The Bretwalda (The Casere Book 4) (25 page)

‘Killing the messenger has always been a problem, everywhere. The Axum make an art form of it.’

The attack plan was the same – it continued to work so there was no need to change it yet. The cataphracts would punch a hole through the unprepared and tired line of Axum wiga for the Twacuman Sagittari to rode through and created mayhem. Cuthelm and Volund would wait to follow behind the Sagittari, if needed. Conn was trying to avoid having Alwa kill Alwa. It was not a good look. This time, there was one significant change. The Eagle’s Claw had returned.

Conn sat on his horse as they walked slowly up a rise in the road. Somewhere ahead was the Aebeling and his troops, and the first line of sentries. The outliers had all been silenced. Farrun rode at one shoulder, while the sixteen-year-old Vigbert il Axum rode on his other shoulder. It was time for him to be tested in battle – and he was as well trained as any. Conn had divided his forces into three – over a hundred had the brown tabards of the Marquis of Kerch, another hundred with the crossed swords of Nobatia, and the last with the device of Geirfrith il Axum, Vigbert’s father’s line, the Eagle’s Claw. The Aebeling of Alwa identified himself as of Axum – and the Eagle’s Claw was verboten in Kishdah. A lot of his wiga, however, were was not of Axum.

Geirfrith, who lived some three hundred years, was famous for several reasons. One of those things was his Eagle’s Claw devise. It put fear into all of those that saw it. Much like his sun emblem.

The first was that his main achievement being the subjugation of the entire Southern Isles to Axum rule. He campaigned over a five-year period and was successful where others failed. At the end of his campaign, his elder brother was crowned Bretwalda of all Ancuman. Brutal and vicious – he was equally feared, hated and admired.

What happened after that was the second reason. His elder brother, the Bretwalda, was jealous of his fame and influence. He also deeply resented the conditions his brother had negotiated to achieve the subjugation and surrender of the Southern Isles, and had him assassinated. Conn had also learnt that Geirfrith despised the male folgere that Farstein had become so enamoured with – and who had made his campaign in the Southern Isles so much harder to achieve because of their perversions.

The assassination was elaborate. Farstein invited Geirfrith to a feast where he had had the sons of the Jarls and Healdend of the Southern Isles attend him as servants and as toys for his and his folgere’s pleasure. It was there that Geirfrith dank poison and died. As he died, he grabbed Farstein’s favourite folgere in his iron grip and they died together – his last words were to say that his treachery would find its twin one day – that his Eagle’s Claw would return, and the Bretwalda would perish because of his treachery.

Farstein tried to blame the Southern Isles for the assassination and tried to extinguish the story of the prophesy without success. He had a few Jarls executed in search of a confession but none was forthcoming and everyone knew the truth anyway – and he knew that everyone knew. The prophesy just grew.

‘It is not much of a prophecy is it,’ Derryth noted when they were told the story. ‘More of a wish, really.’

It was Sigkarl who was very knowledgeable on these matters. He was told them by the Axum folgere that he used to satisfy his carnal desires. Lovers tell each other secrets. Sigkarl was also a descendant of Geirfrith as all Southern Isle Healdend were. ‘Still, it was enough to get all of Geirfrith’s sons murdered. Only one son and a grandson survived. Both were babes and were too young even for the Bretwalda to kill. When they grew, they became Folctoga, and their descendants distinguished themselves enough with their loyalty to avoid death. Most were sent away to Meshech and Sytha – none were left here in Kishdah – just in case.’

Vigbert was one of few that remained.

Conn hated prophesies, but this one he used to his advantage, and he had tabards, shields, and nobori prepared with the Eagle’s Claw. This was its first outing. He hoped that the presence of the device would confuse the Axum wiga because most Axum fyrds were a mixture of supporters from both sides of the prophesy.

As they arrived at the top of the hill, the Aebeling’s forces came into view; they were stretched out on the open plain that lay before them. On seeing Conn’s one hundred, horns blared and the Axum rapidly formed a line. Soon however, Farrun turned up, and then Vigbert. The waiting line quickly became unsettled, as the nobori allowed no real indication of the size of the fyrd behind them.

Conn gave the order for the MacLeod bagpipes to start playing. The bagpipers had just arrived from Atrak, and they were Meshechians. There was over twenty of them and the sound of the pipes filled the valley. Conn raised his lance, and the great black stallion reared on his hind legs and cried his great stallion cry and then launched himself down the hillside like a mad-thing; the battle cry of the five hundred that followed filled the valley and was probably heard for miles. It was surely a terrifying spectacle.

The well drilled, very well resourced and extremely well disciplined Kerchians hit the Axum wall of riders at speed; the first lances clearing a path, and then swords cleaving a hole through the middle. Then came the Sagittari – Conn’s instructions were clear – aim for Axum, folgere and the Aebeling; go all the way through, turn and line up again, and wait to see if a second charge was needed.

With the line collapsing around them, Axum wiga on horses provided more resistance. They were better armoured and it took swords to dislocate them from their horses. After cutting his way through, Conn left them to Farrun and Vigbert, as he headed for the folgere, of whom there were three around where the Aebeling should be. He wasn’t there. It transpired that Borgsyn il Alwa, Aebeling, was dead soon after the Sagittari hit the line – from a dozen arrows. He had failed to take cover. Of the folgere, two stood their ground and fought – and died – while one other tried to run but couldn’t run as fast as an arrow.

As soon as Conn’s wiga had all gathered on the plains behind the line, it was very clear that a second charge was unnecessary; carnage filled the field of battle, and at least half the force looked dead or injured. After twenty days of marching they were simply not prepared for a fyrd of the power of Conn’s wiga. In the hills, the pipers played their tunes and the hills were lined up with Conn’s men ready to charge again.

They waited.

Conn watched as he waited; finally, there was some sense of command in the defeated forces, and a man rode out, as quickly as possible, carrying a white flag.

Injured, he bowed on arrival. ‘I am Brystan, Jarl of Ridu. I have been sent to surrender. To whom do I offer my sword?’

‘I am Conn, Marquis of Kerch. I will accept your surrender. Go back and tell your men that we will ride back down soon. All weapons to be on the ground. A single bow out of place will get people killed.’

‘I understand.’ He bowed and returned to the carnage.

Conn signalled his pipers and a different tune payed over the valley, and Volund and the Alwaian appeared from the hills and went to relieve the Axum wiga of their swords and to assist the Kerchians render medical aid. By nightfall, the dead had been buried, the wounded were resting and the rest sat and rested. Conn had a yurt constructed for the Jarl of Masila while he camped outside. Two young girls sat beside him, refusing to talk to each other, as Sarun was otherwise engaged.

A guard approached, and informed him that an Axum wiga wished to see him if possible.

The man bowed as he entered the camp. Conn offered him a mug of beer, which he accepted gracefully.

‘How can I help you, Folctoga?’

‘I wish to understand why Geirfrith’s Eagle’s Claw was flown today?’

Conn pointed to Vigbert as he sat eating. ‘That is Vigbert il Axum, and he is tenth in line from Geirfrith il Axum – in the male line. He fights with me, and it is his right to display that claw.’

He turned and bowed respectfully to Vigbert. ‘I am honoured to meet you, Vigbert. I am also twelfth in line – but through one of his numerous daughters.’ He looked again at Conn. ‘Does the raising of the standard mean that Geirfrith’s line will rebel against Farstein’s line – as was prophesized?’

‘Certainly Vigbert is rebelling against the Healdend – as are all the Southern Isles. After today, all but Nobatia are free of the Healdend’s and folgere influence. I presume that the Bretwalda will take news of the raising of the standard very poorly?’

The Folctoga smiled. ‘Very poorly indeed. And not before time. Anyway, Folctoga Vigbert, if you will accept my sword in your fyrd – and a hundred of my comrades, they are yours to command.’

The next day Vigbert was able to raise his own company – poorly equipped in comparison, but they were all of Axum, and they proudly wore the tabard with Geirfrith’s claw. His former troop returned to their Alwa colours, and they led the fyrd towards the town.

~oo0oo~

The Axum Folctoga, Hamund il Uman, and the Jarl of Ridu went to Conn again at sunrise. They asked permission to go ahead; to ensure that as few as lives as possible would be lost when Conn “invaded” the town. The Jarl claimed that everyone would be delighted to see the device of the Healdend of Alwa marching at the head of the all-conquering fyrd, but it was important that they knew what was happening. Conn gave his approval, because he also wanted the least number of deaths as possible. These were his people through his son so he felt sad that so many had suffered already. The Jarl had already been to Sarun and made his vow of loyalty.

A couple of days later they arrived at Masila-jo. The Jarl of Masila was relieved to find his demesne largely unscathed. After a feast of thanks, they headed out up and over the mountain for Alwa-jo; another thirteen days of riding.

The Jarl of Ridu was right -- they met no opposition as they travelled towards the town – everyone now knew that the Aebeling was dead, and as they marched, the people turned out to celebrate the return of the Healdend. The only line of resistance was the castle itself, even though the rest of the town was under control of the Jarl of Ridu. He even arranged an orderly assembly of Axum wiga to greet them as they arrived inside the town limits. They cheered at Sarun rode past.

‘Not something you see every day is it’, Derryth noted, ‘Axum wiga cheering us.’

Brystan, Jarl of Ridu, greeted them as they halted the column of wiga.

‘There are several hundred Axum wiga inside – a dozen folgere and the bedda and children of the Aebeling. They are all Axum. The rest are theow.’

Conn thanked him and surveyed the walls with his telescope. ‘Nice big timber gates – a single layer. There doesn’t seem to be any steel gates behind them.’

‘Plenty of bowmen to protect the bridge though – certainly a difficult target. What do you have in mind?’ Derryth asked.

‘I think that it is time for some fireworks – some serious fireworks.’

‘How are you going to get the powder at the doors?’

‘Testudo formation tonight. I’ll prepare the charges. The gate down; we go in after. No sense in waiting.’

‘I hate waiting. I need a bath. And I’ve run out of coffee.’

‘I know. You have mentioned it more than once.’

After arranging for the majority of the wiga to be dispersed to their quarters, Derryth went to prepare the Testudo while Conn worked with his sons on the charges and the fireworks. Conn kept the knowledge of gunpowder limited close so that very, very few men knew how to prepare or use it safely. It was better for all that way. By midnight, they had enough to put on a good show; and as soon as it was dark, the first of the fireworks rockets flew into the air.

The sound of its flight two hundred yards up into the air would have been noticeable, but its exploding into a blue ball high in the night sky would have astounded everyone. Conn could only image what the sight of a fireworks would be if you had never seen one before. He hoped it induced terror. The next was red, and then white, and it was soon impossible not to be looking at it.

Conn had to delegate the laying of the charges to Vigbert and Farrun while he supervised the fireworks. The Kerchian carried the blackened shields and as they were fixed into place, they headed for the gates. They got almost there before the guards noticed them and they set to task repelling the attack. The fireworks created light for the Twacuman to pin down any Axum brave enough to try and shoot at the Testudo – and despite that, when it retreated, they were convinced that the attack had been repelled.

Reunited with Conn, they explained the situation of the gate. Raising his bow, Conn fired a white flare that stuck into the gate; the small glow gave him enough light to see the two drums of gunpowder. They needed to be lit at the same time and Farrun and Asbera fired simultaneously; their arrows hitting the barrels, and the proverbial hit the fan. The two charges blew the gate to smithereens; and anyone on the vicinity would have been impaled by flying bits of timber or clocked by bits of stone. As soon as the dust settled, Conn led the charge down the bridge and over the ruins of the gatehouse. The outer bailey was a mess of bodies and rumble and there was no one left to guard the inner bailey that was standing. Inside, they were not so badly damaged, and a dozen Axum died as they ran from other points of the castle to confront the explosion. There were no servants anywhere – the Twacuman had fled an hour earlier as instructed, and as they rushed inside the castle itself, they were confronted by only a few Axum – some died while others surrendered.