The Baron strode to his tent and ducked below the flap. Once inside he turned his attention to the Highlander, sitting flanked by two guards. The man was of medium height, with greasy dark hair and a wide mouth. He did not look the Baron in the eye.
'Your information was correct,' said the Baron. 'The bitch has fortified the hill-top.'
'As I told you, my lord,' said Bakris Tooth-gone, starting to rise from his chair. But a soldier pressed his hand on Bakris' shoulder, easing him back into the seat.
'Treachery always fascinates me,' said the Baron, flicking his fingers and pointing to a jug of wine. A servant filled a goblet and passed it to his lord; the Baron sipped it. 'Why would one of Sigarni's captains betray her?"
'It's a lost cause, my lord,' said Bakris bitterly. 'They're all going to die. And I want to live.What's wrong with that? In this life a man must look out for himself. I've never had nothing.
Now by your leave, I'll have some gold and some land.'
'Gold and land,' echoed the Baron. 'I have sworn to see every Highlander slain and you are a Highlander. Why should I not kill you?'
Bakris grinned, showing stained and broken teeth. 'You won't get them all in this one battle, lord. I know all the hiding places. I was a forester; I can lead your soldiers to where they run to. And I'll serve you well, lord.'
'I think you will,' the Baron agreed.
Three servants set about dressing the Baron in his black armour, buckling his breastplate, hooking the gorget into place, attaching his greaves and hinged knee protectors. Accoutred for war, he strode to his black stallion and was helped into the saddle.
Touching heels to the stallion's flanks, he rode to the front of the battle line and lifted his arm.
The army moved on towards the mouth of the Duane Pass.
To the Baron's surprise there were no flights of arrows from the rearing cliff faces on either side, nor any sign of defenders on the gentle slopes to left and right. Ahead the sun glimmered on the shield wall of the defenders, as they ringed the flat-topped hill half a mile distant.
A long time ago the Outlanders themselves had employed the shield-ring defence. It was strong against cavalry, but weak against a concerted attack from infantry, with support from archers.
Bowmen could send volley after volley of arrows over the shields, cutting away at the heart of the defenders.
The Baron rode on. Now he could see the tightly packed clansmen, and just make out the silver-armoured figure standing in the front line.
I should be grateful to you, he thought, for you have made my glory all the greater. Swinging in the saddle, he glanced back at his fighting men. If the losses were too light the victory would appear shallow, too high and he would be deemed an incompetent. Around three hundred dead would be perfect, he thought.
Leofric rode past him on the right, leading the cavalry in columns of three. On the left, Chaldis led his fifteen hundred men up the western slope to the enemy's right. 'That's good, Chaldis,' shouted the Baron admiringly. 'Let them see where you are heading; it will give them time to think about the fate of their wives and sons. Fire some buildings as soon as you can. I want them to see the smoke!'
'Aye, my lord,' the captain replied.
The Baron rode on, leading his infantry to the foot of the hill but remaining out of bowshot.
Custom demanded that he give the enemy the opportunity to surrender, but today was not a time to consider custom. Good God, they might accept!
Glancing to his right, he saw Cheops and his fifteen hundred lightly armoured archers toiling up the slope. Each man carried thirty shafts. Four thousand five hundred sharp missiles to rain down upon the unprotected defenders!
The Baron ordered the encirclement of the hill and the three thousand remaining infantrymen, holding tightly to their formations, spread out to obey.
There was no movement from the defenders, and no sound. No harsh, boastful challenges, no jeering.
It was unusual. The Baron could see the woman, Sigarni, moving among the men. The helm she wore was truly magnificent and would make a fine trophy.
Dark storm-clouds obscured the sun, and a rumble of distant thunder could be heard from the north.
'The Gods of War are preparing for the feast!' he shouted. 'Let us not disappoint them.'
*
Fell waited behind the cover of the trees, Torgan beside him. They could not yet see the lancers, but they could hear the thundering of their hooves on the hard-packed earth of the hill. Fell glanced to his right, and saw the Highlanders notching arrows to their bows. To his left the swordsmen waited, their two-handed claymores held ready. Five hundred fighting men, ready to defend their homes, their families and their clans.
The first of the lancers breasted the hilclass="underline" tall men on high horses, their breastplates shining like silver in the sunlight, their long lances glittering. Each man carried a figure-of-eight shield on his left arm. They were still travelling in a column of fours, but as they reached open ground they spread out. The officer drew rein, shading his eyes to study the tree line.
Fifty Highlanders moved out on to open ground and loosed their longbows. Some of the shafts struck home, and several men and half a dozen horses fell, but most were blocked by the shields of the lancers. Levelling their lances, the riders charged.
'Now?' whispered Torgan.
'No,' Fell told him. 'Wait until they are closer.'
The fifty exposed Highland bowmen continued to loose shaft after shaft at the oncoming riders.
Horses tumbled under the deadly volleys, but the lancers rode on. The distance closed between them, until no more than thirty paces separated the two groups.
'Now!' said Fell. Torgan lifted his hunting horn to his lips and blew two short blasts. Another hundred bowmen ran from the trees to stand beside their comrades. Hundreds of shafts tore into the lancers; the charging line faltered as the missiles slashed home into unprotected horseflesh.
Horses reared and fell, bringing down following riders. Amid the sudden confusion the Highland swordsmen charged from cover, screaming their battle-cries. The lancers panicked, though many tried to swing to meet this unexpected attack. Horses reared, throwing their riders, then the Highlanders were among the lancers, dragging riders from their saddles and hacking them to death upon the ground.
Among the first to die was the enemy officer, hit by four shafts, one taking him through his right eye. The horsemen at the rear pulled back, galloping towards the safety of open ground. Torgan blew three blasts on his horn, and a chasing group of Highlanders reluctantly halted and jogged back to the tree line.
Over the hill-top marched a thousand Outland infantry, flanked by a score of archers. They drew up and surveyed the scene of carnage, then locked shields and advanced in broad battle formation, one hundred shields wide, ten deep.
'More than we thought would come,' said Torgan.
'They can't hold that formation within the woods,' said Fell. 'Fall back fifty paces.'
Torgan's hunting horn sounded once more, in one long baleful note.
Highland archers continued to shoot into the advancing mass of men, but to little effect. Some fell, but the infantry held their long rectangular shields high and most of the shafts bounced from them.
The lancers had re-formed now, and galloped forward to try an encircling sweep of the woods. Obrin and two hundred riders counter-charged them from the left, cleaving into their flank, hacking and cutting. The lances of the Outland riders were useless in such close quarters and they frantically threw aside their long weapons, drawing their sabres. But this second attack demoralized them, and they were pushed steadily back.