The Marquis (45 page)

‘But you are not ransoming us? Or selling us as theow?’

Conn shook his head. ‘Nope… too much like hard work. I need my forces to do real things – not babysit a bunch of prisoners.’

The first cog had all the Ancuman wiga, and as they saw it disappear out of harbour, he turned to a Pontian Folctoga.

‘Right, you lot are next. Get everyone assembled here in one hour.’

‘Umm, Marquis, why do we have to go back while all my former colleagues are still here?’

They could be seen working; building and digging.

‘They asked to stay – they seem happy being prisoners.’

He nodded. ‘And I to assume that your next battle will be against the Healdend?’

‘Very likely – do you think he will surrender if I ask nicely?’

‘No, I don’t think so. Marquis, if it is possible we would like to stay too…if it is not too much trouble. We promise not to be any trouble.’

Conn agreed. Sir Theoric would have a few more hands for work and mouths to feed. Luckily the stores were overflowing with supplies as ships were arriving from Sytha and Rila daily.

~oo0oo~

Conn was meeting with his officers late that night as they discussed the impending battle. Scouts had returned to say that a vast army was about four days away from the river that divided Kapisi from the demesne of the Healdend of Pontia.

‘So the Twacuman had all departed and are on the mountain slopes?’

They nodded.

‘And the artillery are in place?’ Being slow, they had departed a week earlier, and should be in place now. A dozen of his best mangonels – more powerful that anything ever seen in Sytha.

They nodded again.

‘So at dawn then, gentlemen.’

~oo0oo~

It was just after midnight as Conn tried to disengage himself from the naked and sleeping Agdis; it was to no avail, his movements stirred her.

She sat up; her frame just visible in the faint light in the roundhouse; the embers were low.

‘You leave so early, Marquis.’

Conn kissed her. ‘Yes, it is time to depart. The sun will rise in a few hours.’

‘And soon you will have conquered and reunited all of Sytha. I hear tales that you hold demesne in all of the nations within Sytha. A remarkable achievement.’

‘I see you do not hold much hope for the Healdend.’

‘No. I do not. There are several differences between you two – not least being that he is an arrogant fool and you are strangely not. He rules with fear, and you rule with respect for both your enemies and friends. His men fight because they are rewarded or because they have no choice – yours fight because they want to please you. His will run while yours will stand until the last man is dead. He cannot defeat that – even with those damned Folgere at his side ….’

‘I also have the best horses, the sharpest swords and the fastest arrows.’

She brushed way the sadness in her voice and laughed. ‘That is true. Anyway, to other things … are you sure you don’t have twenty minutes to spare before you leave?’ she asked amorously as she reached for him. ‘Even ten?’

Twenty minutes later, Conn arrived in the stables to saddle his horse; Balios snickered as he arrived. Derryth rode in.

‘You took your time. We are ready to go. Everyone else has departed.’

‘What are you complaining about – I’m still early’. Conn mounted Balios and joined the fifty men that waited for him in the bailey. Aside from Derryth and a few Iladions, they were all from Kerch – his personal bodyguard.

It was now late spring and the days were getting long. As they rode out it was light enough for them to see the road clearly; and they were not taking the road. They turned left as soon as they could and headed for the highlands.

As they rode through the countryside it was significant how much the conflict with Pontiak had effected its people. This area was totally neglected and the villages sparse and small; and barely sustainable. Refugees from the villages along the road between Kapisi and Pontiak had headed his way rather than towards their Healdend.

It wasn’t long before they were high enough to see the dust cloud created by the army of the Healdend coming their way, and high enough to confirm that their plans should prevail. It had not rained for weeks and the ground was quickly turned into dust – the cloud was immense.

‘There are a lot of them.’ Conn commented as he handed the telescope to Derryth. It was moments before Derryth responded.

‘Lots – almost ten thousand would be my guess.’

‘Two to one – good odds.’

‘If you are one of the ten thousand, they are good odds. If you are one of the five thousand, I’m not so sure. Your fascination for such unbalanced battles is unrelenting.’

They headed south, soon to be joined by Eolyn, and Conn made sure that the Aebeling was doubly clear on what was proposed. In the mountains there were over a thousand Twacuman bowmen, staying out of sight. If there were any spies or scouts of the Healdend along the road, they would not have seen the Twacuman.

It was late afternoon when Conn finally caught up with his fyrd, and he arrived almost simultaneously with the Healdend and his fyrd in the distance.  

Conn’s fyrd had been in this position for over a week, preparing the site, thought it would not have seemed like it. They had dug trenches but they were all hidden; and also concealed was the dozen mangonel behind fortified mounds.

In front of the mounds were rows of bamboo c
heval de frise
– an anti-cavalry defensive device. Behind the mounds, archers waited with cover amongst the excessively large numbers of tents, and behind them stood the cavalry, men and horses, standing waiting.

This was not intended to be where the battle was going to be fought – it was where the advancing army would stop.

Conn’s chosen battle ground was where the road passed through a slight valley. To the north it was quite steep as it led up to the mountains. To the south it rose not more than fifty yards before falling away again.

It was clear that the Pontians were not intended on attacking just yet as they were still bringing in the tail of their fyrd, and that continued for the next day as well. Conn was never going to attack so was more than happy to see the large Pontian fyrd become increasingly cramped within the space they had available.

At dusk a small party of riders rode towards them with a flag of truce, and Conn rode out with Derryth and Godhart il Kapisi.

‘Maybe he wants to surrender?’ Derryth suggested.

Cyngard, Healdend of Pontia was being introduced, when he recognized Godhart and interrupted.

‘Godhart! I thought you dead. You are supposed to be.’

‘You thought wrong. I hope you die and I look forward to that wish coming true.’

He was instantly dismissive. ‘With this ragtag of wiga. I have ten thousand men – you have – what – three thousand? Surrender now and I promise you a fast and painless death.’

‘No thank you, Cyngard – I’d prefer to see you die painfully.’

‘Fool! Not going to happen.’ He turned to Conn. ‘The Feorrancund, I assume. I am told that you have unnatural luck in war – but your luck has run out – surely you can see that. If you surrender now, I will even sign a peace treaty with Sytha, and let bygones be bygones. You can turn around and ride away – stay in your pathetic little demesne of … Rila.’ Conn ignored him because he was starting to rant. ‘Are you not also supposedly the Feorhhyrde? I see one old man at your side – probably bought him as a theow somewhere so you can pretend to be the Feorhhyrde. You are nothing but a charlatan.’

Derryth couldn’t help himself. ‘I’m offended – I’m never been called old before. I thought I held my age well.’

Cyngard was furious. ‘Insolent scum of the earth! I should beat you to an inch of your life for speaking to me like that.’

‘You are no Pontian, Cyngard.’ Conn interrupted, ‘No Pontian would show so little respect to one of those that died to rescue your ancestors from a life of slavery. I have no war with Pontians – so it is the Axum in you that I will take great pleasure in slicing into small bits. And speaking of Axum, is that you, Agkell, hiding under that cowl?

The man removed the cowl from his cloak – revealing himself.

‘Yes, Marquis, it is …’

He didn’t finish the sentence before Cyngard had spun and slapped him over the face. Poor Agkell fell back on his horse, before righting himself and staring at the Healdend, livid. He rubbed his face.

‘You strike me again, Healdend, and your son will have much to pay penance for.’

Cyngard was fuming. ‘Did I give you right to speak, Folgere – this man is not be acknowledged by you.’

‘I see that all is harmonious in the house of Axum.’ Conn noted. ‘Of course, I find it hard to resist the temptation to slap the Folgere myself. My last recollection of him was him cowering in abject terror in the presence of the Gyden Astarte.’

The Folgere had to respond; he rode out of reach of the Healdend. ‘You lie ... I never cowered … and Astarte is no more.’

‘Why don’t we revisit the Circe and you can tell her yourself? I’d be happy to escort you. I promise not to kill you on the way.’

Agkell clearly shivered as he answered. ‘That will not be necessary. When I do return it will be to crush all profanity and its idols to dust, and then to welcome the virgins as they make their sacrifice to holy Ashtoreth.’

‘Like that’s going to happen,’ Conn said under his breath, turning back to the Healdend. ‘Cyngard, for a moment, I have considered your kind offer but several things have impugned me to reject it.’

‘Very well,’ Cyngard responded. ‘You have all been given a chance – and all the traitors in Kapisi will be soon be put to the sword as well – you need to know that you have condemned all to your fate.’

‘We’ll take our chance. If nothing else, our sacrifice will reduce the power of your fyrd so that Eaorl Eadhart il Kucha will have an easier time defeating you.’

‘Eadhart? Eadhart will not defeat me – I have sent Kyme and Kotan to deal with his puny uprising. He seeks status far above his worth – and I have no idea why I have not ground all of Kucha to dust.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that.  He does have some help… have you not been informed?’

Cyngard looked around at his advisors. If they knew anything they were not saying. ‘Who is helping him?’ he yelled.

Conn continued. ‘Two people – the Marquis of Kerch and the Aebeling Eomon il Sytha.’

‘Kerch – are you not also the Marquis of Kerch – what silliness is that? You are here.’

‘True, but I left a several hundred Wiga – Merians – in Patria to help out, with a very capable Folctoga all the way from Meshech – and Eomon il Sytha is leading several hundred more from Sytha – half Meshechians and half Sythans.’

‘Over a thousand men – with Eadhart? How is that possible? – and Sytha invading Pontia – the Thanes will rise up against Eadhart.’

‘I don’t think so – they all ride under the Bear standard.’

The Healdend was silent for a moment, digesting the relevance of what Conn had said. ‘The Bear standard – so Eadhart would be Healdend?’

‘Didn’t the Casere give the position to the Bear Clan?’ Conn was being provocative. ‘I feel I should do what I can to redo what has been undone.’

Cyngard tried hard to control his rage – even he knew he could do little here and now. ‘Over my dead body.’ he retorted defiantly between clenched teeth.

‘That is an invitation that may prove hard to refuse, Healdend. I fear our negotiations are at an end. I think we both know how the cards are dealt now.’

The Pontians withdrew back to camp as light faded.  Conn watched him go silently before turning to Derryth. ‘Is he mad enough?’

‘I would say so – and the site is perfect for such a manoeuvre. I mean, he is probably calling you an idiot for choosing such a site.’

‘I certainly hope so.’

They returned to the command post and prepared the fyrd for the ensuing battle. By midnight, there was still no movement by the Pontians and being a cloudy night on new moon, the night was pretty close to pitch black, and eerily silent. So when the hiss of the catapults broke that silence, everyone heard it.

Balls of fire flew through the air, colliding with the rows of tents that populated the area behind the line.

‘Wow,’ Derryth commented from his position lying on the ground three hundred yards away, ‘Lucky there is no one in them.’

‘True; their catapults are very effective. And with the grass inside, we should have a big blaze – much more than they would expect.’ Conn had everyone collecting grass and wood for the last week and instead of people the tents had been stuffed with flammable materials. It would be quite a bonfire.

After the flaming balls came the roar of a thousand men attacking the line – on foot. Because of the bonfire, they were clearly visible – something they probably didn’t really want. It was also no environment for horses, and the axemen of Axum fought on foot. Under the cover of night they had crept to about three hundred yards before breaking into a run. At two hundred yards they ran into the fields of caltrops that had been laid just for this purpose, in trenches covered in a thin layer of soil.

The caltrops were made of bamboo; two sharp ended pieces of bamboo were bounded together and the barbs dug into the shoes of the Axemen all the way through the soles of their feet. They would be extremely painful. The caltrops had two purposes; for men to fall to the ground in agony while other men tripped or jumped over them into more caltrops, and also to indicate that the axemen were within bow range. Immediately, from well behind the fires and from high in the hills, a thousand arrows flew with devastating effect, every five seconds. After thirty seconds and five thousand arrows later, they stopped. What did start was the pipers; they were to play all night.

The caltrops also had the added effect of making the men forget their shields and in that single moment of forgetfulness, and not expecting the arrows, several hundred men became casualties. There was no second burst – Conn saved his arrows, and they watched the survivors raise their shield to cover their retreat; and to drag their fallen comrades back into safer ground.

‘I don’t think they will be doing that again tonight. I might just have a quick nap, if that is alright with you?’ Conn lay back down on the side of the hill and dragged his travel rug over him.

‘I’ll wake you in an hour. I can’t sleep anyway – those damn pipers.’ Derryth responded as he set guards to watch through the night – but Conn was right. The Pontians stayed well away, and probably cursed the pipers as well.

As the light hit the roadway in the morning, the pipers stopped, and the evidence of the carnage was still present as deceased lay strewn all over the ground. The Pontians had been very active since daybreak and Conn watched the activity from afar. His wiga had been busy as well – and he was presently about three miles away. At the battle ground only archers and the artillery remained in the front line.

‘He is looking a little confused’ Derryth submitted as he looked through the telescope. ‘What do you imagine he thinks you have done?

‘I hazard that he has no real idea – nothing would make sense. It would be inconceivable for him to think that two thousand horses would travel through the middle of the night, in pitch black, to encircle him.’

What he didn’t know was that Conn’s men had been guided by their Twacuman colleagues on Elfina and whose night vision was the best of all mankind.

‘As for what he is trying to do, I’d say that he will be trying to encircle us – his artillery will keep us focused while his cavalry try to come at us from both sides.’

Conn would attack from four sides.

They didn’t have to wait long – the Pontian catapults started to whistle their tune an hour after sunrise – and Conn’s catapults responded this time. They were more accurate and had a longer distance and it wasn’t long before the Pontians had lost half their catapults and had withdrawn the rest. The ploy defeated, the Healdend sent his archers forward while his lancers split into two forces, heading north and south around Conn’s line. Riding up hills was problematic but he obviously hoped that it was less lethal than straight ahead. As soon as they were half way up the hill, Conn gave the instruction to charge and the two Sagittari battalions led the way; their lighter horses commenced their canter over and down the hill.

Within three minutes they would be seen and within five they would be peppering the rear of the fyrd with hundreds of arrows before turning south to pursue the Pontian Lancers – who by now would have encountered a Tercio Battalion – newly trained and equipped with longer pikes and supported by a company of archers.

The sighting of the Sagittari, and then the cataphracts caused Cenwald to madly construct a wall of men to protect him – men-at-arms armed with a swords and shields. By the time the Sagittari has passed them by, there were holes everywhere and in the minute before the Cataphracts battalion hit the wall with lancers, there was no time to reform or reinforce the wall.

Accordingly, the heavily armoured riders sliced through the wall, and then the camp tearing down tents and scattering horses and men. Men sprung from everywhere to defend their Healdend and Eaorl but they were cut down as quickly as they stood; and the single sweep of riders left terminal devastation. Sensible men fled from the charge and they would live to see another day, but the Healdend and the Eaorl were not so lucky – Conn and Godhart dismounted especially to engage them – Conn left the Healdend to Godhart to revenge his Eaorl and family, while the Eaorl was no match for Conn.

The main body of men pulverized, the Cataphracts continued forward, straight towards the Axemen who, under the cover of shields, had been set forward to attack his fortifications but had retreated when confronted by the reality of being attacked from behind.

Instructed not to expose their horses to the axes, the Cataphracts formed a circle around them. What Conn didn’t have here – and what he clearly needed was more men-at-arms – he needed a battalion of Galloglass. Then and there he decided to create some.

From the north several hundred Twacuman wiga descended; the Pontian lancers that had endeavoured to encircle them on the north had run straight into the Twacuman – with devastating results.

The Axemen of Kishdah now found themselves surrounded on all sides; the Folctoga in command halted his men and they formed a tight circle, their shields protecting them from arrows. And they waited for the charge of the cavalry – but it didn’t happen. 

Conn returned to the place that had once been the Healdend’s camp. From all directions his wiga converged herding prisoners and wounded. Logistics arrived soon after with carts of medical supplies and started to treat the wounded.

As Conn searched through the tents destroyed by his rampaging cataphracts, he found the Folgere, barely alive. He lay on the ground – an arrow deep into his shoulder and another in his stomach. Field surgery would not save him.

‘So, Agkell, you go to see your Gyden. I hope that she will be pleased with your efforts.’