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the bloody skulls of their kings. Some in the front rank held leashed war-dogs that would be loosed a few
yards short of our line. My father was in that front rank while Cerdic was on a horse behind the Saxon
mass.
They came very slowly. The hill was steep, their armour heavy, and they felt no need to rush into this
slaughter. They knew it would be a grim business, however short-lived. They would come in a
shield-locked wall, and once at the rampart our shields would clash and then they would try to push us
backwards. Their axes would flash over our shield rims, their spears would thrust and jab and gore.
There would be grunts and howls and shrieks, and men wailing and men dying, but the enemy had the
greater number of men and eventually they would outflank us and so my wolftails would die.
But now my wolftails sang as they tried to drown the harsh sound of the horns and the incessant beat
of the tree drums. The Saxons laboured closer. We could see the devices on their round shields now;
wolf masks for Cerdic s men, bulls for Aelle s, and in between were the shields of their warlords: hawks
and eagles and a prancing horse. The dogs strained at their leashes, eager to tear holes in our wall. The
wizards shrieked at us. One of them rattled a cluster of rib bones, while another scrabbled on all fours
like a dog and howled his curses.
I waited at the southern angle of the summit s rampart which jutted like the prow of a boat above the
valley. It was here in the centre that the first Saxons would strike. I had toyed with the idea of letting them
come and then, at the very last moment, pulling back fast to make a shield-ring about our women. Yet by
retreating I ceded the flat hilltop as my battlefield and gave up the advantage of the higher ground. Better
to let my men kill as many of the enemy as they could before we were overwhelmed.
I tried not to think of Ceinwyn. I had not kissed her farewell, or my daughters, and maybe they would
live. Maybe, amidst the horror, some spearman of Aelle s would recognize the little ring and take them
safe to his King.
My men began to clash their spear shafts against their shields. They had no need to lock their shields
yet. That could wait till the last moment. The Saxons looked uphill as the noise battered their ears. None
of them raced ahead to throw a spear - the hill was too steep for that - but one of their war-dogs broke
its leash and came loping fast up the grass. Eirrlyn, who was one of my two huntsmen, pierced it with an
arrow and the dog began to yelp and run in circles with the shaft sticking from its belly. Both huntsmen
began shooting at other dogs and the Saxons hauled the beasts back behind the protection of their
shields. The wizards scampered away to the flanks, knowing that the battle was about to begin. A
huntsman s arrow smacked into a Saxon shield, then another glanced off a helmet. Not long now. A
hundred paces. I licked my dry lips, blinked sweat from my eyes and stared down at the fierce bearded
faces. The enemy was shouting, yet I do not remember hearing the sound of their voices. I just remember
the sound of their horns, the beat of their drums, the thump of their boots on the grass, the clink of
scabbards on armour and the clash of shields touching.
Make way! Guinevere s voice sounded behind us, and it was full of enjoyment. Make way! she
called again.
I turned and saw her twenty men were pushing two of the food wagons towards the ramparts. The
ox-wagons were great clumsy vehicles with solid wooden discs for wheels, and Guinevere had
augmented their sheer weight with two further weapons. She had stripped the pole shafts from the front
of the wagons and wedged spears in their place, while the wagon beds, instead of holding food, now
carried blazing fires of thorn brush. She had turned the wagons into a massive pair of flaming missiles that
she planned to roll down the hill into the enemy s packed ranks, and behind her wagons, eager to see the
chaos, came an excited crowd of women and children.
Move! I called to my men, move! They ceased singing and hurried apart, leaving the whole centre
of the ramparts undefended. The Saxons were now only seventy or eighty paces away and, seeing our
shield wall break apart, they scented victory and quickened their pace.
Guinevere shouted at her men to hurry and more spearmen ran to put their weight behind the smoking
wagons. Go! she called, go! and they grunted as they shoved and tugged and as the wagons began to
roll faster. Go! Go! Go! Guinevere screamed at them, and still more men packed in behind the wagons
to force the cumbersome vehicles up across the banked earth of the ancient rampart. For a heartbeat I
thought that low earth bank would defeat us, for both the wagons slowed to a halt there and their thick
smoke wreathed about our choking men, but Guinevere shouted at the spearmen again and they gritted
their teeth to make one last great effort to heave the wagons over the turf wall.
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