'It will be night in four hours,' Bearnas said. 'The darkening will give the Albans the advantage; they will know the ground better than the Norse.'
The Norse cavalry cantered along the front and flanks of the Alban army and then returned to their main force without hurry. As Melcorka watched, the Norse halted between a pair of low, wooded hillocks and formed into three lines of infantry with the cavalry taking up position on the flanks. Compared to the raucous Albans they were ominously quiet save for hoarse orders from the small band of leaders under the banner of the drooping raven. Once formed up they stood, waiting, facing their front with their circular, painted shields at their sides.
'They look very stubborn,' Melcorka said.
'They are very dangerous,' Baetan sounded nervous again.
The Albans surged on, cheering, yelling, waving their weapons as they shouted challenges to encourage each other and intimidate their enemies. The champions stepped bravely in front, some resplendent in bright tartan decorated with ornate jewellery, others in chain-mail and helmet, or bare chested with only a brief kilt. Behind them, musicians blared horns or clattered cymbals while sennachies stood tall and regaled their men with long tales of past battles.
Standing beneath the Raven Banner, the tallest of the Norsemen blew a long blast on a silver mounted horn and the infantry divided with the first two lines stepping forward to form a square with the third line and the cavalry inside. Another blast and the forward lined presented their shields as an interlocking barrier, two shields high in a colourful display that extended around the full square. The sun glinted on the metal shield bosses.
'The shield ring,' Bearnas said softly. 'They will wait and meet the charge of the Albans, sword to sword and axe to axe.'
The Albans' noise increased as they approached the Norse, with weapons waving, banners aloft and a surge of enthusiasm. They formed a great arc around the front of the Norse, outnumbering them at least two to one, and halted with the racket rising to a mighty torrent that ascended to the heavens above.
'If noise was sufficient, Alba would have won the war already,' Bearnas said.
'They should swamp the Norse,' Melcorka could not contain her excitement.
'Watch,' Bearnas said quietly. 'We have forgotten all that we learned last time we fought these Norseman.' She sighed, 'this will be a hard lesson to swallow, Melcorka. It is a wise woman who keeps clear of this battle.'
'We will swallow them whole!' Melcorka craned her neck to watch what she believed would be a massacre. 'Then the Norse in the north will retreat to their own country.'
'That may be so,' Baetan did not sound as confident as his words suggested.
The Alban army was suddenly quiet. The standard bearers lifted their banners higher and the champions stepped forward in their pride and bravery.
'Norsemen,' one shouted, his voice rising to the skies above. 'I am Fergus of Cenel Gabrain and I challenge you to fight me in fair combat or leave this land.'
There was a cheer from the ranks of the Albans, quickly stilled, and then the reply came from the Norse. It was a single word, loud and clear, repeated often.
'Odin! Odin! Odin!'
Melcorka watched in astonishment as the raven on the Norse standard altered. The wings straightened and extended and the drooping head rose, with the beak opening in a wide gape as if about to strike. The Norse gave a roar, like the bark of a dog and clashed their swords against the shields in a constant, rhythmic drumbeat.
'Did you see the flag?'
Baetan nodded. 'That is their Raven Banner,' he said soberly. 'It is said that they never lose when the raven opens its wings.'
The drumbeat stopped abruptly and the archers inside the shield ring lifted their bows high, pulled and loosed, joined by others hidden on the wooded hillocks on either side.
Melcorka saw the arrows rise in their hundreds, hover in the air and descend toward the Alban ranks. Even as the first flight darkened the sky, a second joined them, and then a third just as the first screamed down to land amidst the Albans. A volley of screams ran out as men who had been eager for battle a minute previously looked in horrified astonishment at the feathered monstrosities that sprouted from chests and stomachs, bellies, arms and legs.
'Cowards!' the word rang out from Fergus of the Cenel Gabrain as the arrows continued to fly, thinning the Alban ranks moment by moment. The champions raised their swords and rushed forward toward the Norse, howling their slogans and hacking at the linden-board shields.
The Norse front rank shuddered under the sheer force of the assault and some warriors were forced back a few paces. Melcorka distinctly saw an Alban sword hack right through a Norse shield, splitting it down the centre, and the Alban pushed forward, disengaged his sword and thrust; a fountain of blood sprayed upward, dying the Alban scarlet as he lifted his head and howled his triumph. A second Alban champion crashed into the shield ring, and then a third, swords rising and falling, pieces of linden wood filling the air like sawdust from a demented carpenter as the Norse front line buckled and wavered.
'We're winning!' Melcorka grasped for the hilt of Defender.
'Watch,' Bearnas stilled Melcorka's hand.
A Norse spear snaked from behind the shield ring, gutted Fergus and withdrew. Fergus looked down as his intestines slowly seeped out of his belly, and then he roared his slogan and plunged on, a hideous, bloody mess, dying even as he sought to kill. More Norse spears thrust from behind the shields, picking their targets, killing here, maiming there and always blunting the force of the attack. And all the time the Norse archers pulled and released, pulled and released so a constant flow of arrows hissed and screamed down on the mass of the Alban army, killing, wounding, maiming, weakening the army minute by minute. As Melcorka looked, she saw there were already scores lying prone, some with a single arrow through them, others hit so often they looked like hedgehogs.
Another champion fell as a Norse axe sliced knee-high beneath the shields and cut his legs clean off. The champion roared as he landed, swinging his sword in impotent fury at the Norse.
There was a single word of command from the Norse, the blast of a cow-horn and the shield ring stepped forward as one man, toward the Alban masses.
'Bearnas; we must help them,' Melcorka pleaded, 'if we launch an attack on the rear it might distract them.'
'We are less than twenty strong; one warrior, one cub and thirteen of us middle aged or grey-haired. There are over three thousand Norse warriors, disciplined and in their prime. Stay still; watch and learn. There will be use for your sword later, I promise you that.'
The Norse horn brayed again, and the shield ring stomped forward, each step accompanied by a single hoarse shout. There were fewer Alban champions left, each one fighting furiously in lone charges against the interlocked shields, as all the time the Raven Banner looked down, beak agape and wings fluttering, encouraging the Norse warriors to greater endeavours.
Even as the Albans fell in scores, they set up a huge roar. Their standards rose again, the Blue Boar of Alba, the Cat Rampant of Clan Chattan and the others, brave banners defiant in the face of the disciplined invaders who had already captured their king and sent the inhabitants of their capital into slavery.
Despite their losses, despite the death of all but one of their heroes, the Albans massed again, stepping over their dead and dragging aside their writhing, bleeding wounded. They lifted their weapons, gave a long yell that mingled despair, rage and anger and charged forward. The Blue Boar was in the van, held aloft by a champion with blood on his face and the haft of spear protruding from his side. Again Melcorka saw that black-headed youth with the padded jacket and the worn-down sword. He was on foot with the rest of the army but alive and fighting, but now the odds seemed stacked against him. The Albans hit the shield-wall like a human tide, a screaming horde of men waving swords and staffs, axes and flails that battered against the double line of shields, slender thrusting spears and long stabbing swords.
For a long five minut
es the Albans hacked and crashed at the Norse shields, with the men in front falling by spear and sword and those in the rear dropping under the constant stream of arrows. Melcorka saw the Blue Boar a few paces from the Raven; the banner of royal Alba snout to beak with the symbol of the Norse. Then the Boar jerked and fell, fluttering down amidst a huge cheer from the Norse and a despairing groan from the Albans.
The dark haired man was still upright, still fighting with the rest, although men fell all around him he seemed immune, a warrior blessed amidst the carnage of battle. The Albans struggled on, occasionally scoring a success as a man managed to wound or even kill a Norseman, only for the Norse lines to immediately close up and the horn to give a single blast. Then the shield ring stepped forward again, the swords licked in and out, the axes swept from beneath the shields and more Albans fell in crumpled heaps on the blood-polluted soil of the Lodainn plain.
'Odin!' That single word, barked out in triumph, cracked above the noise of battle. 'Odin!'
The Norse horns sounded again; the shape of the shield-ring altered. It opened at the rear as the warriors there began to step out, left and right without ever breaking the line. As they moved outward, the cavalry that had been standing beside their horses for the entire duration of the battle mounted and rode forth in two double columns that cantered around the now-extended lines.
Some of the Norse arrows flew wide of the mark and thrummed into the ground on the knoll where the Cenel Bearnas lay. Melcorka heard a stifled gasp and saw one of the older men plucking at the arrow that had sprouted from his chest. He slid slowly downward and died without another sound.
Melcorka reached out a hand, until Bearnas gently pulled her back.
'Watch the battle,' Bearnas said, 'watch how not to fight.'
'Get back!' Melcorka's scream of warning to the Albans was lost in the general noise. 'The cavalry is coming!'
'Lie down!' Bearnas ordered sharply. 'Everybody lie down and keep still.' Taking hold of Melcorka's shoulder, she forced her down. 'You haven't met cavalry yet, Melcorka and you don't want to meet them now.'
Lying on her face, Melcorka's view of the end of the battle was necessarily limited. She saw enough. The Norse shield ring had opened up to a long double line that advanced on the seething mass of Albans while the cavalry circled around and attacked the vulnerable flanks and rear.
Melcorka expected the undisciplined mass of Albans to panic and break. Some did. Some dropped their weapons and ran, but the majority tried to fight as long as there was hope. They formed into little clumps or stood back to back and traded blow for blow with the Norse cavalry in uneven contests that invariably ended with the slaughter of the Albans, although Melcorka was glad to note that the Norse casualties were higher now than at any time during the battle.
'They are taking prisoners,' Melcorka noted. 'They are knocking some down and tying them up.'
'God help them,' Baetan said. 'Better dead than a slave of the Norse.'
'Lie still,' Bearnas spoke quietly. 'For the Lord's sweet sake, lie still or we will join their prisoners.'
The Norse cavalry went about their business in a leisurely manner. They prodded the Alban bodies with their lances, killed the grievously wounded and ushered the remainder to the clearing between the wooded hillocks where spear carrying warriors greeted them with taunts and mocking laughter. Melcorka saw the dark haired youth dragged over with the rest, bleeding from a wound in his scalp.
'Those that died were the fortunate,' Baetan said.
'We will leave at nightfall,' Bearnas ordered. 'Until then we'll lie still and remain unseen.'
'Can we rescue them?' Melcorka demanded.
'No,' Bearnas decided. 'We stay until it is safe and get out.' She took a deep breath and looked over the field of slaughter. 'And when we move, we move quickly.'
The torture started as the sun neared the western horizon. Melcorka watched the Norse set up a framework of poles before stripping one of the prisoners naked. They tied him, bleeding and defiant, legs and arms apart, between two upright posts and gathered round as a tall man stepped forward with an axe. As the Northmen cheered, the man with the axe chopped the prisoner's ribs from his spine, one by one, before hauling out his lungs and spreading them across his back.
'The blood eagle,' Baetan said quietly. 'He will be thankful to die.'
'They will all be thankful to die,' Bearnas said. 'It is time we were away. We will catch the last of the light while they are entertaining themselves.'
Chapter Six
They backed from the knoll and slipped northward as the sun slid down over the plain of Lodainn. Chilled by the sights they had seen, nobody spoke. Melcorka thought of the sights she had seen and the slaughter of the Alban royal army in matter of three hours by a smaller and far better disciplined force of Norse.
'What now?' Melcorka asked as the Firth of Forth gleamed silver in the distance.
'Now we head to Castle Gloom and think what to do.' Bearnas said. 'Did anybody see the Blue Boar fall?'
'I did,' Melcorka said.
'Bravely?'
'It was at the forefront of the battle,' Melcorka said. 'And then it fell.'
'There is no hope then,' Baetan said, 'if the boar has gone. The kin of the king are all dead now.'
Granny Rowan gave a short cackle. 'Why do you say that? There is no hope because a princeling is dead? Many are dead, many more will die. One prince is as good as another, and a woman with a stout heart is as good as any prince born.'
'Were you not watching?' Baetan asked. 'They destroyed the royal army with ease.'
'They destroyed a rabble,' Bearnas said, 'a mob that had no more idea how to fight a battle than I have to fly around the moon.'
'It was the only army we have.' Baetan's voice rose to something approaching panic. 'Now we have nothing to defend us against them.'
'Let's get to Castle Gloom,' Bearnas calmed him down. 'We can breathe easier there and decide what to do next.'
'How can we cross the Forth? The Northmen will be there!' Baetan was near breaking point.
'We will find a boat,' Bearnas said. 'Come on.'
There were scattered houses near the shore of the Forth, a few fishermen's cottages with small fishing cobles or coracles, and a group of terrified camp followers hiding from the wrath of the Northmen.
'There's no boat big enough to hold all of us,' Baetan said.
'Then we take the little boats,' Bearnas told him. 'There are fourteen of us, so we will take as many as we need. Gather them together.'
'And hurry,' Granny Rowan said softly. 'Look inland.'
At first Melcorka could not understand what she saw; a number of red pinpricks, slowly growing larger as she looked. 'Fires,' she said.
'Fires,' Bearnas agreed. 'The Norse have disposed of the defenders and now they are looting, raping and murdering to while away the night.'
'They are also coming this way,' Granny Rowan warned.
'We should run,' Baetan said.
'We stay,' Bearnas told him, 'and we gather boats. Most will be dragged above the high tide mark on the beach.'
The small coracles held a single person, the larger held three while a fishing coble could hold four at a squeeze. There was quite a sizeable fleet when Bearnas was finally satisfied that they had enough to carry every man and women in the Cenel Bearnas across the Forth.
'Rope them together,' Bearnas ordered.
'We've no rope,' Baetan said.
'Unravel a fishing net,' Bearnas obviously had to force herself to be patient. 'There will be one in each cottage.'
Before they were ready, moonlight glinted along the chopped waves of the Forth, with a million stars sparking in the abyss of the night sky. Silver fingers ghosted toward the northern shore, black now and featureless.
'Melcorka,' Bearnas took hold of her daughter's arm. 'We must speak.'
'Mother?' Melcorka allowed herself to be guided away from the others. 'What is it?'
'There is not much time,' Bearnas sa
id, 'so listen to what I say.'
'Yes, Mother.'
Bearnas took the half-cross pendant from around her neck. It dangled from her fingers. 'This is not valuable,' she said, 'it is only pewter, and broken as you can see, but I want you to have it.'
'But mother; you've worn that all your life. I've never seen you without it.'
'It was from your father,' Bearnas was curt. 'So you have as much right to it as I have.' Reaching across, she placed it around Melcorka's neck and fastened it in place. 'Wear it always. One day it will come in very useful.'
'You always said not to mention my father,' Melcorka said.
'It is all I have of him,' Bearnas said, 'except for you. Now ask no more.'
Melcorka touched the broken cross. 'Thank you.'
'I have never given you any jewellery, or anything else,' Bearnas said, 'and this is a poor excuse for a gift, but always remember me fondly, if you can.'
'Mother, you say that as if we are parting.'
Bearnas smile was as tender as any Melcorka had seen from her. 'One hug please, Melcorka; grant me just one hug.' She crushed Melcorka with her embrace, holding her close as if to merge their bodies together.
'Mother,' Melcorka felt the damp warmth of her tears. 'What is it, Mother?'
'Think fondly of me,' Bearnas repeated. She broke free, held Melcorka at arm's length for a long second, hugged her briefly again and let go. 'Be off with you, Melcorka,' she patted her arm and turned away.
Clouds scurried across the rising moon so flitting pale light alternated with dancing shadows along the coast and highlighted the white-topped waves of the Forth. A southerly wind carried the tang of smoke as they waited.
'Ready?' Bearnas looked over her people. 'It's only a couple of miles to the northern shore.'
'Ready,' they said.
The water was cooler than that of the Western Sea, with shorter, steeper waves. They pushed the flotilla out so the boats tossed and bounced a few yards off the shingle beach. Melcorka sat in a coracle, wielded the unfamiliar paddle and pushed out into the dark waters. She gasped as the cable attaching her to the adjoining coble tautened and jerked her back as the crew rowed in a slightly different direction.
The Swordswoman Page 8
