XXNNI - The Scorpion

XXNNI - The Scorpion

And the javelin landed between Ao’s feet with a thwang, embedding itself heavily into the earth. He looked at it as  it came to a still and then at Leviathon who was settling back into his ranks, jeering and mocking him as he did. Boudica grabbed Ao by the arm and they hopped on a chariot that was joining the circling pack that were driving away to behind the city.

 

[]

 

Around Duerra’s wagon a ramshackle band of two hundred or so civilians and fighting men had gathered. They marched slowly and joined the remainder of the army of Britons at the rear of the Outer Defences, which were by the now crumbled city walls of Arun. Alfos saw his father’s wagon and strode directly through bedraggled group of men to his father, his face red and taut.

‘What in the name of all the gods are you doing here?’ he shouted in front of the many listening ears. Eyes rolled and brows creased and men looked away in embarrassment, not knowing what to do.

‘I have brought men,’ Duerra said slowly and quietly, motioning his arms dramatically towards them. He smiled, aware he was stating the blatantly obvious.

‘Well, yes, thank you, but you can go now. You can leave these men here.’

‘And it’s all right for everyone else to die I suppose?’ Duerra said scornfully, raising his voice. He got down from his wagon, dressed in full battle gear and stood proudly facing the slowly approaching enemy.

 

‘Are you mad? You’ll be killed. You are the king and too old for battle. You should be in Siluria or even further away from here. You will be a target for them and make it difficult for others,’

‘I’m making my stand here, son,’ he said calmly. ‘Right here,’ He pointed to the ground beneath him and held his sword grip tightly. The two men looked at each other grimly. Duerra looked at a tall, worried looking man with long well-kept black hair, black tailored leather and metal armour and a sturdy reinforced shirt and trousers. He saw his son, Alfos was wearing high leather, silver buckled riding boots. Around his waist was a thick black leather belt that held his sword in a ornately embroidered sheath and a long dagger in a metal scabbard.

They looked at the battle, it had reached a stand-off and both armies were in a defensive position. The trebuchet had stopped either due to lack of ammunition or on purpose as the walls of Arun were now down open and exposed. Through the gaps, inside the city, deserted trading houses and stalls could be seen. A few frightened faces of civilians who should have long since fled stared out. Alfos looked at an old man, pale and near death, kept alive by his own determination. His outdated battledress was oversized as he had lost so much weight. His face had deep lines that had their own unique shadows. His white hair was thin, wispy and long, but still healthy; it would give him little warmth. About his waist his sword hung low, the tip almost reaching the ground as it hips were narrow and thin. ‘The cavalry cannot charge us here,’ Alfos stated, breaking the silence. Duerra said nothing, continuing to survey the battlefield. Wiznia approached them in a sideways drunken walk, he wavered as he stood beside Duerra. The two old men smiled at each other like it was any other day.

‘Scorpion, scorpion, the scorpion. It has come,’ Wiznia rambled, slurring his words.

‘I wish you would unwrap your riddle, seeing as we’re all going to die anyway,’ Alfos barked, not looking at either of them.

‘The sting in the tail is all it means, if you would only listen it would come more easily for you, just try to understand,’ Wiznia hissed bitterly, stabbing his words at Alfos. Duerra nodded, smiling secretly to himself.

‘And where is that?’ Alfos asked. Wiznia pointed to the two armies of Italia. The southern army far off and the eastern army close by, much nearer to their left. Their eyes followed his madly waving and waggling arms.

‘The body, the tail; body, tail,’ he repeated, he pointed to the southern army when he said body and the eastern when he said tail. Alfos had never seen a scorpion before, but knew it was a creature that drew its prey on to his front pincers and then struck it overhead with its mighty tail.

‘They’re readying,’ Duerra said.

‘And you should go,’ Alfos said angrily.

 

‘I told you I’m going nowhere,’

‘And what if I order a strategic retreat?’

‘To where?’

‘Out of here, anywhere,’

‘That would be madness,’ Duerra said, spitting at that ground. ‘More would die running, than would standing here,’

‘But if I ordered it?’

Duerra looked at the ground. ‘I might have to overrule you,’

‘You put me in charge, Father,’

‘Yes, to fight, not to run,’ Duerra said.

At that moment there was movement in the ranks of the Eastern Army, it was like a ripple. The Southern Army stood where it was, in formation as though waiting. The sky had turned grey in the murk, low cloud drifted over them and splatters of rain fell. The wind got up and a large flock of crows flew in straggly group. They cawed and barked, annoyed that the landscape below was blocked by men. The atmosphere was charged and electric, a storm was blowing in.

‘It’s a sign,’ Wiznia said in a low tone. He scattered a cluster of dried animal bones on a flat stone and scrutinised their formation. ‘I...I don’t see how, but...’

‘Signs, signs we don’t need more signs. Anyone with half a brain can see what’s happening,’ Alfos shouted. He marched off in a temper.

‘It’s a good sign, I don’t know how, but it is,’

‘What is it, Wiz?’ Duerra asked.

 

‘We have nothing to fear on this day. We only need to hold our nerve,’

 

‘Don’t talk in riddles. What does it say?’

‘What it actually says, make of it what you will, that it doesn’t matter if we are here or not,’ Wiznia said, looking at the brooding sky. They heard Alfos barking orders. “Heavy horse to the east side, archers to the walls. Everybody else stay in the centre”

‘We are where we want to be,’

‘Yes that is true,’ Wiznia replied. Nico came running up, his face was sombre.

‘What is it, Nico? Spit it out man,’ Duerra shouted.

‘Casualties, Sir, there’s a lot of casualties,’

‘How many?’

‘Three thousand or more,’ Nico said panting.

[]

Slowly the eastern army of Italia marched forward towards the Britons who had restructured themselves. Arrows and javelins flew in at them, spears showered down and heavy metal bolts of metal from the heavily wound crossbows punched them at low level. They reached the final dip before the outer defences and their pace slowed as they adjusted to the uneven terrain. Lighted arrows set light to a river of oil beneath their feet. The flames flew up among the front ranks and men burnt where they stood, their howls and screams of agony echoing around the valley. The main army didn’t stop, it marched on through the field of fire to the remaining mass of British warriors.

 

‘This is it now, the final push,’ Ducius narrated. Up ahead hand to hand fighting had broken out. The shield wall at the front had broken into sections by the outer defences and legionaries could only form lines of ten or more. The Britons got in between them, hacking at the men on the edges. But this was at great cost, Italia still had its system and it was working. Steadily they worked their way up the hill to the crumbling walls of Arun.

‘Stay in your ranks until the order is given,’ Thamus shouted. He looked ahead and saw that the front ranks had completely broken and man to man fighting was everywhere. The neat blocks of two hundred men had lost their shape and the army went ahead as one mass. Ducius and Vinci found themselves running forward with Ascoli and Thamus, with John Smith and Adam Jones to their left and Toni and Louie to their right. For the first time since they had left their country their section had broken up.

‘Keep together,’ Thamus yelled.

‘Get over here you two,’ Ducius called to Adam Jones and John Smith. The section looked over at them, but they couldn’t regroup because of the tide of men from other sections in between. Toni and Louie were in the same situation. The section was split, but they all kept pressing forward until they reached the shadow of the crumbling city walls. Far behind them at the infantry rear, the flag waved to the recovering southern army for them to join in and once again it moved forward.

Under the covering fire of the archers and using ladders, hooks and ropes, men scaled the broken down walls of Arun and clambered in. And as more and more got in was only a matter of time before the massive wooden gates were opened and the waiting army stormed in.

As the gap between the Eastern and Southern Armies narrowed on the plain in front of the city, it became full to capacity with only the forward ranks entering the city relieving the pressure of the press of the troops.