Lies, Damned Lies, and History(23)

Another group of men issued forth from the gates and a hail of arrows darkened the sky still further as archers on the walls shot continually into the Saxon wings. Hissing death dropped from the skies. Men went down like trees. I looked at the slaughter around me and took a moment to wonder. This was not one of Arthur’s famous twelve battles against the Saxons and yet the ferocity was massive. Whatever must Mons Badonicus or Camlann have been like?

I’d underestimated the Saxons, however. Arthur was not the only man on the battlefield with a grasp of tactics.

The Saxons were splitting up, dividing themselves into smaller groups, thus forcing the riders to split up too, which considerably diminished their effectiveness. Arthur still had a fight on his hands. And these Saxons were the ancestors of those who would hold the shield wall at Hastings. This was not just a minor skirmish. This was going to be bloody.

Small bands of Saxons, moving in tight-knit groups, were forcing the defenders to engage on their terms. A larger group of about twenty or so put their heads down and headed for the open gate. Voices shouted a warning and Arthur moved fast to engage. He was hampered by a force of seemingly suicidal Saxons who sacrificed themselves in vast numbers to ensure their fellows reached the gates. Their casualties were enormous, but the objective was gained.

The men at the gates put their shoulders to them, struggling to get them closed before they were overwhelmed, but too late.

The Saxons burst through, big men, red mouths open wide, blood-splashed, full of fighting frenzy. I could feel the blood pounding inside my head. We were about to be overrun. Was this why no record of this battle survived? Was this the one that Arthur lost? Was this the battle that was quietly forgotten? Because it was the one that didn’t build the legend.

The few men in our enclosure left the walls and began to force us women and children towards the big central barn. I stood quietly at the wall and hoped to be overlooked, but there was no chance. A man pulled me away and shoved me along with the others. Everyone was being pushed into the barn. For our own safety. I hoped.

I spoke softly. ‘Tim? You OK?’

‘Don’t worry about us, Max. We’re still on the Dark Age equivalent of potato peeling and latrine digging. You?’

‘About to be herded into a big hut, along with the other non-combatants. In order of importance – livestock, children, household implements, miscellaneous tat, and women.’ I paused, struggling with a sudden lack of words. ‘Look after yourselves.’

‘You too.’

‘Tim …’

Silence.

I tried again. ‘Tim …’

His voice wasn’t quite steady. ‘I have to do this, Max. I have to prove to the world, and to myself, that I’m not completely useless.’

I knew it. I knew he wasn’t as OK as everyone thought he was. I knew it.

‘Tim …’

‘Yes?’

‘If you had no arms at all. Or legs, either … Or even if your head dropped off … you’d never be useless to me.’

Silence.

Just as I was about to close the link, he said, ‘Or you to me.’

Then the link went dead.

I didn’t know how much to protest and I didn’t want to make myself conspicuous. All around me, women were gathering up livestock and children impartially and pushing them towards the big, central barn. It made sense to get us out of harm’s way. To clear the decks for action. I allowed myself to be driven along with the old, the young, and the four-legged.

They pushed us inside and slammed home the bars. We were locked in. Whatever was going to happen, there wouldn’t be a thing I could do about it. I know it was for our own safety. The fighting was only yards away, on the other side of the wall, but every instinct I had was telling me not to be trapped in a building with no way out. I couldn’t help remembering the Temple of the Divine Claudius at Colchester. The Romans bundled their families inside for safety and they were fine until Boudicca sent her men onto the roof. To prise away the tiles. To drop down onto the helpless people beneath. To indulge in an orgy of slaughter until the floors ran red with blood, and no Roman, man, woman or child was left alive. A whole city died that day.

I tried to peer through a chink in the door. As far as I could see, peering from side to side, there were just two guards out there, standing swords drawn.

I stepped back thoughtfully. Two guards were a complete waste of time. Should the Saxons come boiling into our enclosure, what good could two men possibly be? And then it hit me. They weren’t to keep the Saxons out. They were to keep us in.

I looked around me. It was a bit of a squeeze, but the barn was large enough to house us all fairly comfortably. I could smell hay, dust, animals, and earth. There were no windows, but light filtered through chinks in the pitch walls. Looking up, the roof was supported by sturdy beams, over which had been layered brushwood and then the thatch, all supported by four central pillars set in a square. The floor was of beaten earth with a stone threshold. It was a good barn. Sturdy, well made and mostly weatherproof.