Bernard Cornwell - Stonehenge

'Four hundred men?' Mereth had been counting and now spoke softly to Saban.

'Not all men,' Saban said, 'some are scarce boys.'

'A boy can kill you with an arrow,' Mereth muttered. He was armed with one of his father's precious bronze axes and looked formidable, for he had inherited Galeth's height and broad chest, but Mereth was nervous, as was Saban. The men of both armies were nervous, all except the hardened warriors who dreamed of these moments. Those were the men about whom songs were sung, of whom tales were told in the long winter nights; they were the heroes of slaughter, fighters like Vakkal the Outlander who now strutted ahead of Camaban's force to shout insults across the valley. He called the enemy worm dung, claimed their mothers were goitred goats, reviled them as children who wet their pelts at night and invited any two of them to come and fight him on the stream bank. Similar taunts and invitations were being shouted by Cathallo's leading warriors. Hung with feathers and fox tails, their skins thick with kill marks, they strutted in bronze. Saban had once dreamed of being such a warrior, but he had become a maker instead of a destroyer and a man who felt caution, if not outright fear, at the sight of an enemy.

'Spread out,' Gundur shouted at Ratharryn's men. Gundur had not wanted to fight this morning, fearing that Cathallo and its allies were too numerous, but Camaban had taken him aside and Gundur's confidence had been miraculously restored by whatever Camaban had told him, and he now tugged men into line. 'Spread out!' he shouted. 'Make a line! Don't bunch like children! Spread out!'

The war band reluctantly scattered along the edge of the oaks to make a line which, like the enemy's line, was not continuous. Men stayed close to their kin or friends and there were wide gaps between the groups. The priests of both sides were out in front now, shaking bones and shrieking curses at the enemy. Haragg carried Ratharryn's skull pole so that the ancestors could see what was being done in the thinning mist and Morthor, Cathallo's blind high priest, carried a similar pole. He shook it so threateningly that Cathallo's skull toppled clean off its staff, raising a cheer from Ratharryn's men who reckoned the fall of the skull was an ominous sign for the enemy. Derrewyn was still on the Sacred Mound where, attended by a half-dozen spearmen, she was spitting more curses at Camaban. 'I want the sorceress killed!' Camaban shouted at his army. 'A gift of gold to the man who brings me the bitch's head! I shall fill her skull with gold and give it all to the man who kills her!'

'He thinks we'll win?' Mereth asked sourly.

'Slaol is with us,' Saban said, and the sun had indeed broken through the remnants of mist to green the valley and spark shimmering light from the stream between the armies.

'Slaol had better be with us,' Mereth muttered. The enemy outnumbered Ratharryn's men by two to one.

'I want their chief dead!' Camaban was calling to his men. 'Him and his children! Find his children and kill them! If his wives are pregnant, kill them too! And kill the sorceress's whelp, kill it! Kill her, kill her child, kill them all!'

Rallin was walking along his own line, doubtless encouraging his own spearmen to a similar slaughter. The priests of both sides had advanced to the stream's banks, almost within spitting distance of each other, and there they hissed insults and spat curses at each other, leapt in the air, shook as though they were in the grip of the gods and shrieked as they summoned the invisible spirits to come and eviscerate the enemy. Haragg alone had not gone to the stream. Instead he was standing a few paces in front of the line and holding the skull pole towards the sun.

The braver warriors had gone close to the priests to shout more insults, but neither battle-line moved forward. Groups of men danced in a frenzy as they summoned the courage to advance, others sang war hymns or chanted the names of their gods. The mist was all gone now and the day was growing warmer. Mereth stepped back into the wood which stood just behind Camaban's line and began picking blackberries, but Camaban, returning from the left wing of his forces, pulled him out of the bushes and back into the line. Camaban said, 'Every man who has a bow is to go back into the trees and make his way to the centre of the line. You hear me?' He walked on, repeating the instruction, and the archers slipped back into the trees and, unseen by the enemy, ran to the centre of Ratharryn's loose line. Saban alone disobeyed, reluctant to abandon Mereth's companionship.

A drum began to beat from Cathallo's line and the heavy pounding gave Rallin's men courage so that small groups of them darted forward to taunt Camaban's forces. The most courageous splashed through the stream, then stood baring their blue-smeared bodies as if inviting Ratharryn's bowmen to loose their arrows. Vakkal and some of his Outlander spearmen ran to challenge those bolder enemies who quickly retreated, provoking jeers from Ratharryn's men. The priests stood in the centre of these rushes and counter-rushes, ignoring and being ignored by the spearmen.

Scattered archers ran from Cathallo's line to loose their arrows across the valley. Most fell short, though a few hissed overhead to rattle through the leaves in the wood. Small boys ran to retrieve the arrows and carry them to Ratharryn's own archers, a handful of whom advanced from the centre of the line to drive the enemy bowmen back. No one had been injured yet, let alone killed, and though the insults flew thick, neither army seemed inclined to cross the stream and begin the bloodletting. Rallin was walking up and down his line again, exhorting and shouting, and women were carrying pots of liquor to their men.

'We're going to let them come to us,' Camaban was walking behind his line again. 'We stay here,' he said, 'and let them attack us.' He sounded cheerful. 'When they advance, just stand still and wait for them.'

The whole of Cathallo's line was chanting now, the strong voices joining in the battle verse of Lahanna. 'They're working themselves up to it, aren't they?' Mereth observed, his lips stained with blackberry juice.

'I'd rather be making boats in Sarmennyn,' Saban said.

'I'd rather be making boats anywhere,' Mereth said. He did not have even one kill scar on his chest. 'I reckon if they come over that stream,' he went on, 'I'm going to run back and keep running till I reach the sea.'

'They're just as frightened of us,' Saban said.

'That might be true,' Mereth observed, 'but there's two scared fellows over there for every one of us.'

A great shout sounded from Cathallo's line and Saban saw that a large group of warriors had started towards the stream. They came from the centre of Rallin's line and they called Lahanna's name as they advanced, but after a few paces they looked left and right and saw that the rest of their line had stayed rooted and so they themselves stopped and were content to shout insults at Camaban who had returned to the centre of Ratharryn's line. Derrewyn, Saban saw, had come down from the Sacred Mound and was now striding along the front of Cathallo's reluctant battle-line. Her long black hair was unbound and, like the pale cloak she wore, was lifted by the small wind. Saban could see she was shouting, and he could imagine that she was reviling her men's courage, insulting Ratharryn and urging the spearmen forward. More liquor pots were brought to Rallin's men. The drummer was beating his goatskin drum with redoubled force and men were shuffling in a grotesque dance as they summoned their nerves. The priests of both sides, their throats sore from so much shouting, huddled together by the stream where they drank from cupped hands, then talked with each other.

'This isn't how Lengar would have fought,' a man near Saban grumbled.