Amber Treasure, The (15 page)

To the east, Eduard’s predicament
was even worse. Thirty or more warriors had formed a solid shield wall at least
five men deep. Eduard staggered back to me, blood dripping from a gash above
one eye.

“It is no good, Cerdic, we cannot
get out that way.”

“Right ... damn it! Erm ...”

There was nothing for it but to
retreat back to the north side of the fort and go out of the north gate. To do
that, I had to capture the gate.

“Hold them here!” I shouted at
Eduard and then turned to the rest of the men, shoving the townsfolk out of my
way.

“Back, go back. There is no way
out this way! Follow me,” and I pushed through them to the space between the
barracks and the north wall.

There were still only handfuls of
Elmetae here and only half a dozen were holding the gatehouse. I sent Aedann
and thirty of our men towards the gate to try to force it open. Turning back, I
groaned when I spotted that on either side of where the company was fighting
were other passageways running from the centre of the fort to the north gate.
The two western ones I was not concerned with; many of the buildings over there
seemed to have collapsed and blocked the access. The eastern passages were
different, however, because the Welsh might try to bring men through them to
outflank and surround our men still fighting in that maze. I took Cuthbert and
the few archers and slingsmen we had and stationed them near the passageways to
fire on any sign of movement.

Meanwhile, I went back and found
Grettir. He had now retreated to the junction and was holding well there.
Eduard could not progress, but was holding his own.

It was a tricky manoeuvre, but
they had now to pull back both of their groups into the northern passageway. It
had to be at the same time and we needed to be able to form up a shield wall
again once we had done it.

Eduard glanced across at Grettir,
who nodded and they both shouted, “Run lads!” Both of them at the same time
hacked wildly about them to hold back the Welsh. Their men ran towards me,
where I stood in the northern passage with half a dozen more men. We let them
pass and then shouted to Eduard and Grettir. They turned and ran. Arrows spat
at them and spears thrust forwards, but the Welsh were impeded by being bunched
up and with Eduard grinning wildly and Grettir panting hard, they both passed
me and we closed the gap.

I left Grettir and Eduard to
command the rear guard and ran back to the gate. The cavalry force had grown.
Four more had joined the the first two through a gap in the west wall, but six
were not enough to worry us too much. I was more anxious that groups of the Welsh
would appear through the other passageways, so I knew we must quickly take the
gate.

Rushing to the north gate, I saw
that it was still shut and barred. An archer and a slinger on the battlements
above the gate were keeping us away with intermittent but accurate fire. At
least one missile had found its mark, for I now spotted a youth from the
village lying on the ground. His face screwed up in agony he was clutching at
his arm, which looked broken. One of the other men was examining it and trying
to strap it up.

Cuthbert had joined us when he
saw the problem and was exchanging shots with the gatehouse guards. However, he
had now started to run out of arrows and was gathering up those fired from the
battlements, using them against their former owners. Others joined him and soon
they gave a huge cheer as the Welsh archer fell screaming, an arrow through his
lungs. The slingshot man hunkered down and kept out of view.

I picked up an abandoned shield,
pushed through the company to the front and found Aedann. His face was grim,
but when he caught me looking at him, he looked away. Time for talking later,
his face said, and he was right. Lilla appeared and I sent him to fetch Grettir
and Eduard and their men.

“Right then, we need that gate
open. Come on!” and I ran forward screaming. Leadership seemed to be mostly
about running towards the enemy and hoping to the gods that the other bastards
followed you. Today they did. With a huge roar, the company surged forward and
reached the gates. More Welshmen had climbed up to the battlements above us and
were pelting us with whatever they could find. Others knelt and thrust spears
down at us. We held our shields over our heads and I heard a din as something
hard bounced off mine.

A moment’s effort had the bar on
the gate removed and the gates pulled back, towards us. I stepped to the side
and let the company pass and the townsfolk follow. I then looked back towards
the passageway, waiting for Eduard and Grettir’s group to emerge. At first, no
one came, but then at last I saw them backing out of the passage. Over towards
the corner of the fort, the cavalrymen saw them as well and sensing an easier
target, moved towards them.

“Eduard!” I bellowed trying to
draw my friend’s attention to his danger, but he was too far away to hear me
call.

“Cuthbert!” I shouted, now
needing archers, but when Cuthbert arrived with his bow he had no arrows left.

I looked desperately towards Eduard
and Grettir, and the dozen men with them. The horses walked forward; the lances
dipped and as the riders dug in their heels, the horses started to trot and
then canter.

“Eduard!” I screamed, knowing it
was in vain: my friends and the other men were doomed.

Then, the horsemen spurred into a
gallop and charged.

Chapter Twelve

The Army

I watched helplessly
as the galloping horses pounded across the ground towards Eduard. He finally
heard them coming and turned to see death closing in on him, mounted on iron-shod
hooves. Desperately he dragged two men round and together they levelled their
spears to try to deflect or impale the horses.

It would not have been anywhere
near enough to stop the charge and the armoured cavalry would have cut down our
men like a scythe in a field of barley. Ironically, it was the Welsh themselves
who saved my friends. What I had feared earlier − that more Welsh would
emerge through the eastern passageways and surround us − now happened. A
dozen Elmetae warriors had been pulled away from those following up Eduard and
Grettir and had run down the adjacent passage. Emerging on the open ground,
they swung round to cut off our men. In so doing, they saved Eduard and his
companions’ lives.

For now, as the cavalry charged
forward they saw with alarm that their countrymen were suddenly running in
front of them and in desperation, they heaved on the reins and turned away,
aborting their attack. They then circled off to the west to regroup. I knew
that this was our only chance to get away and I took it.

“Aedann, a score of you come with
me. Charge!” I ordered and off we went, crashing into the rear of the newly
arrived Elmetae, who were surging around Eduard’s beleaguered band. Our attack
took them by surprise and we cut down half a dozen before they reacted. The
momentum took us right through them to join up with Eduard.

Now united, our desperation
giving us the strength of madmen, we slew the Welsh surrounding us.

“Right, that’s it. Pull back!” I
shouted and as a tightly huddled mass of thirty or so warriors, we retreated
towards the gate. Shields overlapped shields; spears projected in all
directions. The Welsh pouring out of the passageway harried us all the way, but
they had suffered many losses and once we joined the others at the gateway, we
had over eighty warriors and thirty townsfolk and were far too strong for them.
Even so, I did not feel we were strong enough to force our way back through the
fort to the east gate, for although we now outnumbered our foe, there was also an
unknown quantity of horsemen to worry about. Had the Welsh been even a little
more organised, they might have stopped us in our tracks, but their attack was
not coordinated.

Outside the gatehouse the track
led northwards. I had hoped to pass round the outside of the fort and reach the
eastern road home to Deira, but I saw now that this was impossible. The ground dropped
away steeply towards the river and at the bottom of the slope it was marshy and
boggy. Half a dozen men might make it, but well over one hundred, including
injured men and townsfolk, would not.

So, I turned my gaze north to the
track exiting the gate: where did that go? Ah, I said to myself, Wallace’s map
- that was the answer. I rushed over to where he was resting, supported by two
men from Wicstun. Inside the fort, the Welsh were gathering and the horsemen
were hovering fifty paces away. Still, there were only forty or so Welsh in all
− too few to attack us, for the present. More may soon come though and I
was anxious about how many horsemen they had in total. I had to decide what to
do and quickly.

“My Lord” I said. There was no
response.

“My Lord,” I said again and he at
last opened his eyes and looked at me, but without recognition.

“Lord, it’s Cerdic ... Cerdic,
son of Cenred from the Villa.”

Finally his eyes widened slightly
and he focussed on me.

“Cerdic? Where are we?”

“Still in Calcaria. We are trying
to escape, but I need your map, quickly!”

He nodded, but then coughed
violently for several moments and I glanced anxiously at the gathering enemy,
every second seeming an eternity. When he finally recovered, he reached inside
his tunic and pulled out the oilskin-wrapped parchment and handed it to me.

“Cerdic ... I’m sorry,” he said.

I shook my head.

“Not your fault, Lord: just rest
and we will get you home.”

His head had slumped again and I
feared I was lying to him. As it was, he was not likely to make it home. Then
again, were any of us? I rolled open the map and stared blankly at the markings
and symbols. I recognised the lines representing the rivers: Derwent, just west
of the Villa and the Ouse. There was also the fort of Calcaria - if that was the
fort I was looking at - then the track, which looked like it was once a Roman
road, curved north to pass over a tributary river that joined the Ouse further
east. I followed the line beyond the crossing and saw that it reached a large
town or city. There were letters next to it, but like most Angles I had never
learned to read.

“Lilla!” I shouted. The poet
jogged over to me. I showed him the map and asked him what the city was.

“Eoforwic, Cerdic: it’s Eoforwic,
beyond the River Wharfe.”

“That’s only ten or twenty miles
away, if I'm right,” I mused.

Lilla nodded.

“That is where we are going then.”
I raised my voice to get everyone’s attention.

“We go this way. It’s about two
miles to the river,” I jabbed a finger at the map, “and another ten to Eoforwic.
Then we will be safe. Grettir and Eduard will lead with half the men. Then the
townsfolk will follow them and finally Aedann and I will bring up the rear,
with the other half of the company. Lilla, you come with me too. Everyone, keep
your eyes open for more horsemen. Stay together and we will make it. Let’s go!”

So, off we went. The path sloped
gently downhill. To our right the ground fell away steeply, but to our left it
was all flat and open fields. Some distance away on the other side of the
fields there was more woodland. All was clear in that direction. As I ran, I
kept looking anxiously behind me at the Welsh. They let us leave, but most of
them followed us at a distance of a few hundred paces, hoping perhaps that the
column would begin to drift apart and there would be stragglers to attack. I
was worried about that too and I did not let Eduard set a pace that was too
quick for the women and children to keep up.

So, for an hour, we moved along
the track at little more than a crawl and like wolves, the Welsh kept pace with
us. A group of them even started to overtake us to our left, moving parallel
with the road, but far out of bow range. I could do nothing to stop them, so I
let them be. One relief at least was that there were no cavalry in sight. Lilla
pointed that out.

“Those damned horses are not
following,” he muttered.

“Thanks be to Woden for that
then!” Cuthbert replied.

“You fool; it’s worse not knowing
where they are than being able to see them,” Aedann grumbled and I glanced
towards him. He was walking with his mother, supporting her as she stumbled
along in his arms. I had misjudged him gravely and he had risen above that to –
well, to all intents and purposes − to save us. Yet, where was I taking
him? Back to slavery again under his old masters. Life must seem pretty grim
for him.

“You had to say it, didn’t you?
Tempted fate you did!” Cuthbert replied. Then I saw why. The cavalry had not
left us: now they were back.

Out in the fields towards the
woods, maybe half a mile distant, we could glimpse them moving from copse to
copse and between small hamlets and farmsteads. There were a lot more of them
now. They had not pursued us at once, as it seemed they had wanted to gather
their whole strength. There was silence in the company as we walked along, each
of us counting their numbers.

“Forty, I think,” Lilla said,
squinting.

Cuthbert shook his head.

“No, I count nearer fifty.”

I believed Cuthbert, whose sight,
like his archery, was acute and accurate. So then, there were fifty horsemen
keeping pace with us and moving ahead and perhaps forty spearmen following on
foot. We still outnumbered them, but not with warriors: we had many wounded and
sick with us, as well as women and children who would not or could not fight.
Our only hope was to reach the ford over the River Wharfe before they caught us
up. I ran ahead to the front of the column. Eduard and Grettir had seen the
horsemen too and were, despite my earlier orders to keep it slow, pushing the
pace as fast as they could.

I looked ahead to see if I could
see the river. At first I could not, due to the trees and hedgerows blocking
the view, but we then passed over the crest of a small hill and there, half a
mile away amongst marshes and woodlands the river lay like a dark green ribbon.
I looked over to the horsemen and thought we might manage to reach it ahead of
them.

“Master Cerdic, look that way,”
Grettir urged me. He was pointing towards the horsemen.

Irritated, I snapped back at him,
“Yes, I see them Grettir, I’m not blind!”

“No, look the other side of
them!”

I looked beyond the horsemen. The
small hill we were on gave us the advantage to see a long way and the woods had
now become sparser and given way to open meadows, so we could see many miles to
the west. It was hazy, but I could pick out the road: a long brown-black scar
on the landscape, coming out of the fort and heading west, joining, it seemed,
another road that ran straight as an arrow from north to south. A Roman road:
there was no doubting that.

What Grettir had seen, though,
was not just those roads, but smoke. Close to that junction smoke was rising
from fifty or more fires: camp fires from an army, which this early in the
morning would be cooking food and preparing for the march. An army of maybe
five hundred men − all invisible at this distance, but betrayed by the
many smoke plumes.

Samlen had marched that way the
night before with two hundred men. Now what had happened? Had he been joined by
others? Had Ceredig of Elmet finally consented to go to war? Was this the army
of Elmet, paid for by my mother’s jewellery: One Eye’s amber treasure? Was poor
Mildrith there amongst the enemy? Had Samlen touched her yet, or was he really
planning to use her for his pleasure on the night they won the battle with us?
Was Hussa there too, gloating about his triumph and enjoying his half-sister's
anguish? I closed my eyes and swore.

“King Aelle needs to be told,
come on,” I said grimly and pushed the pace even faster.

We dropped down the slope and the
army was lost from sight. The horsemen, though, were not. They were now well
ahead of us and starting to move back across the fields, trying to cut us off
from the ford ahead of us. Looking that way, I felt hope rise, as it seemed
they would not be able to reach us. The road was dipping down to a marshy plain
that ran alongside the river. On the right side of the road the ground was now
level with us, but on the left − where the horsemen were coming from
− it fell suddenly away and I could see that ahead of us, the road
followed the edge of a cliff. It was only fifty or so feet high, but quite
impassable to cavalry.

Further ahead still, the cliff
and the road dropped down to the level of the river, but it looked to me as if
the marsh came right up to this point, effectively blocking off any access from
the fields on our left up on to the road. As we got closer, however, my hope
turned to fear as I now could see that I was wrong. There was in fact the
narrowest of gaps between the end of the cliff and the boggy ground. The marsh
appeared to be full of deep pools that would prevent the horsemen crossing. The
cliff blocked them also, but there was a path of bare earth and clay running
between them, no more than five feet wide. Five feet: enough for two horses to
pass abreast. That was where the horses were heading: that was where the danger
lay.

“Keep up the pace!” I shouted to
Eduard and then ran back to the rear of the company. As I ran past them, I
could see from the wild eyes and pale faces of the women, that many had seen
the horses and knew that our chances of escape were small. When I reached the
back of the column and looked at the Welsh warriors pursuing us, I grimaced,
for I could see that our chances had just got even smaller.

The Elmetae following us on foot
were now jogging along and were less than fifty paces behind us. They were
close enough now for me to see the faces of the men who chased us: close enough
to see the hungry expressions and in particular the smug, expectant smiles. The
Welsh had not simply come hurtling after us, no indeed: they had been clever.
Their leaders had known their land. They knew how the terrain lay up this road
and with the forces available to them had laid a trap for us. Soon, we would be
smashed between a hammer and an anvil: the hammer of their cavalry and the
anvil of their shield wall. I flung a silent curse at Loki. The god was playing
his tricks again: permitting us to escape and letting us feel we were safe,
before finally allowing us be caught, a mere quarter of a mile from the river,
the border with Deira and safety.

Unless ... unless we could reach
the river first: then there was still a chance of escape. Well then, there was
no time for hesitation: every second counted now.

“Run!” I bellowed. “Run like all
the demons in the world are after you!”

Run we did. Eduard, making light
of his wounded shoulder lifted Wallace onto his back and ran as fast as any of
us, despite the burden. Even little Gwen dragged along by her son, picked up
her heels and scampered along. If we could keep the pace up, we might yet
manage to escape.

Then Loki laughed again and I saw
we were doomed.

On the road ahead of us, the
Welsh cavalry now stood. The hammer had arrived and we were still a hundred
paces from the river. A hundred paces: that was all, but it might as well have
been a mile. We stopped running and gasping for breath, awaited our fate.