“You are too late, Eric. The battle has been fought.”
“Fought, you say?”
He looked at the bustle of the Wilsh camp around us. I said:
“And won. Would you see the field?”
He rode in silence with me. I heard him draw breath as we came in sight of the ugly rampart that marked the scene of carnage. It was made up of the broken bodies of horses in their hundreds, mingled with the bodies of men. In among them moved those Wilsh I had detailed to end the sufferings of any horses that still lived. I think probably they had already finished that work for no horse moved or cried. They were engaged on a more congenial occupation: stripping the dead warriors of Salisbury of their rings and ornaments.
Some ten yards from the wall of horror, Eric reined in.
“I have never seen slaughter approaching this,” he said. “What casualties did your Wilsh have?”
“None. None serious, at least. A few have minor wounds.”
He shook his head. “It is beyond believing. It is said the Spirits protect you. But do they rain death from the skies on armies that take the field against you?”
I told him of the Sten guns. I did not say where they came from, leaving him to think it was a device of the Wilsh. He said:
“They are machines, then.”
I asked: “Is that so hard a thing to hear, for one who told me he looked for change from old and stupid ways?”
“I looked for change; not for a rotting mountain of dead horses. Your enemies are men. Did you need to have your soldiers kill these poor beasts so mercilessly?”
“The horses are a bigger target, their riders helpless once they are brought down. The soldiers fired at them by my command. These are the right tactics for winning a battle with such a weapon.”
“I believe you. But is there honor in such a victory?”
“What is honor?” I said. “They stripped mine from me in Harding’s house, sitting round an oak table. But I live, to take my revenge.”
Eric was silent, staring at the carnage. Directly opposite us a stallion, a magnificent bay, thrust its head upward to the sky, jaws open in a silent scream.
I said: “The old battles achieved nothing: you told me that in Winchester. They had horses and honor but they brought no resolution. Things will be different from now on. There will be no room for horses or honor in the battles we shall fight, but we shall have victories of a kind men have not known before.”
Eric turned his horse’s head away. He said:
“All this may well be true. I bid you farewell, then, Luke.”
“You will not bring your army south to join us?”
He smiled. “I was mistaken. You have no need of help.”
“And the alliance you offered me?”
“Farewell, Luke.”
I rode with him a little way. “Will you fight against me?”
“Am I a fool?” he said. “I have seen your victory.”
NINE
THE WALLS OF WINCHESTER
SALISBURY OPENED ITS GATES TO us in shock. I put a garrison there and moved on. I left forty men and that was more than was needed; because I left twenty Sten guns with them. I had no fear of an uprising after the army had gone.
We took the road to the east. I had not intended to attack Romsey but their army came on us as we crossed the valley of the Test. They aimed to take us by surprise, riding out of the shelter of woods as we approached the river and clearly hoping to drive us into it.
They appeared to have some success at the outset. Their charge broke through our flank, and I heard their cry of triumph: “Romsey! Romsey!” But the flank had given way on my instructions. Our Sten gun troops were in the center. They had no time to dismount, but they wreaked a fair havoc from horseback. The attack crumpled and broke. Those that were not brought down scattered and fled to the woods from which they had started.
Our own horsemen pursued them, killing many, but I called them back by bugle. The victory was decisive enough; and a rabble fleeing back to the city served us better than unnecessary slaughter. It would be easy enough to take Romsey, and other things came first. The road to Winchester lay open.
The banners of the army that rode out of the woods had all been yellow and black, and there were no men of Winchester among the fallen. This meant that Romsey had freed itself, or been set free by Harding and the rest. But although they must have heard by now how we had destroyed the army of Salisbury, they had still ridden against us alone rather than wait and join with Winchester.
Cymru spoke of it. “These are a strange people. Out of resentment, you think? But we are foreign and invade their lands. Does it not make sense to combine together when there is a threat to all?”
I tried to explain the way of it to him, but with small success. He could not conceive what it might be like to live as a citizen of one free and independent city amongst many, to nourish rivalries through generations. He came after all from a single city, an oasis of culture and prosperity surrounded by lands that were savage but offered no threat. There were no divisions among the Wilsh, or none that mattered.
Cymru shrugged. “Well, it serves our purpose. Though if all their cities sent their armies against us together, I do not think it would make much difference. This is a mighty weapon you have given us, Luke.”
I looked at the mound of death beside the river.
“Mighty indeed. Nothing can stand against it.”
“I have one regret.”
“What is that?”
“That we lose you when you regain your city.”
He had said fulsome things about me in the past, as the Wilsh commonly did; but now he spoke from the heart.
I said: “There will be commerce between us. I shall visit you in Klan Gothlen.”
Cymru shook his head. “It is a long journey. And you will be well occupied here. But no man may command another’s destiny. It is enough that we share this mission. We shall take your city for you and avenge the insult that concerns us both.”
• • •
It was raining as we came down into the Itchen valley, a feathery drifting rain that slowly soaked to the skin. We rode past the water meadows where on a summer’s day—so long ago but less than a year gone by—Edmund had played the lute and sung to Blodwen while I rode from them, foolishly content. Now the fine rain washed over the grass under a weeping sky of gray.
Our scouts reported the army of Winchester ahead of us. They had drawn up west of the river in ordinary battle array. I said to the scout who told me:
“Are you sure of this? Their full army?”
“We have covered the ground well, Lord. I think if there was a single man in hiding we would have found him.”
I did not doubt it: the Wilsh made cunning scouts. Still it was hard to believe. They would have heard what happened to the warriors of Salisbury and Romsey. Surely they were not such fools as to stand in the open and wait for us to attack?
And yet when we came within view of them my heart was moved by the sight. The troops were set out in classic fashion, each with its banner of blue and gold: Captains, standard-bearers, lancers with their spears at rest, and behind them the swordsmen. It was a brave challenge to those who came against them—a challenge to battle in the old way, right arm against right arm, steel against steeclass="underline" honor an equal prize with victory.
For a moment I was tempted to accept it, and to lead my Wilsh horsemen into the charge. But too many things had happened, and too much was at stake. I kept the horsemen back. The Sten gunners were already quietly moving into position on high ground to the east. One of the high-roads of our ancestors ran there. It had been a railway once and steam engines had pulled carriages along it, taking people to far places at many times the speed of a galloping horse. Now it was overgrown with bushes and trees, and gave good cover.
They could still have attacked us while the Sten gunners were taking up their places. It would have made no difference in the end, but as with the men of Romsey they might have gained an advantage at the start. But they did not move. They were waiting until our own disposition was complete. According to custom we should sound a bugle to show our readiness. Then they would attack.