Caledonii: Birth of a Celtic Nation. 5. A Druid's Work

by Hall, Ian

  Calach was running faster now, his axe in one hand, his sword in the other, his shield slapping loosely across his back. He sensed the others behind him, heard the beating of their heavy feet on the turf. Ten thousand warriors, all running for the gates and the wall. As Calach neared the gate, fiery arrows above began to illuminate the charge, the archers now firing missiles with tar-soaked cloth, their points burning bright and yellow in the dark sky. Falling inside the camp, these would start thousands of small fires within, the more chaos they caused the better.

  Time passed so slowly, he looked to the ram; twenty men carried it, ten to each side, running resolutely to the gate. Calach watched the ground in front of him as the flaming arrows made strange dancing, fleeting shadows in the grass. He was almost at the gate. Close enough to hear the camp in uproar; shouts of command, trumpets blaring, drums beating.

  With an almighty roar, Calach began to shout as he charged; a shapeless, mindless roar. He heard it immediately being caught up amongst the ram team, then by the rest of the army, now closing behind him. The men wielding the ram shouted louder than anyone. Calach had never heard such a cheer; it seemed to shake the very ground he ran on.

  As he looked forward again, he saw that some Romans had made their way to the parapet, Calach watched as they grasped the situation, shouting back over their shoulders, then laughed as the fiery arrows changed their targets and thudded into the wooden slats and into the soldier’ bodies.

  Then suddenly, Ishar and his men hit the gate.

  With a deafening crash, the ram flew against the wood, at the meeting of the two gates, jarring both the gates and the supports. The wood creaked and buckled slightly, but neither the gates nor the wooden bar behind gave way.

  “Again!” Calach shouted above the noise of the charge. “Come on!”

  Ishar relayed the orders and the team quickly took the ram back twenty or so paces then charged once more. Calach stood to one side, urging the ram to complete its mission, roaring at the top of his voice when it crashed into the gates for the second time. One gate broke, and fell partly inwards, but jammed on the wooden bar behind it. A last, desperate push from the Brigantes did no more damage.

  “Again!” Calach roared, beginning to panic. If the ram could not break the gates, the attack was lost. Through the gap in the gate, Calach could now see partly into the camp, the insides were ablaze, tents burning brightly. He could see some of the Roman soldiers running towards the entrance, swords and shields at the ready. As Ishar’s men stepped back again, some Romans were already at the gates, trying to prop them closed. Calach knew that every moment the gates stood was another step towards disaster for his plan. He looked back; the Norlands army were now almost upon them.

  Crash! He was startled back to reality as the ram hit for the third time.

  He looked round as the gates ripped apart, the hinges on one side breaking with a loud snap, the other support ripped from the ground. With a cry heard above the sounds of splitting wood, Ishar urged his men to carry the ram forward into the camp. Six or seven Roman soldiers, trapped under the fallen gate, were trampled on as the team pushed through the gap. Warriors, with the impetus of the charge, bristling with impatience, charged after Ishar and the ram. Calach, rather than leading the charge, was now drawn along with them as they ran through the twisting path to the inside of the fort.

  The ram had left many Romans on the ground in its wake and Calach, like others who now streamed through the entrance, swung savagely at the stranded figures. Twice he had to stop to pry his axe from a body, standing on the fallen man, pulling his weapon free. As he recovered his weapon for the second time, he got buffeted from the side, sending him toppling into a small ditch beside the roadway. It only took moments to regain his footing, but as he scrambled up the small slope, hundreds of warriors ran past him into the fort. As he gained the path again, he was swept inward with them. He laughed as he caught their enthusiasm, cheering at the top of his voice. Then at last, he found himself inside the camp, but far from the brunt of the action.

  He quickly found a rocky outcrop slightly above the camp floor itself. Although only head and shoulders above the throng, Calach could instantly take stock of the situation.

  The Romans had been caught unawares, but had quickly placed a defensive cordon around the gateway, their shields forming a wall into which the Norlands warriors were charging. As they charged, those with axes threw them over the shields then clashed into the Roman line, their swords swinging over their heads, but the attack was ill-organized. Some parts of the line were being attacked in numbers, some parts of the line were steadily advancing towards the gateway, virtually unchallenged.

  He saw Ishar and his men smash the battering ram into the shield wall, and it toppled like summer wheat. Calach cheered as his new tactic was found effective. The men charged again, then the battering ram seemed to be lost, dropped to the well-trodden earth as the men drew their weapons and began to fight.

  Calach shouted commands, guiding the newly arriving warriors towards the leading shields and bawling encouragement as they swept past him, pointing in the direction of the unopposed sections. When the gaps in the Norlands attack had been filled, Calach tried unsuccessfully to jostle his way to the fighting. There were so many warriors flooding through the gates, the Norlands force was in danger of becoming cramped, with no room to maneuver. He noticed some arrows coming from the Roman lines into the unprotected Norlands warriors. He slipped his shield onto his forearm, his hand still clutching the sword, and positioned the shield in front of his face. As he did so, two arrows struck close to him. A warrior by his side died instantly, the arrow having neatly entered his eye. Another struck a woman in the arm, sending her spinning to the ground. Calach shouted to others to protect themselves against this new threat.

  The fighting continued. Calach jostled forward with the rest, although he seemed to get no nearer the fighting. He shouted encouragement. An arrow thudded into his small shield, the point just breaking through the wood, almost hitting his arm. He used his sword to chop both parts of the arrow away. Finding that he could not advance towards the fighting, Calach moved slowly to one side, trying to find the piece of raised ground again, but soon found himself back at the ridge of the palisade. He took a few steps up the slope for a better vantage point and soon realized that, though there were probably a few thousand Norland warriors inside the camp, there must be much more outside, still waiting to gain entrance.

  He grabbed the arms of two men closest to him. “Get your friends an’ follow me!” he shouted into their faces. Quickly moving along the inside of the embankment, they ran up the slope to the pointed wooden slats and along the wall. After ensuring that he would not be hit by his own archers, he started to kick and chop at the wood on the palisade, helped by four or five of the commandeered warriors.

  “Over here!” He waved to the men and women still outside. “Get over here!”

  As they saw him on the broken wall, they surged towards him, over the first ridge, then the ditch, then up the embankment. Within moments he was being swept back down into the camp towards the action. With this new impetus, and Calach at the front, they charged into the flank of the Roman line, hacking at the surprised troops.

  Faced with a large red Roman shield, Calach kicked the offending obstacle and swung his sword over the top. He felt it hit something substantial and the shield dropped, offering him the next Roman. He stepped over the body swinging at his next opponent. The young man, who had his shield over his head, failed to bring it down quickly enough. The heavy edge of the sword took the Roman in the chest, winding him. Calach then swung it round in an upwards arc, slicing into the man’s unprotected groin. The Roman buckled forward, dropping sword and shield and got stabbed unceremoniously from the side. Calach had no time to look for the identity of his assistant.

  To Calach’s annoyance another shield presented itself, filling the gap in the line. Calach cursed at their regimented moves, and swung his sword again,
slicing it down into the shield’s edge. It tore through the metal rim and the wood beneath splintered easily, but there it jammed. Calach pulled it sharply, but the sword stuck. Then the adjacent shield moved to the side. Calach yelled as he narrowly side-stepped a sword lunge from between shields, the point grazing his skin, sliding past his ribs.

  “Not there again!” he roared.

  The last wound there has barely healed.

  The sharp Roman sword disappeared back from where it came. Calach placed his foot on the shield and tugged at his sword, not wanting to lose it so soon in the battle. With the second pull, it came loose, but he lost his footing and fell back, sprawling full length on the encampment floor.

  “Aarghh!” he cursed as several warriors advanced over him, the ignominy of his fall being outweighed by the pain of the men’s feet. He had to crawl back a little to reach a clear part of ground to stand up in.

  When he eventually gained his footing, he was surprised to see dawn beginning to show on the horizon. Puzzled, he wondered where the time had gone; it just seemed moments ago they had crashed into the gates. How soon the sun rose in mid summer.

  He could see the Roman shield line was longer now, the semi-circle around the entrance area larger, but it still held; the impasse had been broken with Calach’s new charge, but only for a moment before the gap in the lines were filled by warriors from behind. Knowing he had to break the stalemate, and do it quickly, Calach made for the wall again.

  Bowmen will do the trick! A fusillade from the higher position will break the Roman line.

  Slowly he pushed his way through to the broken palisade.

  Reaching the top, he leaned over to one of the warriors outside.

  “You!” he roared. The warrior, startled by the call, turned aggressively. “Go get the bowmen. Tell them Calach needs them here! Now!”

  “Aye, Lord!” The man ran through the milling warriors towards the area where the archers would be.

  Calach turned his attention to the battle again, although it was difficult to even call it that. It was more like a half circle line of individual duels. The fires in the camp had long burnt out, but there was so much light in the dawn sky that Calach could see the whole scene clearly. An arrow came towards him, and he positioned his shield to take the projectile, thinking of the men behind him.

  “Chief Calach!”

  He turned to see the messenger. “Aye?”

  “They’re coming,” he began, “But they say that there’s little point; they’ve no arrows left.”

  “What?” Calach turned to the encampment again. “Damn them!” he shouted, then he looked at the growing light of dawn. If the fight had indeed lasted so long, then it was no wonder the bowmen had no arrows left.

  He turned to give the man new orders and was distracted by a series of bright flashes on the hillside to the south. It only took a moment to recognize the new danger.

  Romans! And cavalry at that!

  “What’s your name o’ your commander?” Calach barked.

  “Chief Mauchty!”

  “Is he outside the camp still?”

  I prayed that he is. I need at least one of the unit chiefs to deal with this, while I organize the inside.

  “He’s just there.” The man motioned to the gate.

  “Right!” Calach took a few steps down the slope. “Mauchty!” he roared, quickly approaching.

  “I canna get inside!” the Venicone shouted in frustration.

  “It doesn’t matter. Get a’ the men you can away from the gates. There’s Roman cavalry coming from the south. We need a line over there.” He pointed towards their previous position. “An’ we need it fast. Got that?”

  “Damn it!” Mauchty hissed. “Word must o’ got to the other camps!”

  “Aye an’ where there’s cavalry, there’ll soon be infantry too.”

  “Can we cope wi’ two fronts?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s stalemate in there. There’s not enough room to fight properly.” Calach pointed to a ridge in front of them. “I’ll get word to the leaders inside. We’ll retreat away to the north an’ northwest.”

  “Retreat?”

  “We’ll have to. We have to consider the men. We’ve caught them unawares, an’ this is a night they’ll long remember.” Calach turned to face Mauchty, his face pale. “Now we’ve got to get as many warriors away from here as possible; if we get caught between two armies, we may not get away at a’. Remember, the war’s not over yet!”

  “True.” Mauchty shook Calach’s hand. “Leave it to me, I’ll keep them off your back long enough to get away!”

  “I know you will.”

  Calach ran back to the break in the embankment as Mauchty began to organize the rearguard. As the Caledon chief crested the ridge, he found that the battle was still as it had been before. He looked hard and long at the figures, but could not recognize any of the group leaders. After a while he decided there was only one thing he could do; he would have to call them back himself.

  He ran down towards the inside of the gate, the crowd was still thick; hundreds of men and women who, as yet, had not struck a blow in anger. He grabbed the first man he came to.

  “I’m Calach!” he roared. “Help’s needed outside. Grab two or three o’ the people around you, an’ get out there!” He pointed at the break in the wall. “Go that way!”

  It seemed to take an eternity, but after repeating the process many times, with Mauchty organizing the line outside, Calach found the area near the gate beginning to clear. The passageway out was now thronged with warriors going out, rather than the opposite. Calach turned to the conflict, just as there was a loud cheer from outside. He joined the warriors leaving the fort and ran up the embankment again; he had done this so often, he felt he knew this part of the fort better than Lochery.

  The column of Roman cavalry was cresting the ridge, heading straight for Mauchty’s line. Calach mused that they would soon be at a range for bowmen, if they had not used all their arrows.

  A glint of dawn reflected from the armor on the hill farther away made the situation more serious. If Roman reinforcements arrived soon, they could be trapped.

  Again the Norlands ranks awaiting the cavalry cheered. Mauchty strode back and forth along the front of the line, marshalling them ready for the cavalry charge. A very bloody Ishar now caught the warriors as they filed out of the fort, directing them to retreat to the north or join the line. Although it had proved difficult, Calach estimated that three thousand troops now stood ready for the cavalry.

  Between shouts of encouragement to the warriors filing past him and the beckoning of more to leave the fort, Calach watched and counted the Roman cavalry, five, maybe six hundred. In a disciplined fashion, they changed from the column to a line, three deep.

  It will be difficult to charge up the hill. But of course, they’ve already done their job. Just by being there, the Roman commander has forced me to deploy a third of my force.

  He raced up the embankment and looked into the camp. Inside, not much had changed, two shuffling masses of humanity, neither with enough room to move, neither having gained a sufficient advantage.

  Knowing the only way out of the situation was a swift retreat, he called for the Carynx again. “Sound the horns!”

  As the low tones filled the faint light of dawn, Calach watched with pride as his army inside the fort disengaged from the conflict and streamed back through the gateway and the broken wall. Shouting encouragement, he pointed to the north.

  “Disperse!” he roared, proud of their strict attention to their training.

  Hundreds of dead bodies lay inside the fort, mostly clad in red tunics or white nightshirts. The Romans did not even give any hint of chase, and as the last of his men ran off the hilltop, Mauchty’s men followed suit.

  As Calach ran off, the light at his back, he delighted in the feeling of a victory against Rome. The Norland army had shown its teeth, and he vowed it would be the first of many.

  r>

 

  Hall, Ian, Caledonii: Birth of a Celtic Nation. 5. A Druid's Work