32 The advance
The army followed the road that ran alongside Hadrian's Wall to the east. Tristan, Bedivere and Geraint had left the formation to scout ahead.
Balan rode in the vanguard beside Agloval and Aggs.
"Nervous, Balan?" Agloval asked jovially.
"A little," Balan replied honestly. He liked Agloval. The nineteen-year-old knight was always kind to him.
"Don't worry, most battles are less arduous than practice," Agloval comforted. "Beats me why they make practice so difficult, really."
Balan grinned.
"Of course, the stakes are quite a bit higher in battle," Agloval shrugged. "Out here they'll gore you for real."
"That's reassuring!" Nerwic chuckled behind them.
"At least there will be no penalty rounds if you die," Pelleas added dryly.
The boys all laughed.
Balan looked over his shoulder. Galahad rode behind him, flanked by Nerwic and Pelleas. He looked grim, but his eyes shone with determination. Balan could tell that Galahad was nervous. But at least the glumness had left him, and for this Balan was glad. It had been quite depressing to spend time in Galahad's company these last few days.
Fortunately most other cavalry members were much more lighthearted. Bors' unmistakable cackle drifted over from the front of the column and the older knights laughed loudly. One could almost believe that they were heading for the tavern instead of a battle, Balan thought.
But a closer look at the knights revealed that this was no pleasure outing. As soon as the banter died down, looks of concern and apprehension betrayed the danger of the task ahead. All knights had their hands near their weapons and continually scanned the surrounding darkness, acutely aware that the torches made them a perfect target in the night.
It reminded Balan of home. It had been very much like this when he had gone into battle with his tribe. The banter, the tension, it all felt familiar. Only one thing made him uncomfortable: Lack of speed.
Balan's tribe had always galloped towards the hideouts of their opponents. To him the marching pace of the Roman army felt counterintuitive. Balan's instincts screamed at him to go faster and their slow progress made him nervous. His horse, sensitive to his emotions, responded by attempting to break into a canter over and over again. It cost Balan a lot of effort and concentration to prevent his bay stallion from breaking formation.
Snow began to fall. Large snowflakes drifted down and fell on Balan's cloak and gear. He shivered and pulled the hood of his cloak down to his eyes. The snow rapidly intensified and began to pile up on Balan's legs and saddle. He had to wipe it off to prevent it from melting and soaking his breeches. He reached into his saddle bag and covered his quivers with linen cloths. Weeks of wintry weather had taught him that his arrows could get stuck if snow froze in his quivers. Arrows could also get weighed down with lumps of snow, making them useless in battle.
Before long it was nearly impossible to see through the falling snow. The horses plodded through the deepening white substance, creating a path for the foot soldiers behind them. Then a shout from the rear halted the entire army. One of the supply wagons had gotten stuck. Ruccius cursed loudly and bellowed orders to the infantry. Several men hurried to the rear of the column to lend a hand. Before long the wagon was free and the army could continue its march.
The sound of his name pulled Balan out of his thoughts.
"How long will it be before a Woad kills him?" Lanolan's cold voice sneered. "I wager that he will last no more than ten minutes. I must remember to thank the Woad who does it – if I don't freeze to death first."
Aggs let out a forced laugh. The others remained silent.
Balan scowled, but said nothing.
Lanolan had always been unpleasant to him. But recently he had lost his audience. The older boys had gotten to know Balan better now that he trained with them. Sidain, Nerwic and Beril respected Balan and had become much nicer for it. Sidain had told Lanolan off for his incessant bullying of Balan. Nerwic had even punched Lanolan and told him that Balan was one of them now. Beril had lost his patience when Lanolan kept making snide comments. Loud enough for the entire fort to hear, he had bellowed, "He works just as hard as we do! He risks his life just like we all do! What does it matter that he is twelve?! He has as much skill with the bow as you! Leave him alone!"
Balan smiled at the memory. It was nice to have the older boys on his side.
Aggs was the only one who never challenged Lanolan. But Aggs had never been much of a threat. He was a follower by nature.
Lanolan looked over his shoulder and stared disdainfully at Balan.
"Go back to the fort, runt!" he hissed venomously. "You have no business in battle!"
Balan ignored him and stared ahead.
"You will only embarrass yourself! Who will you run to when you get scared and cry for mommy?" Lanolan sneered. "To Arthur?"
Balan gritted his teeth. He felt his anger rising.
"Shut up, Lanolan," Agloval said calmly.
Lanolan glared at him.
"You know full well that he will only wet himself. He's useless!" he scoffed.
Agloval rolled his eyes.
"Shut up, Lanolan!" Nerwic warned.
"Ruccius obviously wants to get rid of Balan. Why else would he send him to the Woads?" Lanolan taunted. "I think that I will celebrate when his body is piled on the wagon tonight."
A thud and a groan, then a loud curse from Lanolan and a shout from the officers behind them.
Sidain had thumped Lanolan on the side of the head with his axe.
"If you don't shut up, you will feel the sharp end as well!" Sidain glared.
Lanolan spat in the snow and gave Sidain a look of utter contempt.
But after a look at the Roman officers behind him, he turned back in his saddle and held his tongue.
"Why don't the torches go out in this weather?" Galahad asked, wiping snow off his cloak.
"The Romans have a special liquid. Keeps torches burning in rain and snow," Agloval explained.
Balan stared at the countless torches that lit the column despite the snow. Romans knew a lot of magic, he mused.
"Why are we going east along the Wall?" Pelleas wondered. "The storage depot is five miles south of the Wall, is it not? Why don't we take the shortest road and make straight for it?"
"Because Ruccius does not want to chase after the Woads and watch them escape with their plunder. He wants to head them off," Sidain explained. "The Woads must return to the Wall to get home. By approaching from the north, we are blocking their escape."
Suddenly several horses whickered and neighed. In the darkness ahead a horse whinnied in response. Balan wasn't worried. Whoever was ahead, was familiar. The reaction of the horses told him so.
Soon the light of the torches fell on Tristan, who was waiting for them on the road. Arthur, Ruccius and his officers rode to the head of the column to speak with him.
"The Woads crossed the wall over here and headed to the south," Tristan reported. "Snow already covered most of the tracks when we got here. Geraint and Bedivere are following the trail as far as they can. But we can be fairly certain that the Woads went straight to the south from here." He pointed into the darkness. "The storage depot lies in a valley on the other side of that hill."
Ruccius nodded grimly.
"We turn south!" he bellowed. "Keep your weapons ready and stay alert!"
Balan stared into the darkness where Tristan had pointed. About eight inches of pristine snow covered the field south of the road. Not the faintest hint of a footprint was visible in the light of the torches. It was hard to imagine that hundreds of Woads had passed here earlier in the night.
Tristan wordlessly acknowledged Balan with a curt nod. Then he took his place at the head of the column to lead the way. Ruccius and his officers returned to their place behind the vanguard.
Soon after the army had turned south the snowfall lessened and eventually stopped. The knights sighed with relief and shook out their cloaks, brushing snow off their gear. Stars appeared in the dark sky above them and despite the cold, the ride became much more pleasant.
Arthur steered his horse out of the column and came to ride beside Balan.
"We seem to have had the worst, boys," he said to the nine light cavalry boys. "Check your weapons and clear off any remaining snow lest it hinder your fight."
Arthur looked at Balan and observed him for a moment.
"How are you?" he asked kindly.
Balan shrugged noncommittally.
"Fine," he answered quietly.
"Your father's name is Dinadan, isn't it?" Arthur asked.
Balan looked up, surprised that Arthur even knew this.
"Yes," he replied.
"Was he stationed in Britain?" Arthur inquired with genuine interest.
Balan shook his head.
"No, in Gaul," he said. "In a great walled city called Ambianum."
"So your father fought against Franks and Vandals?" Arthur smiled knowingly.
Balan stared at him. How did Arthur know all this?
"Most of our supplies come to Britain via the port of Ambianum, Balan," Arthur answered his unspoken question. "When I was a boy about your age, my father often received news from Ambianum about armed conflicts with Vandals and Franks."
Balan was quiet. His father had not told him much of his time in Ambianum. Only what was necessary to teach Balan and prepare him for his service to Rome.
"My father lost many friends there," Balan told Arthur. "Only one survived. They returned to Sarmatia together and founded our tribe."
Arthur looked at Balan thoughtfully. The Empire had suffered innumerable casualties in the constant assaults on Ambianum. To survive fifteen years of service in Ambianum was nothing short of a miracle.
"Your father must be an incredibly skilled warrior," he said kindly.
Balan thought of his father. A fierce warrior, extremely focused and always on top of his fight. His father was as harsh as winter and yet as kind as summer. Always the gentle and intelligent voice of reason. Even though he had disciplined Balan harshly at times, his father had never lost his temper. He had always remained kind and calm.
"I'm sure your father would be proud to see you now," Arthur stated.
Balan looked up in wonder. The idea of making his father proud had not occurred to him and it made him happy. Suddenly he felt much lighter and a smile crossed his face.
"I am very proud of all the things you have learned, Balan," Arthur praised kindly. "You work hard. You are precise. Your aim is deadly. And I hear from the knights that you rarely complain. You are young, but you are a valuable addition to our unit. I am proud to be your commander."
Balan felt himself grow a few inches. A warm glow spread through his body.
Arthur smiled when Balan sat more straight in his saddle. Then he steered his horse to the side and slowed down to speak with Galahad.
Ascending the hill was nerve-wracking. The northern slopes were covered by a dense forest and despite the torch light reflecting upon snow, it was eerily dark and quiet.
Where were the Woads? Had they plundered the depot? Were they making their way back to the Wall? Were they hidden somewhere in the darkness between the trees? What would they do upon seeing the torches of the Roman army? Would they put aside their plunder and lay an ambush for the Romans? If the Woads attacked them here, the prospects were bleak. Despite their skill, the Romans were no match for the woodcraft of the Woads.
All banter and laughter had died. The army marched on in complete silence. They all knew that at any moment a cloud of arrows could come raining down on them.
A horse neighed in the distance, eliciting a loud response from the cavalry horses. Bedivere came galloping into view. With a curt nod he passed Arthur and rode straight to Ruccius.
"There's been a massacre up ahead. I counted about fifty dead Roman infantrists, possibly a unit from another fort. It looks as if there was a fierce battle," he panted.
Ruccius cursed loudly.
"What of the Woads?" he demanded.
"Thirty to forty dead. A vast number continued south. Geraint has gone after them. The trail was fresh; the Romans must have held them up for a while. We also found a second trail, going east. Possibly made by retreating or fleeing Romans. We saw hobnail prints leading away from the battlefield. But it was hard to see in the snow," Bedivere stated.
Ruccius nodded grimly.
"Lead on!" he ordered.
Bedivere joined Tristan at the head of the column and the march continued.
The light cavalry boys glanced at each other. Fifty Romans dead… The elusive Woads haunted their thoughts. In their minds the Woads became evil ghosts; demonic killers who watched them from the darkness. Danger increased with every step they took and yet the army marched on. The oppressing fear and silence smothered the courage and confidence of the boys.
Balan felt sick. His stomach churned uncomfortably. The only time he could remember feeling as frightened as this, was when he had defied Tristan and refused to fetch arrows during the previous spring.
He wished that he could hide in his bed and snuggle safely under his covers. But there was nothing for it. He had to face whatever was ahead. As he took deep steady breaths to calm himself, his hand wandered to his bow and arrows for the umpteenth time that night, while his eyes stared into the unwelcoming darkness.
... To be continued...
AN-1: The city of Ambianum still exists today. It has become a major French city which is called Amiens. During the Late Roman Empire Ambianum was 'a great, walled city.' Historical notes mention that Sarmatian auxiliary troops were stationed there. The Roman army in Britain was mainly supplied via Ambianum. During the early 5th century (from 400 AD onwards) a vast region in what is now Northern France (and which included Ambianum) suffered from frequent invasions and attacks by Franks and Vandals.
AN-2: Regarding the torches not going out in the snow: According to historians, the Roman military dipped their torches in a liquid containing a mixture of sulfur and lime. This prevented the torches from going out, even if put under water.
AN-3: Special note to Tristan lovers: There will be much more Tristan in upcoming chapters. Hang in there. ;)
AN-4: For those who asked: Marching formation, from front to back:
Vanguard (Scouts, Heavy cavalry with Arthur, Light cavalry)
Commander (Ruccius) + officers, horn blowers
2 centuries (century=unit of 80 men) infantry
Baggage train - 3 horse drawn supply wagons
Rearguard (Heavy cavalry)