by Sean Poage
This time it seemed that exhaustion and defending both sides were having an effect, as the Saxon lines became more ragged and their movements less coordinated. Bedwyr’s reserves began forming into the boar’s head, a wedge formation designed to crack open an enemy shield wall. It was not typically effective against densely packed formations like the square, but Bedwyr had decided it was time to break the will of the Saxon lines and try to force a rout.
Cei’s horsemen staged an attack against the Saxons in the lead, then fled from the hail of arrows, returning to Cei’s lines. Cei wanted to entice the Saxons into breaking up their formations by suggesting the hope of escape. Bedwyr’s attacking soldiers were ordered to withdraw, and as they did, the reserves moved up in their wedges, with the other companies in support.
The Saxon lines seemed to tremble as men shifted in the ranks. They turned towards their ships again, but their respite was brief. Bedwyr’s horns sounded the charge, and his men rushed forward. Cei sent his horsemen into the attack as well, and even from a distance, the Saxon wall began to look shaky in several places.
Hyfaidd and his staff rode along the line as Gawain waited for the even-numbered turmae to complete their attack. The praefectus was excited and greeted Gawain warmly.
“Just a few need to break and run!” Hyfaidd called out. “That will start the stampede to end this! Gawain! See that point?” He pointed to one spot in the Saxon formation that appeared to be wavering. “Concentrate your attack there. It will—” he stopped, staring beyond the battle in front of them, to the fortification. Gawain followed his gaze, and his jaw dropped.
The Saxons from Namnetis had decided on a new strategy. They had moved their archers to the northern end of the ditches, where Bedwyr had picketed his oxen, mules and horses. Fewer men held that location, as most of the Saxons had remained towards the centre. But instead of attacking the Britons there, they fired flaming arrows over the corral of wagons into the herd of animals.
Packed into the narrow confines between the ditches, the cattle and horses panicked and burst through the corral. Some climbed the embankment and fell into one of the trenches. A few ran north, but most stormed southwards, straight at the Britons defending the dyke. The Britons in turn panicked and fled from the onrushing animals. Most crossed the makeshift bridges to the east or jumped into the ditch in an attempt to get away. In minutes, the Britons had given up their control of the siege defences.
Their foes immediately attacked with grapples and ropes to pull down the timber wall segments and create their own bridges or crawled up the embankment. As the animals passed, the Saxons flooded into the fortification and drove out the remaining Britons. These Britons formed up beyond the eastern ditch to shield their brothers who were engaged with Odoacer’s reinforcements.
Gawain’s attention returned to the battle at hand. The fear of defeat gnawed at his gut, but the ripples in the Saxon lines were becoming more pronounced. Their side of the Saxon formation was moving faster than Bedwyr’s, and cracks were beginning to show.
“There, that’s your target!” Hyfaidd shouted, pointing at one of the growing gaps. “Where in hell is Arthur?” He cursed as he spun his mount around and galloped back towards the centre to find Cei.
Gawain looked around to see his men eager to attack, but another turma was returning from its run. Crowding the field with galloping horses and men flush with battle lust was a sure recipe for disaster. So much was happening across the battlefield that Gawain was glad he only had responsibility for his small piece of it. Cei’s strategy of holding his cavalry back from the Saxon ships was risky, and Bedwyr now found himself in the same position as Odoacer, with foes on both sides. Drustan’s skirmishers were on the opposite side of the city, too far away to help. And Arthur had yet to appear. Until this point, casualties had been light for both sides, but the situation was beginning to turn against the Britons.
The third files of the eighth and tenth turmae cleared enough of the field that Gawain decided to begin his run. He called back orders to his men and led his file out, a bit quicker than usual, and thundered directly at the location that Hyfaidd had pointed out. Instead of staying in file, Gareth moved into position on Gawain’s right rear flank, Mabon on the left rear, Teilo behind him and so on until they had formed a wedge. When Gawain was past halfway towards the shield wall, Illtud led his men out in the same fashion, followed in the same manner by Cadwal.
This was the formation used to break through enemy ranks. The view from the ground for the infantryman is terrifying, as thousands of pounds of thundering hooves and sharp steel rush at him. Gawain focused on the looser and shifting collection of shields that indicated men on the verge of fleeing. Instead of a javelin, he held his spear forward, the rear portion braced under his armpit, his thumb along the top of the shaft to help steady it. The full gallop of the horse smoothed the up-and-down motion, so it was easy for Gawain to keep the point levelled at the top of the shield he had chosen.
This attack was dangerous, driving into the waiting spears of men on foot. The only hope for the cavalryman is that the infantryman would turn and run, or at least flinch and miss the rider and his horse. If he did, he would likely cause his fellows to do the same, or cause enough confusion in the ranks to cause others to miss. If he did not, if the shield wall stood firm and the cavalry did not swerve, he would probably be crushed, as well as the men around him, but the wall might hold and be able to regroup. The cavalryman and his horse would likely be killed, though.
The Saxon spears trembled. Gawain could see eyes wide and mouths open in the ranks behind the first shields. The movement further back became more frantic.
At the last moment, Gawain raised his spear, pulled sharply to the left and looped around to return to their starting point. The Saxons had not broken. Some of his men threw javelins for good measure, and the same occurred with Illtud and Cadwal. But the increased pressure all along the Saxon lines appeared to be having an effect.
It was an accident that made the Saxons finally break.
As Gawain and his turma were returning to their lines, the even-numbered turmae were charging into the attack. A little to the south of Gawain’s position, the second file of another troop had followed too closely to its first. When the leading file turned, it threw off the rhythm of the second, causing it to swerve away from the wedge ahead of them and crash into the shield wall at an oblique angle. The Saxon line was breached in a wide swathe, and the leader of the third file made a quick decision to drive into the gap.
The horrible crashing sound, the screams of men and horses, rose above the din of the rest of the field. The change in the momentum of the battle rippled across the Saxon formations. Where the Briton cavalry had torn through the shield wall, it was chaos. The men who had survived the impact and managed to stay mounted fought their way through to the other side, hacking and slashing with their swords. Of those two files, only four men would make it out with their horses, and two others on foot after their steeds had been killed. Their fellows from the first file turned and charged back to aid them, losing four more men and three horses.
The shock of the attack caused some of the Saxons near the breach to finally turn and flee for their ships. This had a cascading effect. Panic in an army is contagious, as the courage of a man is shored up by the courage of the man beside him. In short order, the southern half of the Saxon army had abandoned their ranks and were running. The northern half continued fighting and marching, though bleeding strength as men broke free to run south or north.
In the minutes it took for all this to happen, Cei saw the opportunity. He ordered the ala on the south of his line to chase down the Saxons running for their ships and sent another ala north to prevent escape in that direction. Hyfaidd’s ala was ordered to go around the mass of Odoacer’s warriors and reinforce Bedwyr’s men. Cei’s three remaining alae would contend with the core of Odoacer’s troops.
Bedwyr’s a
rchers were not equipped for close battle, and his spearmen were outnumbered by the Saxons from Namnetis. They were being pushed back from the fortification and on the verge of collapsing. Some were already disengaging and trying to make some distance from the enemy. Bedwyr was forced to commit his reserve to shore them up, leaving him with fewer men to deal with Odoacer and the battle-hardened core of his army. Those Saxons held their formations and continued their slow fighting withdrawal towards their ships.
Gawain had his men gather their few remaining javelins and joined the procession Hyfaidd led across the field, skirting the northern side of Odoacer’s army. They chased and killed a few Saxon stragglers and moved into the narrowing space between Bedwyr’s eastward and westward-facing soldiers. To the south was a confusing mass of movement and dust as the other troopers pursued the Saxons who had fled.
Hyfaidd conferred with the captain of the infantry facing the Saxons from Namnetis. Bedwyr was somewhere in the mass of warriors facing Odoacer’s reinforcements. After a brief exchange, Hyfaidd returned and split his ala roughly into thirds. One group, he sent to the northern flank, one group stayed at the centre with him and the third, including Gawain’s men, he deployed to the southern end of the Briton’s line. This was the typical deployment scheme for the cavalry, who were best used to attack the flanks of the enemy.
Gawain and his men were put immediately to use, disrupting the advance of the Saxons while the Britons regrouped. The enemy had the ditch close behind them, so by repositioning their wings, it was easy to keep the British cavalry from turning their flanks. But their advance was halted, and with the extra men, the Britons rallied and began pushing back.
Gawain sat, sweating and tired on his horse, watching Cadwal’s line return from their sortie. Behind them, Odoacer was moving towards his goal in fits and starts. Some smoke rose above the dust near where the Saxon ships were beached. In front of him, the British infantry had recovered and were moving to engage the Saxons. But the line was uneven, and some of the men were lagging, perhaps from fear or exhaustion. The result was that when the two shield walls met, a crack began to form in the line. If the Saxons had kept troops in reserve, they would have been able to exploit it. Even without Saxon spearmen pouring through, the gap could cause men to lose their nerve.
“Look there!” Gawain yelled to Illtud, pointing towards the spot. He glanced around to find Hyfaidd, but they were too far separated.
“That looks like a disaster in the making,” Illtud worried.
“Or an opportunity!” Gawain grinned wildly, his eyes sharp and burning. Gawain pulled up a pair of javelins and trotted his horse out in front of their turma to stand beside Peredur and his banner.
“My brothers!” he cried, “You’ve all fought valiantly! I know you’re tired. I, too, grow weary. Not of killing Saxons, of course, but of pricking at them. It bores me!” A rumble of laughter and nodding answered him. “Look there,” he pointed to the crack. “If we can pass through that gap, we’ll be behind the Saxons and free to slaughter them until that bores us! Are you with me?” They all shouted in agreement, turning the heads of the men in the adjacent turmae.
“Then let us move quickly, in close columns,” Gawain pointed back to the target. “My line will push to the right, Illtud’s to the left and Cadwal should have a wide breach to prance through.” They laughed as he spun around and started forward. Despite the zeal of his speech, he did not break immediately into a gallop. There was some ground to cover first, and he didn’t want to draw the Saxons’ attention to his approach. Illtud and Cadwal brought their lines out close behind, and Peredur fell in behind the last man in Gawain’s file.
The break in the shield wall was not wide; barely more than a single horse could pass. The Britons on either side were curling back, as the Saxons pushed around the edges. These were the targets Gawain and his men aimed for as they suddenly spurred on their mounts and rushed for the gap.
Gawain’s eyes swept the route ahead as he tried to pick out the target that most blocked the path through the breach. Some of the fighters on either side finally noticed the horsemen thundering down upon them. It caused the edges of the lines to separate, the Britons stepping back to make room, the Saxons struggling to get out of the way.
One man caught Gawain’s attention, stumbling among the crush of warriors trying to get away from the horses. He had turned to face Gawain’s charge, then as Gawain looked directly at him, lost his nerve and turned to run. It was his last bad decision, as Gawain, holding his spear low and underhand, drove it through the Saxon’s back, throwing him into a knot of his fellows. The force of the impact was jarring, wrenching the shaft upward. Gawain had to throw his arm out and up while releasing the spear just to keep his shoulder in its socket. Before he even had time to recover and draw his sword he broke through the gap to find himself in the clear area behind the Saxon lines. His men followed through a growing hole and, behind them, other turmae were hastening to follow and exploit the opportunity.
Gawain readied one of the javelins from his shield hand and guided his horse in an arc to the right. He charged at a group of Saxons that were far enough away to have missed the chaos and the Briton cavalry threatening their rear. Gareth and the others followed close behind, and they hurled their javelins into the backs of warriors still unaware. Drawing their swords, they slashed and trampled those who tried to face them or who turned to run.
Saxons were beginning to stream away from the fight, fleeing for the safety of the ditch and often dying in the attempt, but the Saxon lines held. Gawain leant far over to snatch a Saxon spear stuck in the ground, then spotted the flag of a Saxon chief, perhaps the leader of the Namnetis force. It was a pole topped with a yellowed ram’s skull dressed with several human scalps, one hanging from the chin like a ragged beard. A cluster of warriors around it fought savagely against the Briton infantry on the other side, oblivious to the conflict behind them.
Gawain glanced back to see that his line was behind him. The rest of his turma ranged the field nearby. He set his spurs to his sweating steed, shouted to his men and charged towards the enemy banner.
The Saxon warriors near the chieftain’s bodyguard saw Gawain’s approach and scattered, calling to their fellows as they fled. This was to Gawain’s liking, as it opened a clearer path to his target, a cluster of helmeted and armoured Elites. He picked out the leader, a large, white-bearded warrior in a gilded helm who howled like an animal and held a sword high to strike across the shields in front of him.
Several of the chieftain’s bodyguard finally noticed the danger, turning to face Gawain and his men at the last moment. Gawain couched the spear under his arm and leant forward and to the side. He drove the spear over the edge of a Saxon shield and into the gaping mouth of the man behind it. It severed the upper half of the man’s head, tossing it across to the Briton lines. Gawain’s horse, reins free, crashed into the other unprepared warriors, sending a deep wedge of men to the ground. The spear struck another man and broke, so he drew his sword and began hacking at the recovering fighters around him, trying to steer his horse back out.
A spear thrust out at Gawain’s armpit as he raised his sword, and he might have been skewered if his horse had not suddenly reared. The spearhead skittered across Gawain’s mailed chest and snagged the inside edge of his shield. Together with the attack’s momentum and sudden upheaval of his horse, Gawain was pulled backwards out of his saddle.
Sensing the inevitability of his fall, Gawain turned towards his right and launched himself away from his horse. As he fell, time moving in the slow way he had come to expect when fighting, Gawain realised that he was about to die, that his horse must have been injured, and he wondered where his fellows were and if Rhian would learn of his end. He smashed the edge of his shield into the face of the spearman who had nearly killed him as he landed on the crushed and bloodied Saxons below. Rolling over onto his back, he brought his shield up just in time stop a sava
ge hack from a Saxon axe, his sword stabbing upwards into his attacker’s groin.
After that, it became a flurry of stabbing and parrying with shield and sword, as a swarm of men tried to get at Gawain while he tried to fight and get to his feet. Blood poured over him and made the ground slick. Bodies impeded him and fell across him. In those few seconds that felt like a lifetime, it seemed as if darkness was closing around him like a collapsing mine shaft.
Gawain struggled to his knees and turned towards the majority of his attackers just as a man smashed into his back, knocking him forward onto his face. He tried to turn, but his vision blurred in a flash of light, and his mind went black.
The sun sank into the western sea, hazy behind the thin smoke that still rose from the far side of the city. The dust had settled, allowing a clear view of the entire battlefield. Bodies littered the ground, sometimes in piles where the fighting had been heaviest, but mostly alone, often facedown, typical of the slaughter that follows a rout. Carrion birds circled, waiting for a stripped body to be left alone so they could land and begin their gruesome feast.
Women and children, some from the city, others that had followed Bedwyr’s army, picked across the field. Most looted the bodies of what little the soldiers had not been interested in taking. A few searched for their loved ones, wailing and tearing at their clothes and hair when they found one. These sounds, along with the pitiful moans and cries of the wounded and the cawing of carrion birds were eerily muted in comparison to the din of the battle only hours before.
Most of the Britons had gone to the city after spending the last several hours wearily but eagerly stripping the Saxon dead of their weapons, armour, jewellery, sometimes even their clothing. Any Saxon who lived but was too wounded to sell into slavery was killed. Dead Britons were removed from the field with honour to be interred in a mass grave near the river. Wounded Britons had been taken in wagons and carts to the city, where the walls were now manned by their comrades, and the gates stood open.
