XXNIII -The Great Battle

XXNIII - The Great Battle

When the sun had reached its zenith, when it go no higher in the clear blue sky and was just about to tip over and begin it’s great arc of descent, following Alfos, the army of Arun poured onto the field of battle. Many men were in their ordinary clothes with only farm tools for weapons and makeshift pieces of wood for shields. The regular soldiers who made up the centre of their mass wore thick leather armour on their shoulders and chests. They carried regulatory tempered metal and fine wooden shields that had at their centre a boss inlayed with the symbol of Arun. It was a symbol that represented their land and the four directions it was connected to. The symbol was a thick ‘O’ shape with three prongs at its top, bottom, left and right; the north lands, the south - Cornubia, the east - Londoria and at the west - Siluria. The battlefield was a perfect fighting arena. It was a large flat square, two miles by two miles and was situated on the edge of the plains. Either side of it were low hills that acted like a border of containment somehow. Long grasses made green and black ripples on the hillsides, catching the bright sunlight as they waved.

On top of one hill Wiznia danced around a fire that had flames ten feet high. He chanted a song-prayer to the gods, asking them for help and victory as he danced. By the fire were several high poles as thin as spears on which animal skins, skulls and bones hung; they were stained with fresh blood from their recent sacrifice. Men from both sides looked up at him with fear and confusion wondering if what he was doing would have any effect. As part of his ritual he would stand and stare at the battle trying to channel the will of the gods through his mind to the fighting men below. He thought of the bright orange scorpion he had seen in visions, burning with deadly venom and knew it represented them, but something was missing, the dream was incomplete. So what could he tell Alfos? He had already warned him of what he had foreseen, but what was unravelling was too confusing. An occasional arrow would shoot up at him, but he looked at them as though they were harmless flies. He drank strong ale from a beer horn and became tired and befuddled.

The chariots were on the left flank and as soon as the main body of troops started moving they raced ahead of them towards the enemy. The eight blocks of the army of Italia facing them moved forward in one movement of solid noise and light; slow and steady. The blocks fanned out so that they covered a quarter of a mile across their front line, leaving some gaps. The distance between the two armies shortened to a few hundred yards. At the back of Arun’s army were the heavy horses. These were armed knights and lords, they stayed at the back letting the infantry run ahead. They slowly followed the infantry and would dismount once they reached the battle scene. Alfos saw that not all of the enemy rear row had moved up. The heavy machinery on either side had stopped and was being dismantled and put back together. After several minutes the Trebuchet appeared. His men were running at full speed now and were massing in a great funnel of force at the centre of the eight blocks. And as though to greet them the blocks merged into one and changed from a long eight by one formation to a thicker four by two formation. The row at the front locked their shields together at a low level and moved forward at half walking speed. The men of Arun kept running at them until they were twenty yards away and at that point were met by several volleys of arrows from archers behind. The men of Italia crouched as the arrows flew over their heads. Men of Arun fell and clattered to the ground, but the majority went on. They crashed into the solid shield wall that had been formed into a shell by the front rows of men. Their axes, swords and spears smashed at the shields and gaps in between as they tried to find the enemy beneath. And as little progress was made the men of Arun pressed against each other rendering themselves unable to fight. The front rows were pressed tight to the shield wall and the rows behind could not manoeuvre to do anything and all the while they were being stabbed at through slits in the shields. Short swords would stab out through a gap and then retract leaving no opening. Italia held firm and when they had borne the total weight of their enemy and judged it, they were able to move forward in degrees.

Boudica and her chariots attacked the enemy’s far right hand corner, where there seemed to be a weakness to the square formation; an exposure. In groups of five or six, the chariots would draw up close to the right hand block of infantry that was protected by cavalry and some bowman. Archers on board would fire at the enemy which gave temporary cover to the heavy set swords and mace men who would prize open a few shields from the solid shell of shields. When they had the archers fired in. Ao was at the centre of it and his unerring bow found a target time after time. The group of chariots would then retreat and regroup. Alfos saw the success on the left flank and the lack of it in the centre and he also saw that they were not being outflanked, it was a head on battle. The heavy horse had not engaged yet as they could not get at the battle. The melee of men at the heart of the battle was now locked with casualties on both sides.

‘Heavy horse to the right,’ Alfos commanded and the flag bearer waved the flag in big sweeps at the leader of the heavy horses to confirm the order. It was a large powder blue flag emblazoned with a dull white pronged circle. Alfos felt happy, calm and focussed, and as part of his battlemind he was keen to kill and also ready to die, in fact he expected to die and it was because of that that he knew he would fight well. It was now or never he thought, all or nothing, they had to throw everything at the enemy so that all the men were forward and attacking the front line of the Italia infantry. An arrow flew at him landing with a thud in the earth, another hit a horse in the leg and a third deflected off of a shield.

The Italia shield wall was a grinding house where only the toughest survived. Men at the very front would be standing in a crouch waiting for an opportunity to strike out and hoping the enemy they faced would not find any gaps or weaknesses in the shell of shields. Inevitably every now and then a sword would jab through and a front row man would get injured or experience a near miss. Sometimes they would be knocked out or killed and these men fell where they stood. They were quickly dragged away by the second and third rowers behind and immediately replaced. This gave the illusion invincibility, but at a cost and the system could only be maintained for a limited time. It was a grinding house. After what seemed like forever the order was given to fall back. This was to give the impression to Arun that they were winning and so draw them in further in a more confused and compacted mass. It worked as it had done so many times before and it worked so well that some of Arun’s front row collapsed and fell back flat on their backs. Arun pressed on and pushed forward not realising the danger they’ve were now in.

With Ao by her side Boudica rode up in her chariot to Alfos and out of somewhere Caratacus came. ‘Your father has returned,’ Ao said.

‘The old fool. How do you know this?’ Alfos shouted.

‘One of the archers told me. Don’t ask me how he knows,’

‘Where is he then? Ready to fight I hope. He might be needed this day,’ Alfos said as they all cast their eyes over the raging battle in front of them. It seemed to be even, there were losses on both sides. Even though they had pressed forward they were neither winning or losing. A spear flew at Alfos, narrowly missing him, it buzzed as it hit the ground. A wounded man with blood oozing from his torso staggered back to where they were. He clutched himself and collapsed on the grass, groaning in pain. Another wounded man limped away from the mass of men, blood coming from his head. He dropped his sword and knelt down.

‘It’s time we entered the battle,’ Caratacus said loudly bringing his horse forward. All four of them steadily moved forward and they were let through to the front lines of their men. Beyond they saw the shell like formation of shields formed by the enemy infantry, it looked like a giant tortoise. There were cracks in it and every now and then one opened up and the men of Arun and their arrows poured in. Arun suffered heavy losses through this, but the two by four merged blocks were gradually being ground down. The short swords lunged out from the shell, stabbing at the unsuspecting men of Arun who had chances forward on their own or in twos and threes. But then everything changed as a great cry was heard from the rear of the ranks of Italia.

‘Separate into eight units,’ a voice shouted and with that narrow gaps appeared between the men as they formed back into blocks, but there were only six blocks now. Archers ran into the gaps, unprotected, running as far forward as they dared. In bunches of five or six they fired one arrow each and then quickly retreated only to be replaced by another five or six archers. They were able to launch intense clusters of arrows that pierced into the thick mass of Arun warriors.

‘Get me closer,’ Ao said to Boudica. Flicking the reins she wheeled the chariot up to the front line. Ao waited for a cluster of arrows to fire and then took his shot. He hit the lead man square in the chest and quickly restrung to hit the second man in the arm, rendering him unfit for further combat. The third archer he struck through the back of his head, restrung but immediately became the target for the next six Italia archers. He crouched down. Six arrows flew at them and they landed behind in the grass and the chariot cabin itself. Ao sprung up and got in a reply, killing two more archers. Simultaneously to this the Italia cavalry rode around to the left hand side of their infantry and were now flanking them. Alfos watched with worried eyes as a rider came up to him with a message with the royal seal.

‘Bezon is coming with two hundred men. ‘Hold Out’. I am coming with re-enforcements,’ Alfos read aloud in disbelief. He looked around at the thousands already in the battle and wondered what difference a few extra hundred would make. ‘From where?’ he exclaimed, throwing the note to the ground. He drew his sword and turned to face the heavy cavalry. Caratacus and all of the royal guard was with him. They charged and the ground was thunder.

Two hundred men, it was something and his brother alive he thought. The trebuchet started. It flung rocks at their rear ranks, making them scatter. Boulders landed on the outer defences of Arun, smashing them up. Italia we’re launching an all out three-way attack. Archers, Cavalry and Trebuchet. Some of the rear ranks scattered and ran, they ran away. Giant explosions of earth flew up in the air in loud ear splitting crashes, the line of which had never been seen before.

Alfos swung his sword at a cavalry man, but only caught the man’s horse about its neck. The horse buckled and wobbled, but had carried on some way past him. Then a second cavalry man came at him with his sword extended at arms length, so the tip of it was almost on him immediately; he slashed it away and sliced at the man, but was blocked by a heavy shield. His opponent jabbed at him from behind the shield, aiming for any part of him he could reach. Alfos felt a nick and looked down to see a trickle of blood on his left leg. Turning about they clashed swords a few times as they pushed each other back with their shields. The man was not big in stature, but he was thick set Alfos noticed and as the man jabbed in he naturally recoiled, but as his arm withdrew, Alfos stabbed at it, making the sword fall to the ground. The man went to draw his second sword on his left side and as he did Alfos lunged in. His sword struck true into the man’s chest and he groaned clutching at his fatal wound. His shield fell away. Alfos drove his sword in further and then pulled it out. The man slumped and fell off his horse. Alfos spun around looking for a next opponent and another horseman came at him swinging a long sword wildly in anger and as he did he had time to look around at his men, they were doing all right, the flag bearer was up, they were not outnumbered. He let the man swing at him, leaning back, staying out of range, and the man kept swinging, talking to himself as he did, but he couldn't understand him. He moved in on him taking the full force of the heavy, wide rotating swing of his sword on his shield. The impact was heavy and he hunched down in his saddle, feigning injury, and to make it more realistic he started to slide off his horse sideways. Seeing this the horseman swung in viciously in an all out attack. Regaining his balance Alfos caught him and quickly regaining his balance he grabbed him and wrenched him out of his saddle. The man slipped down and Alfos moved back watching him hang upside down. Without mercy he stroked his sword across the man’s exposed neck. It cut into flesh and blood spat out. It was enough to kill him, but feeling the battlelust, Alfos struck again anyway putting in a killer blow to the man’s chest.

Reviews

[LylaCrystal]

I could perfectly visualise in my mind this historical time. I'm passionate about history and this chapter left me satisfied with the portrayal of Boudica. I will read the other chapters as well. This is going on the shelf of my virtual library. Great job!

[BL]

Been meaning to finish this story for a while, only a handful of chapters left now - thank you

[Coyote Poetry]

You have my attention. Boudica, one of my favorite people in the history of the world. She was a bad-a*s. I liked the battle scene. Had feel of real life and real struggle. A very good chapter my friend.
Coyote

[BL]

Thank you Coyote

[Coyote Poetry]

You are welcome my friend.