Amber Treasure, The (22 page)

A hundred of the Goddodin
cavalry, having finished the slaughter west of the camp, had circled behind their
own army and were now passing to the south of us. As they curved around us,
their commander saw the open gates of Stanwick Camp.

He saw us withdrawing in stages,
slowly moving towards the fortress and safety. In an instant, he too realised
what we were trying to do and digging in their heels, the enemy horsemen
charged again.

If they reached the gate first
... we were dead!

Chapter Sixteen

The Prince Makes a Decision

Suddenly, Wallace
was next to me. “Cerdic, I have to do something fast. If I don’t make it to the
camp, get the Prince inside and then stay there till your father arrives. Don’t
let Sabert persuade Aethelric to leave.”

“What ...?”

“No time to explain,” he shouted
back over his shoulder. Then he ran out into the open space between the cavalry
and the gate. Seeing his example, twenty of the Prince’s guards, as well as a
dozen warriors from Wicstun joined him. More started to go, including Eduard,
but I held him back because I now knew what Wallace was doing. He was
sacrificing himself to save his Prince, his army and maybe, his country.

“Harald, we must go now!” I
yelled. The Earl of Eoforwic twisted his head round and nodded at me then,
pointing at the gates, ordered the rest of the army to get inside as quickly as
they could. Meanwhile, Wallace and his men had formed a small shield wall, with
Wallace at its centre, his broken arm strapped to the inside of his shield. His
standard bearer was next to him and the running wolf fluttered in the breeze.

The Goddodin charged and their
lances smashed and shattered into Wallace’s shields. Half of the shield wall
was knocked over in that first charge and the cavalry milled around and wheeled
this way and that, whilst hacking down with swords or jabbing with lances.
Still the banner stood and I could see Wallace swinging a sword with his one
good hand and cutting off a cavalryman’s head.

“Keep pulling back! Keep it
together!” shouted Harald. I took up the call and heard it echoed from further
along our line. I glanced over and saw Sabert there with at least some of his
men still alive.

Twenty yards to go now and fifty
of the Goddodin swerved around the fight surrounding Wallace and started to
move towards us. Owain had seen what we were trying to do and was frantically
yelling at them to charge the gates and stop us. His men were pushing forward
now, trying to catch us, trying to slow us down for just a few moments so the
horses could seal our doom.

Ten yards to go and the horses
were very close: too close in fact and I could now see that we were going to be
beaten: the horses would reach the gates first. With a whoop, they surged
forward and blocked our escape and then turned to charge into our rear. Just
then, as I thought we were caught and dead, there was a volley of arrows and a
dozen horses fell screaming and kicking. The arrows were coming from the
battlements behind us. Cuthbert and the skirmishers had reached the camp before
the horses and were firing down at them to drive them away. Five more Goddodin
warriors tumbled from their saddles and the rest swerved away, out of range.

Now, at last, we were passing
through the gates. Seeing this, the cavalry came back again and dared the arrow
fire to crash into our shields. Six of our men were knocked down and three
killed outright, but Eduard stepped forward, stabbed up with his spear into the
belly of a horse, rammed the edge of his shield down hard to crush the throat
of another Goddodin, who was floundering on the ground, then pulled one of our
men inside by his tunic.

Now we were inside the fortress
and the gates were already closing.

“Push men, push,” shouted Harald
and together we pushed against the gates first to close them, then to hold them
shut whilst the gate bar was dropped into its slot. Barrels, carts and logs
were now piled up against the inside. I ran up the steps to the battlements and
looked down at the Welsh army milling about outside. Our archers continued to
fire down upon them, killing or injuring many at the gate. Finally, after one
last attempt to force the entrance, they pulled back and gave up trying to get
in − for the moment at least.

It was almost too dark to see
more than a few dozen yards. But just at the edge of the gloom, I saw the
Wolf’s head banner was still standing. Wallace and his last few men were
surrounded out there, yet they were only about sixty yards from the gates. I
turned to Harald.

“My Lord, let me take fifty men
and rescue Wallace,” I offered. Eduard stepped up to my side at once and nodded
his agreement. But Harald shook his head.

“Sorry, Cerdic, but I cannot
spare fifty men.”

“But my Lord ...”

Harald turned to me.

“No, Cerdic. I’m sorry. I know he
is your father’s friend, but if we open the gates we will be overrun. Wallace
knew this. He chose to do this to save the army ... for today at least,” he
added gloomily and we all looked out with a sense of frustration and impotence
towards the wolf banner and its defenders.

There were now five hundred
Welshmen swarming all around Wallace’s small company. For a moment, I hoped
that he might hold them at bay and perhaps slowly retreat to the fortress.
Then, the enemy charged as one and I felt a lump in my throat as I saw the
banner fall to the ground and not come up again. It was finally over: after all
that he had been through, Lord Wallace was dead. On the battlements, Harald
squeezed my shoulder and, without a word, left to find Aethelric. Eduard placed
a hand on my arm as well and tried to comfort me.

“Sorry Cerdic. I know Wallace was
a friend of your family as well as of your father. If it helps at all, that was
a bloody brave thing he just did. Think about that,” he said and then went to
find Cuthbert. So finally I stood alone, looking towards the fallen Wolf banner
and the bodies of our men. I was suddenly overwhelmed by all that had occurred
today. Just a few hours ago, the Prince had spoken of us slaughtering these
Welsh invaders, but now those words seemed foolish and naive. Half our army had
died and it was the Welsh who were triumphant: who now believed they had won
the battle of Catraeth.

The truth was − they
probably had.

I turned my back on the
battlefield and in a daze, stumbled along the walkway to the steps leading down
from the battlements. Wallace’s last words came to me then and with the horror
of what had just happened still gnawing at me, I went to prevent a prince from
running away.

At the top of the steps I stopped
and looked around the interior of the fortress. Fires had been started by the
men to warm themselves on this cool night and also to cook on. I realised that
I had eaten nothing since that apple before dawn. Gods, but how long ago was
that? Yet, I did not feel I could eat. The horrors of the day, Wallace’s death
and the vision of his wolfshead banner falling, churned my stomach and I felt
hollow inside.

From where I was standing, I
could get some idea of the state of the army and at once could see that we were
in terrible trouble. The original garrison at Stanwick camp had been about five
hundred and we had brought four hundred more spears that morning. We had
started the battle, then, with just less than a thousand spears. Owain, Samlen
and their allies had over two thousand men on the field. Both sides had
suffered losses but we had fared far worse. I looked around the camp and
wondered how many men we actually had left.

Walking down the steps and
wandering from fire to fire, I glanced at the dirty, drawn faces that stared
despondently into the flames or back at me without any expression. How many had
lost friends today? I figured most of them ... most of us. I might have said
that Wallace’s company had come out of the day better than most, save that
Wallace himself was dead and the company had lost its standard. Along with
Wallace, a dozen of his household and most of the veterans had perished. Still,
that gave us around sixty men out of eighty-five alive at the end of the day,
including my friends and, mercifully, Grettir. Of course, being alive is one
thing, but it’s what state you are in that counts. Some had been wounded and I
passed men screaming as they were held down to have arrow heads pulled out of them.
Others grimaced and bit on leather straps as wounds were stitched or bones set.
Then, of course, there were the wounds to the soul. Men had seen friends cut
down and choke on their own blood and vomit and had been unable to do anything
to help them. Each time it happened they had left part of themselves behind,
out on the battlefield.

In Harald’s companies from
Eoforwic, as well as the ones from the moors, the situation was far worse. Two
hundred men had marched with us from the city. They had shared a camp with us
and had listened and laughed, just as we had, to Cuthbert’s tales of our
valour. Of them, no more than one man in three sat around those fires.

The garrison of Stanwick camp had
been just as badly mauled by the Goddodin. Sabert’s two companies from the
coast and Wolds were probably in the best condition of all, save mine, but even
they had lost thirty men each.

In all, I estimated our losses at
around four hundred men. I could not believe that Owain had lost as many as
that, but even if he had, that meant that he now had fifteen hundred spears to
our mere five hundred: three men for every one of ours. I walked towards the
hall knowing, even before I entered, that Sabert would be in an uncompromising
mood.

The hall at Stanwick camp was a
single-roomed structure, built in the previous year when the dangers of
Rheged’s growing strength threatened war one day. War had come and today it was
the scene for a council of war. Aethelric sat despondently in the single tall-backed
chair, which resembled his father’s throne and which occupied the end of the
hall. Harald, Sabert and half a dozen lesser nobles from the other companies,
were slumped in scattered chairs and on benches. Harald was eating a roast
chicken leg and drinking mead, as I entered. He glanced up and rolled his eyes
at me then gestured with his thumb in the direction of Sabert. It was Earl
Sabert who was speaking now.

“We should leave and leave soon,
your Highness, under cover of darkness. The battle is lost and our only hope is
flight ...,” the old lord was saying. He stopped when he saw me and tilted his
head.

“Ah, the young farmer. Well, it
seems that your father did not come, after all. I was certain this campaign was
futile,” he said again addressing the Prince. “We should leave and go back to
the bridge at Catraeth.”

Harald belched loudly.

“You have a comment to add
perhaps, Lord Harald,” Sabert asked acidly.

Harald pushed his stool back and
turned to face him.

“Indeed I do. You say leave. I
say... how? How could we leave? Owain is out there with two men or more for
each of ours. You expect him to just let us go?”

Sabert laughed at that.

“I expect him to be pissed about
now: on mead and ale from our supplies, or having his pleasure with a dozen
local girls. They think they have won the battle and they are damn well right: they
have. In an hour or two, in the dead of night we go out − east. Even if
they have a guard or two the main army is off to the west − you can see
the fires. We take down the palisade and go out over the ditch, make for the
road, then south to Catraeth.”

I looked at Aethelric and damn me
if he was not nodding. I had to change his mind and quickly.

“Then what?” Harald was asking.

“We hold the bridge. The waters
are high with the spring rain and also due to the snow melting in the
mountains. Owain can only cross at Catraeth − unless he goes out east,
through the moors − and that is a very long way. We have more companies
mustering in the moors if,” and again he looked at me, “Cenred has managed to
get that right.”

“So, we hold them at Catraeth. We
wait for more men and we break them there,” Sabert concluded firmly and the Prince
was still nodding.

“That won’t work,” I said loudly.
Everyone turned to look at me.

“Please tell me, farm boy, why it
won’t work?” Sabert said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m dying to know
what your great experience has taught you.”

I shook my head, “I don’t have
much of that ... but I do have a Welshman in my company. Can I bring him in
here?”

Aethelric’s head snapped up at
that.

“A ... Welsh ...man, here. Why do
you want him?”

“Well, I am sure we would all
like to lynch one and it is easier than going all the way to Owain’s camp after
all,” Sabert said and despite myself, even I laughed at that.

“He has pledged fealty to my
father and me. He was talking to the Welsh in Eoforwic and I think you need to
know something of what he heard,” I explained when the jeers had died down.

Aethelric nodded and I turned and
told one of the Prince’s guards to go and fetch Aedann. While we waited, Harald
brought me a cup of mead. I thanked him and in my thirst drank it quickly then
immediately regretted my action, as on an empty stomach the mead went straight
to my head.

“How sure are you of your father
persuading Aethelfrith?” Harald asked me quietly, so no one else could hear.

I shrugged. “How sure are we of anything
in life? We hope for the best, prepare for the worse and give thanks to the
gods if we live another day. Fate takes care of the rest. But you can be sure
that he will do his best. He can be ... very determined, when he wants to be,”
I replied.

Harald nodded. “Good enough for
me.”

Aedann walked into the hall and seemingly
not intimidated in the slightest by the stares of the assembled lords, strode
right up to the Prince and bowed.

“You wanted to speak to me, your Highness?”

Aethelric’s expression suggested
he had no intention of doing anything of the sort. He pointed vaguely at me,
and Aedann turned to ask me what I wanted.

“Aedann, I need you to tell the Prince
what you found out by talking to the Welsh in Eoforwic. What were they hoping
for?”

The Welshman nodded and paused to
collect his thoughts then turned back to the Prince.

“There exists a sizeable
proportion of the population of Eoforwic who are far from happy at being ruled
by your father, your Highness.”