by Jules Marks
However, the warriors across from us knew not of civilized behavior. When they saw our army moving forward to take position, they let out a terrific shout and began what seemed an undirected, chaotic advance.
Everyone readied their weapons of choice and steeled themselves for the onslaught to come. For my part, I had but one objective: to keep my granddaughter safe.
Chapter Twenty-Two
As soon as the enemy was within bowshot, the order was given for the archers to let fly. Our ranks were set in honeycomb fashion so that every man among us would have a space before and behind him, giving us room to accurately shoot our weapons. We let our arrows high, to send a deadly rain down on the enemy. The arrows whistled and sang as they sailed up and then down; shortly, a new sound could be heard as they began thudding into the flesh of their targets. None of the enemy wore any armour that I could see, fewer than half of the Uplanders had crude wooden shields; accordingly, most were vulnerable to our lethal missiles, and scores of men fell during those first few moments. We witnessed them cry out and drop in their tracks, but the Uplanders seemed not dismayed; they simply stepped over their fallen comrades and ran faster. Their bellowing war cries covered the sounds of dying men.
As we continued raining arrows down upon them, their erratic line drew nearer still, and for the first time I witnessed the use of a weapon I’d heard of, but never seen. The weapon was the atlatl, and the Uplanders seemed proficient in its use. An atlatl was a primitive spear-throwing tool; it used a short, smooth stick to steady and guide the butt end of a small, lethally sharpened spear. Those spears were not as substantial as our own lances, but, used with that throwing stick, they were deadly, and I could see some of our own men in the front ranks begin to fall. A small number of the Uplanders used the bow, but compared to the hundreds of arrows we’d already sent their way, those few missiles drizzled down and seemed little more than a nuisance…unless, of course, you were one of the unfortunate men they struck.
Larkin and I were placed well to the rear in the archers’ ranks; there was still some time before I had to worry about any imminent danger from the spears. I was unaccustomed to being positioned in a rank so near the back, but for Larkin’s sake, I was glad of it. Between shots, I chanced a look at her: some color had returned to her cheeks. She was calmly and efficiently shooting one arrow after another. Now that the wait was over, she seemed completely steady and focused. I prayed that she remain so.
We heard the horns blow; it was time for us to hasten our advance and meet the enemy head-on. We archers shot two more rounds, but on signal from our commander, we shouldered our bows and drew forth our hand-to-hand weapons as we closed ranks and moved forward in ordered lines. Our troops had answered the Uplanders’ battle cries with shouts of our own. As the front lines actually met, the very air seemed to explode with sound.
Metal clanged against metal; flesh smacked against flesh; wood lances struck and splintered; men shouted, bellowed, and cried out in agony. The atlatl spears struck several of the horses, and those pitiful beasts’ screams added to the cacophony of sound.
I cursed my height, for I could see little of the men on the front lines. However, the knights on their horses were in clear view. Though dust was being kicked up from the churning feet and hooves, it hadn’t drifted much past waist-high as yet, so seeing those knights hacking away with their swords was enough to send a thrill though my heart. How could such valiant heroes fail against the untrained barbarians!
How, indeed? Even as I watched, two more horses were struck with spears; their riders went down with them. Though much better protected than their Upland opponents, the unhorsed knights were sorely encumbered by the weight of their armour. I could see nothing but the sunlight flashing upon their crests, but at least those were still evident.
A sudden crush of men made me put aside the plight of the fallen knights. Our front lines were slowly collapsing backwards…not from cowardice or a retreat of any sort, but from the shear numbers that were assailing them. Simultaneously, the men behind us were surging forward, and our ability to move, much less fight, seemed in question. In those moments of chaos, I must admit that the idea of being trampled crossed my mind. But those thoughts didn’t last long. I looked forward, and could see one of the reasons for the mass of men surging towards us. The knights on the flank sides had advanced, and their fierce, brutal charge was having terrible consequences upon the Upland warriors. The enemy was falling fast under the lance and sword, and his lines were collapsing towards his center, hence the resulting greater push forward. Still, it became obvious that not all of the Uplanders were advancing at will: many of them were being forced into the bulging front line by the disintegration of their flank. Those men may have been fighting on the front lines, but it wasn’t because they wanted to be, and their lack of will began to show.
Without having struck so much as one blow with my sword, I could feel the pressure ease, and we were once again able to move forward a bit. I couldn’t see them, but some of the enemy had to be retreating to create such an effect. I chanced a hasty glance at Larkin, and I could see the confusion on her face. There’d be no opportunity to explain what happened until later, but I enjoyed the prospect, nonetheless.
Still, the Uplanders knew they had the advantage of numbers. Some may have been faltering, but others were fierce as ever. One lone aggressive warrior charged within a rank of our own. He was a towering tree of a man, incredibly strong, and he wielded a massive spiked club as if it was a piece of kindling. I had watched his approach, and though several of our soldiers bravely crossed his path to engage, all men who faced him one-on-one fell before him. I had that too familiar thought run through my head: this is it…this is the time.
I tightened my grip on my sword and my dagger, and edged just slightly in front of Larkin.
There was no need: as the archer in front of us met the Uplander, another two archers charged him from the side. Between the three of them, they brought him down like a mad boar, though the first archer was terribly wounded in the process. He fell to his knees at our feet, holding both hands to his bloody abdomen even as his entrails came spilling out. He looked up into Larkin’s wide eyes, and opened his mouth as if to tell her something. As she watched, horrified, his eyes rolled back and he sunk to the ground. Larkin began to kneel, to put her sword down and assist the poor wretch, but I shouted for her to stop, and with a sharp nod of my head I beckoned her to keep moving forward. She allowed herself one pitiful glance down, but she then obeyed. It occurred to me that she would think me cold-blooded, but it was no matter. We would have time to help the wounded later…if we managed to beat the enemy. We had to remain focused.
More Uplanders penetrated our line, yet we kept moving. It was just a matter of time before part of that bulge of advancing men reached our rank.
Then an entire line of the enemy did just that.
It happened faster than I could have believed. One moment we could see several relatively orderly rows of archers in front of us; in the next those rows of men melted away, and were replaced by a charging line of screaming, ochre-painted warriors who were intent on killing us.
Our rank clashed with them, and within seconds I realized that there was no realistic way for me to help defend Larkin: it was all I could do to keep myself alive.
We hacked, stabbed, and slashed at the enemy warriors for a time…I do not know how long; it may have been five minutes, it may have lasted fifteen. One encounter took most of my energy. I faced an Uplander a full head taller than I…he was half again as broad as well. He was strong, but fairly slow, and after we exchanged what seemed an endless number of strokes—he actually had a sword—I could see that, though powerful, he was inexperienced with his weapon. He was becoming frustrated; he was relying on strength alone, and finesse was not in his playbook. His strokes were becoming wilder, and he was leaving his torso exposed. I feinted to his right, and he attempted to counter. I parried and then struck hard right under his ribs. He dro
pped his sword, and grabbed at my own even as I withdrew it from his body. His hands were sliced as I pulled back and away. Like some cornered animal, he stood crouched, his upturned blue eyes filled with shock, dismay, and then pain, before he collapsed upon the ground.
Within seconds, there was another Upland warrior to replace him. I couldn’t even see Larkin most of the time, and I began to despair that either of us would survive the assault. But the enemy’s bravery came at great cost: that group of warriors had advanced so far beyond their own line they were isolated from the bulk of their troops. They were surrounded, and, being assailed from all sides, they began to falter. One fell after another, and when there were only five of those daring Uplanders left, they began to fight their way back, back towards their own body of men. Two more fell during their retreat, but the other three charged back through our troops and disappeared into the mass of men battling at the front line. I couldn’t help but admire their bravery.
I’d lost track of Larkin for a time, but within moments I spotted her again. All seemed well with her; she was a few paces away, offering a hand up to a fallen archer. He let her help pull him up, and he lightly punched her shoulder and thanked her before turning to join in the advance. I raced towards her, and the look of relief on her face when she saw me was enough to sustain me for a lifetime. Certainly, it was mirrored in my own expression. We had no time for any real exchange. She surprised me by pointing to one of the lifeless Uplanders behind us.
“Mine,” she yelled.
I nodded my approval, and then pointed to my own fallen giant.
“One of mine,” I shouted back.
Larkin responded by shaking her dagger in the air and giving a lusty yell. It occurred to me that Ioan wasn’t the only one of our band to have bloodthirsty impulses. Still, knowing Larkin, I realized she would have moments of doubt about the bloodletting later…if she survived.
Our advance stalled, and for a time we were merely spectators. It was impossible to tell how the battle was going: the plain was so flat a man could only clearly see what was transpiring around him. The exception to this was ever the knights. We could see clusters of them moving through the Uplanders; they swung their axes and blades as if they were reaping grain. (There were still no mounted Uplanders to counter them, and I wondered at this oddity.) Our own four friends on horseback had managed to remain upright. Sir Hugh and Ioan’s group had advanced closer to the center. I would have thrilled at their bravery if I hadn’t just witnessed something similar from the Uplanders; instead, I feared for their lives, and wished they wouldn’t advance beyond their own mounted comrades.
And then I could see more reason for optimism: Akimba and his knights were on course to meet up with those from the flank. If they succeeded, a large contingent of the Uplanders would likely be surrounded. Scores were being killed even as I watched. The Upland hoard seemed to realize their precarious position; now their progress stalled.
Hope surged within my breast as I watched the Uplanders falter and then begin a slow retreat. To be sure, they were still resisting, but our troops had gained an advantage…at least for the moment…and the Uplanders were feeling it and responding accordingly.
We pressed forward, and our line met no resistance for several minutes as the Uplanders continued their retreat. But then, the momentum changed once more: our advance came to a halt, even as the Uplanders quit moving back. The reason the Uplanders stopped was simple: their commanders had set fires to the tall grass behind them. At first I couldn’t see what had happened, but soon the smoke rose higher, and all men on the field could see the flaming grass; they breathed the smoke; friend and foe alike felt the completely rational urge to flee those advancing flames. Fortunately, there was little breeze to fan the flames; we had no immediate concerns regarding a wildfire, but that could change at any time. Now the Upland warriors had no place to go but forward…into our line.
Time cannot be gauged when every second seems as if it may be your last. I was weary beyond measure; I wondered if my heart would stop beating from sheer exhaustion.
The Uplanders who had come charging into us had at first been disorganized…easy to kill. They weren’t actually attempting an assault; they were in flight from that lethal conflagration at their rear: in shock that their commanders, their leader, would treat them thus. But shock turned to anger, and then reckless hate. They had nothing to lose; with renewed vigor, they hacked their way into our lines. We began a slow, fairly organized retreat, and, eventually we were within bowshot of the town’s battlements. Our troops were still some distance from the moat, but I did not relish the thought of being driven into it. We soldiers near the front held the Upland line for a time; our reinforcements moved forward to give some of us a rest. We fell back, leaned on our swords, and concentrated on breathing some of the smoke-clogged air into our straining lungs.
One of Akimba’s commanders rode into our ranks.
“I want your twenty best archers up on those walls!” he ordered Jasperre, our group’s leader.
Jasperre gave an all-encompassing gesture towards the archers in our immediate ranks as he began pointing at men and pushing them to the rear, towards the drawbridge.
I’d managed to stay near Larkin, and she flashed me a sheepish grin as Jasperre plucked at her sleeve and sent her packing. She naturally assumed that I would be next, but when Jasperre gestured towards me, I paused, shook my head, and then held up my gore-covered left hand. My entire little finger and most of the next were gone. Even if I could manage to hold a bow, I couldn’t be trusted to shoot accurately.
I watched as Larkin’s face crumpled into a mask of despair as she realized we were to be separated.
“Gael!” She began a stumbling run back to me.
I shook my head…at Jasperre and at Larkin. Jasperre caught her by the sleeve, spun her around, and, gripping her by the shoulders, he gave her a violent shake.
“Follow orders or die!” he snapped at her.
Still held fast, she turned her head to look at me. “Gael…” she mournfully cried out again.
“Go…go on!” I shouted as I waved her on. “I shall see you after…now GO!”
There was no time for more talk; Jasperre turned Larkin towards the wall, and gave her a mighty shove.
“Up there…NOW! Kill as many as you are able…but don’t shoot into smoke; be certain of your targets!” he ordered.
Larkin moved as ordered, but she looked over her shoulder as she headed for the porter’s gate. Tears were making tracks down her grime-smeared face; the pain in her eyes nearly broke my heart. I sent her one last forced smile and nod of encouragement, and then turned to find Jasperre beside me.
“It’ll be safer up there,” he said. “Those Upland bastards are lousy shots.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder, and then moved down the line.
I never saw him again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Had I been in the same state of mind as when I’d begun my journey to Beckman, I’d have been killed early on. It would have been effortless. There were so many times I felt outmatched, almost too tired to lift my sword in my own defense. Then I thought of Larkin, up there on the battlements, and I found some hidden source of strength to fight just a bit longer.
Once, when I was truly overmatched by a strapping young redhead, I felt my end was beyond doubt. He’d clubbed me hard enough on my right shoulder to make me lose my sword. I dropped to the ground to retrieve it, but before I could even grip it, the Uplander reached it first. He put one foot down upon it to hold it fast, and he confidently stood over me, club raised, ready to brain me and move on to his next unfortunate victim. I don’t know which of us was more shocked when an arrow suddenly sprouted through the rough hide that covered his chest. He fell sideways—fortunately, away from my sword—and as I moved to retrieve it, I looked beyond him, up to the battlements from whence the arrow came, and saw a small silhouette pump an arm into the air. I answered back with a feeble (and painful) wave, and then picked up
my sword to move onward.
There was no more order to our ranks: infantry mixed with cavalry; archers were spread throughout the body of warriors. Soldiers looked to any commander in the immediate vicinity for orders, but, generally, no orders were needed. We all knew that it was a simple, straightforward fight to the death at this point…yet there was some reason for cheer. Though, as a body of men, we quite literally had our backs to the wall…or rather, the moat…we were still killing them faster than they were killing us. Certainly, they had more men to lose in the beginning, but the long afternoon had indeed taken its toll. All of Akimba’s trained troops had fought bravely and well, but the knights in particular had performed beyond all expectation. They had been inestimably lethal.
Many of the knights were still on their horses. I could see Akimba and a contingent of men to my right. Rebeccah was easy enough to spot, for her helmet had been knocked off…though she fought on in spite of it. Ioan, of course, had never worn a helm, and I could see his long hair flash like bright copper as he moved from one section of the field to another.
