Waves in the Wind (13 page)

Never had I expected to witness such a scene of chaos and pain—flaming horses bucking, blazing men falling, dreadful wails mingling to form a single mournful moan. Those who escaped the fire raced to the rear, many of those falling as once again they encountered the caltrops. How many were down? Half perhaps? No, more—two-thirds, no less than two hundred men.

Laoidheach stood transfixed, his mouth agape. I nudged him with my elbow and then pointed to the horn. He spun around, giving it three long blasts.

Archers scattered as our mounted warriors raced forward yelling wildly, falling upon the disorderly remnants of the enemy’s riders, most of who were on the ground, burned, injured or wounded. Our warriors went among them, slashing Christians down. I winced when a few of our own horses stepped upon caltrops but my men began a thorough job of dispatching the entire enemy force, all except the lucky ones riding frantically back toward their own battle line.

My horse was being held for me so I looked back, waved and turned to Laoidheach. “This battle is far from won. Tell your drummers to beat the rally. Later I will want a marching cadence with flourishes. Now we take the fight to them.”

Jubilation lit his eyes as Torcán, leader of our mounted troops, cantered across the fields to join me. “Beat ’em for fair, we did. Two hundred dead ones, I’d say, and us with but a few scratches.”

A warrior led my horse forward and I took its reins. “We caught them by surprise; that is all. They will be prepared for us now.”

He snorted as his heavily bearded face turned toward his warriors still riding among the enemy fallen, searching for signs of life. Injured horses were dispatched alongside their riders. “Aye, that they will, Wise One. They’ll be prepared to burn.”

“Don’t forget they still outman us almost two for one. The Christians are experienced warriors and will not turn their backs on their god so readily as you think. What can we expect from their remaining horsemen?”

Fearlessness and the experience of countless battles etched lines across his face. “Not much, I’m thinking.” He pointed toward the distant enemy. “Many who escaped were injured or burned. No doubt a few still have a bit of fight left in them but not enough to make a difference.”

So far everything had gone even better than planned but we had only passed the first test of the day with many more to come. “Very well, divide your men and swing around both flanks of their line as planned. They will have to turn portions of their line to face you, so stretch them out, stretch them until their line grows thin. Then hold. Do not strike until you hear my signal.”

“Aye,” he grinned. “The bastards should have quit when the Morrigan shit on their priest.” With a casual wave he turned away to gather his men.

There was much danger in leading my warriors across open ground to assault a far superior force holding a defensive position. In fact, it was altogether likely they would mass their men and counter-attack as we approached. I breathed a prayer that the Morrigan would remain beside us and leaped to the back of my horse.

Laoidheach now held his horse as well and led it to stand beside the drummers, where he offered instructions. The drumming commenced and he gave me a wry smile. “You realize bards aren’t trained for fighting battles?”

“You’re not dead yet. Besides, you’ve promised to marry my sister. I’ll be holding you to it. Get your ass up on that horse; we’ve a battle to fight.”

Bowmen were gathering their arrows on the field as we rode towards three hundred warriors standing in solid ranks waiting for the call to join the battle. Their wild enthusiasm rocked the earth as we approached.

My horse snorted and pawed the soil as I reined to a stop before them. Two men stepped forward from the cheering ranks. One of the two, a gangling lad, handed me a circular wooden shield plated with a thin coating of bronze; painted a brilliant yellow, in its center a coiled, black serpent displayed bared fangs.

He bobbed his head and then stared at the ground as a bare toe drew a circle in the dust. “The shield be a gift from us all, Wise One, though it was Meallán worked the most on it. Arrs ’ll soon be a’fallin’ amongst us thick as hailstones, we’re thinkin’. The shield there with its sacred serpent, it’ll do a proper job of protectin’ ye.”

During almost two months of fighting I never felt the need for protection other than that offered by the gods. The coming battle would be far different, though, and the youngster was right. “Arrs” would be falling like hail. The shield was cleverly designed for a horseman. I slipped my left forearm through hoops attached to its back, leaving my hand free to grip the reins.

To my left Laoidheach accepted a similarly designed shield. A black crow, wings extended, spanned its surface from edge to edge, the background blazing crimson.

The lad reached forward and took my hand as I leaned down and offered it while saying, “They are fine shields and timely gifts. We thank you both, Meallán, and everyone.”

There remained a battle to fight so the death’s head swirled and the serpent shield flashed as I held them high and shouted, “The gods are with us this day!” I swiveled around on my horse and pointed the staff towards the distant enemy. “The Christians are there confident in their great numbers and they wait for you. Will you take the fight to them?”

Wild cries and shrieks filled the air as warriors danced, leapt about and waved their tribal flags. Again I raised the staff, twirling it above me, stoking the fires of their battle fury.

“Stay together,” I shouted over the din, “fight together and remember—a man who fights alone is a dead man. Listen to the drums, listen for the signal horn and heed your captains’ whistles. Now prepare yourselves to stand tall. Show those bastards your hearts; let them feel the keenness of your blades. Captains, prepare your men.” I raised a fist in the air. “The Morrigan stands beside us this day. Who among you stands beside her?” Amid renewed cheering I shouted, “Death to the Christians!”

I spun my horse around to the face the enemy and kicked its ribs. Laoidheach pointed to his drummers, who began pounding the marching cadence. Whistles blew and our force moved forward through the scene of the earlier fighting.

* * *

A sense of bitterness followed by an onrush of despair filled me as I walked my horse through fire-ravaged carnage, the horrid stench of it all filling my nostrils, coating my tongue. Charred, grotesque figures of horses and men sprawled all about me, mute testament to the effectiveness of our strategy, stark evidence of its unrepentant brutality.

Since leaving Rath Raithleann I had seen much of fighting, though never slaughter on the scale of this. Now there would be more butchery. Revulsion engulfed me at the knowing of it. Unbidden, doubt entered my mind. What purpose would be served by going forward with this horrible thing? In the name of the gods, what were we doing?

It was not the time to wonder at the reasons for the fighting so I shook my head to dispel my doubts and concentrated on the action to come. Without question the Christian leader originally intended that his horsemen would ride us down. How would he react now after witnessing the holocaust that consumed them?

My greatest fear as we marched across the fields was the Christians might strike at us first—mass together and charge among us. If so, firebombs could again be used to break up their initial assault. Regardless, they could easily maneuver their men on the open ground and envelop us within their greater numbers. Many Christian warriors would break through. The bombs would prove useless within a swirling melee of close quarters fighting.

We left the enemy dead behind us as we crossed the meadow in line of battle, four hundred men three ranks deep, drums throbbing, flags flying. My thoughts turned from worrying over the plans of my adversary to consider my own. Eight hundred firebombs remained from the original one thousand. Each of Torcán’s two hundred horsemen rode with two bombs in a pouch attached to his saddle. Archers still carried four firebombs within their bundles and they had their orders.

My attention rested on the distant Christians, their flags, banners and an occasional crucifix held high. At both ends of the enemy’s main line of battle Torcán’s horsemen followed orders. The harassed Christians responded exactly as we anticipated. Their flanks turned back at right angles to their front. Battle lines lengthened and thinned as warriors were positioned to stand further apart. Yet even as I watched, Christian horsemen galloped along the lines and their men began falling back, crowding together.

My stomach churned. They were massing for an attack. I motioned to Laoidheach, who waved a signal to his drummers. The drumbeats stopped and the whistles of my captains sounded up and down the line as our advance halted in its tracks three hundred paces from the enemy. Bowmen would be needed to stem the coming assault but before I could turn in my saddle to motion them forward the Christians’ strategy became clear. They were forming a defensive box and I was stunned by the stupidity of it.

Laoidheach nudged his mount next to mine. “What’s happening?”

“The Christians sealed their fate.” My staff pointed forward. “Behold their funeral pyre. Signal Torcán, for I would speak with him.”

* * *

Some men are born to fight, pure warriors who relish the call to battle. Such a man was Torcán, the richness of his armor and weapons reflecting his trade. As his horse cantered toward me, his face turned to the sky and he howled like a wolf.

“We have them,” he roared. Exhilaration and the lust of his battle fury flashed in his eyes. “The dumb bastards withdrew inside an oven of their own making to be roasted like a side of beef.”

“Aye, that’s the truth of it,” I nodded though again my heart sickened, seeing already the bloodbath to come. No matter, there was nothing to do but press on.

I stood in my stirrups and pointed. “See for yourself; they’ve created a four-sided box, four men deep on each flank. Instruct your riders to distract the enemy on the three sides facing away from us. Race past them and hurl fire into their ranks while we attack those to our immediate front. Begin upon hearing three blasts from the horn.”

His teeth flashed as once more he raised his face skyward and howled. Part hero, part rogue, and fully a fighting man, Torcán leaned back in his saddle and jerked his reins hard—his leather-armored horse reared, its iron-shod hooves flailing the air as it spun about. A broad grin crossed his face and a wave came over his shoulder as he galloped away toward his men.

Four hundred pairs of eyes followed me as I turned my horse and rode back and forth in front of my troops. “Archers—at fifty paces, stop and unleash two flights of arrows into the enemy directly facing us. Afterwards be prepared to throw two firebombs into their ranks as you lead our charge upon them. Save your other two bombs for use against the Christians’ other flanks as the opportunity presents itself. The rest of you. Your time has come. Are you ready?”

A roar swept up and down our ranks. Laoidheach motioned for the drums to begin thrumming. I raised the death’s head, reined my horse and, with Laoidheach beside me, trotted directly toward the enemy’s line. Behind me, my warriors followed and began a chant in time with the drums.

“Morrigan!”

“Morrigan!”

“Morrigan!”

* * *

The Christian crosses fell within a whirlwind of fire. Flaming men spinning ’round and ’round, their sightless eyes staring, open mouths screaming silently—arrows singing, swords, axes and war clubs swinging, javelins flashing, horses racing, firebombs bursting—cheer upon cheer, roar upon roar, horror upon horror.

Just as a bird selects twigs, one here another there, to create its nest, so too my senses selected colored images, sounds, odors and the feel of the battle to weave a singular nest, defined as one by unimaginable anguish.

My horse snorted and danced near the edge of the fighting. An iron-tipped arrow “tinked” against the surface of my shield, one more among the many that had already struck it.

“Ossian!”

It was Loaidheach. His ashen face was turned to me as he cried out, “Ossian. They’ve killed me.” He slid off the far side of his horse and I glimpsed an arrow protruding from him as he fell from view.

Grief overwhelmed me and my heart threatened to burst as I leaped from my horse and ran to fall on my knees beside him. He lay on his back; his still naked, war-painted frame stretched long and unmoving, eyes closed.

Tears streamed down my face and I brushed them away with the back of my hand. My old friend who I loved like a brother, indeed, he was to become my brother-in-law, now lay—wait! There was something odd about the arrow penetrating him.

I pulled his right arm away from his side and straightened up with a snort. The arrow had barely skewered the fleshy inner part of his upper arm. Laoidheach wasn’t dead. He fainted.

An arrow swished past my head and I ducked instinctively, as, grumbling, I hurried to my horse and retrieved my small medical bag. Returning to Laoidheach’s side, I snapped the head from the arrow and drew the shaft back through his arm. Three quick wraps with a clean linen cloth bound his slightly bleeding wound and I gave the knot an extra hard jerk as I tied it off.

Rising battle clamor caused me to glance toward the fighting. The enemy had fallen back under our initial assault but were attempting to rally. Five long strides took me to the goatskin water bag hanging from the side of Laoidheach’s horse. With a sense of evil satisfaction I emptied its contents onto his face.

“What?!” he spluttered as he shook his head and sat up. Confused, he looked up and saw me standing above him. “Ossian. Are you dead too?”

“Of course I’m not dead, you idiot, and neither are you.” Looking about, I spotted his shield, stalked over to it and then tossed it to him. “Stay behind that thing—don’t make me report your death to Aine. Now get back up on your horse. You have duties to perform.”

The Christians’ rally was short-lived as firebombs continued to splatter among them. For them the battle was lost. Indeed, they had no chance from the very beginning in the face of our new weapons and strategy. Their lines were beginning to break apart as their warriors fell while others began to turn and flee before our savage onslaught. Our horsemen slashed down all who attempted to run away.