*
Many Saxans fell under the hail of arrows, including several from the villages within Wulfstan’s home region. The enemy horse archers had made many deadly passes, evoking a tremendous respect for their skill, dexterity, and the great power of their smaller recurved bows.
The composite bows used by the enemy archers, both mounted and within the hosts of infantry, were devastating weapons. Wulfstan witnessed several instances where arrows from such bows had pierced right through iron mail, despite being loosed from what he would have initially thought to be a reasonably safe distance for the Saxans. More than one thane had been grievously wounded or killed by the mail-penetrating shafts.
The thundering drums continued to roll as the veiled spearmen in the front ranks maintained their wall of tall hide shields. They provided a refuge for the horse archers sallying forth to harass the Saxans, as well as a barricade for the infantry bowmen engaged in showering the defenders with a lethal rain.
Just when it seemed to Wulfstan that the Saxans would have to outlast the enemy’s supply of arrows, the timbre of the drumming changed. A rhythmic surge of powerful booms accompanied the sonorous braying of horns, and Wulfstan knew that a marked shift in the attack was about to occur.
The horse archers swiftly looped back around, and re-entered the narrow openings in the shield wall created for them by the spearmen. The latter promptly closed their ranks when the last of the horses were securely through.
The huge wall of spearmen lurched into motion, tromping forward in a disciplined line, as the tremors rippling through the ground grew beneath Wulfstan’s feet. The foremost ranks of the enemy drew to a halt several paces before coming into contact with the Saxan lines, as warriors deeper in their ranks began to add hurled javelins to the mass of arrows still soaring overhead.
With the closer positioning of the enemy lines, the impressive range of their composite bows reached even deeper into the Saxan ranks, as the first of the javelins flew in high arcs over the shield wall. The head of one javelin buried itself in the small gap of space between Wulfstan and Cenwald, who flinched at the quick hiss and ensuing thud of the impact.
The narrowing of ground between the opposing forces also benefitted the Saxans, who were finally able to draw blood. Saxan horns blasted, and the shouts of thanes went up, as their own archers, slingers, and javelin throwers unleashed a ferocious response. Flurries of missiles arced high over the tall shields of the enemy line to fall down within the Andamooran ranks. Cries of pain erupted in the wake of the retaliating hail, and a deafening cheer went up among the Saxans.
Wulfstan’s sword grip was on the edge of turning his knuckles white, as he was still largely helpless during the current course of the battle. He kept his mind steeled upon keeping his shield raised up, knowing that even a moment’s lapse in concentration could be deadly.
The shield itself was already a little heavier, as an arrow shaft was embedded into one of the lime-wood planks. The thwack of the arrow, as it burrowed into the wood, had caused Wulfstan’s heart to skip a beat. He had uttered a brief prayer of thanks to the All-Father for having the good fortune to possess a shield of modest quality.
He could only imagine what the highly exposed, vulnerable levy men towards the rear of the Saxan lines were going through in their minds. There were probably several men huddling together under each of the few old, battered shields held amongst their ranks.
After the first wave of javelins, Wulfstan angled his shield a little higher. The downward trajectory of the javelin stuck in the ground by his right leg prompted him to make the adjustment, as it would have made it past the rim of his shield in its former position, had the thrower’s aim been a little more to the right. Another deep thud of steel into wood sounded. A quick sideways glance revealed a wide-eyed Cenwald, who had just caught one of the thrown missiles with his own shield.
“It can do you no harm, while you keep behind your shield,” Wulfstan said to Cenwald, while trying to keep his own nerves steady.
Just in front of him, he could see the tensed forms of many axe-bearing household guards, who were tantalizingly close to being able to strike at the enemy. Thanes cried out exhortations to keep the shield wall tight.
The sky above was blurred with the streams of missiles flying back and forth. There was little to do but wait, for either the thanes to call for a march forward, or for the enemy to do something similar. The inaction was torturous to endure, as the lethal torrents continued to exact a bloody toll upon the Saxans. The only consolation was that cries continued to arise from the enemy’s ranks, too, derived from Saxan arrows, javelins, and sling-stones.
The sound of a muffled gasp emitted suddenly from behind Wulfstan, as a javelin claimed the life of a man with gray-streaked locks of hair. He felt the man’s body bump against the back of his legs, as the dead Saxan slumped to the ground.
Wulfstan recognized the fallen levyman. He had known the family, and he was aware of the terrible price that had just been paid. In one flashing moment, seven Saxan children had lost their father, and a generous, warm-hearted woman had lost a caring, hard-working husband.
Wulfstan hardened his mind, as the pang of sorrow bit sharply into him, forcing himself to keep his focus squarely on the battle at hand. There would be time enough to agonize over the horrible fragility of life, and the mounting losses around him that were far from over. He quickly reset his feet, sliding about half a pace to his left. Tripping on a fallen body, in the midst of combat, could easily mean a quick death.
“Watch your step,” he called to Cenwald with a downward glance towards the body. Cenwald’s expression showed that he understood the warning, as he nodded back to Wulfstan.
The ground then reverberated with the thrumming sound of a great mass of hooves striking the earth. Wulfstan chanced a glance around the edge of his shield, elated to see a force of Saxan horsemen charging into the zone between the two opposing forces. He could see the mounted warriors flowing across his view, just above the heads of the Saxan warriors forming the front line.
The mounted Saxans hurled javelins as they neared the enemy, bringing the horses around quickly to angle back for the Saxan ranks. Wulfstan watched their arms rear back and snap forward, sending iron-tipped shafts whistling into the dense, enemy ranks.
Simultaneously, as if it was the signal the enemy had been waiting for, the wall of spearmen surged forward to engage the Saxan cavalry. Bait had been taken, as Wulfstan witnessed a keen strategy unfurling.
The famed warriors of Bretica, bearing the proud standards of Count Gerard II, suddenly emerged from behind the lighter, javelin-throwing horsemen. Their horses, resplendent and proud in their trappers of iron scales, gleamed brightly as they bore down heavily upon the freshly-opened channels in the Andamooran ranks. Their stalwart riders, mirroring the steeds in their own scale armor, held spears in high overhand grips, or underhanded ones out from their bodies. Others carried swords, holding them high in the air as they cried out loudly, charging into the fray.
The Bretican horsemen’s eyes blazed as they sliced through the fissures in the Andamooran ranks, scattering panicking infantry spearmen. Wulfstan eyed a lone Bretican pennon that seemed to glide forward above the melee. The white horse on its green field appeared to fly defiantly above the fury of the battle.
Buoyed by the strong, sudden shift in momentum, the Saxan forces around Wulfstan could not be restrained any longer. A clamor arose as thanes and household warriors alike shouted, and the Saxan shield wall rushed forward in an outpouring of martial ardor. They fell furiously upon the breaking ranks of the Andamoorans, swinging axes and swords with reckless abandon.
Wulfstan and those around him hurried forward within the massive outflow, swiftly finding themselves amongst the enemy warriors. Reacting fast, he knocked aside a spear thrust from one of the veiled fighters, before bringing his sword back in a slaying blow to the attacker’s neck.
A helmed enemy warrior, armed with a long-bladed, single-edged weapon, then charged him. Wulfstan smashed his shield into the man’s face, driving the iron boss into flesh and bone, and knocking the man backwards. A half-maddened Saxan ceorl in the grip of a fiery bloodlust pinned the man to the ground with a frenzied spear thrust, before Wulfstan could even move to finish off his stunned enemy.
The ceorl glanced towards Wulfstan with a wild look dancing in his eyes, giving a loud outcry as he ripped the spear loose, and shook it defiantly in the air. He charged off into the depths of the uproar spreading around them.
The enemy’s front ranks were clearly disintegrating, and the Saxans were making tremendous progress, following in the wake of Count Gerard’s elite heavy cavalry. The Bretican cavalry had pressed deeper into the teeming enemy, cutting a broad swathe through ranks of lightly armed fighters. A more determined, heavier-armed force of enemy cavalry, consisting of dark-skinned men with fierce countenances, would soon be matching blades with the Breticans.
Indescribable exhilaration filled Wulfstan as he flowed along with his battle-maddened Saxan brethren. The left flank of the overall enemy force was in the process of being eroded. The Andamooran ranks were teetering on the edge of a widespread breakdown in morale, which would lead almost certainly to the flank being rolled up entirely.
Many of the Andamoorans bravely accounted for themselves as they were swept up within the Saxan swarm. Wulfstan engaged in a few blistering moments of combat himself along the way, but it was plain to all eyes that the great mass of Andamoorans were being driven steadily backwards.
Wulfstan saw a household warrior bring his two-handed axe crashing down on an enemy swordsman. The sheer power inflicted by the blow elicited a wince from Wulfstan, as the heavy axe blade cleaved deep into the hapless Andamooran’s body.
Wulfstan then caught sight of a thane vigorously assailing two of the veiled Andamoorans. Whether they were archers, or spearmen who had lost their main weapons and shields in the fighting, the pair wielded nothing more than long daggers. They had an enormous disadvantage against the thane’s robust, heavy sword blade.
The two Andamoorans rushed at the thane, who deftly thwarted one of them with an outward shield-thrust, while lancing his sword with accuracy and power up under the chin of the second man. A couple of heavy, hacking blows later, the first Andamooran was sent by the thane to join his comrade in whatever afterlife beckoned to them.
Flurries of blows transpired all around, as Wulfstan hurried by with a number of Saxans to fall upon several dagger-armed, veiled warriors, standing amid a number of composite bows that had been hurriedly cast aside. The sight of the bows lying all around told Wulfstan everything that he needed to bring himself into an inferno of rage.
The Andamooran archers that had killed so many Saxans from a distance were now engulfed in a maelstrom of vengeance, as Wulfstan and others cut viciously into them. With their small round shields, lack of armor, and daggers, they were hewn down rapidly, as the Saxans moved through them like brushfire through drought-parched grasses.
One Andamooran howled in agony, as a heavy, chopping cut of Wulfstan’s sword removed the hand that had pulled arrows and a bowstring back so very recently. The Andamooran was given no time to contemplate the disastrous wound, as Wulfstan condemned him to lasting silence with a brutal slash.
Wulfstan squared off with another, striking out from behind his round shield and bringing the Andamooran down with a cutting stroke below the man’s left knee. Another Saxan pierced the Andamooran with a heavy spear, as the man lay writhing, and crippled, upon the ground.
Resistance dropped precipitously, as a great panic began to spread and take hold throughout the splintering Andamooran ranks.
Wulfstan was afforded a few moments to glance around at the progress of the Saxan attack. His eyes widened, as he took his first close look at the strange, hump-backed mounts that the Andamoorans had brought along with them, all the way from their distant homelands.
They were odd-shaped creatures, each with singular, distinctive humps, elongated necks, and strange facial features. To Wulfstan’s eyes, the beasts looked quite ungainly in form, though it was clear that the animals were well-accustomed to riders and saddles.
The horses of the Saxans reared as they drew near to the unfamiliar mounts of the enemy. The infantry riding the humped beasts had dismounted to form up ranks, utilizing their mounts as a type of makeshift, living field fortification. It was a manner of fighting that they were evidently well accustomed to, as Wulfstsan watched the enemy fighters hastening to create a fallback position.
The sounds of more horns filled the air, coming from the south. The ground rumbled anew with the pounding resonance of approaching horses, as Wulfstan and the other Saxans heard their own side’s distinctive horn signals rising into the air. The Saxan signals carried an edge of urgency, commanding an immediate fallback.
Wulfstan looked over towards the weird, humped beasts massed just a short distance ahead. The hastily assembling ranks of Andamooran spearmen were allowing their retreating brethren to stream through their ranks, while their cavalry labored to slow the vigorous Saxan advance. Though still very numerous, the spirit of the Andamoorans had been broken, and a heavy blow to the invaders was now within the Saxans’ grasp.
The rumbling drew steadily nearer, as the Saxan horn calls were redoubled. The Bretican warriors, their once-gleaming armor now anointed in the blood of the aggressors, began pulling away from engagements with the Andamooran cavalry.
Wulfstan eyed a mass of dark-skinned warriors, arrayed tightly around a proud-looking man, mounted upon an exquisite-looking steed. His bearing, attire, and the vivid, ornate standards around him announced to all that he was a man of great importance, and that the men around him were serving as a type of bodyguard.
The sight of the obvious Andamooran leader, almost within reach of Saxan swords, was tantalizing. The Saxans were so close to finishing off the Andamoorans, and the loss of their leader would break the back of their pummeled morale.
Wulfstan knew that the Saxan cavalry, and especially the elite Bretican forces, would not pull away from such a bounteous opportunity unless a dire situation loomed. He cursed the abrupt twist of fortune, but shouted out to the men around him.
“Fall back,” he cried out. “Fall back, Saxans, now!”
The Saxans near to Wulfstan began pulling back with reluctance, as he noticed the Bretican cavalry moving off towards the south, where the reverberations were growing in intensity.
Wulfstan realized then that the enemy was falling upon them from the center. The deep Saxan penetration into the Andamooran ranks had overreached, leaving an inviting, highly exposed flank to the Avanorans occupying the center of the invasion force.
Understanding what was happening, Wulfstan broke into a full run back towards the Saxan lines. He gestured and called out urgently to Saxan warriors wherever he could, warning them of the fast-approaching threat.
Many Saxans were still mopping up trapped pockets of Andamoorans scattered across the battlefield behind him, and there were also a number of individual combats sprinkled amid the chaos. Wulfstan slowed down as he came upon one such melee.
He slashed his sword down upon an unsuspecting Andamooran from behind, where two of them had been embroiled with a lone Saxan thane. With one less opponent, the thane quickly finished off the remaining Andamooran, as Wulfstan exhorted the thane to fall back.
Wulfstan looked farther ahead, shouting as he gestured with his sword towards a great number of Saxans in the distance, ahead of him. His heart leapt and his fears spiraled as he saw hand axes and picks of the type used on village farms, and set his eyes upon even more crude weapons, such as stones lashed to stout clubs of wood.
A sizeable contingent of Saxans from the general levy had spread deeper into the battlefield, most in the process of gaining their first taste of battle. Against fragments of the enemy infantry, their overwhelming numbers offset their lack of skills and good quality weaponry. But in the face of mounted Avanoran knights, they were little more than plump sheep standing before an oncoming horde of ravenous wolves.
As nervous and timid as many of them were, the levymen needed little encouragement to begin a hasty retreat. Hearing the cries of those such as Wulfstan, and seeing the Saxan ceorls, thanes and other veterans hurrying back, the levymen shouted out to each other, with panicked countenances. Turning, they rushed away in a sprawling cavalcade before Wulfstan.
Wulfstan glanced to his right, and his heart caught in his throat as he saw Avanoran horsemen amongst the Saxans. The muscular stallions and their heavily-armored riders were a deadly, terrible combination. The Avanorans leveled their spears in a technique whereby the far ends of the long shafts were held securely beneath their arm pits, orienting the shining, sharply-honed tips towards Saxan flesh.
Caught out in the open, and in disarray, it did not matter whether one was a household warrior, a thane, a ceorl, or a simple farming peasant from the General Fyrd. The brushfire was now blowing back onto Saxan grass.
Wulfstan cast his lot with a number of mailed household guards and thanes that had gathered around a fallen warrior, whose blood-caked chain mail was rent in more than one place. The older warrior’s helm still lay upon his head, but his eyes stared lifelessly skyward, as if gazing into another world.
“Lay as befits a thane, at his lord’s side! Fight to the last!” roared one of the other thanes defiantly, delivering the words with a booming passion that smote the very air around them.
From all appearances, fighting to the last was exactly what the small band was intending to do, but Wulfstan did not have any other options if he wanted even a remote chance to survive. The forward elements of the oncoming Avanoran cavalry now surrounded them.
Wulfstan had never before witnessed the Avanorans up close, but now saw why they possessed such a legendary reputation. Their discipline was extraordinary, as they maintained tight, small units that appeared to act as if they were of one mind.
The knights among them were easy to spot. Had they not been wearing colorful surcoats, they would have displayed bodies entirely covered in chain mail. Mail hose covered their legs and feet, long-sleeved mail coats encased their upper bodies, with mail mittens protecting the backs of their hands.
Some wore conical helms with nasal guards, but several looked impassive and foreboding in their flat-topped, cylindrical helms. Iron visors affixed to the brows extended downward, covering their faces, and giving them cold, expressionless visages of war. Only horizontal eye slits, and tiny holes piercing the iron visors for ventilation, broke the metallic surfaces.
The barrel-chested destriers, to Wulfstan’s dismay, showed themselves to be well-trained for combat as they drew near the Saxans. Biting and lashing out with their hooves, the tall, robust horses created a menacing combination with the armored riders skillfully wielding weapons from their backs. Wulfstan watched several Saxans die horribly under the explosive hooves of the war horses. The gruesome sight instantly erased any qualms that he might otherwise have had about driving his own sword into the body of one of the majestic beasts.
Behind the enemy knights came a mass of other mounted fighters. The accompanying Avanoran squires and sergeants were not as encompassed in iron links as were the knights they followed into battle. Yet, for the most part, they were equipped as well, or better, than virtually any Saxan that they engaged. Most of these secondary fighters wore helms with iron nasal guards, and a large majority had their upper bodies sheathed in coats of mail.
As a whole, their horses were not as dangerous or powerful as the brawny, ferocious stallions of the knights, being a little smaller in size, and less aggressive.
The initial strikes of the knights were made with lowered, couched lances. Several Saxans caught on open ground were brutally impaled upon the long shafts, as the great power of the warhorses’ momentum coursed into lethal, deeply penetrating blows.
Once the long lances were lodged into their victims, or were abandoned by necessity in close-quarters fighting, most of the knights resorted to secondary weapons. Wulfstan saw that most of these weapons were long, tapering swords, while a few were flanged, bronze-headed maces, of a kind that could deal crushingly powerful blows.
Even though the Avanorans displayed a propensity for aggression, they were not foolhardy. They rapidly showed great wariness for the long, two-handed Saxan axes that indiscriminately slew horse or rider, whichever offered a better target for the axe-wielders.
The caution allowed a few Saxans caught within the killing ground to reach their comrades. A few peasants and ceorls, finding refuge in the presence of the small island of Saxans around Wulfstan, held their long spears outward to ward against sudden charges, allowing thanes and household guards to emerge to strike at the enemy with sword and axe.
Seeing yet another Saxan run down by a mounted knight, who drove a lance right through the unfortunate man’s body, Wulfstan was relieved that even the staunchest of the warhorses were loathe to rush upon a concentration of lowered spears.
In front of Wulfstan, several Avanorans whipped their heads about, as a cluster of Saxan horns sounded from just beyond them. With his back, left, and right amply protected, Wulfstan risked taking a couple of paces forward.
A horseman directly in front of him, likely a sergeant, was holding a lance above his head, as Wulfstan advanced upon the horse’s right side. Wulfstan kept his shield raised, acting as if he were about to strike the horse with a forward thrust of his sword. The Avanoran reacted to the perceived threat, twisting in his saddle to thrust his spear downward at Wulfstan.
Wulfstan side-stepped quickly to the left, sliding by the shoulder of the horse as the spear jabbed nothing but air a few scant inches behind him. He brought his sword racing up in a sweeping, backhanded slash, feeling the crashing impact of the heavy blade into the exposed side of the Avanoran warrior. A mail coat could not stop the bludgeoning impact, and the large, heavy Saxan swords could pulverize as much as they could sever.
Absorbing the entire force of the blow, the shocked Avanoran sergeant collapsed forward in his saddle. Wulfstan whipped his sword around, bringing it up, over, and downward in a thunderous, cleaving blow that found a narrow space between the hapless man’s iron helm and mail coat. The horse was left riderless, as the sergeant’s maimed body slid to the side, toppling heavily to the ground.
The Avanoran knights, sergeants, and squires were now reeling backwards, finding themselves beset from both sides in the sudden shift of battle. Other Saxans had rallied, streaking to the aid of the throng gathered around Wulfstan, arriving in force at a most unexpected moment.
It was one of the most welcome sights that Wulfstan had ever seen. Saxan cavalry charged down from the left, rugged men from the lands of Count Einhard. Medium and light cavalry were both thrown into the desperate fighting, penetrating into the swirling chaos to stem the Avanoran tide, and prevent the Saxan right flank from being destroyed.
While not as heavily equipped as the mail-encased Avanoran knights with their full visors, the Saxan cavalry’s spears and swords could still deliver lethal blows to any opponent. The broad, drawn out spear blades of the Saxan riders, with their short, lateral wings protruding from the bases of the blades, were wielded in a variety of ways. One-handed and two-handed techniques were employed, using both thrusting and slashing methods.
While the Avanoran knights were the equal of virtually any warrior standing upon the battlefield, the squires and sergeants were not quite as prepared for the encompassing Saxan onslaught.
Thanes, household guards, and others around Wulfstan responded quickly to the beckoning openings. They levied several more casualties on the Avanorans, before turning their attention to the cleared channels across the battlefield back towards the Saxan shield wall.
Given a miraculous reprieve on the apparent finality of just a few moments before, the energy born of anger and desperation was replaced by a surging hope. Most of the ceorls, and all the peasants, broke into a vigorous run through the cleared ground, as the rest of the Saxan riders passed by them.
The household guards and thanes moved more slowly and orderly. A couple of their number gently lifted and carried the body of the high-ranking thane that they had been warding, and for whom they were willing to lay down their lives.
In one’s and two’s, other Saxans that had been stranded in the no-man’s land streamed around Wulfstan’s methodical group, sprinting for the harbor of the Saxan shield wall. Other cohesive clusters of thanes and household guards also began to emerge in the wake of the Saxan cavalry. Like the ones near to Wulfstan, they kept close together as they moved, with weapons readied as they backed up towards the Saxan lines.
On the cusp of a route, the Avanorans now found themselves in the midst of a little chaos themselves. Count Einhard’s cavalry hurled javelins, and engaged the Avanorans with spear and sword wherever they could. Hand axes loomed up, as if out of thin air, swung in deadly arcs towards the enemy riders.
Yet after the initial shock of the influx of Saxan cavalry, the Avanoran knights threatened to rally, stem the counterattack, and roll it back. Evincing their steely discipline once again, they began to regroup, bringing the lesser-skilled squires and sergeants back in from the far-flung reaches of the fighting.
Wulfstan witnessed the unsettling skill of the Avanoran knights as they wielded their blades, felling many of Einhard’s warriors. Their tapering swords were every bit as devastating in blurring-fast, piercing thrusts, as they were when slashing.
Glancing blows upon the mail-encased Avanorans did little, as only the heaviest of strikes could unhorse them, or have a chance at mortally wounding them. Their taller, more powerful steeds also lent the enemy riders further advantages.
But just when the knights were almost reassembled, and had begun to stiffen their resistance, they were beset from an entirely new direction. The Bretican force, which had been thwarted from reaching the Andamooran leader, was now furiously cleaving its way back through to the Saxan lines. In a unified body, the Breticans burrowed relentessly into the Avanoran riders.
Horns were immediately sounded amongst the Avanorans, as the heavy cavalrymen of Count Gerard gored them. Denied their chance to finish off the Andamooran force, the Bretican warriors took out their tremendous frustrations in a searing assault that swiftly began to claim the lives of Avanoran knights, in addition to many squires and sergeants.
Nothing had ever looked better to Wulfstan, as the shiny scales on the Bretican horse armor made the formation look like a massive sword as it drove into the ranks of their enemies. The incoming Breticans eliminated any further notions of attack that the Avanoran knights might have entertained, as the enemy riders began to fall back towards the center.
The Avanorans were still quite dangerous in retreat, and both Breticans and riders from Annenheim were slain as the Saxans harried the knights, and kept pressure upon them. When the Avanorans were pushed back farther towards the center, both Count Einhard’s and Count Gerard’s mounted warriors withdrew from pressing the attack, cantering back in broad masses along the face of the Saxan shield wall.
By that juncture, Wulfstan had reached the face of the shield wall. Before he slipped through one of the openings created for the retreating Saxan warriors, he took a moment to watch throngs of Saxan horsemen stream by. The rumble under his feet now felt welcome, as he looked with gratitude and pride upon the brave warriors that had delivered him and the other Saxans from certain entrapment and death.
The course of battle was so unpredictable, and fickle. Just as the Andamoorans had thought they had achieved a prime opening to strike a crushing blow to the Saxans, they had been splintered apart. When the Saxans had been poised to route the Andamoorans, they had themselves been pummeled by the Avanorans from the center. Likewise, the Avanorans had seen a decisive blow snatched out of their own grasp by the warriors of Count Einhard and Count Gerard.
It was a sobering, frightening lesson, regarding the abrupt ebbs and flows of a large-scale battle. Crescendos of exhilarating hope, flavored with the taste of victory, were juxtaposed with terrifying abysses of despair.
The Andamooran spearman swallowed up in the surge of the Saxan ranks was no different than the Saxan ceorl or levyman that found himself stranded amongst charging Avanoran knights. Hopes of surviving the battle could suddenly be revealed to be false, ephemeral illusions.
In a very short time, Wulfstan himself had experienced the tremendous swings of fate, brought face to face with a death that he feared was imminent, as the Avanorans swept around his position. The whims of circumstance had left him free to walk between the Saxan shields, when so many had fallen behind him on the blood-drenched battlefield. He was not so arrogant to think that he had been singled out to be spared by the All-Father, when so many men who were far more devout than Wulfstan had met such brutal, agonizing ends. Such dour thoughts brought a degree of hollowness to Wulfstan’s relief at his survival, as he edged wearily through the Saxan ranks, trudging towards the back of their line.
“Wulfstan!”
The voice was like a piercing light in the growing, dark cavern inside his heart, snatching his attention as he was about to sink deeper into a grimmer state. He reached for that ray of light, as it blocked the darkness beginning to shroud him.
Stained and caked in filth, the face of Cenwald looked simply beautiful to his eyes. His shield was a jagged wreck, and he had evidently lost his spear, as he had only a seaxe in his hand. Cenwald set his shield down, and then lay the single-edged blade upon it, as Wulfstan placed his own shield and sword upon the ground. Without a word, Wulfstan strode up and embraced his friend tightly.
“I made it back, Wulfstan… don’t know how, but I got back here,” Cenwald said, when they had disengaged.
Wulfstan did not dwell upon thoughts of the many from his homeland that had already fallen that day. He knew that the coming hours and days would bring awful tidings of men that he had known for years. The losses would continue to mount, and there were no guarantees that Wulfstan and Cenwald would avoid similar fates.
For the moment, Wulfstan chose to savor the radiant uplift of a sudden reunion with a friend who had survived. Discovering that Cenwald had made it through the fighting so far transported Wulfstan’s spirits far away from the battlefield surrounding him. There were no immediate threats to the Saxan right flank, with the Andamooran ranks decimated, and driven back. The din of continued fighting in the center and on the Saxan left flank seemed far off. The precious few moments of relief from the terrors and sorrows of the ongoing battle were a blessing from the highest levels of Palladium.
“Cenwald, never have I deemed your face a thing of beauty, but you are a sight to behold, on this day,” Wulfstan jested, as a slight grin escaped his leaden countenance.
“And you still have the looks that the village maidens find favorable,” Cenwald replied, with a laugh that beamed through the gloomy pallor of his dirty, blood-streaked face.
Wulfstan glanced towards the back of the shield wall. “Until the enemy withdraws fully, we should not stray too far, but we need to find you more than a broken shield and a short blade.”
Cenwald nodded grimly. “I was thinking the same thing.”
Cenwald bent over and picked up his seaxe, returning it to the horizontal sheath at his waist. He left the badly-gouged shield where it lay.
Wulfstan looked over to where several bodies lay on the ground, with arrows protruding from them. Abandoned weapons, and more than a few shields, littered the ground around the fallen Saxans.
“We won’t have far to look,” Wulfstan commented ruefully, recognizing the body of a young man.
He was a ceorl like himself, from a village called Whispering Fork, which was located near the confluence of a stream that joined the river that Wulfstan’s own village rested by.
Wulfstan was pierced by sorrow as he looked upon the lifeless body of the young man, who had been at the onset of his prime years. Wulfstan closed his eyes for a moment, girding himself for what was about to unfold. The tragic tidings of death, coming from the witness of his eyes, to the word of his fellow Saxans, had only just begun.
*