35 Siege 2
Holding tight to the trunk, Balan pushed some evergreen twigs aside and reached for a branch above him. The climb was not as difficult as he had imagined it. The sword on his back was uncomfortable, but he managed well enough. Looking down he could neither see the knights nor Ruccius and his men; he was completely surrounded by a sea of green twigs. Carefully following Tristan's instructions, Balan climbed higher and higher into the huge pine tree.
About halfway up he ran out of luck. A twig snagged between the hilt of his sword and the straps holding it in place. Balancing awkwardly on two branches, Balan reached behind his back and tugged at the offensive twig to free himself. But it didn't let go. Unable to see how the twig had gotten stuck, Balan groped behind his back and felt with his fingers between the straps, but he couldn't quite reach it. Several dogged attempts later the twig still remained stuck.
Annoyed, Balan tried to free the twig by stepping down onto a lower branch, but it still wouldn't come loose. He yanked down hard, but the twig tugged him back up, almost causing him to lose his balance. He swore under his breath and carefully returned to his initial position, breathing deeply to calm down. Then he reached behind his back and tried again. But to his increasing frustration the twig refused to budge, no matter how he tugged and pulled. He was stuck!
An unpleasant warmth spread from his neck to his cheeks. If he had to call for help, Ruccius and the men would call him useless. The knights would never let him hear the end of it. A scout, trapped by a twig! He scowled and yanked at the twig until he nearly lost his balance again.
"Use your knife, boy. Cut it loose," Geraint commented from above.
Balan's eyes widened with disbelief. Why hadn't he thought of his knives before?! Mortified, he drew his bootknife and cut himself free. Then he continued his ascent. He carefully maneuvered between the branches to avoid getting stuck again and diligently cleared snow off each branch before placing his hands and feet on them.
"Use your brains next time," Geraint admonished gruffly when Balan reached him.
The dark-haired scout was perched on a fork high up in the tree. Balan found himself a lower fork that not only offered a good view, but also some cover from overhanging branches. He knew that it would be hard to spot him from the ground, as he was hidden in the dark shadow near the trunk of the tree.
He looked down. The storage depot was clearly visible in the early morning light. The north and south gates were guarded by two units of Roman infantry, who had taken up position behind their large shields, bows at the ready. To the east, silhouetted against the snowy forest, he spotted the other knights with Bedivere. Between the west wall and the hillock lay an empty field covered in snow.
The height of their perch enabled Balan and Geraint to see behind the wall of the storage depot. Balan's observation training kicked in at once. First he scanned the depot to become familiar with its lay-out. Four large granaries stood side by side, surrounded by a ten-foot-high wall with two large wooden gates. Between the granaries and the gates lay two big squares. Balan assumed that these were used for loading and off-loading supplies. The wall itself was narrow, but it had a wooden rampart near the top on which forty Woad archers had spread out evenly. Each of the squares was guarded by twenty warriors armed with swords, spears and axes. And another dozen walked back and forth between the buildings.
Balan frowned. The number of Woads he could see didn't add up. According to Tristan some three hundred Woads had attacked the depot. He estimated that the knights had killed fifty Woads in front of the north gate and seventy outside the south gate. He added the numbers in his head as his father had taught him and shook his head.
"Where are the rest of them?" he wondered out loud.
Geraint looked down with a hint of surprise on his grim face.
"You're sharp, boy," he said. "How many do you believe are missing?"
"About ninety, maybe a hundred," Balan hesitated.
"Tristan never told me you could do numbers," Geraint muttered. "It's a bloody useful trait for a scout."
The older knight stared intently at the depot. "I bet they are hiding in the granaries. Out of the cold and safe from our arrows. Probably enjoying a good meal."
"I wish I could," Balan said without thinking. "I wouldn't mind having something to eat." The climb into the tree had made him hungry again.
Geraint glanced down at the boy. Such a young lad could not break his fast with a piece of bread and then ride into battle, he thought. He put his hand in his bag and offered Balan a small leather pouch.
"Eat boy, I expect we'll be fighting soon," he grunted.
Balan opened the pouch and gasped with delight when he saw that it was filled with dried fruit and nuts. He took a few pieces and offered the rest back to Geraint.
"You eat it, lad. I already had some," Geraint said absentmindedly, staring at the depot.
Balan nibbled on dried apples and berries and sighed contentedly. A shout from below shook him out of his reveries.
"What can you see up there?" Ruccius bellowed.
Geraint gave him a detailed report. Balan – still munching on his fruit – kept his eyes fixed on the storage depot. None of the Woads had left their positions. On the field outside the depot he spotted the light cavalry boys taking firewood to the infantry unit at the south gate.
"Why is Ruccius going to burn down the gate?" he asked. "Can't the men scale the wall? It is not very high, is it?"
Geraint stared at him. Tristan had never mentioned how many questions this boy asked!
"The Romans would lose the advantage of their defensive techniques if they did that," he explained. "The Romans suffer very few casualties as long as they can maintain their defensive battle formations. You have seen them at practice, boy. The infantrymen are always hidden behind their shields, whichever way they turn."
Balan nodded thoughtfully.
"If the Romans scale the wall, there will be man to man combat on the other side. Although the Romans might win, the number of casualties would be much higher."
"So Ruccius wants to avoid close combat?" Balan asked.
"No boy," Geraint replied, shaking his head. "There will be close combat later. But first Ruccius wants to lure the enemy outside, where the shield formations of the infantry, and in our case the relative safety of riding swift horses, will increase the odds of our survival. Ruccius wants to keep his men alive."
"And there will be close combat after that?" Balan asked.
"Yes," Geraint nodded grimly. "After we've reduced their numbers."
Geraint pointed to the south gate.
"Look boy. See for yourself how the Roman formations protect the men."
Sixteen Roman infantrymen marched to the south gate in a rectangular formation. The soldiers in the first row held their shields in front of their bodies. The edges of the shields overlapped and formed a protective wall. The men in the row behind them held their shields over the heads of the men in front, while those in the third row did the same for the men in the second row, and so on, creating an impenetrable roof. Arrows and rocks flew from the wall, but no-one was harmed. The strategy worked!
As the formation approached the gate it disappeared from view. But Balan knew that they were carrying wood to build a pyre against the gate. Further to the east he saw his fellow light cavalry members ride back to the forest. Probably to collect more wood, Balan thought.
The increasing daylight revealed more details of their surroundings. To the north and south the horizon was blocked by steep wooded hills. A small river meandered through the valley not far south of the storage depot. It was frozen and covered with snow. To the east Balan spotted a number of thatched houses between the trees, but there was no smoke and he saw no movement. He shivered and pulled his cloak up to his chin. His fingers were getting numb and his body felt stiff and uncomfortable. He glanced up at Geraint. The lanky scout always reminded him of the old scarecrow that the infantrymen had placed on their vegetable patches outside the fort.
"Keep your eyes on your job, boy," Geraint grunted irritably.
Balan dutifully scanned the storage depot for any sign of the missing Woads, but he saw none. Everything looked just like it had done mere moments before. An icy wind blew through the branches of the tree and his teeth began to chatter. The biting cold fueled Balan's impatience with the current lack of action.
"Why aren't the Woads preparing for a sortie?" he shivered. "There are less than eighty infantrymen outside each gate. If the Woads all storm out at once, they'll easily outnumber our infantry two to one. That's not a bad chance, is it?"
Geraint snorted.
"I thought that you were intelligent, boy. The Roman archers are far too well positioned. They will kill any Woad who dares to exit that gate. The infantry merely need to shoot two or three Woads each in order to kill all of our blue friends over there. And if any survive, the cavalry will be right on their tail. We've already given them a taste of what that is like. Would you risk it, Balan?"
Balan gulped. On second thought it didn't seem like such a good idea at all.
"But why is Ruccius keeping them inside?" he asked. "Didn't you just say that he wants to get them out and onto the field?"
Geraint chuckled. The boy was smart, he liked that.
"Patience, boy. Ruccius is merely keeping them inside until he has finished his preparations. Watch him closely, boy. Ruccius is a remarkable strategist. He will soon invite the Woads out to fight. On his terms."
Balan wondered what these terms would be. He glanced up at Geraint. The older scout scratched his head and cursed the inquisitiveness of boys. But then he obliged.
"His terms means that they'll exit through the north gate," he explained.
"But that doesn't make sense," Balan objected.
"Doesn't it?" Geraint asked. "As soon as the south gate is gone, our south infantry unit will be able to move in and send them packing. Our blue friends will make their move ahead of that. They cannot gather behind the south gate, so the sortie will come out of the north gate."
"But if they exit through the north gate, they'll get shot as well," Balan countered. "Won't they rather stay and ambush our archers inside the depot?"
Geraint nodded thoughtfully.
"Good thinking, lad," he praised. "You are right, they might prefer that. But they won't if the north exit seems more attractive."
Balan opened his mouth to ask a question, but Geraint silenced him.
"Wait for Ruccius, boy."
Balan stared down at the depot. His mind was buzzing.
"Geraint?"
"What?!"
"Why does Ruccius choose north? Why not south?"
Geraint grunted.
"Boy, if any Woads flee to the south, they will scatter in the forest and be hard to catch. There is always a possibility that they will regroup and attack a few villages before returning home with their plunder. Ruccius wants to avoid that."
"What if they flee to the north?"
"Then we will chase them all the way to Hadrian's Wall. They will find no villages on their way from here. With home ahead and the dread of the Sarmatian cavalry on their tail, very few of them will make detours. They'll just keep running north."
Balan's body felt numb and he shifted his position.
"Will the Woads come out, though?" he mused. "Won't they stay inside if that is where they have the better chance of defeating us? Maybe their leader will prefer to reduce our numbers before he risks a sortie?"
Geraint rolled his eyes. "Think, boy! All nearby Roman forts will have heard of the attack by now. Reinforcements will be on their way soon. Once they join our ranks not a single Woad will escape the depot alive. No boy, the Woads will not wait. They will come out."
A shout from Ruccius interrupted their conversation.
"What's new?!" Ruccius bellowed.
"Nothing sir!" Geraint shouted back.
Balan watched the storage depot and did his customary scan of every person he could see. This was just like training in the tavern with Tristan, only with much less noise and bustle - and no action.
A slight movement drew his eyes to the east wall. A Woad archer notched an arrow, aimed and fired. A vague roar of pain sounded in the distance.
"Shot fired from the east wall! Someone got hit!" Geraint bellowed down to Ruccius.
Balan looked intently at the other archers on the wall, but none of them had arrows on their bows. Everything looked quiet again. What had happened there?
Before long the light cavalry boys came galloping back towards Ruccius. When they came closer, Balan saw that Agloval was riding with Sidain and he appeared to have an arrow in his thigh. Sidain immediately rode on to the surgeon's tent and Lanolan approached Ruccius. Balan could not see him, but when Lanolan spoke his cold voice was full of contempt.
"The pyre is ready, sir. The centurion dismissed us. But then that idiot spotted a supply of firewood within shooting range of the wall and decided that some extra fuel would not hurt. We tried to talk him out of it, sir, but he would not listen. He crawled through the undergrowth to remain unseen and got himself shot."
Ruccius cursed angrily. "That idiot boy!" he scoffed. "As leader of the light cavalry he shouldn't risk himself for useless trophies! Take over from him and lead the light cavalry today."
He drew himself up to his full height and addressed the boys.
"Sidain, Nerwic and Beril, you will join Bedivere's men on the east side of the depot. You will flank and skirmish as you are ordered. Lanolan, Aggs and Pelleas, you will remain here with Arthur and do the same on the west side."
Sidain, Beril and Nerwic turned their horses and galloped away. Lanolan, Aggs and Pelleas joined Arthur and his knights.
Balan wondered where Ruccius would send him and Galahad. He waited anxiously.
"Lanolan, you will take the two new boys with you," Ruccius ordered. "They are inexperienced, so keep an eye on them!"
Balan rolled his eyes in disgust and returned his gaze to the storage depot.
Smoke began to billow from behind the south gate.
"Why don't the Woads douse the fire?" Balan wondered.
"There is only one well inside the depot," Geraint replied grimly. "It is pointless to run back and forth with only two buckets to stop a large fire."
"What about sand then? Or snow?" Balan persisted. "The fire is still small."
Geraint rolled his eyes. Did this dratted boy never stop asking questions?
"They could do that – although our archers would make it a highly uncomfortable task."
"Why don't they try it, then?" Balan asked.
The Woad archers on the ramparts stared impassively at the burning pyre. They appeared to be saving their arrows and no longer threw down any rocks. Strangely, none of the Woads appeared to respond to the fire, although the twenty warriors on the south square had retreated and kept a safe distance from the gate.
Geraint stared down and watched them intently.
Balan mumbled, "It doesn't appear as if the Woads are interested in preserving the gate."
Suddenly Geraint sat up straight. "Now that you mention it, boy, that's a pretty good indication that our blue friends are preparing for their sortie."
"Sir, no response to the burning gate!" Geraint hollered down to Ruccius.
Then, without taking his eyes off the depot, he addressed Balan.
"Listen carefully, boy. As soon as the Woads begin to gather behind the north gate, their sortie will be imminent and it will be time for you to get down. The cavalry will aim to get behind their lines and flank them on both sides to drive them into the arms of the infantry. You and your light cavalry mates will have to shoot as many Woads as you can. But keep your distance when the rest of us join the melee. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Balan breathed. A rush of excitement filled him when he realized that the battle would resume shortly.
Thick clouds of smoke billowed up from the south gate. Red flames licked both sides of the large wooden door. Balan stared at it longingly. How he wished to be near enough to warm himself!
Suddenly he jumped and nearly fell down, for the trumpeter and buccinator blew a long and loud signal below him.
Geraint grinned and pointed north. The infantry unit at the north gate picked up their shields and changed from their archery position to a combat formation with swords and spears at the ready. All bows and arrows were collected by a group of camp followers and taken to the supply wagons – in plain view of the Woads on the wall.
"What are they doing?" Balan whispered, horrified.
Geraint chuckled.
"There is Ruccius' invitation. See? He makes it more attractive for the Woads to sortie on the north side. It won't be long now, Balan. You had better go down."
At that precise moment Ruccius barked, "Boy! Get your ass down here! I need your arrows in the field!"
Balan climbed down and returned to his stallion, which was waiting for him between Bors and Tristan. He mounted up and prepared for combat. Tristan took his bow from him and checked it carefully, before handing it back with an approving nod. Balan put his long knives back in his quiver and tried to pull his sword out of the straps on his back. He let out a stream of expletives when the sword did slide out of its scabbard, but the scabbard itself remained stuck. Bors laughed himself silly, which only infuriated Balan. But with some help from Bors and Tristan, his sword and scabbard were quickly freed and strapped to his saddle. Balan removed a few arrows from the hunting quiver on his back and added them to his saddle quivers. This way the remaining arrows were not crammed in so tightly and would come out more easily when he needed them.
The knights and their horses were restless. They all sensed that battle was about to begin. Balan glanced at Tristan. Tristan was highly alert and his keen eyes kept scanning their surroundings, but other than that he was his usual calm self. His presence gave Balan confidence and he relaxed despite the situation.
Tristan felt Balan's eyes on him and glanced at the boy. Their eyes met and they acknowledged each other wordlessly. Balan quickly touched his heart and reached out to touch Tristan, as he had seen his father do before each battle. Recognizing the gesture, Tristan reached out and touched Balan's hand, then touched his own heart to complete the ritual. The two of them exchanged a look of mutual appreciation. Then Balan turned his horse and joined the light cavalry boys at the end of the line.
Lanolan stared disdainfully when Balan halted beside Galahad. He urged his horse forward and stopped right in front of the two boys.
"You two will do as I say, understood?" he hissed with a threatening glare. "You are to follow my orders without question. Pay attention to me when we ride into battle. Fail to do so and I will leave you to die."
Lanolan turned to Balan. "And as for you, if you repeat your riverside heroics, I will kill you. There are only five of us. Therefore nobody leaves our formation to be valiant. We need every boy and his arrows. The safety of the men depends on us."
Balan and Galahad nodded that they understood.
Lanolan returned to his position and Balan and Galahad exchanged an uncomfortable glance. Balan grimaced and thought privately that he would prefer to be led by Agloval.
A cold wind blew across the field and whipped through his hair as they all waited.
His eyes went to Arthur and the older knights. Lancelot glanced at Balan and winked. He mimicked sniffing a piece of bread and closed his eyes in mock delight. Balan chortled. For a fleeting moment he forgot about Lanolan, the battle and all his worries and laughed freely.
His stomach rumbled and his hand searched in his saddle bag for something to eat.
Nothing.
Balan hoped that there would be a decent meal after the battle. It wouldn't be long now.
AN: Up next: Battle! (Finally!) ~Josje