Chapter 13
Baddon Marsh
Morgon slept fitfully, waking frequently to call for intelligence reports. He was camped on the soggy plain of Baddon Marsh, laying siege to the port of Dunavon. But he wasn't there to take Dunavon. His aim was to draw the enemy into battle and he had succeeded. A large force had been assembled and was preparing to attack his positions.
The natives must submit or die. The military manuals made that clear. If they submitted they would be treated fairly so long as they gave up their disgusting habits and agreed to become loyal citizens of the empire. If they didn't, it was the duty of all loyal citizens to hunt them down and butcher them.
The Catti had refuse to submit and Baddon plane was a perfect place to entrap and slaughter them. They would attack making a great deal of noise as they always did. His artillery would soften them up and his men would cause further havoc with their javelins before locking shields to form an impregnable wall. Then the slaughter would begin. His men fought in disciplined ranks. The natives were too stupid to understand that a small force, fighting as one, can defeat a rabble many times its size.
His sole worry was the Sky Warrior. The man claimed to come from another realm. That was clearly nonsense. But, where did the big sod come from?..He was training a special force in modern fighting methods and was having some success according to intelligence reports.
The thought of whole tribes coming under his command was frightening. Mercifully that didn't seem likely. The common tribesmen might regard the Sky Warrior as a hero but the clan chieftains saw him as a threat.
Morgon nodded back to sleep and awoke at the beginning of the third watch. He rose and had briefed his officers by the time his native allies gathered for the dawn ceremony. The priests of the Duideth were on the dais.
He regarded the Ceremony of the Lord's Coming with indifference. As far as he was concerned, its only useful function was to get the clansmen out of bed. He stared into the mist and wondered how the priests could fool anyone into believing they knew the exact moment when the sun would rise.
The tedious, boring ceremony ended with the usual banging of cymbals and drums. As if by magic, the sky brightened and the mist cleared. Morgon thought that a good omen. Then a cry went up from one of the watchtowers. A young soldier was yelling about a major earthwork on Baddon plain. He said it had been built overnight and encircled them.
***
Tom stood on the earthwork, flanked by Thunder and the Chariot Master. His main concern was that Morgon would realise it was a fake. His aim was to get Morgon to attack. The southerner would realise that he was in grave danger of being trapped and should take action before his position became hopeless.
On the other side of Baddon Plane, Morgon's grey-clad soldiers were forming into line. Tom watched the tightly disciplined ranks then turned his attention to his own forces. The contrast could not have been greater.
The brightly dressed tribesmen were gathering about their clan chieftains, shouting battle cries. Most were armed with a slashing sword and a small circular shield. Some wore body armour. Others were stripped to the waist.
Standards poked up everywhere. Bronze animal heads with gaping mouths were mounted on painted poles. Yellow windsocks streamed out behind them and wooden tongues clattered in bronze mouths. Drums beat, pipes wailed and chariot horns blared.
Tom wondered if the tribesmen were capable of doing anything without making a huge amount of noise. He'd given up trying to train them to the standards of Morgon's troops. The most he could hope for was a sort of organised mayhem that would get them together in time to spring his trap.
For the moment, Morgan was doing as expected. Tom couldn't fault the commander of the Thirteenth Legion. Under the circumstances he would have done the same. That was the beauty of the situation. His opponent was behaving predictably.
His attention turned to the huge cattle pen at the foot of the bank. That was another source of his worries. The pen was filled with mountain men and the cattle they had seized on their way down from the north. The painted savages were his wild card. They were the force which would rip Morgon's ranks apart.
A naked man on a blindfolded bull attracted his attention. His entire body was covered in tattoos. It was difficult to tell what was real and what was added. He had more arms, legs and penises than a dozen warriors put together. Tom decided that, if attacked by such an apparition, he'd strike at the midpoint and ignore the rest.
He returned his attention to the battlefield. His main force was encamped on a low ridge. Their covered wagons were arranged in a defensive ring. Tom was alarmed to see small children on the roofs. His whole being convulsed.
He grabbed Thunder's arm.
'I gave orders for those carts to be moved.'
The little man adjusted his cloak.
'It is a time-honoured custom for families to accompany their warriors into battle.'
'Time honoured.' Tom exploded. 'That's what you say when you can't think of anything better.'
'It is an ancient tradition...'
Tom shut his ears. There was no point in arguing. The tribesmen had their way of doing things and it would take an eternity to change them. Right now, he had more pressing problems. Morgon was on the march. His army was advancing on a broad front. Grey-clad infantry followed by their native allies.
Tom turned towards his own forces. The queen was inspecting her warriors. The old woman rode in a carriage drawn by four white horses. A young girl, in a white dress, stood beside her with the War Shield of the Catti. Another held a sprig of holly.
The warriors beat their swords against their shields. The rattling spread down the ranks, reached the end of one line and bounced back along another: waxing and waning. The old woman went from clan to clan. Small children ran to greet her. They had garlands of leaves and other offerings. The sight filled Tom with horror. He found it incomprehensible that his men had brought their families with them. Their loved ones would be slaughtered or enslaved if Morgon carried the day.
The sound of the advancing troops sent shivers down his spine. They were so near he could hear the clink of their armour and the shouts of the battle marshals as they called their men into line. He waited as the old woman finished her inspection and mounted the bank.
She arrived with agonisingly slow steps.
'Is all prepared, Sky Warrior?'
'Aye, Majesty.'
'Has the challenge been issued?'
'Griffin is doing so now, Majesty.'
Tom clasped his sword and stared out over Baddon Plane. In the shrinking gap between the two armies, the solitary figure of the Chariot Master rode out to meet an advance party of Morgon's officers. Tom watched as Griffin dismounted. He was approached by one of Morgon's men. The man wore a helmet with a crimson plume. They exchanged salutes. A discussion followed. Tom waited then a signal from Griffin said he should proceed.
He climbed down from the bank and strode across the soggy ground. Thunder walked by his side and ten warriors of his personal guard followed. Each carried a large rectangular shield emblazoned with a double-headed eagle, the emblem of the Sky Warrior.
'Gods willing, it'll be like the last battle on Baddon Plane,' Thunder prodded Tom in the ribs. 'You'll kill the big bugger and it'll all be over ... quick smart.'
'Only if he takes up my challenge.'
Thunder lengthened his stride to keep up with Tom.
'If he doesn't, people will say he's scared and that will be very bad for his reputation.'
'It's not that simple.'
'It's very simple,' Thunder insisted. 'If Morgon refuses, your reputation is enhanced. If he accepts, you've got a chance to kill him. The only thing you've got to worry about is that he might kill you because that would be very bad for your reputation.'
'It certainly would,' Tom agreed.
'It would be bad for ours too.' Thunder adjusted his sword harness. 'So make sure it doesn't happen.'
They reached Griffin who was standing a few paces from an elegantly attired officer of Morgon's guard. His plumed helmet nodded in the breeze.
Tom's party halted.
Another armed group was heading their way. Tom made out the figure of Morgon, towering above his escort. He stepped forward and shouted.
'Morgon. I challenge you to single combat.'
'The plumed man intervened.
'The Lord Morgon wishes it to be known that he does not accept challenges from persons of inferior rank.'
Tom glared at Morgon.
'You pathetic coward. We have you trapped.'
Morgon stared back at him impassively. He was a full twenty years older than Tom yet no less robust. He advanced a step.
'You silly little boy. I didn't come here to answer your pathetic challenge. I came to see your pathetic attempt at fortification and now I see it I know what it is. We'll punch a hole through your pile of mud like a child kicks down a sandcastle.'
'Kick a hole through my wall and you will be consumed by fire,' Tom said. 'You have no idea what is waiting for you on the other side.'
'By Bithras. You are a clown.' Morgon screwed up his face. 'You are like those silly actors who perform in the theatres. You think you can build a wall of mud and stop an army. Such things might happen on the stage in front of senile senators and posh merchants. Just you wait and see what happens when you come up against a real army led by real officers.'
'You're a coward, Morgon.'
'Put your hand where your mouth is.' Morgon bellowed. 'My informants tell me you have been elevated to the office of Head Master. Very well. My Head Master is here. He equals you in rank. Challenge him.'
He pointed to a ferocious looking man at his side.
'He wants you to fight his Sword Master,' Thunder whispered.
'What styles?'
'Theirs and ours.'
'Anything else?'
'He's good.'
Tom advanced towards the Sword Master and stuck out his tongue. Like Tom, the other man was armed with a long sword and short sword. Tom adopted a relaxed, swaggering posture and began to insult his adversary, who wore a silver mask with a bird's face.
'Pretty boy ...'
Tom made a warbling noise.
The Sword Master adjusted his position.
Thunder had seen the Sky Warrior training and knew he was good. But the big man was far too casual. He was behaving like a herdboy insulting another boy or a baker's son playing at being a soldier.
He tugged at his moustache. It would be a terrible blow to moral if the Sky Warrior was killed. The common people had placed their faith in him. He was the good giant who was going to save them from the bad giant. And, that was only part of the problem. What would the queen say if he returned without him?..The thought was mortifying.
'Hey, Baker's Son.' Morgon intervened. 'Are you going to issue a challenge?'
Tom dropped his guard and slouched forward.
'What do you want me to do?'
'Are you so ignorant ...'
The words died in Morgon's mouth as Tom cast down his shield. It fell at the Sword Master's feet. Thunder didn't follow the full sequence of actions but he saw the Sword Master stunned by a blow from Tom's outstretched arm. Blood gushed from his mouth and he fell backwards.
Morgon's guard enveloped their chief in a wall of shields and rushed him to safety. Tom glanced at the bloodied figure and looked reproachfully at Thunder.
'You said he was good.'
'He used to be,' Thunder conceded.
'Anything wrong?'
'You didn't do it according to the rules.'
'I didn't think there were any.'
Thunder watched as Tom picked up his shield and turned to leave. He called him back. 'You've not yet completed your task. There are things which remain to be done.'
'What do you mean?..I've killed the sod. Isn't that enough?'
Thunder pointed to the dead body.
'You hold the distinguished office of Head Master.'
'Oh ... that's just a ceremonial thing.'
'No it's not.'
Thunder thrust out his baton.
'You can't be Head Master and neglect your duties.'
He grabbed Tom and pulled him forward.
'I sometimes wonder if you know what it means to be a senior officer in Her Majesty's service.'
'I do my best,' Tom shrugged.
Thunder raised his sword.
'I've told you time and time again. You have to be aware of customs. You might not like them but that doesn't matter.'
The sword swept down and the Sword Master's head fell forward.
'Right.' Thunder picked up the head.
'You've got to perform the duties of a Head Master, not just enjoy the title.' He pulled off the helmet with the Sun God crest. 'If you don't know what that means, you'd better learn fast.'
'I'm listening,' Tom said.
Thunder held the head by the hair.
'You carry it like this, taking care not to get more blood than can be avoided on your garments and body armour. When we reach the royal presence, you are to display the head first to Her Majesty then to such clan chieftains as may be present. I must urge you to exercise care in identifying who is and who is not a clan chieftain. Your mistakes in the past have been a source of amusement to the common people and have caused embarrassment to others.'
'They've not all been mistakes,' Tom chuckled. 'Some of those fellows need to be taken down a notch or two.'
'That's not for you to decide.'
'They're pompous pricks.'
'They're chiefs.' Thunder shouted back. 'If you insult them, you insult every member of their clan.'
Tom held out the Sword Master's dripping head and considered the point.
'Aye ... you could be right. I've been a bit hasty on occasions.'
'You need to guard your tongue.' Thunder kept up the attack. 'I'm spending too much time telling people you don't mean what you say.'
Back on the bank, Tom rushed through the social niceties of displaying his trophy. Morgon's army was coming forward with military precision. Tom rid himself of the head and turned his attention to the tightly disciplined ranks of grey-clad soldiers, advancing towards them in a solid body. Five thousand men, shields locked, marching to the beat of the drum and the wail of bagpipes.
He glanced at the queen who was staring impassively at Morgon's advancing troops. Tom was filled with admiration for the old woman. Despite age and infirmity, she had taken her place at the head of her people. She was imperturbable. She did not flinch or show the slightest sign of alarm as the enemy drew closer. He waited for her to give the order to attack.
Then, admiration gave way to alarm. There was something disturbing about the lack of action. Tom looked at the shrinking gap between the enemy and the bank. If something wasn't done soon, it would be too late. He struggled to find words that would not offend royal sensibilities ... then decided he couldn't wait.
'Majesty. It could be time to spring the trap.'
The old woman stared ahead.
'Majesty. If we wait any longer it could be too late.'
'Don't be so sure,' the words trickled from the old woman's mouth. 'That Morgon is a master of the crooked art.'
'He's certainly a tricky sort,' Tom agreed. 'That's why I think we should alert our forces.'
The queen's attention was focused on a flight of birds.
Tom couldn't contain himself any longer.
'Majesty. We have to alert our forces.'
'When the Holy Mother ordains it.'
Tom looked to Thunder but the little man's eyes were on the birds. Morgon's forces were no more than two hundred paces away, advancing in slow measured steps.
'Holy Mother.'
Tom said a silent prayer and the birds went into a dive. The queen's face sprang into action. Like one who had received a command from heaven, she raised her arm.
'Spear of the Catti!'
Her spear crashed down.
'Spear of Victory!'
The response echoed down the lines.
Tom watched the warriors advance. They came forward with speed and determination but their movements were ragged. He saw little hope of controlling the seething mass of men and beasts once they were released. They would either win a quick victory or no victory at all. He clasped his sword and said a silent prayer.
If the Holy Mother heard it, she either ignored his plea or was unable to act. At a command from their chief marshal, the grey-clad soldiers executed the very movement he most feared. One moment like a tortoise, the next like a hare, Morgon's well-drilled ranks turned and ran parallel to the bank. There was no chance to outmatch them in speed of manoeuvre. Tom watched in alarm.
Then the queen raised her spear a second time and the Great Horn of the Catti blasted forth over Baddon Plane. Men with poles rushed forward. They pushed at Tom's bank and the turfs tumbled down, leaving gaps through which an army could pass. The mountain men led the charge.
The painted savages rode on the backs of ponies and carried stockwhips. They drove the terrified cattle forward and stampeded them through the gaps in the bank. The mass of heaving, sweating animals bore down on Morgon's men. In some places the soldiers resisted. In others the sheer weight of beef and brawn was overwhelming. Holes were punched in their ranks and the mountain men plunged through.
The chariots followed close behind.
The aristocratic warriors hurled their javelins then jumped down and fought on foot. Tom's special forces followed, attacking in flying wedge formations. Wave upon wave of clansmen swept in behind.
At the edge of the battlefield, half-hidden by a clump of bulrushes, Adrina sat on a white mare and watched as Morgon's men reeled under the onslaught of her mother's forces. They fell back in disarray and her attention turned to the Gormish tribesmen, standing in reserve.
For a while, they remained at their posts. But, as valuable cattle stampeded over Baddon Plane, their discipline crumbled. The sight of so much wealth, running free on the hoof, was too much to resist. Parties were dispatched to round up the beasts. Almost immediately, arguments broke out over who owned what.
Adrina decided it was time to act. As her mother had done many years before on Baddon plane, she wore a white dress and carried a sprig of holly. She held it high in one hand and clasped the royal standard of Gorm in the other.
The warriors of Clan Alpin were nearby.
'Sons of Alpin.' She rode towards them. 'Morgon is defeated. Now is the time to join our victorious brothers and drive the invaders from our shores.'
The clansmen glanced amongst themselves. Some stepped forward but withdrew as soon as it became clear that their companions were not going to follow. Adrina reined in her horse and turned to their chieftain.
'Alpin son of Alpin. You gave me your word.'
'I gave you nothing, Princess.'
'You gave me your word and I gave you the chance to be leader of the most powerful clan in Gorm.' She pointed to the struggling mass of soldiers that had once been Morgon's invincible army. 'I told you the Holy Mother sent the Sky Warrior to crush our enemies.'
Alpin stared at her scornfully.
'There's a big black bull out there on Baddon Plane. That's something I understand. What I don't understand is the clever schemes of young women who try to win me over with holly berries and fine words.'
He spurred his horse and galloped off, followed by the rest of his clan.
Adrina spurred her horse towards the warriors of Clan Morpeth and tried again. 'I come in the name of King Pius.'
'You come in the name of the Great She Whore.'
Adrina ignored the insult.
'The noble Pius commands you to strike at Morgon.'
'Go back to your mother, Cattish Whore.'
'King Pius commands you to attack the southern invaders whose forces are being destroyed by the Sky Warrior.'
A grizzled warrior stepped forward.
'When that big mother fucker has killed Morgon we'll attack.' He adjusted his sword belt. 'But we won't be going in on his side. We'll go in there to kill the big sod ... then we'll be rid of both giants.'
His shield was emblazoned with the sun god crest. He pointed at Adrina. 'Now, Princess. I think you should leave before it's too late.'
Adrina felt her life force drain away. The Gorms' hatred of her mother's people was as strong as ever. They weren't going to join them in battle. When the moment was right, they'd attack and try to equal old scores.
She reached for the small copper horn that hung about her neck. It was the one she used to summon her guard. But, when she blew it, a different force appeared. Men in black galloped towards her. She saw the serpent crest on their shields and recognised Morgon's assassination squad.
Her only way of escape was in the thick of battle. She turned her horse and plunged into the chaos of slashing swords and flying arrows. With the holly sprig held high, she rode back and forth shouting the many names of the goddess. No one came to her aid. No one tried to kill her. Worst of all ... no one seemed to notice her.
Accustomed to being at the centre of things, Adrina was disoriented. There was action all around her. Warriors bearing the emblem of the goddess hacked at soldiers with sun god crests. Morgon's men were in retreat. Nothing stood between the tribesmen and victory. But, it was a victory which had no place for Adrina. She looked to left and right, searching for a role to play.
She felt cheated. She had brought the Sky Warrior into their realm and recruited him to their cause. Now, at the very moment of triumph, she was ignored. Her spirits slumped. She reigned in her horse and looked disconsolately around, wondering where she had gone wrong. Then, on the far side of a marshy creek, she saw a standard ... a double-headed eagle on a pole. The emblem of the Sky Warrior.
Tom saw Adrina waving. Amongst the confusion and carnage the young woman looked more like an apparition than a real person. She wore a white dress and was mounted on a white horse. For a moment he wondered if she was real. Then he saw the assassination squad. He reeled his horse and shouted to a detachment of his guard.
'Get over there.'
He pointed to the other side of the creek.
'Get to the princess before those bastards kill her.'
A dozen of his men jumped into the mire and started to wade across. A mountain man plunged in after them. The naked savage hurled himself forward and slithered over the mud on his belly. He arrived first and scrambled up the bank towards Adrina.
An arrow struck him. He ignored it and kept running. A second arrow passed over his head and slashed through the throat of Adrina's horse. The animal reared up and collapsed onto the ground. The mountain man caught Adrina as she fell and set her down behind the fallen beast.
The first of her attackers lost his head. Blood sprayed on Adrina's white dress. She grabbed the dead man's shield and held it above her head. On the other side of the creek, Tom was surprised by how poorly she was coping. He'd expected more of her. Alison would have done far better. It was clear that Adrina knew nothing about fighting. Alison would have adopted an aggressive pose, like he'd taught her in his martial arts classes.
By good luck, the mountain man was there to protect Adrina. The painted savage was a born fighter. He had a captured sword and was using it with deadly effect. One attacker fell after another. Tom glanced towards his own men who were sprinting forward.
Rescue seemed certain. The primitive ferocity of the mountain man and the combat skills of his highly trained force would overcome all opposition. Tom steadied himself. A mighty victory was assured. He had defeated Morgon and was about to receive the princess into his protection. His triumph would silence the clan chieftains and everyone else who had questioned his strategy.
Then, things went badly wrong. Crazed by magic mushrooms and an overdose of firewater, the painted man pranced forward, slashing at friend and foe alike. Two of Tom's men were cut down. He reined in his horse and shouted to the warriors, on the other side of the creek, telling them to go to the aid of the princess.
It was a fateful move.
He merely alerted a band of Morgon's troops.
He'd seen them earlier, galloping to and fro, heads stuck out over their Sun God shields, peering in all directions. The well-disciplined band of bronzed young men reeled their horses when they heard him. Tom watched in impotent horror as they sped towards Adrina, grey military cloaks streaming out in the breeze.
His men were battling to protect the princess as the assassins regained the initiative. One after another they were struck down. Adrina's shield was knocked from her. An arrow struck her in the breast and she collapsed into the mire.
The end seemed near.
One of the assassins leapt from his horse.
He grabbed Adrina by the hair and forced her neck back. But, before he could deliver the fatal cut, a spear struck him in the neck. Others followed ... delivered by young men in the grey.
For a moment all was confusion.
The assassins fell back.
Adrina was plucked from the ground. One of the young men cradled her in his arms and pressed his cloak against her wound to staunch the bleeding.
His companions sprang back onto their horses. Sun god shields turned outwards, they formed a protective barrier. Tom signalled to them to join him on the other side of the creek. But, before he could take further action, a trumpet sounded and Morgon's men were galvanised into action. Disengaging from combat, they set off in a headlong rush.
The young men protecting Adrina fought to maintain their position as Morgon's forces swept past and the Cattish warriors advanced, hitting out at anything bearing emblems of the Lord Sun and anyone wearing grey.
One moment he saw Adrina. The next she had vanished. He shouted to the tribesmen, telling them that the princess was amongst the people they were attacking but no one heard. The Catti continued their remorseless advance, pausing only to take heads.
Annihilation now seemed certain for Morgon's army. His men had broken ranks and were fleeing for their lives. Then, the Great Drum of the Catti sounded and a cry went out.
'They're attacking the wagons.'
Discipline evaporated.
Tom's well-trained force became like any other group of tribesmen. Their heavy shields were discarded as they took off towards the wagons, thinking only of their women and children.
Tom rode after them. As he neared the embankment, he heard screams. Some of Morgon's men had penetrated the circle of wagons. Others were streaming past into the woods. Morgon stood on the bank directing his troops. Tom made a threatening gesture but knew there was no way of carrying it out. Morgon was making his escape and there was nothing he could do to stop him.