Hope of Earth (50 page)

It took some time for the Celts to array their forces. There was much cursing and jostling. Lin also overheard complaints about the food: it seemed that there was not much to be had, because the Romans had destroyed the granaries before the Celts could occupy Londinium. But they were sure that there would be plenty, once the Romans had been dispatched.

Lin got up on the wagon as high as she could, trying to peer over the Celts to see the Romans. Wildflower and her sister joined her. They piled additional planks, making a taller platform, and then they were able to see all the way across the field to where the Romans were assembled. Their array looked pitifully small, backed up against a forest.

“They don’t even have anywhere for their wagons to flee,” Wildflower remarked.

“They don’t intend to flee,” Lin said.

The princess glanced at her with compassion. “They are brave, at any rate. It will be over soon.”

Surely so. But now Lin remembered things about the Romans. How tough they were in close quarters, or on a field of their own choosing. How their equipment and discipline counted. She knew that Ittai, though not trained for land combat, was a competent commander of men, and excellent general strategist. Jes had told of his proficiency and courage in sea engagements. Lin remembered how Ittai had complimented Suetonius’s ability in the field. These Romans were no longer fleeing; they had elected to stand on ground of their own choosing, and they would be tough.

But could they be tough enough? Could 10,000 Romans, no matter how well equipped and disciplined, possibly hold their own against a hundred thousand savage warriors? It didn’t seem likely. Especially since the Celts wouldn’t give any quarter. They were out to kill every Roman in Britain. Except possibly Ittai, if he fell and lay still, but wasn’t killed outright. If she could get to him in time. And the queen hadn’t promised him freedom, just life, maybe.

“I’m glad we aren’t close enough to see the blood,” Wildflower said. “We’ve seen enough of that already.”

Surely so! This whole business had been so unnecessary, such a waste. All because of the arrogant coward Catus.

At last the Britons were ready. They were divided into tribal contingents. Their several forces of chariots charged forward, whooping savagely, eager to draw the first blood. Lin saw them sweep in several masses at the Roman lines, to hurl their javelins, trying to cause fear and confusion among the enemy troops. But the Romans didn’t budge. They simply stood there at the top of a slight slope, evidently dispersing the chariot changes with concentrated fire from the archers in their auxiliaries. The chariots tried to get around the Roman flanks, but those were too well protected by rough terrain and the close forest. So there just didn’t seem to be much way for the chariots to have effect. All they could do was swoop by, taunting the Romans, daring them to come out and get chopped to pieces, and retreat.

Finally the Celts decided to charge in a mass. Lin quailed, knowing that the troops on foot would not be turned aside by slopes or trees or even arrows; there were too many of them. They could take losses of thousands, and still overwhelm the defenders by sheer numbers.

The Romans did not move. Their lines remained still and straight as the ragged swarm surged close. Then, as the two forces almost converged, there was a hesitation.

“What happened?” Wildflower asked, perplexed.

“The Romans discharged their javelins at close range,” Lin said. “They waited until the enemy was too close to avoid them.”

Indeed, the front of the Celtic line seemed to shake, and shake again, as the second barrage of javelins was hurled.

Then the Roman lines moved. “What’s happening?” Wildflower asked, this time somewhat plaintively.

“The Roman infantry is advancing to attack,” Lin said, relying on her memory of Roman tactics more than anything she could actually see. For now the two forces were merging, and the center was a mass of nothing distinguishable. But she knew that the Romans were charging in wedge formation, striking the Celtic lines in much the manner of a hammered peg, splintering it. Such contact was devastating, and the Celts would not be able to fight well. The Romans had short swords which were very good for stabbing in close quarters. The Celts had long slashing blades which were good when there was space, but almost as dangerous to friends as foes in tight places.

For a moment, Lin visualized a sea battle Ittai had described, where the more numerous enemy ships had gotten crowded together, unable to fight properly. The distantly seen motions of the land forces seemed to resemble that.

Then the Roman cavalry charged the Celtic flanks. The Celts, jammed in together, were unable to maneuver well, and could not effectively face the enemy.

“What’s happening?” Wildflower asked once more, confused.

“The Romans are winning,” Lin said, amazed. She was seeing it happen, yet she could hardly believe it.

“But how can that be? There are so few!”

“Better discipline, better equipment,” Lin said wisely. These had been mere concepts to her before; now she appreciated their reality. Centurion Ittai would probably survive!

“But we have so many!”

“That’s the problem. They are getting in each other’s way.” Then Lin saw something else. “Oops.”

“What is it?” the princess asked, distracted.

“The Roman cavalry is coming here. We had better get clear in a hurry.”

“But we can’t go! Mother said—”

“She’ll have to look out for herself. We’re in trouble. Come on; jump off the wagon and flee away from the Romans. Both of you,” she called, including the other princess.

“I’m not going,” the other protested. “We
can’t
lose.”

“Then come on, Wildflower!” Lin cried, tugging the princess along with her as the horses charged up.

The two of them ran as fleetly as they could, hearing the thunder of the horses’ hooves. Soon, breathless, they paused to look back.

The Romans were overturning the wagons and carts. The women were running and screaming, but they weren’t being chased. That was another sign of a disciplined army: no plunder or rapine along the way. They were intent on winning the battle first. But why did they want to prevent the women from riding away?

Then it came clear. The Celtic army was now in confused retreat. It surged back toward the wagons—and couldn’t pass them, because Roman archers were firing at them from the cover of the wagons, and the horsemen were patrolling immediately behind. It was a deadly trap.

A woman screamed. Lin looked, and saw her fall. The Romans were killing the women too!

“We must get away from here!” she said, and half dragged the princess into a second run.

They were not pursued, and soon Were able to slow to a walk. They were safe, for the moment. But where were they to go now? No place would be safe for the princess, now that Rome had triumphed.

The decision was as swift as the question. “You must stay with me,” Lin said. “We must get male clothing. When night falls, I’ll take you to Centurion Ittai. He will protect you.”

Vacant-eyed, Wildflower nodded. Lin realized that the princess had just suffered a second shock, perhaps as bad as when she had been raped and seen her mother flogged.

They were able to find clothing at a nearby deserted house—possibly its master had been killed in the battle, or merely fled the dangerous scene—and after dark Lin took the princess to the Roman camp. A guard challenged them, but she called out the password, and they were admitted.

“Lin!” Ittai cried, recognizing her as soon as she came in sight. He was not even wounded. “I feared for you.” Then he paused, looking at Wildflower. “Who—”

“Another boy, just like me,” Lin said quickly. “I promised sanctuary.”

“Just like you,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Then he had better stay close to you, until we return home in a few days. The family will decide.”

By that token, he indicated that he knew the identity of the princess, and would allow her to seek sanctuary with the family. He had not approved of her raping, and would not approve of her killing. And Lin was sure the family would not turn her away, knowing that there would be no safe place for her in Britain. Any more than there would have been any safe place for Romans, had the battle gone the other way.

But there was something they needed to know. “What happened to the queen?” Lin asked him.

“She got away. We don’t know what happened to her daughters; they may be with her.”

Lin saw Wildflower relax a trifle. At least she knew that her mother still lived.

T
HE FIRST THING SAM NOTICED
about the prisoner was that he was a Frank. He was bedraggled and downcast, of course; he wore a collar of tough rope and his hands were tied behind him. His Avar captor would have yanked the rope tight enough to choke, at any sign of resistance. Captives learned very quickly to behave, or they died.

Sam himself had a nice gold vase, his booty from the successful raid on the Byzantine town. He had learned to be choosy, taking only what he could conveniently carry some distance home without tiring. Gold was the best for that. So he was well set.

Now he did something stupid. He joined the Avar, whom he did not know personally; Slavs as a rule did not cultivate the acquaintance of Avars, though they were nominally allies. “Mind if I share your fire a moment, before I trek home?”

The Avar looked up with annoyance, then his eye measured the size and muscle of the intruder. “Suit yourself, Slav.” The Avar was chewing on dark bread.

Sam set his vase carefully in front of him, in the process turning it so that it reflected the light of the flames. He dug out his own dark bread and began to gnaw.

The Avar stared at the vase. “Where’d you find that? I couldn’t find any gold.”

“I poked into the crevices of a burned-out house. I thought something good might be hidden there, and I was right.”