Divided We Fall

by Gareth Mottram

  Original Working Cover

  - Battle Book 1 -

  Divided We Fall

  Gareth Mottram

  Published by The Red Button Press

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2020 Gareth Mottram

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Discover other titles by Gareth Mottram:

  Jason Willow 1: Face Your Demons

  Jason Willow 2: My Enemy's Enemy

  Jason Willow 3: Carpe Diem

  Chapter 1: Take A Hit

  Chapter 2: Who’s Saving Who?

  Chapter 3: Meetings in the Dark

  Chapter 4: Rescue

  Chapter 5: The Romani Wall

  Chapter 6: What’s Out There?

  Chapter 7: A Fury of Teeth and Claws

  Chapter 8: Have a Drink

  Chapter 9: Friends and Enemies

  Chapter 10: “Push Off, Nithing!”

  Chapter 11: Fall from Grace

  Chapter 12: Close Every Door to Me

  Chapter 13: New Legs

  Chapter 14: Dropping In

  Chapter 15: Forest Encounters

  Chapter 16: Dead Ahead, Captain

  Chapter 17: Fight or Flight?

  Chapter 18: The End of the Road

  What Next from Gareth Mottram?

  Jason Willow Trilogy

  About the Author

  Book Club Discussion Guide

  Chapter 1

  Take A Hit

  Will Foundling's head missed the wall by an inch.

  He rolled over backwards and flipped to his feet, but Bragg was on him instantly. Will dodged two fast jabs but stumbled as he tried to back away.

  A hammer-hard roundhouse caught his right cheek and he span back down to the floor again, arms flung out wide like a cross.

  His head rang from the blow. Stupidly, his hands still gripped the empty buckets he had brought to fill at the well before Bragg and his cronies had found him.

  Bragg's big, round face leaned over him. ''You are weak, Will Foundling, you drop at the first little hit.'

  ‘Not so “little”,’ Will mumbled.

  Bragg’s thick lips tightened into an angry line. 'We will never have your stunted, scrawny body in our shield wall – you would get us all killed.'

  A bit harsh, Will thought, I’m a little on the short side, maybe, but…

  Will took a breath as Bragg straightened up and swung his foot back for a kick at his ribs. At the last second, he twisted away and smashed a bucket into the back of Bragg's supporting leg.

  Bragg, twice Will's weight and strength and apprentice to the king's champion, crashed over backwards with a thud.

  Oops, that’s going to make him mad.

  Will scrambled to his feet but then had to steady himself against the well. His brain felt like it was spinning in water.

  Bragg was only halfway back to his feet but his two constant shadows – best friend Randolf and girlfriend, Wilda – were on the case. They stepped to either side of him like the pair of guard dogs they were.

  ‘Is that the way your heathen master teaches you to fight?' Bragg hissed as he gingerly tried his substantial weight on the bucket-struck leg. ''You’re a snivelling coward.'

  Will looked up at the taller, stronger, older, better trained apprentice and then at his two muscular allies. How am I the coward here? He couldn’t say anything – it would just make things worse.

  Wilda glanced at Bragg favouring one leg and stepped forward. 'Let me deal with the worm – he's not worthy of your attention.' She began tying her long, yellow hair back into a warrior’s tail.

  Bragg shrugged and dusted off his tunic. 'Have fun, girl.'

  Will dropped his buckets. At seventeen, Wilda was a year older than him, tall, strong and vicious with any blade or spear. She also punched hard and fast.

  Wilda grinned and fixed her eyes on Will. Their usual dark blue looked almost black in the fading light, but her teeth flashed white and sharp. ‘Maybe a broken arm will get you kicked back to Yeavering.’

  ‘Can a broken arm kick?’ Will asked. Then regretted opening his mouth as Wilda stopped smiling.

  Will sighed and raised his fists. This might not go so well. Maybe he should grab the buckets again.

  'Will Foundling – Cook needs that water now!'

  A girl's voice rang out, high and clear from the longhouse fifty feet behind Will.

  Wilda shot her malevolent stare over Will's head.

  'Do I have to tell Cook that the king's table must wait because you are playing with Bragg, Randolf and… some giant of a girl.'

  The speaker was getting closer, but Will knew better than to take his eyes off an opponent. He had recognised the voice immediately anyway – Bridget. He had apprenticed with her as a scribe and messenger, a battle-runner, for five years before managing to switch to warrior training.

  ‘Giant of a girl?’ Wilda growled, ‘the insolent little cow.’

  Will stifled a grin. Bridget was another despised "outsider" like him. She knew Wilda's name well enough – just as she seemed to know everyone and everything that ever happened in the capital. He wasn’t sure slighting Wilda was one of her best ever plans.

  Randolf spat to one side, barely missing his own huge shoulder. 'The old hag will make sure no venison leftovers go to the apprentice Shields if we slow down her water boy… and then they'll take it out on us.'

  Wilda glanced at Bragg for instructions. Will’s hand twitched – this would have been his chance to slash her neck with his seax and make a run for it… if she had been a real enemy, obviously.

  Bragg actually snarled and stepped towards Will. His tree-trunk of a leg had already recovered. 'There’s still time enough for a little more training,’ he began.

  Will stood his ground but brought his fists up higher. A lifetime of back-street scraps and three years of warrior training might not have given him Bragg's muscles, but he knew how to fight. Winning was the problem.

  As Bragg started to stride towards him, Bridget called out again.

  'And Bragg - your master is already cursing at having to pour his own mead. I'll let him know you’re too busy.'

  'Thunor's hammer,' Bragg snapped, ‘He’ll beat me half to death if I don't get back.'

  ‘Oh dear,’ Will mumbled.

  Bragg’s eyes narrowed and he walked straight at Will. 'Looks like the little kitchen wretch has saved your ugly face – for now.'

  My whole face isn’t ugly, just my nose is a bit bumpy, that’s all, Will thought. He shrugged but stayed ready.

  Bragg threw a punch at his shoulder to move him out of the way, but Will quickly twisted, and the blow barely touched him.

  Bragg glared at him. 'You can't even stand to take a body-hit. You won’t even make it into the lobbers. You’d be running scared before plinking your little arrows.'

  Plinking? What’s plinking?

  Bragg feigned another punch at Will then hurried towards the longhouse. Wilda and Randolf sniggered and jogged to catch up with their leader.

  The enemy were retreating – time to be brave.

  ‘You’re wrong,’ Will shouted after them. His swelling lip made his words a little slurred and there was some dribbling going on, but he kept going. ‘I’ll get into the first line of the wall and then into the huscarls inside three years.'

  ‘Over my de
ad body,’ Bragg shouted back.

  Tempting. Will gritted his teeth. He hated the fact that he hadn't yet grown tall or strong enough to be selected exclusively for shield wall training like Bragg and Randolph had. He loved reading military histories and knew the value of the skirmisher scouts and lobbers – the ranged-weapon users - but... well, they weren't the elite, they weren’t the Shields. Making it into the shield wall was the only thing that would stop them calling him a "nithing" – a coward, lowest of the low.

  His face ached where Bragg's powerful punches had connected but he refused to feel for the damage with his fingers. He bent down to pick up the buckets then stopped and stared ahead.

  'Oh no, Bridget,' Will whispered to himself, ‘what in the name of the gods are you doing now?’

  Chapter 2

  Who’s Saving Who?

  Flicking back her short brown hair, Bridget walked with her usual determined “don’t-get-in-my-way-I’m-on-important-business” type step towards Will.

  She seemed to have chosen a direct collision course with Bragg.

  ‘Move out of his way,’ Will urged under his breath. Bridget didn’t – of course. She stared at the huge youth with her huge brown eyes and carried on striding forward.

  'You watch your mouth when you speak to your betters, kitchen thrall,' Bragg shouted as they marched straight towards each other.

  ‘Can’t he get anything right?’ Will mumbled. Bridget wasn't a thrall – a slave. There were no slaves in Bernicia, the king's father had outlawed it decades ago. She was just helping with chores like everyone was supposed to do on a mission. Bridget was actually one of Master Tolan’s most talented apprentice scribes and a battle-runner with more stamina than a horse.

  However, right now she was being particularly stupid.

  People like Bragg from powerful families still treated the lower classes like dirt, especially those without the blonde hair and big, strong bodies of the pureblood Angalsax. You moved out of their way - usually.

  Groaning, Will started running towards Bragg’s back. Maybe a flying kick will take him down or maybe I’ll just bounce off him.

  'Get out of our way, grease-girl,' Randolf shouted. He stepped in front of Bragg to swing an open-handed slap at Bridget.

  Cat-quick, the little kitchen maid ducked, covering her head with both hands and then darted away.

  'Ahhh!' Randolf shouted and gripped his hand, staring at it. Blood dripped from his palm.

  Bridget stopped running when she was a safe distance away and turned to watch. 'Oh no, I’m so sorry,' she shouted, her voice trembling, 'you must have caught my fingernail. How awful – I missed your wrist by inches. Please forgive me, mighty apprentice shield-wall warrior.'

  'That'll help,' Will mumbled, slowing to a halt. There was no sense in getting involved if Bridget could get away herself though. Choose your battles was one of his favourite military history lessons.

  'I'll rip your filthy nails right out - one by one,' Randolf roared and strode towards Bridget.

  'Is that because you can't count up in twos?' Will shouted.

  Randolf stopped and turned slowly towards him.

  Will gulped. Oops. He glanced over at Bridget – at least Randolf wouldn’t tear her in two now – the overpowered oaf could only hold one thought in his head at a time.

  Bridget raised her eyes skyward as if he had done something stupid.

  Bragg caught Randolf's shoulder. 'Leave it. You shouldn't even notice a girl's scratch. We'll deal with the nithing later – he won’t be able to hide in the kitchens for ever.'

  The champion’s apprentice glanced around, checking no one was watching. There were guards patrolling the treeline, but they wouldn't pay much attention to fights amongst apprentices - it was all part of the "toughening up" process.

  Finally, Bragg turned his glare on Will. 'I wouldn't fall asleep tonight if I were you, nithing.'

  Not until I’ve drugged your meat, I won’t.

  Bragg spat on the ground in disgust then turned and jogged towards the longhouse. Wilda hurried to catch him up. Randolf took one more look at his dripping palm, flicked some blood towards Bridget and followed on.

  Will watched them go, the adrenaline starting to disappear. That went well.

  'Why did you say that to Randolf?'

  Will just about stopped himself from jumping. Somehow Bridget was at his side – she was freakishly good at sneaking up on him. He felt his face redden – it seemed he now needed an apprentice scribe to deal with bullies. As usual, Bridget carried on without waiting for an answer to her own question.

  'I had just diverted their attention away from you and then you pulled it right back.'

  ‘Randolf would have torn your arms off,' Will said.

  Bridget snorted. 'He’d get distracted after the first one. Anyway, he’d never catch me. All the Shields are idiots – slow, clumsy, noisy giants rattling around in chainmail and tin hats, weighed down by shields as thick as their heads.'

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.' Will grumbled, watching Bragg lumber into the king’s longhouse, 'They can take hit after hit and stay on their feet and cut their way through any enemy. It doesn’t matter if you’re as slippery as an eel… you can't run from that for ever.'

  'It works for me,' Bridget said. ‘You must know from all your pretty history books. Is standing in a line waiting to get hit really the best tactic ever dreamed up by all of the world’s armies?'

  Will stared down at her. Up close, he was always amazed at how petite Bridget was. Her eyes only reached his nose and he was considered short - at least a head smaller than most of the Angalsax boys his age.

  He shook his head. ‘The shield wall is the most vital part of Angalsax battle tactics. You can have all the skirmishers and lobbers you like but the wall is what wins battles. It stops horses, arrows and even berserkers, crashes right through the enemy and crushes them underfoot. It's every warrior's dream to be in the first line.'

  ‘Well it shouldn’t be. Shields are arrogant, self-serving, narrow-minded bullies and you should chase another dream.’

  Wil shook his head in exasperation.

  Bridget grabbed his chin and held it firmly, so he was looking at her. ‘At least find some actual friends, ones who’ll watch your back, not shove a spear through it.’

  ‘Great advice from someone who hates everybody.’

  ‘Maybe, but hey look - no nasty sharp things sticking out of me.’ Bridget span around.

  ‘Apart from your tongue,’ Will said.

  Bridget gazed up at him for a long moment, then dropped her eyes and sagged her shoulders. 'You're right, what do I know? I'm only a little kitchen thrall who’s seen nothing of the world.'

  Will opened his mouth to reply but couldn't think what to say. He didn't mean to insult her, especially after she had just saved him from another beating from three of the best apprentice warriors despite being approximately the size of a horsefly. Finally, he managed, 'Sorry, you know that’s not what I meant. You’re a super-smart scribe and tireless battle-runner and I know you’re only trying to stop me being disappointed if I don’t make it into the shield wall and…’

  A tiny smile tugged at one corner of Bridget’s pretty little mouth. She placed a cool finger on his swelling lips to shut him up then traced it over one burning cheek.

  'Don't worry my little failing warrior, we all have a part to play…' Unusually, that teasing smile she always seemed to have around him faltered for a moment. ‘Even if they’re not the parts we want.'

  Then she was back to her normal self. ‘Cook really is looking for you by the way – I wasn’t just making it up to save your vaguely handsome face.’

  Before Will could react, she shoved him towards the well and ran back to the kitchens.

  Will picked up one of his buckets and started to tie it to the rope.

  I’m not a failing warrior… well, not totally failing, anyway.

  Chapter 3

  Meetings in the Dark
r />   Will closed the door into the kitchen with one foot whilst carrying the two full buckets.

  ‘Taking your own sweet time again, Will Foundling,’ Cook snapped, ‘too busy trying to befriend real warriors, were you?’

  ‘Something like that,’ Will mumbled.

  ‘Give it up, boy. No one wants you at their side in battle.’ Cook didn’t even bother to look at him as she pounded some poor pastry into oblivion with a heavy rolling pin.

  ‘Brant does, that’s why…’

  ‘Don’t answer me back, nithing,’ Cook snapped. ‘That Scandian savage took you on because no one else would – everyone knows that.’ She crushed the pastry harder, it squelched out like she had dropped a boulder on someone’s stomach.

  ‘True,’ Will began, ‘but now he…’

  Cook suddenly hurled the rolling pin at him.

  Will side-stepped reflexively and the wood span passed his head to bounce against the wall. Despite his best effort, one bucket sloshed a little water over the floor.

  Cook glared at him and picked up another rolling pin without looking down. She had a whole arsenal of them at her side. ‘Don’t you dare argue with your betters, you motherless orphan.’ Then she attacked the pastry again.

  Aren’t all orphans motherless? Will wondered. He glanced at Bridget who was now quietly preparing seedcakes in one corner and mouthed, “Needless words waste parchment.’ She shook her head, but it didn’t hide a small smile. Scribe humour.

  Cook took his silence as acceptance. ‘Wipe up your mess and take these off-cuts out to the proper warriors. Quickly – you’ve slowed me down enough already.’

  Will found a space to dump the buckets and turned just in time to catch a cloth thrown to him by Bridget. He wiped up the water and stood up as Cook shoved a huge, heavy tray of venison and partridge meat into his hands.

  ‘Go, get on with it, you good-for-nothing incomer and hurry back for another one. Give it to the Shields, remember – those scavenging lobs and sneaks can wait for the scraps.’