The Dragon's Banner (24 page)

He looked at the uncertain faces of the kings
and nobles standing around him. They were gathered in the great
hall of his stronghold in Venta Belgarum, for Vortigern had
summoned his allies and vassals together for a council of war.
Uther's aggressiveness and the failure of his assassination plot
had forced his hand. He disliked gambling all on one large battle,
but he saw no other option. His forces would still outnumber his
enemies, though Uther's destruction of the Picts, and now Masgwid,
had narrowed the margin. He'd been forced to rely too heavily on
the Saxons, and he knew this would make them difficult to handle
after the victory was won. That, however, was tomorrow's problem.
Today he had to face Uther Pendragon.

"You will assemble your levies here at Venta
Belgarum, and the combined army shall march north. We shall take no
chance at being set upon individually and destroyed by Uther's
forces. Our march will put us between Uther and Powys, and he will
be compelled to offer battle."

You will compel him to do exactly what he
wants to do, thought Vortigern somberly. You have surrendered the
initiative to this boy, and yet there is nothing else to be done.
"Your forces are to be ready to march in seven days, for on the
eighth we depart. A fortnight's journey shall bring us to battle,
and then Uther Pendragon and his army will be destroyed."

Dawn came clear and cold to the fields around
Verulamium, for fall had come early, and the night had seen the
first frost. The rays of early morning sun quickly warmed the day,
which looked to be fair and pleasant. The old town, lying off to
the west, was empty, for it had been abandoned a lifetime ago when
the legions departed. Its stone walls and theater still stood, save
for the gaping wounds where great chunks of building material had
been excavated from the old structures. The city loomed ghostly and
foreboding in the morning fog. To the north was a gentle ridge, and
behind that a deep wood. Along the rise was formed an army, and in
the center of that force, amid the flags and pennants of the host,
flew the great blue and silver banner of the Pendragon.

No sound came from the assembled multitude,
for they had been commanded to remain silent. Like shades they
stood in their formations and watched, for in the valley below
another army was hastily forming. The host of Vortigern had been
caught unawares, for they had not thought to encounter Uther's army
this far south. But the high king had foreseen their plan, and he
had marched his men relentlessly that they might force battle
sooner than the foe expected.

Uther sat upon his great black warhorse and
watched the enemy warriors form themselves into hastily-organized
lines. Tactics dictated that he should charge at once, and engage
them while half their numbers were still marching onto the field.
But Uther did not seek victory, he sought annihilation. He would
wait until all of the enemy's troops were committed, for he was
resolved that the opposing army be destroyed on this field.

In the valley there was much commotion, as
lords shouted orders to their warriors, forcing them into a ragged
line as quickly as possible. On the plain behind the newly
assembled formation was Vortigern, mounted on a large brown
stallion, a mail shirt over his usual red silk robes. "Curse Uther
Pendragon," His voice was bitter. "How did he move so quickly? Not
for half a fortnight did we expect battle."

But Uther had Leodegrance's huntsmen, the
same company that had convinced Catigern they were a host of
Visigoths, and he had them deployed to watch Vortigern's movements.
When the great army began to march north, slowly and in disorder,
riders were sent immediately to King Uther. The king acted at once,
leaving a small force screening Eboracum and marching south with
great haste, driving his troops to make 25 miles a day. By such
efforts, they reached the field in a week. The army facing his was
disordered and caught by surprise, but they were more than half
again his number. Twenty thousands of warriors did Vortigern bring
to Verulamium, and his lines extended past Uther's on both
flanks.

Uther's strategy was simple. In the center he
positioned his best heavy cavalry, for he would lead their charge
himself and split the enemy army in two. The horsemen were in the
woods, out of sight of Vortigern's men, and in front of them was
the lightest of his foot, mostly peasant levies from the west,
armed with javelins and shields.

To each side he deployed his heavy infantry,
spearmen to the left, opposite the best ground for an enemy cavalry
attack, and his own axemen on the right. On each flank was a large
company of horse, mostly lighter-armed levies from the northern
borderlands. Leodegrance commanded the foot on the left, while
Caradoc led those on the right. The other kings were with Uther,
leading their men at arms as part of the great mounted force.

Uther rode along the entire frontage of the
army, shouting to his troops and bidding them fight more fiercely
than ever they had. "Today we win this war." He shouted his
exhortations and swinging his sword wildly as he rode before the
cheering multitudes. "After this victory you shall all return to
your homes, to your wives, to your children." His words cut at him
as he uttered them, for he would return only to loneliness and an
empty castle. But now was the time for battle, and his own pain he
ignored.

"Free men of Britannia, never has a king
commanded more courageous and noble soldiers. I bid you fight like
no men have ever fought! Fight for your families. Fight for
Britannia! Fight for your high king! For I shall lead you in this
battle, and I swear I shall not leave the field other than in
victory! If it not be victory then you can leave my broken body a
meal for the buzzards."

All of this he repeated as he rode down the
line, and the warriors worked themselves into a screaming frenzy,
thrusting spears and axes and swords high into the air and shouting
again and again, "Hail King Uther!"

Their foes had no such encouragement, for
Vortigern could not inspire men in the field as Uther Pendragon.
Indeed, his vassals and allied kings were hard pressed to get their
men into line in time, for the massive army was a disorganized mob.
The miserable levies and hastily assembled men at arms looked
across the field at their shouting foes and their morale was
leaden.

Vortigern's army was deployed conventionally,
with the heavy cavalry on each flank, but they were still forming
up to charge when the sounds of horns blared from the center of
Uther's army, and the king galloped down the hillside with two
thousands of heavily armored men at arms thundering behind him.

The earth shook from their charge, and the
waiting infantry saw their doom approaching. They wavered, rallied
for a moment at the urging of their captains, and then broke.
Uther's horse plunged into their ranks as they fled, slashing and
slaying wildly. With javelin and sword the men at arms massacred
the routing foot, and soon the ground was littered with bodies and
the surviving infantry from the center was in headlong flight.

Once they had broken the center infantry
formations, another horn blew, and the horsemen rallied and split
into two groups, one led by Uther and the other by Urien. They rode
behind the remaining infantry lines toward Vortigern's cavalry
forces on each flank.

Vortigern was stunned, for never had he seen
mounted troops break off so abruptly from pursuing a broken enemy
and reform to charge another target. But Uther's men obeyed his
every command, not only out of respect but because none would risk
his terrible wrath. Fear of Uther Pendragon overcame even
bloodlust, for he had declared that any who ignored the blasts of
the horns would be hanged, and none doubted his word.

Vortigern's men at arms hastily turned to
face the threat from the rear and, with some disorder, they were
able to meet the oncoming charges. Uther's men had morale and the
disorganization of their foe in their favor, while Vortigern's
fresher troops had numbers. On each flank, horse met horse in
tumultuous melees, and for long they fought before the smaller
cavalry forces Uther had posted on his flanks charged and struck
the enemy men at arms in the rear. Beset on all sides, Vortigern's
horsemen fell back in disarray, with Uther's exhausted men
pursuing.

Throughout the melee, Uther Pendragon fought
like a madman, and by the time Vortigern's cavalry were retreating
he had slain at least twenty. On the other flank, Urien fought
fiercely as well, and if his tally didn't equal Uther's, it was
impressive nonetheless.

For another hour the cavalry forces fought,
Vortigern's troops giving ground steadily. When the rout finally
began, it happened quickly. First small groups of horsemen turned
and fled, dropping their weapons and galloping away as quickly as
they exhausted mounts could carry them. The panic spread rapidly,
and within a few minutes, most of the survivors were in flight, and
the few who stood were quickly overwhelmed. Pursuit wasn't an
option this time, because the victor's mounts were exhausted and
needed rest before they could charge again. Uther led a small force
of the less-fatigued lightly armed cavalry behind the enemy army to
aid Urien, but by the time they arrived the enemy had been put to
flight on that flank as well.

While the horsemen were engaged, the infantry
clashed all along the battle line. Uther's men charged down the
hillside and slammed into the enemy foot, and the two sides were
soon locked in a desperate struggle. On the right, Uther's forces
steadily pushed back their more numerous adversaries, and losses
were heavy on both sides. But on the left, Hengist's Saxons stood
firm, positioned on a small hillside from which they repulsed the
repeated charges of the infantry of Cornwall and Cameliard.

The giant Germanic king stood in the
forefront of his men and laid low all who came near him. Five times
did they send the free Britons retreating down the hillside. For
hours they stood firm, while all over the field their cause was
being lost. Finally, Uther himself led the victorious infantry from
the right around to assail the Saxons from behind, while
Leodegrance rallied the defeated infantry and led them in one more
charge.

Facing enemies both to the front and rear,
Hengist formed his men into a circular formation and, using the
hillside to great advantage, held out against the overwhelming
assaults until late in the day. Finally, exhausted and no longer
able to hold, Hengist led the best of his men as they cut their way
through the encircling forces and fled the field. All along the
hillside, scattered groups broke free and ran, while hundreds of
others were cut down trying to flee.

The Saxons had been the last organized
resistance remaining, and with their flight, Uther's victorious
army stood alone on the field. The Battle of Verulamium was
over.

Uther stood grimly on the hard-fought hill
where Hengist's men had made their last stand, and he watched the
red sun setting slowly over the field of battle. Before him was a
scene that could have been a vision of Hell. Nearly as far as the
eye could see, the hillsides and plains were covered with the dead
and wounded. The dead, at least, were at peace, but thousands yet
remained alive, bleeding and broken on the field, and their moans
chilled even Uther's soul. Horses, too, had been killed and maimed
in hundreds, and the sounds of the wounded animals was louder and
more piteous still than that of the men. And in the skies, the
carrion birds screeched wildly, for never had such a feast been
presented to them.

His men wandered over the field, gathering
their wounded and dispatching the poor, terrified horses as quickly
as they could reach them. They were all fatigued, and the task was
overwhelming. Uther's body burned with exhaustion, for he had
fought all day like a demon, and it had been long since he'd slept.
Still he could not take his eyes off the bloody field. The wind had
picked up, and the tattered banners rippled eerily in the fading
light.

This is victory, Uther thought darkly. It is
for this we fought so hard and sacrificed so much. These thousands
have died that I might be high king instead of Vortigern. Was it
worth it? Will the thousands of souls I have sent this day to
petition before God speak my praises? Does it matter so much after
all who rules?

It was indeed victory, for though Hengist and
Vortigern escaped the field, their armies were shattered, and many
of their allied Britannic monarchs had fallen. There was work still
to be done, but the issue was no longer in doubt. Uther Pendragon
was high king of Britannia, and there were none with the strength
to challenge his rule. It was Leodegrance's voice that woke Uther
from his trance. "So we have prevailed, my old friend." He spoke
softly, his voice hoarse, showing his fatigue. "And you are high
king. Long may you rule." He bowed before Uther then walked up to
stand beside him.

Uther turned and smiled grimly at his friend.
Leodegrance wore a bloody makeshift bandage, for a Saxon sword had
slashed open his shoulder, a wound messier than it was dangerous.
With him stood Caradoc and Merlin. Caradoc too, was stained with
blood from head to toe, though little of it was his own. He had
fought with great passion and skill, and he'd slain ten foes that
day. He looked at Uther and laughed softly. "It is quite a journey
I embarked upon when I swore myself to your service. Though I am
not a native of this land, I am proud to hail you as my king. And
my friend."

Uther nodded to Caradoc, though still he was
silent, for he knew not what to say. Blood flowed slowly from his
arm where a javelin had pierced him, though he hardly seemed to
notice the wound.