The Blood of Kings: Tintagel Book I

by M. K. Hume

  Caradoc squinted and his eyes found the tree, but locating the trench was too much for his failing vision. ‘Where are the rest of the Saxons located?’

  ‘They’re dug in, so they must be level with that dead tree. They’ve burrowed into the sandy soil to create a hide, so it’s an excellent place for them to attack us from behind if we were able to evade the mantraps. Can you see a long line of shrubbery that’s growing in an almost straight line? Yes? Well, that’s a ruse! Those branches are different from the others around them, because they were cut down from this forest.’

  The landscape in the vicinity of Anderida’s western gate was unremarkable. A wet spring and a dry summer had nourished the swathes of long grass, so the heavy heads provided an ideal environment where the defenders of the small town could secrete themselves in their shallow trenches. Moreover the land undulated in waves, as if sculpted by the forces of wind and water.

  But the landscape also provided cover that could be used by the Britons, who could also use the long grass, loosely piled boulders and occasional hollows to hide their warriors away from Saxon eyes.

  Even as he spoke to his two deputy commanders, Caradoc’s gaze continued to range over the strip of land between the forest and the walls of the town, while he searched for weaknesses that could be exploited during the coming battle. Finally, his plan became clear.

  ‘When did the Saxons become so damned clever?’ Cadal wondered. ‘You had me convinced that they favour headlong charges where they can cover themselves in glory. Fighting as part of an organised whole wouldn’t normally be to their liking.’

  Caradoc looked at his son with affectionate scorn.

  ‘The Saxon bands reflect the abilities of their commanders, and this thane has demonstrated his strategic brilliance on many occasions. Huw caught one of their stragglers a few nights ago and his warriors worked hard to loosen his tongue. He refused to reveal any usable information despite their best attempts at torture. Such loyalty is difficult to overcome.’

  Caradoc smiled at his two deputies who gaped at the king’s admission.

  ‘Don’t frown, Cadal! We’re at war with these Saxons, so it’s necessary to gain intelligence in any way we can. Perhaps torture isn’t the most honourable method of interrogation, but the scout we captured had no intention of speaking to any of us. I tried to reason with him myself, but I wasted my breath.’

  ‘Why didn’t you inform us that Huw had caught a spy?’ Cadal demanded. ‘Didn’t you trust us to assist you in the interrogation?’

  ‘You’re both inexperienced, so you lack the stomach for some of the dirty tactics that must be used if we’re to crush these Saxons. I intend to win this battle, Cadal, and I’ll use every means to achieve that end.’

  ‘Did the prisoner divulge anything at all?’ Llew asked slowly but respectfully.

  ‘The Saxon thane is a landless man from the mouth of the Albis River. Our prisoner referred to him as Harald Ironfoot. The name is something of a jest because as a boy he killed his first man with a well-placed kick to the back of the neck and the name stuck. Now he’s gathered a large band of followers around him who are eager to pillage the coasts of Gaul and Britannia. He has six ceols of his own, and more are made available to him whenever he needs them. Our enemy always seems to win, so he’s admired by his warriors. Damn him!’

  Both younger men looked puzzled, so Caradoc explained. ‘Ironfoot is an experienced commander and he wins his battles. Consider the resistance that we’ve struck from these Saxons since we made our first contact with their main force. He ravages the forests, villages and small towns of the Regni tribe, and then disappears like a wisp of smoke. He keeps his men moving. His strategy is always to retire in good order and his warriors make forced marches that lead them back to their base in Anderida. He gathers anything of value as he goes, and he always remains at least one step ahead of us. His ceols await his return, which indicates that he has no intention of staying in Britannia, at least not on this particular raid. For the moment, his plan is to make good his escape with his captured slaves and his stolen gold.’

  ‘Harald Ironfoot has cost us dearly at every step of this campaign. The Saxon have hit us a couple of times with short, sharp ambushes, but we haven’t been able to get them to face us in a direct battle,’ Llew complained.

  ‘Exactly! Ironfoot knows what he’s about. He strikes with stealth and speed, and then retreats. He’s very flexible and, to be honest, he caught me off guard.’

  Caradoc bit at his thumb, a sure sign that he was worrying away at a problem

  ‘Ironfoot has already won one major battle when he caught a troop of Sorcha’s Regni in the ambush that killed Sorcha’s heir. The man will be hard to beat, especially as he wants us to take the initiative. We got very little out of our prisoner except the name of his master and a few unimportant details. In fact, the bastard laughed when I boasted that we’d crush his Saxon friends when they finally stopped running, so we’re treading on dangerous ground. I gathered that Ironfoot already has a plan to counter any attack we might mount on his defences in Anderida.’

  ‘I suppose you killed the poor bastard,’ Cadal retorted.

  ‘You must learn as much as you can about your enemy, Cadal. I didn’t have to kill the man – because he swallowed his own tongue and choked. Could you imagine how much hate and determination would be needed to do that?’

  Both younger men looked appalled.

  ‘Saxons don’t betray their thanes, even when they are under torture. He decided to kill himself when he realised he might be forced to reveal important information. Every man will crack when the agony eventually becomes unendurable.’

  ‘Well, how can we defeat such determined men?’ Llew asked bluntly. ‘Like you, I believe we have to win a decisive victory here, if only to stop this commander from returning next spring with a new band of followers.’

  ‘We go back to the basics,’ Caradoc replied promptly, pleased that his explanation had brought both of these young pups to heel. He was always prepared to spend a little time passing on his experience.

  ‘Where else could the Saxons be entrenched?’ he asked. ‘A leader as sharp as Ironfoot would never settle for a single defensive response to an impending attack.’

  Llew cleared his throat. ‘Trefor said as much when our scouts found the mantraps, so he went out last night to look at Anderida from the east. He located another set of traps on the southern side of the town and also saw several Saxons in the town proper where the spaces between the buildings are very narrow. He is certain that they’ll use the town as their last line of defence if their perimeter starts to shrink back into the town. The houses are walled so they are defensible, especially if the Saxon mantraps should weaken us. We’ll be forced to fight, street by street, and building by building.’

  ‘So what do we do, Father? My instincts tell me that we should ride down on them, take our losses and then plough over the top of the bastards,’ Cadal said, looking sombre. ‘But I have a feeling we’d need twice the number of warriors that are at our disposal if we want to take such direct action. Are those open gates meant to lure us into making a charge?’

  ‘That’s exactly what they want, so we definitely won’t do that. We’re going to divide into two forces, but we’ll be waiting till tomorrow afternoon to mount our attack. We’ll let them rot in their holes for a day or so, and let their nerves stretch from the tension.’

  He paused.

  ‘Besides, Llew, you’ll need a fair length of time to carry out the orders I’m about to give you. You are to mount an attack on the eastern side of Anderida. You’ll take your force through the forest to the north of the town before positioning yourself in light woodland that lies to the east. It’s a long journey, but any attempt to cross the swamps would be impossible in the time available to us. The Saxons will have their scouts out and about, but we’ll send our o
wn men into the forest to unsettle them. Ironfoot intends to abandon Anderida soon, so his scouts won’t range far into the forest. You’ll probably have to ride throughout the night and make a concerted attack from the south-east in the late afternoon. Could you accomplish this task?’

  ‘What about the beachhead?’ Llew’s voice broke nervously. ‘Do we need to destroy the ceols to prevent a Saxon escape?’

  ‘Why would we attack troops who are alert and waiting for us? Ironfoot’s strategy is to protect his ceols, because he doesn’t want to be trapped in that piss-poor little town. Your task is to attack the town gates on the eastern side and scythe down anything that moves. But I believe the Saxons guarding the ceols will attempt to reinforce the eastern gate and set up ambush positions inside the town proper. You’ll have to fight hand-to-hand and hut-by-hut, but the Saxons will be at a disadvantage with many of their number embedded in the defences on the beach side of the town.’

  ‘When do I begin my charge?’ Caradoc was pleased to note that the young man was concentrating on the important elements of his task.

  ‘I’ll arrange for a signal fire to be lit on a hillock on this side of Anderida. Its smoke will be your attack signal. While you push on with your attack on the town, our forces will be mounting a charge on our side. If Fortuna is with us, we should meet up with you in the town centre.’

  ‘Aren’t we doing exactly what they want us to do? We’ll be charging down at their concealed men,’ Cadal asked. ‘Could we divert some of their attention away from what we’re doing?’

  ‘Agreed! We can’t attack Ironfoot’s Saxons without being seen and they’re expecting a cavalry charge tomorrow. But we’ll do something that isn’t expected. Could you lead one hundred men to that cluster of rocks below us tonight if you were crawling on your bellies? You’ll have to spend the best part of tomorrow’s daylight hidden away in absolute silence, so we’ll be asking a lot from your warriors.’

  Cadal stared off into the distance. To the right of the dead tree, and slightly behind it, rose an area of rocky scree topped with a cluster of boulders on land that was more sand than soil. ‘It will take most of the night, but we can do it.’

  ‘Good! Your men will need to burrow into the landscape in two groups under the command of their own officers. You’ll be in overall command of both groups.’

  If Caradoc was experiencing any fears for his first-born son, he was showing no sign of nervousness. Cadal recognised Caradoc’s manner for what it really was and knew his own features bore the same calculated detachment. Leadership in combat demanded a chill and clear brain, else the battle could well be lost.

  ‘What do we do once we have successfully positioned ourselves behind the Saxon lines?’

  ‘You dig in! Once you’ve settled into your attack positions, you have to wait for the sentinel fire to give off its trail of smoke. The waiting will be the hard part. If you are to catch your victims unawares, you must mount your attack against the Saxon rear the instant they rise to their feet to attack my cavalry. Is that understood? Come over here, lads, and I’ll make a drawing that will show you exactly how our plan must work.’

  Caradoc rose creakily and began to draw lines in the soft soil.

  ‘I’ll be leading our cavalry along the road at a trot. When I raise my hand, the signal fires will be lit and Llew will attack on the eastern side of the town. They will charge out of their positions in the woods and wheel at the last moment to capture as much of Anderida as they can before we eventually meet up with them. We expect a Saxon counterattack on the southern beaches, but they’ll have to hunt for you among the houses and the narrow streets of Anderida. It will take some time for these Saxons to organise. Use your bowmen as much as you can once you’re inside the town – they must take as many arrows as they can carry. Meanwhile, your prime objective is to draw as many Saxons into the town as you can – and then kill the bastards. God speed, my boy! Now get on with it!’

  ‘Aye! Thank you, my lord.’ Llew looked grim and determined under the shadow of his helmet.

  Caradoc turned to face his son. ‘You, Cadal, will be dug in and will have been waiting all day for the signal to move off. The Saxons will be expecting my cavalry to fall into their mantraps, but I’ll wheel my men off the road before I reach them. Then I’ll charge directly at them. I’ll make one good run at them to break up their ranks, and then I’ll withdraw and make another advance again, in an attempt to ensure we have their full attention. By that time you should be formed up behind them, Cadal, and we can manoeuvre them into the jaws of a pincer movement.’

  Caradoc’s facial expression was fierce and wolfish; his eyes seemed yellow in the afternoon light. He ground his hands together as if he was crushing a walnut.

  ‘We’ll have them! I’ve sworn to Endellion that we’ll survive this battle and I intend to keep my promise.

  ‘We’ll make camp for the rest of the day and sleep for as long as we dare. Eat now, Cadal, and ensure that your warriors have eaten and carry enough rations to last through tomorrow. Huw and Trefor will act as your forward scouts while you’re crawling across the open ground. You can trust them to locate any Saxon lookouts and deal with them. For your part, be ready to move as soon as night falls.

  ‘One further task must be carried out, Llew. Five of your less-able warriors and one of the elderly officers must be entrusted to build a cairn of timber that will become the sentinel fire. These men will be responsible for lighting the fire when I give the command. When you’ve delegated this task, get yourself some sleep until such time as I wake you.’

  Caradoc was looking younger by the moment, as his eyes danced with excitement and steely determination.

  ‘One final matter, boys! Tell your men why we’re fighting tomorrow. Remind them of the burned-out villages and the corpses of the children bloating in the summer heat. We’re the only protection that our peasants have, so we must make Ironfoot pay for his murderous rampages and ensure that he never comes back to Anderida.’

  ‘Aye!’ Both young men replied in chorus, their faces vivid with anticipation of the challenges ahead.

  The sun slanted through the trees and spread its dappled light over the faces of the young warriors who were resting on their saddles. While the junior officers began to recite the orders, the men prepared for the coming combat with relatively good humour. All were aware that a soldier must eat, drink and sleep whenever he had the slightest opportunity, for who knew when the last great sleep would come? In good order, the cavalry under the commands of Llew and Cadal settled down and attempted to gain some rest.

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE RETURN OF THE ROMAN

  Oderint, dum metuant.

  Let them hate, as long as they fear.

  Accius, Atreus

  The harsh spikes of grass irritated Cadal’s skin through his woollen cloak. The sun bored down on the back of his head so that sweat trickled through his hair and soaked the strip of rag around his neck. Sand grated between his armour and his skin, irritated his gritty eyes and clogged the back of his throat every time the wind blew and lifted sugar-white granules into the air.

  Cadal manoeuvred his shoulder so he could slowly raise his head an inch or two to scan the landscape from behind a convenient shrub. Peering around him, he was amazed at how thoroughly his men had camouflaged themselves into the rolling grassland so that the occasional flash of suspicious eyes was the only sign of their presence.

  Several times during that endless day, he had wished that he’d dug his hole a little deeper and wider than the shallow trench that was barely sufficient to cover the mounds of shoulders and hips. At least twenty of his men had been able to use the rocks and scree as concealment and he could have used his rank to ensure a more comfortable perch, but the troops were heartened when he was the first to dig a hide. If the heir to the Dumnonii throne could last through the interminable morning and the h
eat of noontime, then so could they.

  ‘Take on the hardest part of this task for yourself,’ Caradoc had hissed one last piece of advice to his son before the long crawl towards the enemy trenches. Belatedly, Cadal admitted to himself that his father’s words were wise.

  He scanned the irregular undulations in the earth crowned with lines of drooping shrubbery or clumps of dried grasses. Damn! He suddenly realised that the foliage that had hidden his warriors was dying at a rapid rate from the heat of an unnaturally warm summer.

  Perhaps the Saxons won’t realise it, he thought. After all, they’re doing the same thing.

  And they were. When Cadal looked to the left at a line of limp dusty branches, he recognised that these clumps marked poorly disguised mantraps.

  Looking closer, he estimated that these were probably about the depth of a horse’s leg. He tried to picture the chaos that would result if he and others rode into such a snare, and imagined the sensation of the earth suddenly opening beneath him, followed by the tearing and piercing of his horse’s entrails and the chilling screams from agonised beasts as they twisted and struggled on the terrible wooden spikes. A second row of riders might try to swerve and avoid the mass of struggling bodies, but they too would surely be impaled. Perhaps the third row of riders might survive, if they were lucky.

  The young man forced his attention back to the place where his enemy waited for him.

  ‘The Saxon warriors must be as tired of waiting as we are,’ he told himself, stretching his leg muscles below his buried cloak. All the men would need a minute or two to regain full feeling in their cramped limbs, regardless of any precious time lost.

  Once again, Cadal cautiously turned his head to the left so he could rest facing towards the looming forest from where he expected to see the smoke from the signal fire. The angle of the sun told him that the afternoon was more than half gone, so Caradoc would soon give the command and unleash his forces. But not until the right moment, when the enemy was weary and on the very edge of sleep.