Amber Treasure, The (21 page)

Our archers moved out of the way
to the flanks as the main body of the enemy closed upon us. Over on the right
wing, I heard Earl Sabert order his companies to angle backwards, so as to try
and deny the more numerous enemy access to our flanks.

They were closer now: only twenty
yards away and both sides started to hurl small javelins and throwing axes.
Eduard groaned as an axe bounced off his shield and gashed across his right
shoulder, already weakened by his previous injury. Another warrior in the front
rank fell, with a javelin impaled through his arm and he was dragged back,
screaming, to the rear. The ranks closed up to fill the gap. Our missiles found
targets as well and the scarred old veteran was hit in the leg, tripped and
fell, then the youth stumbled over him leaving them both in a heap on the
ground, but still their army came on. They were five yards away now. I
straightened my arm and brought my spear up so as to be ready to strike down
over an enemy shield.

Suddenly, I saw Hussa. There he
was, in the Elmetae shield wall, towards the rear. He had a helmet too, as well
as a shirt of mail armour, so I figured that some of the worth of my mother’s
earring had perhaps already been spent. He was not far from me now, maybe just
thirty yards away and I wondered if I could work my way over to him, but as
soon as I had the thought, he was gone from sight as the warrior in front of him
lifted his shield higher. Then, all thoughts of Hussa were banished as the
Welsh charged at us.

A huge, red-headed warrior with a
battleaxe came screaming towards us, followed by four others, just ahead of
their main shield wall. He leapt at our front rank and brought the great blade
down upon a warrior from the village. The poor fellow was lucky to die at once,
cut almost in two by the blow. This was the wedge tactic at work: the enemy
were trying to cut their way into our shield wall, to make a breach and pour
through the gap.

A moment later, the armies
collided as spears splintered against shields. The force of the blow knocked
some men right off their feet and the enemy fell upon these warriors and hewed
at them.

Eduard lunged forward with his
spear and skewered a man through the neck. He roared in triumph as the victim
crashed back through the ranks. My spear, however, smashed against a shield
boss and to my alarm the spearhead snapped right off. Now, in the crush of
bodies, I struggled to find my sword. Eventually my fingers folded around the
hilt and I pulled it free of the baldric and brought it up high.

The world was now filled with the
pleas of the dying, the screams of the living, the clatter of shields and the
ring of blades as the two bodies of men pushed against each other. To me it
seemed that any strategy had been abandoned. Victory and defeat depended simply
on who would tire first and who would give way.

There was a sudden shout of alarm
from my right. Looking that way, helped by our position on rising ground, I saw
that one of the companies from Eoforwic was beginning to fall back, pushed by
the Welsh to the front and also threatened on their flank by a score of enemy
warriors that were overlapping that wing of our army. Once they broke, the
enemy would be able to get round behind us. I was not alone in spotting this: I
could feel panic rising along the whole army. The enemy sensed this too, for
they pushed forward eager for the kill.

Then, horns sounded from Stanwick
camp and I could now see that the gates had opened and out from the fortress
charged the companies of Deirans that had held it. They ran out with no thought
for formation. Their leaders had grasped that speed was essential and like a
river in flood they surged down upon the left and rear of the Welsh, just where
the pressure of their attack had almost led to disaster for us. The tide of
battle now swung back our way again. Soon, we had united with our fellow
companies from the fortress and were pushing the Welsh west and north, so we
had swung round and the camp was now to our rear. The Welsh counter attacked
and brought in, as fresh reinforcements, the redundant companies who had been
watching the fortress.

For an instant, the situation
again hung in the balance. Then, our counter attack began to lose impetus.

At that moment a sole trumpet
sounded, bright and loud, away to the north. It was soon joined by others. They
swelled into a fanfare and seconds later out of the woods to the north, cavalry
emerged. The Welsh leaders had prepared a surprise that they now expected would
win them the battle.

Of that charge, poems and songs
have been written. The most moving was penned by the Welsh poet Aneirin, who was
present amongst their ranks. Years later it was popular in the court of King
Cadfan of Gwynedd, which is where I heard it. What a race the Welsh are for
song: songs of joy, songs of beauty and songs of war.

How does it go?

Warriors went to Catraeth,
embattled, with a cry;

A host of horsemen in dark blue
armour, charging nigh;

Spear shafts held aloft, of sharp
steel pointed;

And shining swords which the
Angles, with death anointed.

Well, I have never been much of a
poet, but I agree with Aneirin’s theme. The charge of the Goddodin was indeed
magnificent. They were three hundred strong. Every one rode a fine steed and
wore a mail shirt, which in the late afternoon sun had a blue tinge to it. Each
carried a shield, painted blue with an eagle design in the centre. Forward they
charged with lance and blade. Forward came the Goddodin, allies of Strathclyde
and Rheged; charging to bring death and defeat to us English. I had seen how
frightening just a few dozen cavalry were in Elmet. Three hundred was, frankly,
terrifying.

They started under the trees and
moved forward a little way onto the open fields. They halted there a moment to
form up. Then, the captain raised his sword aloft and brought it down to point
at the flank of our army. There was a second fanfare and the cavalry began
walking forward. Then they were trotting and finally, galloping. Faster and
faster the horses came, urged on by their riders. Now, as they closed, the
lances were brought down to point at the enemy: to point at us!

My fellow Angles to our right had
seen their doom. Men in their rear ranks − those immediately at risk
− began to pull back or turned at least to face the threat. Others threw
down spears and shields and started to run. But, it was already too late for
them. A moment later, the Goddodin reached their foe. There was a loud crash
and then the slaughter began.

Cavalry, such as the Welsh used
of old, was effective in three ways. Firstly, the men themselves carried spear
or sword to pierce, slash and cut at the enemy. Secondly, the speed and weight
of the mounts was sufficient to kill or maim by itself. Finally, the sight and
noise of several hundred armoured cavalry thundering towards a body of men
would cause terror and panic. This alone might be sufficient to break the will
to fight of even the bravest warriors. One moment there was an orderly fighting
force, the next a fleeing mass of humanity − ripe for the slaughter.

Such was what occurred over on
the Deiran right wing that day. The flank collapsed and several hundred
warriors broke and began to run in all directions. The Goddodin cavalry was
amongst them in a flash. Scores of our men died in a moment, falling under the
steel and hooves of the enemy.

The effect of the charge on the
morale of the rest of the Welsh army was instantaneous. Where, five minutes ago
their shield wall had been about to crack open, they now pushed back with fresh
impetus, so soon we were giving ground all over, while to the north, the
Goddodin cavalry was cutting its way further into our army.

As I was in the second rank, it
was difficult to do much other than push forward. Then, a man to my front was
felled by a red-headed Welshman and went down with a scream. The enemy brute,
sensing the change in the fortune of the battle, leapt into the space created
and hewed to left and right, cutting down our men on both sides and widening
the gap in our front rank. Suddenly, I was face to face with a Welsh veteran.
Grinning, his yellow teeth dripping with spittle, he swung his axe back preparing
to bring it down upon me. On either side, his companions advanced −
pushing their wedge deeper into our line.

 Grettir, standing behind me,
lunged with his spear towards the red-headed warrior, who dodged to his side
and then shattered it with a blow from his weapon. However, in doing so he had
opened himself up and I jumped forward and rammed my shield against him,
cracking some of his ribs and causing him to cry out in agony. My victory was
short-lived, however, as the pain just seemed to intensify his fury, so that he
now roared at me, seized my shield and heaved it downwards and then swung back
his axe preparing to hack at my neck.

In desperation, my feet slipping
and sliding on blood and gore, I swung my sword over the top of my shield,
bringing it down hard upon his left arm, cutting deep into the muscle and
opening an artery, which now spurted forth blood. He shouted an oath at that
and his face screwed up in rage but, before he could hew at me, Eduard, having
impaled his own opponent on his spear, followed up by advancing a step, then
seized the warrior’s weapon arm. Whilst he was thus distracted, I hacked at him
again and this time my blow landed higher up his arm, on his shoulder. As he
went down on one knee, I plunged my blade into his chest and a great gush of
blood drenched my hand then, with a final cry of pain, he was dead.

Eduard picked up the man’s axe
and swung it wildly at the Welsh behind him who, taken aback by the death of
the great fighter they were following, held back a moment. I slashed at the man
to my right and cut his throat open. For a few heartbeats, the pressure was off
and gasping for breath, we fell back and reformed our shield wall.

Along the left wing, where I was
fighting, the Deiran force was holding well, but it was at the other end of our
line where the enemy was directing his wrath. The cavalry were now behind our
right wing and the slaughter went on and on, so that it could not be long
before we broke and all was lost. That moment came all too soon: for now, the rout
began.

Firstly, twenty men at the rear,
close to where the monsters on horseback were attacking us, threw down their
spears and turning away, ran east towards the camp. Another twenty joined them,
then fifty more until, in a heartbeat, the whole army turned and ran. Harald
shouted at them, he bellowed and cursed as the men ran past him.

“Stand firm, you bastards! Come
back you cowards!”

But, it was no use. Once an army
is running it takes a miracle to stop it and that day there was to be no
miracle. There was just blood, death and steel and the horror of three hundred mounted
warriors cutting and hacking at us as we ran. The Welsh shouted in triumph and −
close by now − I could see Owain come forward with Samlen by his side,
both laughing in glee. Then, with a huge wave of his arm which encompassed all
his army, he ordered the pursuit.

Suddenly, Aedann pushed past me
and moved out of the shield wall. He shouted something in Welsh and both Samlen
and Owain stared at him. Aedann drew his sword and moved forward towards them.
He was going to challenge Samlen − right here in the middle of the rout.
But, I didn’t let him. I seized the collar of his tunic with my hand and
dragged him back behind the shields.

“Let me go, Cerdic.”

“No, don’t be a fool. You dying
now won’t help.”

“But I want to kill him.”

“So do we all, but let’s live
today and see about that tomorrow, eh son?” Eduard said. Aedann slammed his
sword against his shield in frustration but then, after directing another glare
full of hatred back towards Samlen, he relented.

By now, we had all moved back a
few hundred paces and the right wing was pinned against Stanwick camp. Its
outer ditch and palisades, which had been built to protect our army, now
prevented the escape of the very men who were here to defend it. The Goddodin
rode on and hacked their way into dense masses of panicstricken, unarmed
warriors who had abandoned their weapons when they started to run.

I was now close to Wallace,
Harald and the Prince. The Prince’s house troops were standing firm and Wallace
was shouting at the Wicstun Company to join them.

Gradually, some sanity returned
and in tens and twenties, men started to huddle around the Prince’s company and
those of us with shields attempted to reform our shield wall.

The Welsh warriors began to lap
around our left wing, just as the cavalry were pushing us from the right. I
said there was no miracle that day, but there was just a glimmer of hope: for
the battle had raged some hours now and the sun was sinking fast in the west.

It would be dark soon and escape
is certainly easier in the dark. There was one other hope − one other
chance. We had been retreating now for several hundred yards along the southern
edge of Stanwick camp and I suddenly became aware that the gates to the
fortress were open and only a hundred yards away. If we could just get inside
....

“My Lord,” I shouted at Wallace,
he didn’t hear me: I tried again.

“My Lord,” I bellowed and this
time he turned, so I pointed towards the open gates. He now also understood the
chance for escape and he turned to shout over to Earl Harald. Harald frowned at
him for a moment and then he nodded and roared out an order to the whole army.

“Fall back, but keep it orderly.
Fall back, but keep together!” Harald yelled and we did.

With only fifty yards now to go,
I felt that we might just make it. Just those very few paces and we could close
the gates and take refuge from the army that wanted to destroy us. Just forty-five
paces now ... but then, I saw that it was no use.