by Sean Poage
Cresting the rise, he was amazed by what he saw in the vale before them. Rows upon orderly rows of tents, arrayed in a careful grid pattern, with wide streets laid out between the squares. Fire pits were spaced evenly between groups, and he could see steady activity even in the deepening gloom. Gawain was not sure how large Arthur’s army was, but this camp could house thousands.
In the first group of tents were the food stores. Gawain reported to the quartermaster to draw rations for his turma, then they followed the main street through the camp to find their tent site. The directions were clear, so Gawain counted the streets until he was near the far edge of the encampment, then turned south, finally coming to the line of four tents they were assigned.
The shelters were empty, but clean, and they settled in. Some started a fire in the pit behind their tents, while others explored and others simply went to sleep. Gawain ensured that his men had all their kit, and sufficient food and drink, then went in search of Cei or the other leaders.
He found the tent for Gobrwy, Cei’s chief of staff, and learnt that Cei was not staying in the camp. Gobrwy, looking ragged and harassed, informed Gawain that the men were to remain in their tent area until further notice and that they could expect to set out soon.
Gawain returned to his group to let them know what he had been told. As the others straggled back to the tents, they related what they had learnt from the soldiers who were around them. First, the cavalry was staying at a different camp to be close to the horses for training. Second, exercises were as regular here as at Cadubrega. Third, some of the soldiers had already been involved in action, clearing Saxon settlements from the region. Fourth, the army had some large machines for throwing boulders at city walls and, fifth, the camp was abuzz with rumours that they could expect to move out the next day. With little else to do, most bedded down for the night.
The following day was a maddeningly dull exercise in patience as they waited for news. The only thing they were told was to rest and to paint a white Chi-Rho on their shields, as this was the emblem that Arthur’s soldiers would use to identify each other. The pagans among the army might have been uncomfortable with the symbolism, but all complied. Most did not want to deface any existing emblems on their shields, so they painted it on an open space or, like Gawain, on the boss.
That was the most excitement of the day. The anticipation and ambiguity combined with idleness threatened to result in trouble if the soldiers were not distracted. They went to their beds that night with poor tempers, and Gawain was determined to find ways to keep his men busy the next day.
He need not have worried. Late that night, Gobrwy woke him, startling Cadwal, Illtud and Peredur, who jumped to his feet with a knife in his hand before realising who was in the tent with them.
“Peredur, you must throw the net before the fish pass,” Gawain chuckled. “My lord, how may I be of service?”
“Gather your men, quietly,” Gobrwy answered. “With all of their belongings. Follow the first street east until you are two bowshots beyond the camp. Do this quickly, and no one is to speak about this to anyone until you have arrived at your location.”
Gawain indicated he understood, and Gobrwy departed. The others in the tent stood gaping in bewilderment until Gawain shrugged, pulled on his boots and headed outside.
“We have our instructions,” Gawain whispered as he ducked under the flap. “See to your files. We move out immediately.”
Gawain was pleased with his turma. There were many questioning glances, but none spoke as they gathered on the street in front of their tents. The secrecy and sense of urgency instilled greater patience to wait for an explanation. They organised into three files and set out along the dusty street, north to the first cross street, then east towards the perimeter of the camp.
It was dark, but there was enough light to see their way to the edge of the camp where the street passed through a wooden gate. As they approached, a pair of guards stepped out of the shadows by the berm and swung the gates open on well-greased hinges. No words were spoken, though one of the guards gave Gawain a short nod as he passed.
Outside, the gates swung silently closed, and Gawain followed the path eastwards through fallow fields towards the dark line of a forest in the distance. They marched on, crossing over an old irrigation ditch, until Gawain estimated they were at the proper distance, held up his hand and stopped. The group came to a jerky halt, the men looking around, perplexed. Murmuring started almost immediately until Gawain hissed for them to be silent. He directed them to move off the path and squat in the tall grass while he peered into the darkness.
A scuffing on the track behind them caused him to whirl around. A single, shadowy figure shuffled towards them, carrying a small hooded oil lamp that allowed only a sliver of light to escape. The figure paused, then continued forward until he was several long strides away.
“You must shoot your arrows much further than most,” the figure said in a low voice.
“Who are you?” Gawain squinted, his hand going to his sword hilt.
“I am Lem. You were sent here by Gobrwy,” came the reply, as he stepped closer to Gawain. “I’m to be your guide to the cavalry camp. Who am I speaking to?”
“I am Gawain. Why are we going at this hour, in such secrecy?”
“I’m told only that it’s necessary and that your questions will be answered when you arrive at the camp.”
“It’s near here?” Gawain asked.
“If you consider a full day’s forced march as near,” Lem stifled a laugh. Gawain’s dismay was evident even in the dimness. “I’m sorry; I have no more to tell you. I only follow the commands I’m given. Take heart in knowing that yours is not the only group to take this walk tonight.”
Gawain called the men together, and since all had heard the conversation, they formed up to march with only a modicum of grumbling and followed Lem. As they entered the forest, Lem told them to stay close together to avoid becoming separated and to keep track of the man in front of and behind each.
They moved as swiftly as the darkness and trees allowed. The forest covered gentle hills dotted with occasional clearings that they usually skirted. Gawain did his best to keep track of their direction and was reasonably certain that they were travelling more or less south-east.
After some three hours, the forest ended on the downward slope of a hill. The clouds had mostly cleared, and the stars and sliver of a moon showed a broad flat plain dotted with trees. They stopped to rest, and Gawain stepped to the woodline to look across the plain. In the quiet, he could hear the distant sound of a march. He scanned out as far as he could see and caught his breath. Near the limits of his sight, a dark mass moved. Gawain turned to see Lem standing next to him and pointed towards what he saw.
“Oh, yes,” Lem nodded. “That would be one of the other groups. We’ll probably meet others as we continue.”
That was indeed the case. Shortly after starting across the fields, they observed another group behind and to the north. They pressed on, and during a break, they linked up. It was a pair of turmae from the Gododdin contingent. They merged into a longer file and continued on.
At one of the breaks, with the eastern sky beginning to lighten, Illtud sat down next to Gawain and stretched his back.
“I know where we are,” he said to Gawain.
“Oh?”
Illtud pointed to the east. “My father’s fortress is in that direction. I know these lands well. We’re coming to an area with many marshes. Usually, there are great herds of cattle in these fields.”
“I wonder if we’re going to his hall.” Gawain mused. “You’d be able to see your family.”
“My parents don’t approve of my choices,” Illtud sighed. “Returning home would create complications I’d just as soon avoid.”
The march continued, and they avoided most of the marshy lands by drifting south-east before turning east
. As the sun rose, they saw the terrain rising ahead of them, thick with trees. They turned a bit to the north and continued the march through a dense forest. Ahead, they could hear others marching.
Before midday, they came out of the forest into a grassy plain. About halfway across was a large military camp behind a ditch and embankment. Horses roamed the fields, and a large group of soldiers was entering the camp. The men were heartened and quickened their pace, seeing an end to their wearisome march.
At the gate, they halted while Lem went forward to speak to the guards. The gates swung open and he waved for them to follow him in. Inside, the camp was busy, and an official directed them to their quarters to get some sleep. Gawain and the other Decuriones would meet for the evening meal to be briefed. Exhausted, no one raised an argument, and they trudged off to their assigned tents to collapse into sound sleep.
Late in the day, Gawain was wakened for the evening meal. Groggy, stiff, sore and irritable, he washed from a bucket of water that Peredur brought him, grunted at Peredur’s attempts to help him dress, girded his sword and left the tent. Trying to orient himself and remember where the briefing would be held, he joined others that he recognised and walked to the north side of the camp.
They found the correct tent among several beside the parade field and joined several soldiers drinking and talking at the tables. A few were the Decuriones that Gawain knew, while others were the leaders of the turmae that had already been here for some time. The others arrived soon after and, for the first time, all sixteen Decuriones of Cei’s Second Ala were together.
The men began taking the measure of their new comrades-in-arms. Those who had been at the camp for some time claimed the higher status, of course, boasting of their exploits against the Saxons along the coast. Most of the new arrivals bragged of their own exploits to assert their status. Gawain refrained, affecting an air of confident indifference as he studied those around him.
After a while, food was brought in and piled on the tables. Gawain and the others who had marched all night had not eaten since the day before and were famished. The sight and aroma were almost overpowering, but protocol demanded they wait for their praefectus, Hyfaidd.
A short time later, their commander breezed in and walked to the head table. The room quieted, and Hyfaidd motioned for everyone to be seated while he stood and looked at the group.
“I hope you have all started to become acquainted,” he said. “We don’t have much time to do so, and we must train together to be proficient in our form of warfare.
“First, let me answer the questions I know you have. There is a reason for the night-time march and secrecy. This war has been building for several years, and the Rigotamos’s involvement has been known to our enemies for over a year. Their spies have been busy learning only what the Rigotamos wants them to know.
“The first blow falls on Namnetis, to retake the city from Odoacer and his Saxon pirates, but also to draw to battle all of the Saxons that infest the Leger Valley as far as Andecava to the east.
“The Saxons refuse to face us if they don’t have a clear advantage, taking to their ships if we approach in force. The Rigotamos seeks to entice Odoacer to bring all of his dispersed strength to bear on breaking our siege by showing just enough force to take the city but not to repulse all of Odoacer’s might.
“That’s why we’re here, in this remote location. We’re to remain hidden from Odoacer’s agents, move south by secret ways at the proper time and then surprise Odoacer’s army and prevent its escape.” He paused and looked around the silent room, focusing on the newcomers to gauge their reactions.
“The Rigotamos is as cunning in strategy as he is ferocious in battle. His plan is audacious, but if we do our part, it will end the Saxon threat in Letavia and secure our lines of supply and communication for the next phase of the campaign.
“That’s all there is to tell, for now.” Hyfaidd picked up his mug. “Tonight, eat, drink and sing. Tomorrow, the work begins.”
The next morning, the new arrivals gathered at the north gate of the camp to choose their horses. There were concerns about being the last to arrive and having to pick through a clutch of swayback nags that no one else wanted, but the quartermaster assured them that a new herd was recently delivered. The men were given some time to peruse the horses, then drew lots to choose. The privilege of command afforded the Decuriones first choice.
Gawain pulled the second pick, and he knew precisely the horse he wanted. It was a large, sturdy bay mare with a spirited step and alert ears. He successfully chose his horse, then worked with his men to guide them through the choices of their horses, being quite satisfied with the results at the end. The process, along with giving them time to become acquainted with their new steeds, took the entire day. Typically, each would have two horses, but they were told spares would be available at Namnetis.
The next several days were spent in training. A different clearing in the forest was used to practise movements in formation and cavalry versus cavalry actions. A smaller one had been set up with wicker effigies of shield- and spear-armed men in formation. These were used to train horse and rider in the techniques of using spear, javelin and sword against massed infantry. Some of the methods were new to Gawain and his men, even though they came from a culture with a strong cavalry tradition. Of particular interest was the art of identifying a wavering point in a line of battle to choose when and where to initiate a shock-inducing charge to break through the lines and cause a rout.
On the seventh day of training, Hyfaidd called together his Decuriones for another evening meal council. This time he was already in the tent, and guards were posted outside in a steady rain. The men filed in and found seats at the benches. Food and drink were brought in immediately, and they were told to relax and refresh themselves. While they ate and drank, Gawain noticed that Hyfaidd, sitting with his staff, scrutinised the men and their social interactions. After everyone had had their fill, Hyfaidd stood.
“You’ve done well in preparing yourselves and your men for what’s ahead,” he said sombrely. “The time to put that preparation to the test is near at hand.
“Four days past, Bedwyr marched the infantry south towards Namnetis. He’s moving slowly by design, bringing spare horses and using oxcarts to move supplies and the siege engines. Moving a large, slow army by the Roman road that passes Redones is certain to catch the attention of Odoacer and, with luck, draw him out.”
Hyfaidd picked up a large, rolled parchment and asked for two men to hold it up for the others. It was a rough map, drawn in charcoal, showing the coast and the locations of Aletum, Redones, Namnetis and Andecava, as well as the roads that linked them.
“This information is not for other ears,” he glared about. “The success of this campaign, the lives of your fellows and the honour of your names rely on secrecy. Is this understood?” The Decuriones, not being accustomed to strategic planning or secret meetings, glanced at each other. He received assents from all and continued.
“Tomorrow we cease training. Prepare your men to leave the following day. We’ll go east towards the Roman domain of Syagrius. He’s our ally and has given leave to move through his lands. We will turn south and follow narrow roads through forests and valleys that should hide us from Odoacer’s spies, making for a spot near the river between Namnetis and Andecava.” He pointed to a place on an east-west road not far from Namnetis.
“Odoacer is a wily leader. He doesn’t engage unless he’s confident he owns the advantage, but he also abhors a siege. Last year, Budig, who was king of the region, brought an army to retake Namnetis. With a smaller force, Odoacer ambushed Budig during his march, killing the king and causing the rest to flee back to Comberos.
“The Saxons never stray far from their ships, and Bedwyr’s route does not come near enough to navigable waters until he is nearly at Namnetis. For this reason, we expect Odoacer to attack Bedwyr’s flank after he ar
rives at the city. Our spies report that Odoacer has prepared to do so by staging ships and men upriver from the city, and has been living as a guest of the magistrate of Andecava of late.”
Hyfaidd was interrupted by a wave of whispers around the room, and one voice asked, “Andecava is allied with Odoacer?”
“No,” Hyfaidd answered. “The city is ostensibly part of Syagrius’ realm, but it sits at the periphery and Syagrius has not been able to devote the resources to ensure their defence. When Odoacer took Namnetis and threatened Andecava, the city’s council agreed to peace terms with Odoacer and gave him a number of hostages to ensure they did not interfere with his control of the valley from their city to the sea. Thus, he maintains some influence in the city.”
Hyfaidd turned back to the map and continued.
“So it appears that Odoacer plans to entrap our army. This is what we hoped for because a siege would be long and costly, but victory will put an end to the Saxons of the Leger.
“Our aim is for Odoacer to be engaged with Bedwyr’s forces when we arrive behind them. This will make the final few days difficult. We must be close enough to prevent Odoacer from overwhelming Bedwyr’s forces, and yet not so close that we’re discovered before the trap is sprung. Odoacer must not escape.” Hyfaidd smeared the charcoal to obliterate the map, then smiled grimly.
“We are the hammer against Bedwyr’s anvil, poised to crush the Saxons and win the greater glory among Arthur’s legions!” The tent rumbled with cheers and table banging, though not of the level Arthur could elicit. The drinking and camaraderie continued well into the night.
The next day was spent cleaning, repairing and packing equipment, grooming horses, and sharpening weapons. The excitement was palpable, and the day of the march dawned to clear skies and a cool breeze - good omens for the army.
They left camp, abandoning the tents and other comforts, riding south until they came to a road and turning to follow it east. As they progressed, their ala was joined by others, until they had merged into a large force of about three thousand. Nearly all of Arthur’s cavalry, with Cei riding proudly at the head. It was the largest collection of horsemen Gawain had ever seen, a double line that stretched for over six miles, though the dust raised made it difficult to see more than a few score, and all the spear points were shrouded to prevent them glinting in the sunlight.
