Chapter Four: Death at Dawn
It was still the wee hours of the morning when Richardus' hard marching infantry reached the coast. He was thankful that freaky weather and tides had kept the raiders from coming ashore at Three Cliffs Bay. That wide sandy beach would have been impossible to defend with the force he had, as it was, the defense would be difficult enough if his artillery didn't arrive in time.
The Roman army mostly used artillery in siege warfare. They'd had little success with it in the field, due to the fact that troops moved around where fortifications did not. Their catapults were large and heavy and had to be moved disassembled and assembled in place in place.
Also, catapults launched their projectiles in a high arc. Not much good for field accuracy. Richardus had ballistae built. Really giant crossbows in effect He had four of them. Two that launched three foot long bolts and two that launched ten pound stones. He'd had them mounted on carts. The flat trajectory made them useful for field work. Richardus had them permanently assembled and mounted on low carts. He fervently hoped that they would arrive in time but planned his defense as if they wouldn't.
The infantry immediately broke out their spades and began digging a narrow trench and piling up dirt behind it. About a foot deep it was just wide enough to cause the enemy to fall but not wide enough for them to recover their footing. The cavalry uprooted bushes and laid them in front of the trench. The ground was too rocky and uneven for mounted troops. The cavalry dismounted, sent their horses to the rear and formed a second line behind the spearmen. The third rank was made up of archers and slingers. About twenty minutes before first light Richardus heard the creaking of carts, His ballistae had arrived.
Adalwulf Forkbeard stood by the steering oar of his ship, exulting in the news that most of the Roman legions had left Britain. He would be opposed only by local levies. This was the largest force he'd ever assembled, nearly six hundred men, split among five ships. No women or children, they were raiders not settlers. He put the leadership of two ships under his twin sons Adalhard and Gundhar.
It was just getting light enough to see the beach. The space between the rocks was just barely wide enough to beach two ships. The others would have to wait while the first two backed off after unloading the warriors.
Richardus cursed as the light revealed the two ships his lookouts hadn't spotted. This could get bad. Except for the men he'd left to defend the holding, he had no reserves. There was nothing left to do but the best he could with what he had. But the best he could was very good indeed.
Adalwulf scanned the beach, surprised that he didn't see a war band waiting for him. Surprised but pleased. He'd be ashore before the Britons could arrive. The first two ships drove hard for the beach. Once committed, Adalwulf received a shock as a row of warriors rose and locked their shields in place. The damned Roman infantry shields. Romans! How had his intelligence gone so wrong? The ships grounded and Saxons poured over the sides, screaming and chanting. They were met with a storm of arrows and pellets from the slings. Adalwulf lost both his sons in the first three minutes of the battle. Adalhard never even made it off his ship, a bolt from one of the ballistae pinning him to the deck. Gundhar made it almost to the line of bushes. A javelin sliced into his left thigh, severing the femoral artery. As he fell an arrow pierced his throat. Over a third of the Saxons on the first two ships never made it more than twenty feet up the beach, dead or severely wounded.
The remaining oarsmen on the first two ships began to back water. One managed to pull away but the other had grounded too hard. Two twenty pound stones crashed through the hull. A three foot bolt, wrapped in pitch soaked rags struck high on the mast, the flaming projectile setting the sail and rigging afire.
Adalwulf realized that he was only going to be able to land one more ship. Ordering his oarsmen to hold his ship in place he called for the other two to come alongside and transfer their crews to his. The ship would be dangerously overloaded but it would do for the short distance they had to travel. The first ship came alongside and transferred the crew. The second ship, holding in place made a perfect target. Two stones hit the ship, just above the water line. That wouldn't have been critical if Mother Nature hadn't chosen that moment to intervene. A rogue wave hit the ship opposite the holes and rolled her. Seawater poured into the holes, causing the ship to list to port.
Richardus' artillerists were very good. Presented with such an opportunity, two more stones were launched along with two flaming bolts. The Saxon ships were, essentially very large open ships much like the Viking long ships with only a short section at the stern decked over with a small cabin for the officers. Both stones struck about ten feet apart, amidships, punching right through the hull. The bolts struck farther forward. In a hull caulked with pitch and re-caulked several times over, the result was horrendous. The fire spread rapidly. Screaming men jumped into the sea to avoid burning to death, drowning being a less painful way to die.
The ship quickly capsized and sank. With the two ships tied up in the personnel transfer, there was nothing Adalwulf could do for the men of the doomed ship. The frigid water quickly finished off those who initially survived the sinking. Only five exhausted men made it ashore, alive and they were in no shape to fight.
Adalwulf's ship, now overloaded with warriors pulled hard for the beach. Stones hit the ship as did three bolts. Killing men but not penetrating the hull. The oarsmen remaining on the ship that had backed out, jumped into the chest deep water and waded ashore. Most of them didn't make it ashore either. Slowed by the icy water, they were perfect targets for the archers.
Adalwulf's ship also struck hard, just a little wide of the clear area, a jagged rock ripped a gash in the hull but it didn't really matter, the ship was hard aground. The Saxons swarmed over the sides of the ship and began a wild, screaming charge up the beach to be met again with flights of arrows. Unfortunately there were not enough archers to make it a true arrow storm. Still, at such short range there were a not many misses an around seventy Saxons went down. The Saxon horde pushed through the brush screen, expecting only more beach. They fell into the trap, plunging into the trench some merely fell but quite a few broke their shins. The falling men disrupted the charge and were easy marks for the javelins launched by the light infantry and cavalry, as were many of the men still on their feet.
Richardus' Cataphracts, dismounted did a credible job as heavy infantry. Their lances weren't the extremely long lances of the medieval period, closer to the spears of the infantry. The Saxons certainly weren't cowards and those who were still on their feet continued to charge, finally crashing against the shield wall. The men holding those shield and wielding their spears weren't the part time soldiers part time farmers the Saxons expected. They were canny veterans of the legions,
The shield wall held, the wicked spears of the infantry doing a very efficient slaughter. The Saxons painted the enemy shields with their blood, they couldn't break the shield wall, so began to move towards the flanks, where the smaller lighter shields of the light infantry didn't form such a formidable barrier.
With the forces now closely engaged, Richardus ordered his artillery to withdraw to the holding.
Adalwulf had really never intended to fight a pitched battle with disciplined military force. His intention was a raid for loot and slaves. His men were basically part time farmers, part time pirates. He had not intended to fight a pitched battle but now he had one on his hands.
The Saxons broke through on the right flank but couldn't on the left. The battle turned into a giant melee with short viscous individual fights. Adalwulf saw the corpse of Gundhar and went mad with grief. He lost control and shrieking whirled his axe over his head and charged straight ahead. Xavierus stepped through the line and using his lance thrust home, straight through Adalwulf's chest. Richardus rallied his light cavalry and charged into the fight. The Spatha danced and glittered in the misty light. The flash of light off the blade was the last thing several Saxons saw.
Unlike the stories, fights on open ground between forces fairly even in numbers don't last that long. This one was over in about half an hour. With their three principal chiefs dead along with most of their sub-chiefs, the Saxons began throwing down their arms and kneeling. It was a clear cut victory, but a costly one. Richardus lost over one hundred dead and as many wounded. During the last few minutes of the fight, Richardus took a crossbow bolt to the thigh and another penetrated the junction of two plates of his armor in his right pectoral muscle. Wounded but alive he was carried off the field. Richardus was a big man and strong but the shock to the body of two simultaneous wounds brought him down.
Xavierus was Richardus' second in command. He took over as Richardus was carried off. The Saxon prisoners were tightly bound with rawhide thongs, except for a few who were allowed to treat their own wounded as best they could, which pretty much was bandaging wounds. Those too severely wounded, unlikely to survive, were given the mercy stroke.
Richardus' forces are depleted but his Wolfpack has not sustained any fatalities or permanently crippling injuries. The wounds they have suffered will take some time to heal. The heaviest causalities have been among his light infantry. The heavy infantry has suffered minimal causalities due to the effectiveness of the shield wall.
The Saxon prisoners are forced to dig a mass grave and bury their dead. Two of Richardus veterans who had functioned as field medics removed the crossbow bolts and bandaged Richardus. Caoimhin rigged a horse litter to Richardus' mount and gets in the saddle himself. Four men lift their leader onto the litter and tie him in place six men form up as an escort and they start off for the holding.
After the dead are buried there are less than one hundred unwounded Saxons and about one hundred and twenty more with various wounds. Some local fishermen were found and sent out to recover the two Saxon ships. Anchored close in, supplies were off loaded for the prisoners. The prisoners were stripped of all weapons and ornaments. Their legs were hobbled with rawhide thongs and their left hands tied to a thong around their waists. If they tried to escape or even unbind their hands or feet they would be killed. Told if they tried to leave the area they would be hunted down and killed.
Leaving a twenty man guard Richardus' men returned to the holding, those wounded who could ride were mounted on the cavalry's horses. Horse litters were rigged for those who couldn't. Their dead carried home on their shields.
Catraoine knew that it was foolish, that the time wouldn't pass any faster but she paced the wall, fearfully watching the road. She had never before watched someone she loved ride off to battle. It was not a feeling she enjoyed. It felt like a hand was inside her chest squeezing her heart, while a thousand butterflies swarmed in her stomach.
The sun was well past the meridian before a faint dust cloud be seen. Catraoine had dutifully fed and cosseted Alexis but couldn't eat anything herself. Alexis was napping which allowed Catraoine to come to the wall. She could see the head of the column approaching and her heart clenched. Richardus rode at the head of the column but he was slumped in the saddle, barely staying on.
He had regained consciousness shortly after being loaded on the litter and had ordered Caoimhin to dismount and put him in the saddle. Caoimhin knew better than to argue with him. As the gates opened Catraoine ran to the courtyard screaming for Siobhan and Shelena. A guardsman caught a barely conscious Richardus as he slid from the saddle.
Catraoine ran to his side and with the guardsman's help took Richardus to his chambers. Siobhan and Shelena followed. The three women quickly stripped Richardus. Shelena mixed some herbs with wine and had Richardus drink it. As soon as he lost consciousness Shelena cleaned both wounds and bandaged them. Siobhan sent for hot water and cleansing oils. She and Catraoine bathed him. When they finished, Siobhan joined Shelena and other women of the holding in treating the other wounded. Catraoine sat beside him and crooned softly; "Sleep and heal Aroon, I will be here when you wake A mhoirin." Marta came in and sat.
"I will stay with him nighean go, Alexis will wake soon and she will want you."
"Nighean Marta?" Marta smiled.
"Maybe not yet, officially but soon A chroi, soon."
Catraoine sat on Alexis' bed and caressed her face. "Wake up little one wake up A chroi." Alexis opened her eyes and smiled, sat up and leaned into Catraoine savoring what was, as far as Alexis was concerned, her mother's touch. Even at four years old, Alexis was independent minded. She decided that no matter what anyone thought of it she was already calling Catraoine Mamaidh.
"Alexis your Boban is home safe. He is sleeping now. He was hurt fighting the Sassenachs but he will get well. Let him sleep and you can see him at the evening meal. We, you, your Seanmhair and I will eat in your Boban's chambers."
They woke Richardus for the evening meal, a simple one of a very rich soup, cuts of roast boar and bannocks. Alexis laughed merrily at the sight of Catraoine feeding her father as if he were a child. He put on a mock scowl but was actually enjoying it. It wasn't often that anyone pampered Richardus the wolf. He was up and around in three days although using a crutch until the leg was completely healed.
Catraoine used that time to stake her claim. She let Siobhan check his wounds but other than that, tended Richardus herself. Some would have thought that she was taking advantage of a sick man but Richardus was wounded, not sick. There was not a thing wrong with his mind. He awoke the first morning after the battle to find a warm body pressed to his, one long leg across his unwounded one and a mass of chestnut hair spread across his chest. Catraoine never went back to her own bed.
She did not push it. She was in his bed simply to comfort and tend him. Building up slowly to where she really wanted to be. He really wasn't up to anything more anyway. Her strategy was working. Her tender care of both him and Alexis proved to him that this woman was truly the one he was searching for. Alpha wolves mate for life and there was a lot of the wolf in Richardus. Not just his ferocity and tenacity but his loyalty too. He had experienced a lot of women but none of them, not even Meredith had shown him the love and care that Catraoine bestowed on him every day. More than even his mother had.
Catraoine was a virgin, but not naive. She might not have much experience with men but there was a lot of the fey in her. She knew, almost instinctively that Richardus was her M'fhiorghra, her anamchara. She would make absolutely sure that Richardus knew that she was his.
Two weeks had passed since the battle. Richardus was well enough to deal with the Saxons. Ten more of their wounded had died. A heavy table had been set up in the court yard and one hundred soldiers stood, in full armor with drawn swords. Richardus himself wore full armor, save his helmet and sat with his Spatha naked on the table before him.
All the Saxons who could walk were herded into the court yard and forced to their knees. They were all stripped to their loincloths, hands tightly bound behind them and ankles hobbled.
Richardus looked at them, his face impassive his eyes as glittering cold as artic ice.
"You have come onto my lands as pirates. Thieves, rapists and murderers. You do not deserve mercy and shall receive none. By your standards it would be merciful to kill you. So I shall not do that. I will return you to your people, defeated and disgraced. What they do with you is up to them. But I shall insure that you, at least shall trouble me no more. All of you will have your sword hand cut off. And as rats produce more rats you shall all be gelded. Know, furthermore that there will be no blades of any kind on your ships. Take them to the clearing at the crossing and proceed."
The clearing was two miles away from the holding so the screams could not be heard or the stench of seared flesh smelt. One week later, it was reported to Richardus that the two ships were out of sight of land and the wrecks burned after salvaging whatever was useful.
That night a feast was given to celebrate the victory and the cleansing of their land of the Saxons foul stench. One month after that, Catraoine gave herself fully to Richardus and claimed him as her own.
Author's notes: You will notice a number of words in this story that are not English. They are in one of the three Celtic languages, Scots, Irish or Welsh. Partly for the feel of the story and partly because I simply like the sound of them. Also as a challenge to my readers. Look them up. See how many mean what you think they do. Now in cooperation with some other authors who are tired of the anonymous trolls who hide behind the guest labels and try to trash stories without any genuine constructive criticism I have this message for you. You were funny once but now you're just a bore. You will be deleted.
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Swordwriter