I was better off than most of my companions, for at least I was fully armed, and my mind had had time to get over the shock of surprise. My first aim was to join my brother’s comitatus; I knew that they marched in the forward part of the column, and that they usually encamped towards the left of the army; so I jumped on a loose packpony and kicked him into a floundering gallop among the heaps of bedding and equipment. I spotted the standard of my brother’s numerus, where I had expected to find it, and slid off the pony. Constans wore boots, and carried his shield and sword, though he had taken off his cuirass.
‘My men have gone over to Hengist and left me alone,’ I gasped out. ‘Can I fall in with you? Look here, we must think fast. This is a carefully-planned attack, and we are properly caught. For God’s sake, let’s make straight for the woods. It’s already too late to help the Count.’ I spoke at the top of my voice, hoping that the comrades would overhear me, and take the necessary steps without waiting for orders.
But at this crisis Constans was still a regimental officer, tight in the net of discipline. Some of the men behind him moved restlessly in the ranks, but he turned on them, and yelled:
‘Attention! Pick up your dressing and look to your front! Captain Coroticus will fall in on the left of the Regnians, as a supernumerary with no command. You have ten seconds to buckle your belts before I lead you to the attack.’ He gave me a very nasty look as I went to my place.
A moment later we were marching towards the enemy, who by now had reached the western outskirts of the camp. The Romans did not have time to form a continuous line of battle; each numerus just went into action against the nearest party of barbarians, and already stray groups of rejoicing Saxons were pillaging the baggage. Our cavalry, who would have given us a breathing space if they had charged at once, never got formed up at all; I suppose each man rode off to safety as he caught his horse. I saw Count Ambrosius, on foot, with half a dozen of his comrades round him; he dashed into the thick of the flying spearmen, and beat them with the flat of his sword, though they went on running as fast as ever. That was the last I saw of him, though I have heard that he survived the battle. He gave us no orders, and Constans led us steadily to the brow of the hill.
There we halted. The men were exalted with that strange frenzy that makes some warriors welcome defeat, if it is complete enough and provides opportunity for a glorious death. We were about three hundred strong, all well-trained and well-armed comrades of the comitatus, of whom the hundred on the left flank were Regnians; we hastily shuffled into our normal fighting formation of three ranks, and closed in shoulder to shoulder. I was the left-hand man of the front rank, for a King’s son must expose himself in battle; at least it was not so dangerous as being on the extreme right.
The Saxons came up the hill, in a dense pushing crowd of howling men. But they didn’t go into us with the savage abandon that sometimes makes their attacks irresistible. I could understand what they were thinking; it is stupid and wasteful to get yourself killed when victory is already won, and there was all that good plunder lying about in the camp.
On my flank the attack was beaten off easily. But in the centre they must have been led by some young hero who wanted to make a name; a little band of them charged in desperately, and broke clean through our unsteady ranks. The numerus was cut in two, and my wing was jostled to the left. Constans was with us; he had taken a blow on the head, and seemed a little dazed; he wanted us to charge right-handed and join up with the other wing, but I thought it was high time I took over the command, while we still had a chance to save our lives. I called to the comrades to double their ranks and turn to the left, a manœuvre that we had often practised on the drill ground, and I led the little column of about eighty men straight through the remains of our camp towards the valley on the south.
There were not many Romans still fighting. Most of the peasants had fled blindly to the east; little knots of brave warriors were standing back to back and preparing for a glorious and memorable death; but I was the only man on the field who had a definite goal, and was willing to fight to get to it. I knew the land of the Regni lay to the south, beyond the great and trackless Forest.
Those Saxons who were seeking glory were already engaged, and the plunderers got out of our way when they saw that we meant business. On the edge of the flat-topped hill we closed up, and ran down it waving our swords; no one molested us. Constans was light-headed from his wound, and kept shouting that we were deserting the Count; a comrade had to pull him along, and support him as we ran. We reached the little wooded valley without trouble, and kept on southward over the next bare hill; the sun had set, but the fading light was strong enough for me to make out the endless leagues of tree-covered ridges that stretched as far as the horizon. I had always thought of the Great Forest as an enemy encompassing our land, but now I welcomed it as a friend.
Soon the night was too dark for us to pick our way, and we halted among a maze of thorn-bushes. We were all completely exhausted, for the defeat and the flight had come on top of a long day’s march; Constans was the only wounded man still with us, but many of the unwounded survivors were barefoot, and none could go another mile without rest. I counted the men one by one in the darkness, and found that we totalled seventy-three, of whom thirty were Regnians. We had no cloaks, and of course we dared not light a fire, but the summer night was just warm enough for sleep. I persuaded a man who was suffering great pain from a sword-cut in the hand to take the first watch, as he could not sleep anyway, and offered to take the second half of the night myself. I had done more walking that day than anyone else, but responsibility brings its own strength. Even in that desperate situation I comforted myself with the thought that at last I had an independent command.
We moved off as soon as there was light to see a few yards. At first we thought only of getting as far as possible from that unlucky battlefield, but presently the sun rose through the dawn-mist and I set a course due south. None of us had eaten since the midday halt the previous day, and of course we carried no food, but that morning we were too thirsty to miss our breakfast. The Forest always seems damp and muddy, but it is surprising how hard it is to find drinkable water. It was several hours before we found a stream, and then of course we began to feel hungry.
At our present rate of progress it would take us at least four days to reach friendly territory, and I was not sure we could manage it without eating; a garrison shut in a fort can starve for a very long time, but on the march three days is as much as anyone can do, and one of those had already elapsed. It was too early in the season for nuts or wild berries, and though we saw deer-tracks it was no good trying to hunt without dogs or bows. I decided not to waste time looking for food, but to march due south for as long as we could stand, and make use of every minute of the midsummer daylight. I called the comrades round me and announced my decision; I told them that any man who did not wish to serve under me was free to leave the party at once, but that from those who stayed I would expect absolute obedience. No one took advantage of my offer, and they all gave a temporary oath to obey me on this journey, unless Constans recovered or they met some other senior commander. (Constans, by the way, was now delirious.) I ordered everyone to throw away his shield, and any armour he still wore, and to bring nothing but a bare sword in the right hand; this not only made us move more easily, but discouraged potential mutiny, for I kept my own little Saxon shield, which did not catch in the branches.
Well, we reached the other end, as you must have guessed, or I would not be telling this story; but I sometimes dream about that journey, and wake up hungry. We left thirty men behind, dead or dying, for I made a rule that only Constans might be carried; if we had delayed to help the others none of us would have got through. We had nothing at all but our swords and a few rags bound on our feet, and we nibbled at green leaves and twigs to keep our stomachs working; we straggled over two miles of trail, and took it in turns to go in front, hacking at the briars. I may decently boast that I was alway
s in front, except when I helped to carry Constans; it is remarkable how the responsibility of command gives a man strength.
Why on earth didn’t I leave my brother behind? That problem still puzzles me; for if he had died in the Forest no one would have been particularly surprised, and my future would have been assured. In a desperate situation one gets fixed ideas of what must be done, and the overtired mind forgets to question them; all I could think of was that it would be a great achievement to bring back as many Romans as possible from the disastrous rout, and that Constans was an important trophy that it would be shameful to abandon.
That nightmare journey was a turning-point in my life. I had always known that I had a quick and devious brain, and my grandfather had taught me to be as good as the next man with my weapons; but until then I had always failed hopelessly when I tried to win comrades over, and I feared I might lack the personality that makes warriors obey a leader. Now I knew that if my brain was perhaps too subtle to persuade the stupid, I was yet forceful enough to compel them to carry out my commands. No one had thought of stabbing me in the back and setting up as a robber chief on his own, though it would have been a natural thing to attempt in those conditions. As I lay in the peasant’s hut at the edge of the Forest where they nursed me back to health, I was certain that one day I would be the master of a powerful and obedient war-band.
By the autumn I was quite well again, but unfortunately so was Constans. I remember a family council, when my father gathered us all in his private room to make plans for the murky future. I realized, with a shock, that the house itself was going downhill; the bronze tripod had been broken, and we had no smith skilful enough to repair it; so the servants had made a fire on the tesselated pavement in the middle of the room; the smoke found its way out of a broken window, and the painted plaster on the walls was discoloured by a layer of soot. My father sat at the head of a rough plank table; there was beer in a massive silver jug, but he left his cup untasted, and we none of us liked to be the first to drink. He sighed deeply, and then spoke formally:
‘I am an old man now, and the state of Britain has been growing worse ever since I can remember. For the last three years there was hope, with Count Ambrosius to lead us, and I willingly sent my men to follow him, but I suppose he is utterly done for. Let us face the new situation, in which there is no longer a Count of the Britains to lead a combined Roman army against the barbarians. The Kingdom of the Regni must stand on its own feet. But it might be worth while to make alliance with our immediate neighbours. It’s unfortunate that Constans is already married, and Paul must remain celibate if he is to get his Bishopric. That only leaves you, Coroticus, and it’s high time you were wed. Does anyone know of a suitable King’s daughter? Valerian of Demetia had a nice little girl three years ago, but I believe she is married now.’
Nobody said anything. Neither Constans nor Paul was particularly anxious that I should make a good marriage, and I could not think of a candidate on the spur of the moment. Father always talked as though we were imbedded in a mosaic of Roman states, as we had been in his youth, although now we were a precarious peninsula jutting out among the barbarians. All the same, I had a proposal to make; but I was a bit nervous as to how they would receive it. I cleared my throat, and spoke more loudly than I intended:
‘This last campaign has probably settled the map of Britain for a few years to come. We must make up our minds that Hengist will remain King of Kent for the rest of his life; but, after all, our revered ancestor, King Fraomar, was once in very much the same position, and he ended up a law-abiding Roman. Why not get in touch with Hengist, and find out if he is attracted to the civilized life? Baptism won’t hurt him; ask him to become a Christian, and I will marry one of his daughters. I believe he has quantities of them, and some must be of a suitable age.’
They all screamed at me together; I was abused as a renegade and a traitor to the Empire, and Paul prayed aloud for my salvation. I hastened to withdraw the suggestion, if they thought it a betrayal of the Christian cause. Yet the idea was not absurd, for the Empire had only survived during the last two hundred years by doing exactly the same thing to dozens of barbarian chiefs, and quite often it turned out successfully; a great many otherwise sensible warriors have a queer yearning for civilization.
I wonder what would have happened if my family had fallen in with my suggestion? Hengist was an intelligent man, and he might have made a good Christian King, if his followers had remained faithful. Look how the Irish have changed in a single generation! But the idea was too subtle for my poor old father, and brother Constans was against it just because it was mine; in fact, once he began arguing his tongue ran away with him, and he made wild accusations.
‘You were always more than half a German,’ he shouted across the table. ‘In the army you spent all your time with those stinking Saxon mercenaries; I suppose their table manners suited yours. And whose side were you really on in the last battle? It was your business to see that we were not surprised. Then, when the fighting started, and we might have held our ground if everyone had done his duty, you took advantage of my wound to lead the comitatus of the Regni in a shameful flight. Did the barbarians pay you for your services, or did you do it out of mere malignant hatred of Britain and Rome?’
His voice had risen to a shriek, and he was obviously hysterical; but he and I were the only two men at the table who had been present at that battle, and I didn’t want him to start putting unpleasant thoughts into my father’s foolish head. Besides, the accusation was completely untrue; if I had wanted to change sides I could have stayed with my mercenaries, instead of being chased, starving and half-naked, from end to end of the Great Forest. All this I quickly explained to my father, trying to keep my temper, though I was very angry at my brother’s bitterness.
The scene ended with Constans dashing out of the room in tears. The others listened to my account of what had really happened, and I thought I had convinced them of my innocence and good intentions in the whole unfortunate affair; after all, the insuperable argument in my favour was that I had brought my brother home; even Paul saw that. Like so many of our family councils, this meeting broke up without any decision being taken.
Next day Constans was full of remorse, and told me that his head sometimes ached so fiercely that he did not know what he was saying. He was a graceful speaker, and could apologize very prettily. I was more or less compelled to treat him as a friend, outwardly at least.
The trouble is that some mud always sticks. The sorcerers are quite right; to speak a word is an important action, and once spoken it can never be recalled. Anyone who reflected for a moment must have realized that I had done my duty, and more than my duty, in that ghastly crossing of the Forest. Paul and my father were convinced, though they may have imagined that I had despaired too soon in that lost battle; but Maximus had also been present at the council, which should have been kept within the family. He saw a chance of damaging my interests, and making Constans more popular by contrast. He repeated the silly slander that I had been slack in my scouting, and that the Saxon victory was all my fault.
It was the sort of elementary intrigue that appeals to a very stupid man, and makes him think that he is a clever politician.
The common people love to listen to scandal about the great, and warriors are always ready to believe the worst about their superior officers; so that presently the comrades of the comitatus began to avoid me, and it was harder to get on good terms with the pretty girls in the town. I like to be popular, unless I can be greatly feared; and in any case no one can become a ruler unless his subjects like him, though once he is on the throne it doesn’t matter so much. But what maddened me most of all was the unfairness of the whole thing. All the time I had served under the Count I had tried my hardest for the success of the Roman cause. It had been a genuine flicker of patriotism, an irrational sentiment that attacks even the wisest men, especially when they are young.
Before this scandal I had not disliked my
eldest brother in the least; he was an obstacle to my advancement, and one day I should have to deal with him; meanwhile we got on well enough together, for he could be a witty and amusing companion. But now I began to hate him as a person, for I knew that it was by his encouragement that these lies were spread about my conduct in the last war. This was very unfortunate, for hatred made me act hastily.
During the winter things were fairly quiet in the land of the Regni; after the defeat of the Roman army the Saxons pursued the main body of survivors westward, and did not penetrate the hungry and unrewarding Forest to the south. The campaign had lasted into the beginning of autumn and it was too late in the season for them to get out their war-boats in the Channel. But we knew that next year the raids would start, and after endless discussions in the family council we made our arrangements for defence. We had to stand alone, in spite of our wish for a strong alliance with some Christian power. Our only warlike neighbour, the King of Dumnonia, had led his comitatus north to occupy a district near the mouth of the Sabrina which had previously depended on Corinium, but which Count Ambrosius was now too weak to hold; he was not interested in his eastern border, where an extension of territory would bring him heavy fighting and poor taxes.
Conscience of the King Page 8
