Votan and Other Novels (FANTASY MASTERWORKS) (95 page)

Yet, still, the line of foot stood firm, still it neither broke nor bent. Still we could see Bladulf, a head above his men, always meeting the centre of our attack, a demon in flesh. He would not let us pass. Never would Bladulf let us ride through to York, if there were not a man to help him. Oh, it would have been no trouble to Owain to have killed Bladulf: he could have done it in his sleep. There was never a giant that Owain could not have overcome, had he fought against him one to one. But in that press, in the ranks of the wild ones, Owain could not come at him.

At length, again we saw Owain break clear, again we saw the Raven banner retreat. Again we saw our comrades turn their backs on a hail of spears. Again the squadrons reformed. They were fewer now. Bodies lay over all the ground between us and the enemy. The spent horses could not charge again. We stood
there, useless and sterile, while the very horseholders of the other squadrons took their places in the line, bringing forward fresh horses for a fresh charge.

Now Owain headed a charge on a narrower front, ten men in line, no more, and twenty deep. Owain rode in the front line. The Ravens flew in the centre of the mass. Now the spears were all thrown. With swords alone the Household rode again for the third charge, and still we of the reserve stood idle, not even mounting because that would have tired our horses. Ever more threatening was the line that stood before us, as dull and lowering as the clouds above us. This battle, I thought, is lost.

The third time, the Household rode up the field, and again Owain led them against the enemy line. At a trot he headed for the centre of the line of shields, and then at the last moment he turned his force half right, to attack the Savages’ left flank. At a trot he thrust against the wall of spears, and all the Household with him – except us. The ranks of horse spread out behind their leader, men cutting and hacking overlapped him on either side. The Household was a blunt wedge, pointed at Bladulf, at no one but Bladulf. The Savage line stood; then, for the first time, it bowed. It bowed, but it did not break. They were pressed back, but their line did not break. There were no gaps. Men thrust in from every side to fill in every vacant place, to pick up every fallen shield.

Now, if a line is stretched, then
somewhere
it must give, somewhere it must thin, somewhere it must weaken.

‘Look there!’ said Precent. ‘See how they strengthen their left flank, not by design, by unthinking necessity. They are thickening at the left. But as each man feels his left flanker shrink away from him, he too edges over, one pace, and then another. At the beginning of the battle, the wall of shields was as strong at either end as in the middle, and four deep. Not a hare could pass. But now on the right they have thinned out to a mere line of sentries.’

‘If Owain attacked there,’ I replied, ‘they would close up again to meet him. And it is what he wants. He has come for glory. The battle to him is more important than the war. If he could send all the Savages back to Jutland with never a blow struck, he would
not do it. Oh, a happy man he is today, having his fill of blood, his long count of fallen Savages. And we stand here till he thinks of calling us.’

‘If Owain rides to the flank, they will indeed move to meet him. But if he holds them there in strength – have you ever heard of any foot who would stand while cavalry came at them from all sides?’

‘Owain said that we were to wait till we heard his voice,’ I reminded Precent.

‘Indeed, if you will only listen with care you will hear his voice, loud and clear.’ Precent laughed from ear to ear, laughed loud enough for Owain to hear there in all the press. ‘I am quite sure I can hear him calling me to charge. I can’t help it, Aneirin, if you are prematurely deaf. A dreadful affliction that can be, too, for a poet.’ He swung into the saddle, and turned to the reserve squadron.

‘Into line, now Romans all! One line only, one line. At the canter when we reach them, and no faster. Swords only. Ready now, all of you? Then follow me. Ride, Romans! Ride!’

I rode close to Precent. Aidan was on my left, Cynrig beyond Precent, Gelorwid, Morien, all my friends, rode in line. Behind us, the horseholders, men wearied in the first charge, mounted rested beasts and made a second rank. Geraint led them, still weeping for Dyvnwal Vrych.

War is cruel and a waste, war is vain and useless, war settles nothing, war is a time of misery. So we may all say, on the long march, shut up in a fortress, or in the Hall at the end of a long peace. But in the moment of battle, you do not think of that, true though it may be. There is nothing in your heart but joy, and the happiness of being committed absolutely. And of all ways of fighting, there is nothing like riding in a charge of horse, a line of forty men, knee to knee. Then no man believes in death, no man believes in defeat, no man has any thought for what lies outside the line and beyond the battlefield.

We rode silent. Every head in the enemy line was turned to their left, watching the main action. Our horses’ hoofs drummed on the dry ground, threw up the dust of a long drought into our faces. Fifty paces from the Savages, Precent for the first time
raised his voice. He gave no words, only a yell of triumph. We shouted with him. We saw the scattered Savages in front of us start, turn to meet us, try to group in threes or fours, and then, seeing how thin they were on the ground, and how little chance they had of stopping us, flee, some into the shelter of their fellows in the centre, and others into the bog, and even into the depths of the river, swimming for the farther bank. And the few that stood to meet us we killed with hardly a break in our stride.

Now the hours that we had drilled below Eiddin were rewarded. Still in line, at the canter, we wheeled, our pivot man halting, our flanker at the gallop. Now the whole of the reserve swept round to come at the backs of the enemy who so bravely faced Owain.

It is true. Did
you
ever hear of infantry who stood while cavalry came at them from all sides? These did not stand. Not even Bladulf stood. He, and the men nearest to him, tried to form a wall, a city as it were, of their shields, and stand as a living fortress. But most of them fled into the wood. Those that stood we ignored. There were enough fleeing for us to cut down from behind. Here and there, two or three of these, overrun, would turn to meet us, striking not at riders but at horses. Now our other Squadrons could break through, where there was no longer a line to meet them, and spread wide over the field. The Bloodfield it was indeed, covered with men, dead or crippled.

Not savages alone. Ahead of us all, alone, near the edge of the wood, I saw a horse fall. A crowd of Savages rallied there to thrust spears into its belly, to swing poleaxes at its fetlocks. The horse came down, screaming, rolling on the rider, and we saw the swords and axes rise and fall in the brief moment before I came up to scatter them. Oh, Gelorwid, Gem of Baptism! You were not born for this. In my grief I cried it aloud. Not for this, your sword-hand cut away, your helmet rolled far, your face beaten in with clubs, your mail shirt wrenched up above your head like the skirt of a raped woman. I had hoped to see you to your marriage bed, not to your grave. You were born for the caresses of a queen, not for the blades of the Savages. I wept for Gelorwid, and sang his elegy, as I struck down those who killed him.

Nor was he the only man to fall. Buddvan the son of Bleiddvan, that should have guarded Gelorwid’s back, he too lay dead. The white hide of his horse was now as red as his cloak, with his own blood. Blood hid the sheen of his mail. He that once rode through the ranks of the enemy like an eagle through the air, now lay still on the regained earth of Bernicia.

There is no time in battle to weep for those who die. Fight on we must, and show that they have not died in vain, that their death is not empty, that from the arms of the Virgin they need not blame us as sluggards. The Savages fled before us in all directions as we avenged our friends. Only around Bladulf they stood fast, and retreated slowly, step by step, towards the shelter of the wood. Bladulf himself was the rearmost, wielding not a weapon but a flail. With that he swept a space clear behind his men. No horse would be forced into that arc of death, nor would any man walk there.

We left Bladulf and his remnant to hide where they would, and swept forward to take what they had defended. His was the biggest village we had seen. Not the greatest, perhaps, in the number of the houses, but in their size and splendour. The first fugitives had reached it, and now the old men and the women and children were trying to save themselves and their cattle. Neither had they expected defeat. When we burst upon them, they left their animals and tried to save themselves: and could not.

The battle was at an end. Breathless we gathered before Bladulf’s Hall. I rode to Owain’s side, where he sat, Bradwen still behind him. Precent we had seen among the Savages, leaping and bounding among them like a ball in the game. Now he came to us, panting, wringing the sweat from his scarf. Cynrig, too, joined us, his saddle spattered with blood, but none of his, and Peredur Ironarms, and Aidan, counting the Savages he had killed to make himself a man, and Graid, his arm numbed by Bladulf’s flail. And all the others were around us, shouting and cheering and hailing the General whose arm and mind had brought us Victory.

Oh, the sight of Owain on the won field, his face shining as we shouted, ‘All Hail to the Commander, the Emperor, the
bringer of all luck and fortune!’ Only there was no one now to sing praise to the Virgin. Gelorwid was dead.

While some entered the Hall, and the houses around it, and heaped wood and ploughs for a fire, and drove together and slaughtered the animals, others went back to scour the Bloodfield. They drove together from here and there a crowd of Savages who were only slightly hurt, or not hurt at all, and who, amazing as it may seem, wished to live even after defeat, and were willing to submit. These they set to dig a grave. With care and tenderness we brought together the bodies of those of the Household who had been killed, and the few who, though unhorsed, still lived. We could not leave anyone for the cruel knives of the Savage women, crawling about the field by night. We buried our dead on the field they had won, and after that we killed the Savages who had dug the grave. We stripped the Savages dead, and brought their armour into the Hall in case anyone thought himself half armed and wanted to take his pick. What was left we would spoil in the fire, with the weapons we found, and then throw into the river, where the Savages might dive for it if they wanted it, and not be sure of finding it. The bodies of the Savage dead we left. This was Bernicia. Were not the wolves here ours to feed?

Victory was almost complete. The road to Elmet was open before us. Only Bladulf was still alive, somewhere in the wood below Cattraeth.

We feasted our victory in Bladulf’s Hall. We did not weep for those who were dead, not for Gelorwid or for Gwion Catseyes, nor yet for Dyvnwal Vrych. There was not room in the Hall to lay their empty places, eighty of them. We drank and ate their share, as they would have wished, and as we wished our comrades to do when we fell. Under the joy of victory and drunkenness of battle, we knew well enough, all of us, that there would be other battles, that Bladulf would return. But not tonight. Tonight he would not come near enough to smell his own pigs roasting.

He was rich, was Bladulf. He would not live on a handful of wheat a day. The couches in his Hall were spread with wool and with furs, soft and warm. We dribbled the dregs of our mead on the couches and wiped the grease from our knives on the sables. They drink out of horns, you know, the Savages, not from cups of pottery or glass, but Bladulf’s horns stood in settings of silver.

There was plenty to fill them, too, beer, and mead as well. The bitter beer we washed our hands in, and cleaned the blood from our armour, and groomed our horses and our saddles. Even the horses drank it, but we did not. But the mead, the sweet blue mead, there was enough of that in Bladulf’s Hall for us all to drink and be drunk a hundred times over. And we had only one night, or perhaps two, to drink it in, because we soon would move on to Elmet, and leave Bladulf’s Hall in a blaze. Tables and blankets would burn, fur and horn would shrivel, painted beams and carved
pillars, wool and silver, hemp and flax, all would char away into a waste of nothingness. Why should Bladulf’s Hall fare better than Eudav’s? But while we had it, we would enjoy it. And we had it.

Only on the top table at the feast we of the Royal families talked of the battle over and the battle to come. Precent and I had ridden over the field after the rout, and we had seen things, noted things, that could not be seen by those who made sure of Bladulf’s Hall.

‘Where, then, was Elmet?’ Precent asked.

‘I suppose,’ Owain answered between drinking, ‘that these are the remnants who came back defeated from Elmet.’

‘These men have not fought before this year,’ I insisted. ‘There were no new wounds, no hacked shields. Dusty they were, and tired, like men who have marched long and fast. But they have not fought.’

‘Again, I ask, where was Elmet?’ Precent thumped the table in his urgency. ‘We have come because Elmet expects us, but where is Elmet?’

‘This is the strategy we worked out with Mynydog,’ Owain answered easily. ‘First we have drawn their army north to meet us, and now they are well engaged with us, the Elmet men will take them in the rear.’

‘But why so long?’ Precent asked. ‘They let us ravage in their valleys for four days. They would not have done so if they had known we were coming. They went south for some reason. They were ready for the Elmet men to come. But they have not fought. Where then are the Elmet men? Did they not come? Or have they made a treaty with the Savages?’

‘Or,’ put in Peredur, ‘have they just melted away and gone home in the night, like the infantry from Eiddin?’