Shadowland (29 page)

When they finally emerged from the Weald and rode
out towards the flickering sentry fires of Aeglesthorp, it was late. The stars
were twinkling overhead and the smell of salt water from the estuary hung
heavily in the air. Although they had been moving slowly for some time, the
horses were exhausted and unsteady on their legs. The poor animals had been
pushed beyond their normal levels of endurance and Alric had to coax his mount
over the final distance. As he stopped and jumped from its back, it staggered,
dropped its head, and gave a ragged snort. It stood, swaying slightly, refusing
to move even when a handler came forward and tried leading it gently towards
the stabling area. Alric patted its sweaty neck then strode across to Hengist’s
hut. Two torches burned outside the entrance, signifying that Hengist was still
awake and willing to receive visitors. Alric thanked the gods for this one
small mercy; waking Hengist would be a sure way to die, but he would have had
to do it.

*****

‘So
now you know the minds of the Saxons, and the ways of the dead, eh? What... ’

Uther held a finger to his lips, stopping the
speaker short. ‘
Shhh
.’ This brought smiles and some
laughter from the audience, the children giggled and even the farmer was
smiling at his wife’s discomfort. ‘Last year, you listened when I told you of
rescuing a princess from a tower as tall as a mountain, and the year before I
fought sea monsters in the depths of the sea. I even remember a story a few
years back, when I told you of flying to the moon in a boat made of petticoats
and kisses. Why, pray tell, do you get so upset now? Sit, and please humour two
old men a little longer, and maybe I can tell you something of when your
ancestors reclaimed their land.’

Chapter Seventeen – The cold light of dawn

Uther Pendragon shivered in
the cold light of dawn and gazed about absently, willing his mind to wake and
his body to warm. It was ominously quiet in the small copse of trees; there
wasn’t even any birdsong. Long shadows stretched towards him from the distant village of Aeglesthorp, laying uneven across the
large grassy meadow glistening with morning dew. Behind the village, the
eastern sky was promising another fine day, with the first blush of sunrise
painting the scattered clouds with pastel shades of pink and orange. A cold
breeze whispered across the field, blowing softly through the long grass,
making the mist stir and dance, drawing Uther’s attention for a moment. As
Samel joined him, he gathered his cloak tighter about his shoulders and shivered
again, watching his breath emerge as a cloud into the chill air.

‘The
river’s on the far side,’ said Samel, pointing towards the distant village.

Uther
studied the village once more. He could just make out the dark shapes of
clustered roundhouses rising above a low stockade. Behind the settlement, the
high masts of several Saxon longboats, drawn up onto what Samel had described
as ‘a small shingle beach,’ showed black against the soft light of dawn.

With
a sigh, Uther waved a hand towards the darkness of the forest, and then quickly
returned it to the warmth of his cloak. ‘And our main force with Merlyn should
be waiting in the trees there?’ The forest appeared gloomy, empty, and home to
little more than spirits, as far as Uther could see. ‘Send two men to make
contact. I want to be sure they’re there to back us up before we attack.’ Samel
nodded and turned away.

Returning
to his study of the village, Uther stood a little straighter as men started to
emerge from behind the stockade and form into their defensive shield wall. His
unease continued to grow as they carried out and divided long sharpened stakes
amongst them. It didn’t take a lot of working out to realise what these would
be for, the Saxons were ready for them. When the first line of chariots
attacked, the horses would be impaled as the stakes were raised, and the
chariots quickly overcome. He continued watching as the numbers grew, until
over a thousand Saxons were crowded along the field, silently staring across at
the trees where Uther and his tribesmen waited. We’re hugely outnumbered again,
realised Uther with a growing feeling of alarm. More emerged, some moving left
in front of the forest, while others turned to the right to spread further
around the intended battlefield.

As
they ran out they carried weapons, a shield, and firewood, the last item dumped
in growing piles that could be torched when the battle commenced.

Well, they know we’re here,
thought Uther, and then he glanced about for Samel.
He saw the little Iceni making his way back through the trees, sharing a joke
with one of his men. How could he laugh at a time like this? Cupping his hands,
he hissed a warning. ‘Samel... they know we’re here!’

Samel
frowned and trotted over. ‘
Shhh
, be strong for your
men, King Uther. I’m well aware that they know we’re here, I’ve seen ’
em
... couldn’t really miss ’
em
,
could I? Some of those Saxons from the attack yesterday must have gotten back
and given the warning, but those men over there will be just as cold and scared
as we are, more so, hopefully. They don’t know how many we are and they don’t
know when we’ll attack. The longer we can wait the better.’

Two
bowls of porridge were passed forward and the two friends indulged themselves
in silence for a while, savouring the taste and the glorious warmth that filled
them. All too soon, Samel ran a finger around his empty bowl, and then sucked
it noisily. He glanced back down to see if he’d missed any, frowned, and then
reluctantly handed it to the waiting man and returned to his study of the Saxons.

The
sun was now above the horizon and the shadows on the field were drawing back as
the sun rose, the rays that lanced through the village lending an orange tint
to the mist as it drifted over the field. Samel examined the effect with a
critical eye.

‘I
hadn’t noticed until now, King Uther, but do you see how the mist is lingering
above certain parts of the meadow? It shows where the ground is holding water,
where it’s marshy.’ He pointed to a spot not thirty paces into the field. ‘Do
you see there, where the mist clings to that darker patch? The grass is taller
and it’ll be soft under the chariots’ wheels and will bog us down if we don’t
find firmer ground around it. We’ll have to wait for a little more light and
hope we can see a way through.’

Uther
nodded, and then glanced behind him at the chariots and horsemen waiting
patiently amongst the trees. There was a heavy tension hanging in the air as
they each contemplated the morning ahead. Some were tightening harnesses and
tending their horses, while others sharpened weapons, stones gliding slowly
along blades already keenly sharp, the sound coming as a soft rasping whisper
amongst the trees. A good number were still eating porridge or waiting
patiently, doing what Uther was doing, staring out of the shadows across the
field at the Saxons.

‘How
many are we?’ Uther’s question came out as a rush, momentarily betraying his
fears. He stopped, drew a calming breath, and gripped Excalibur beneath his
cloak. Feeling the fear crawl back down to his belly, where it seemed to lie,
ready to rise again with a rush, he smiled. ‘I’m sorry, Samel. What I meant to
ask was how many are we now? Have the others caught up yet? And did we hear
anything back from Merlyn?’

‘We’re
still one hundred and twenty chariots, and over a hundred horsemen,’ replied
Samel, glancing across at the rising sun. ‘There’ll be another two hundred
horsemen with us before the sun climbs much higher, we should at least wait
until then before committing ourselves, and no, we haven’t heard back from Merlyn
yet.’

‘But
you sent those men into the forest ages ago?’

Samel
shrugged. ‘I did, but they wouldn’t necessarily have found them straight away,
would they? They’ll be keeping out of sight, keeping their heads down. Don’t
worry, we’ll hear from them soon enough.’

Realising
there was little he could do, Uther went back to observing the Saxon side of
the field and muttered a prayer to the spirits that ended in a plea for Merlyn
to have been granted safe passage with his four thousand warriors. The forest still
looked awfully dark and empty to him.

As
the sun crested the village, they received word that the horsemen had been
sighted and Uther felt a little of the weight lift from his shoulders. One
hundred and twenty chariots and three hundred horsemen wasn’t a huge force, but
it was certainly an effective one, especially against men on foot, which was
all he could see in the Saxon lines.

The
Saxons had few horses, since they arrived on the shores of Briton without them
and could only round up so many from the local settlements or on the moors
where the horses ran wild. He glanced about for Samel, finally spotting him
sitting up in a tree with one of his men.

They
were pointing at the field, working out where the softer marshy parts were and
where there might be a firmer path through. He watched as they began their
climb down, and then saw them halt their descent and begin pointing excitedly
to the rear of their position. There was a muffled conversation, and then Samel
clambered down a few branches and hurriedly dropped through the last, landing
heavily.

‘Mount
up!’ There was a flurry of movement amongst the closest riders and the order was
passed along the line and back to those that waited in the trees.

‘Our
horsemen have just joined us,’ said Samel, reaching Uther and grasping his
tunic to steady himself. He stopped and drew in a deep breath, clutching at his
stomach, the fall having winded him more than he had first let on. ‘But as we
watched them come in, we also saw Saxons. They’re moving from the trees to the
south, lots of them. We would have missed them but we saw them crossing an open
patch of ground, they’re surrounding us!’ He dragged Uther towards their
chariot. As they mounted, a Saxon drum began to pound out a deep steady beat
that was quickly joined by more drums and then the deep mournful drone of
horns. The morning became filled with a cacophony of noise as the Saxon
warriors all around the field stood and joined in, roaring their challenges and
rattling their weapons and shields together, the sound at once terrifying and
deafening to the waiting tribesmen.

‘They’re
coming at us,’ cried Samel. He grabbed the chariot reins, all pretence at
stealth now abandoned. ‘They’re going to try and scatter us out into the field
and bog us down!’ His face was flushed crimson with anger, and flecks of white
spittle hung in his beard as he spat out his hatred for the conniving invaders
who had out-foxed them. ‘Well, they’ll not catch us that easy. Out!’ With a
crack of his whip, the chariot lurched and rumbled forward as Samel led them
out, searching for the firmer ground that he had spotted from his perch in the
tree. ‘The bastards surrounded us!’ he fumed in disbelief, his face a mask of
fury.

Uther
could do little more than grip the side of the chariot and force his mind to
try and catch up. In what seemed an instant, all their plans had changed. He
hung on as they creaked and bounced over the rough, uneven ground into the open
field and away from the immediate threat emerging behind them. The low-lying
sun was blinding when he glanced over towards the village, but Samel seemed to
be taking them south, away from the waiting warriors. ‘Where are we going? Do
you have a plan?’ Uther asked, raising his voice over the incredible clamour
from the Saxons. The fires were now alight and smoke was already drifting
across the field, adding to the confusion.

‘You’re
the King,’ cried Samel. ‘I’m just taking us around the soft ground in the
centre and away from those sneaky buggers behind us!’

Uther
groped for the hilt of Excalibur and scanned the battlefield. Much to his
frustration, the trees of the Weald continued to remain dark and silent, while
all around, the Saxons surrounded them, cutting off any chance of escape. As an
added danger, if they weren’t careful, they would be forced into the boggy
centre of the field where the chariots would be less manoeuvrable or possibly
completely trapped. Things suddenly seemed very bleak indeed. He glanced back,
his heart racing with indecision and uncertainty. The chariots had all left the
trees now and the horsemen were following with the first Saxons screaming out
after them, the whole procession of tribesmen, flushed out like so many deer on
a day’s hunt, and still the trees of the Weald remained dark and empty of any
help or inspiration.

Bringing
his hand down hard upon the chariot’s edge, Uther gritted his teeth angrily.
‘Damn you, Merlyn, where are you? We have to reverse this situation before it
gets out of hand.’ He attempted to calm himself as he scanned the Saxon ranks.

‘Get
out of hand? I would say this is already out of hand,’ shouted Samel, cracking
the reins down to urge the horses through a softer piece of ground. A cloud of
smoke wafted over them, momentarily hiding the field from view.

‘We
have to attack and force a way through,’ said Uther, as they cleared the smoke.
He scanned the field once more. ‘There.’ He pointed towards the village. ‘If we
can get through into the village, there’s bound to be a road running along the
coast.’

Samel
glanced across at him, with a look of concern. ‘You want to leave already?
We’ve only just got here!’