully extended. The effort almost toppled me, but it brought me alongside my dead horse, facing Catius who was close by me, his right arm extended towards me. I jumped up onto the dead animal's flank and hooked elbows with Catius as he passed, swinging myself high over his horse's rump just in time to go flying onwards as the beast took a spear full in the neck and went down instantly. Catius and I landed still linked together by our elbows, although this time my feet were beneath me, so that I staggered and fell backwards again, seeing Catius disappear beneath a giant brute of a man who held a short-sword like a dagger. I had lost my grip on my flail, but I could still feel the weight of it on the thong around my wrist. I scrambled up to crouch on all fours like a bear, just in time to see the giant fall away, skewered by a spear. Catius did not move. And then I felt the killing rage break loose inside me, and heard my own voice roaring in my ears as I stood erect and regained a grip on my terrible iron flail.
From that time on I remember nothing, until I found myself facing another giant Celt, with the chain of my flail somehow wrapped around the shaft of his axe, and the knowledge clear in my head that I no longer possessed the strength to pull it free. I was too tired. I released my grip and pulled my wrist free of the retaining loop and saw the flash of triumph in his eyes as he swung his axe high, letting my flail fall unheeded to the ground. But I was only tired. I was not yet dead, or even beaten. Before his axe had reached the apex of its swing, I had unsheathed my short- sword and buried it to the hilt beneath the fool's breastbone. Then I stood there, too tired to move again, and watched death blossom in his eyes before he fell. I made no attempt to pull my sword free. Slowly, in a stupor, I bent down and slipped the thong of the flail around my wrist again and then I sat down, not because I wanted to, but because I was completely spent. The flood of the battle h
ad moved away from me and I was alone and alive in a sea of dead and maimed men.
I do not know how long I sat there, but eventually my breath and some of my strength came back to me and I rose to my feet and gazed at the carnage that surrounded me. A black and silver draped corpse caught my eye and I moved towards it, thinking it was Catius, but it was one of my troopers. So were the next eight I looked at before I found poor, courageous Catius, who had died trying to save me. The sight of his staring, lifeless eyes finally sobered me completely and I leaned over him, trying in vain to close his lids, before straightening to look more objectively about the field. As far as I could gauge, Lot's dead outnumbered ours by ten to one, but I could see far too many of my own men huddled in death. I saw my own dead horse nearby and beside it the body of Catius's mount, and at the sight of them my eyes swam with tears. I found nothing strange in grieving for horses amid so many dead men. In truth, the human dead were too numerous to allow for any pity; the mind could not absorb them. But the horses were innocent. I removed my helmet and wept, head down, for the pain and the folly and the outrage caused by one man's treachery. And then I replaced my helmet, fastened it securely, reclaimed my short-sword from the corpse of the last man I had killed, and went to search for Lot of Cornwall, striding across that field of death, hearing only now, and still only faintly, the screams and moans of the wounded who lay everywhere. As I walked, my eyes were fastened on the still-struggling masses in the distance. I held the shaft of my flail in my right hand with the chain over my shoulder and the ball dangling at my back, and as I went I prayed that Lot was not yet dead, because I had a lust to teach him the brute power of my new weapon.
Camulod still burned, and the sight of it smoking there upon its hilltop hardened everything within me. I remembered Daffyd the Druid talking of Lot's fortress in the west, and how it was said to be impregnable, and I swore an oath to send it tumbling, logs and stones and men, into the sea.
