Jack Whyte - The Saxon Shore

Rufio was grinning still. "Aye, to wash in. Ded again. He said if you had less than two hours' sleep you wouldn't be fit to walk unless you had the chance to wash the sleep out of your weary face. Personally, I think he spoils you." He walked to the door. "Take your time. We have about an hour, perhaps more, before first light. But remember, we may have to fight, so tighten all your buckles properly . . ." He left, still grinning at his own wit, and I moved to the steaming water.

A short time later, feeling alive again and fully refreshed, I fastened the final buckles on my armour, took up my long, sheathed sword and carried it in my hand as I went to join the others in the largest hut, which had been selected as our gathering place when we arrived. They were all there, waiting for me, and I greeted each man personally. When I had done, Dedalus waved me towards an empty stool beside a table that held a partial loaf of bread, a bowl of roasted grain, a morsel of hard cheese, four withered apples and a cup of water, weakly flavoured with vinum, the harsh, red wine for which we had inherited a taste from Rome's legions. "That's the last of the vinum," he said, as I picked the cup up and sniffed it. "From now on, it's water or Eirish ale."

As I broke fast, we discussed strategies for dealing with whatever might befall. Fundamentally, as Ded had pointed out three hours before, our choices were limited by geography. We could not fight among dense undergrowth, nor would our horses be of any tactical advantage within the settlement. We were confined, therefore, to the open space before the gates. If we had to fight, Quintus would be sequestered in the farthest hut, guarded by the two herdboys while we were gone. That settled, we spent the intervening time before dawn as soldiers do, talking among ourselves and preparing ourselves, each in his own way, for the death that might lie in wait for us.

At length the door opened and Paulus, Philip's relief, came inside to join us in concealment, warning us that the sky was showing signs of lightening. We rose and made our way to our horses, moving in silence broken only by the muffled squeaks, chinks and clinks of harness and weaponry. We did not mount, but remained there in the darkened huts, each man holding his own horse's bridle, waiting for a signal, a summons of some kind in the stillness of the dawn. When one came, it was not at all what we expected. There came a stealthy movement outside the door of the hut in which we stood, and then a fumbling at the latch. Everyone froze. A breathless, anticipatory pause, and then the door swung inward, revealing a hulking shape in the doorway against gathering light outside. Someone, I knew not who, moved swiftly forward, grasping the shape and jerking it into the room, then swinging, pushed it against the wall inside the door. These movements were accompanied by a grunt, the metallic scraping of a dagger being unsheathed and then the sound of a blade being hammered home into a torso.

"Commander, take this!" As the whispered words hissed in my ear I felt a set of reins being pressed against my hand and seized it as a second shape loomed in the open doorway, peering in. Then I saw Rufio, whose voice it had been, lunge forward, dagger-wielding arm above his head, to bear this fellow backward and to death. The doorway was now filled with figures, hampering each other at first as they sought to leave. I heard the clang of blade against blade in the air outside, and then a chorus of shouts and the sounds of hand-to-hand fighting.

"Out! Bring out the horses!" someone yelled, and I moved forward, Rufio's bridle in my left fist, my own in my right. I released Rufio's horse to follow me and led my own horse out. There were figures struggling everywhere, evidently more of them than us, and I decided I would do more good above than I might on foot. I seized my saddle horn and hopped on my right foot, finding the stirrup with my left on my first attempt and hauling myself up above the ruck. My long blade cleared its sheath as my right foot housed itself in the other stirrup and I pulled my horse up into a rearing turn, seeking a target. They were there in plenty. One tall, lanky fellow stood agape close on my right, his sword arm arrested as he stared up at me in stupefaction, and I clove his skull with my first swing, even before my mount touched all four feet to earth again. Rufio, his horse directly behind him to my left, was unable to mount, facing three men, and I kneed my way towards him, riding them down, then guarding him until he could swing up to his own saddle. Ded, too, was having trouble reaching his seat, using his horse as a barrier between himself and four feral assailants, one of whom began to dodge around the horse only to meet death at the end of Rufio's blade. I pulled my horse into a rear again and he kicked out, as he was trained to do, braining another. Rufio's horse breasted the other two aside, and Ded was mounted, shouting his thanks. Philip was up, too, as were two others, leaving only two, one of whom was Donuil, still afoot.

At a shout from me, we five who were mounted rallied, forming on our two beset companions, winning them time to mount. Then we were unassailable, wheeling and moving as one entity, and our opponents fled, some of them throwing down their weapons.

"Let them go!" I roared, reining my horse tightly. "Now listen! What's afoot there, over by the gate? Listen!"

Over the dwindling sounds of retreat from our erstwhile opponents we could clearly hear the sounds of battle coming from our left, still hidden by the pearly morning mist, yet swelling by the moment. Our horses snorted, their nostrils blowing plumes of vapour into the coldness of the morning air. Idly, my ears attuned to the noises in the distance, I glanced around at the corpses scattered on the ground. Ten I counted, before Rufio broke in on my thoughts.

"Well, Commander? Are we to sit here all day while they have all the glory?"

I glanced at him wryly, knowing he was being ironic. No man here among us retained the smallest illusion on matters of "glory" in battle. We were all too experienced for that, having lost too many friends in too many ungodly places.

"We are no more than eight, Rufe," I said. "And all we have on our side may be surprise. After our first appearance, that will be gone. So we will wait a little longer, to ensure that our appearance is appreciated. We'll hit them line abreast the first time, hard and fast, right in the centre of their press, for my guess is they'll have no line of battle. Then we'll swing away and form an arrowhead on the gallop, circling completely to the left, and hit their centre, right before the gate, cutting through them and veering left again, along the line of the wall. As soon as we've won free of them the second time, we'll turn, form staggered lines, four to a front, a sword swing apart from side to side, and hit them again. Remember, the surprise will be gone after our first charge. After that, they'll fight for their lives, so we'll be relying on our weight and speed. Let's hope the horses frighten them to death before they think of striking at the mounts, rather than the riders." I listened again. The noises to our left seemed to have reached a crescendo. "Very well, let's ride, and God grant we may all feast well when this is over."

I kneed Germanicus to a walk, pointing his nose towards the distant gates.

By this time the light had brightened enough to be almost worthy of the name of day, but a heavy ground mist hemmed us in and swirled about us as we rode forward. Dedalus remarked on it, observing that it would help our efforts by keeping us concealed until we charged through it, and I knew he was right. The noise grew more appalling as we travelled and soon I brought my horse to a trot, then to a canter, straining my ears and eyes to find the optimal spot at which to kick us to the gallop and full charge. And then a breath of wind scattered a patch of mist and showed me running figures, travelling from our left across our front towards the walls of Athol's stronghold.