Chapter Fifteen
The Battle of Catraeth
Wallace organised our company into a battle formation of three lines. Veteran warriors, like Grettir, stood in a line at the rear to bolster the men in front and to give advice and encouragement during the fight. In front of them was a line of young warriors, for whom this was their first battle. Eduard, Cuthbert and I were here with the other youths we had trained with over the last few years. Although we had fought a few skirmishes, including the desperate, confused fight at Calcaria, I would soon learn that a full battle is a different story. In the front rank were the twenty- and thirty-year-old men. These were more experienced than us, as well as being fitter and stronger than the veterans, who were interspersed in the middle ranks with us youths, to keep us steady.
Dotted along the front line, a small group of these warriors was formed up into a triangular formation pointing away from the main shield wall. These wedges were made up of the strongest and fiercest fighters. Their job was to try to cut like teeth into the enemy shield wall and break it asunder. Nearest the enemy, fifty yards in front of us towards the crest of the hill, Cuthbert and other skirmish troops were positioned. I noticed that my friend was hopping about nervously, but at least he already had his bow in his hand. Cuth was always calmer when he held a bow. Behind our battle line stood our captains, their house warriors gathered around their battle standards. I was just in front and to the right of Wallace’s standard. It was a white wolf on a background of green. When the wind caught it and it unfurled, it seemed as if the wolf was charging across the plains towards its prey.
Harald now walked along the whole army and inspected us. Aethelric himself did not seem to be sure what to do and did not object when the Earl organised the six companies so they now formed a continuous line, three or four men deep and perhaps one hundred men wide. Our company was second from the left.
Wallace had told us that we were going to attack the rear of the Elmetae force. On hearing this news there were many smiles amongst the Wicstun Company, as men saw a chance for revenge on those who had attacked our homes or a chance to even a few scores. However, some of the older men grumbled and looked surprised. We might indeed, they said, be able to gain an advantage over Samlen’s men, but what if we did not surprise them? Overall, the Welsh had more men than us and things could turn against us very quickly.
Nevertheless, we prepared ourselves for what was to come. Most men had a mouthful or more of beer that they had carried from Eoforwic. Several uttered prayers to Woden or the Valkyries I did neither, for I realised that I was finally going to fight in a battle. Here, my childhood dreams had come true and as this fact dawned upon me, my mouth suddenly felt very dry and my throat tightened. I had fought before, of course, during the raids on the Villa and the escape from Calcaria, but in both cases it came on so quickly, that I scarcely had time to think.
Today was quite different. We took some minutes preparing ourselves and a man has a chance to think in that time. Visions of home come to you. I thought of my mother and Sunniva, my sister, staring after me as I left. Images of happier times flashed in my mind: feasting in the great barn, laughter and games in the firelight, obscure riddles by the bard Lilla; a glimpse of Aidith looking beautiful and alluring in the half light ... and the memory of a kiss.
On the brink of battle, a man is afraid. You fear injury for the pain it might bring. You fear death for the uncertainty of it. You fear failure for the shame it would carry with it. Out in the open, Cuthbert looked like a hunted hare. His eyes were wild and his head was jerking left and right, as if searching for a way out. Perhaps, like me, he could not quite take it all in. But then he blinked, shook his head and started stringing his bow.
Eduard, standing next to me, appeared keen and excited. There was never much space for thought in my friend’s mind. Right now, I was certain that only the songs of poets were in it. Looking at him, I experienced a moment of perfect clarity and two thoughts came to me. Firstly, this place is where Eduard belonged. If he survived, it would be in battle that his life would have meaning. Just as clearly, I realised that this was not true of me. Ironic, given that I would spend much of my life on one battlefield or another, but all I wanted at that moment was to find Mildrith and go home.
In front of us, Aethelric, Harald, Sabert and the other lords were apparently satisfied that we were ready and waved us forward, but signalled for us to move as quietly as we could in order to increase our chances of catching the enemy by surprise.
When we were just below the crest line, Aethelric did not hesitate, but marched briskly off in front of us towards the enemy. He may be indecisive and vague, but he did not lack for courage, I will give him that. He would surely get cut to pieces by the enemy before we could reach then. Harald saw this too, for he intercepted the Prince and escorted him to a safer place behind Wallace. Then, Harald waved his arm and pointed his sword over the crest of the rise in front of us. The captains ordered us forward and we were off to attack the foe. Overhead, the sun was descending in the western sky, but the day was still warm, the skies clear and blue. Birds swooped and soared, enjoying this perfect summer’s evening. Meanwhile below, the killing was about to start: the battle of Catraeth had begun.
Form up, form up!” hissed Wallace. The call was taken up by some of the older men, who passed it on in hushed voices. We moved closer together and then turned, angling our bodies so our left side was facing the Welsh, bringing our shields to bear. We overlapped our shields with the men on either side, trying to maximise the protection these boards of wood offered. Only a few of the men, along with lords like Aethelric, Sabert, Harald and Wallace, wore armour made of interlinked chains of metal, strong enough to deflect sword blows. The rest of us trusted in our shields, the whims of fate and the courage of our fellows. I was lucky in at least having a helmet, which was made of bone and wood. It felt loose and I pushed it down onto my head.
“Spears, overhead!” ordered our captain. We took our spears and held them halfway along the length in our right hands as we had been taught. Our elbows were bent so the spears were held at the level of our shoulders where, for the moment, we rested them.
Across the small space of a few hundred yards, our enemy had still not noticed us, intent as they were upon the assault on the camp, although a few heads twisted this way and that, perhaps seeking the source of some new noise they had heard. The Welsh though were clashing their spears against shields, trying to frighten our men in the fort. Unlike us, they made no attempt to minimise the racket and this noise pretty much drowned out our own.
Once we had passed over the crest line, I could now see an exchange of arrows between the Welsh attackers and our fellow Deirans in the fortress. Here and there they were hitting home and the first deaths of the day were occurring, but most of the arrows bounced harmlessly off shields and were wasted.
We advanced another twenty paces, with Harald leading our companies so as to hit the rear of the enemy line. For a few heartbeats it seemed as if we would achieve total surprise. Then one of the Welshmen turned, moved away from his army and started fiddling with his britches, looking for a place to relieve himself. He glanced up and his mouth opened as he saw four hundred warriors heading straight for him. For an instant, he just stared at us in shock, but then he let out a cry of alarm. More faces turned and suddenly the Elmetae were all bellowing and pointing, the game was up: we had been seen!
A moment later, there was a shout from a small hillock not far from the Elmetae and upon which the Welsh lords stood, and I could see one of them gesturing our way. I felt an icy chill shoot down my spine as I recognised the scarred, ugly face. There he was: there was Samlen and he was standing next to three or four other princes and kings directing the battle. One of the kings wore a shining gold-coloured breast plate of solid metal and his arms and legs were also sheathed in mail, but not the sort that our lords wore, made of rings of iron. This appeared to be more like the scales of a fish, each scale overlappin
g the one below it. Such a rare and precious suit could not be worn by anyone else: this had to be Owain.
Owain turned to a warrior standing behind him and the man ran towards the back of the Welsh army where they had a few reserve companies following up the leading troops. He soon had them angling out towards us and in their urgency they moved so quickly that it now became obvious we would not reach the Elmetae before these other companies reached us. With a roar, Harald halted us and prepared to defend against the attack. The Welsh were closer now and I could make out their faces and pick out individuals: some of them strong, experienced veterans, some like Aedann, Eduard, Cuthbert and me, in their first battle. For how many of us would it be our last, I wondered fleetingly.
More Welsh companies came towards us. They had, for the moment, abandoned their attack upon the fortress. Leaving only two companies to watch the walls, the rest were coming our way.
Without anyone noticing him go, Aethelric had moved to a small rise in the ground so that he could easily be seen by all present. He was frankly hopeless as a commander. He had no grasp of tactics, could not make a decision and tried too hard to please everyone. But there was one thing he could do: he could make a bloody good speech.
“Warriors of Deira, today I call on you to fight bravely. This is not a fight we wished for. We have lived in peace, happy to farm and to trade and to remain secure within our borders these last fifteen and more years. Now, a threat has come to our pastures. The Welsh would drive us from the lands our fathers fought for and won.”
He did not mention that it had been our race who had originally taken the lands from the Welsh, but that was not a thought for today. Today, Aethelric stirred up our hatred with his simple message.
“Their raiders have burnt our land, slain our warriors and raped our women. If they are not stopped they will come back and try again.” He paused, while some among us shouted, “Never!” and, “Let them try!”
He then continued, “Some of you might wonder why you came here, so far away from your homes. Is this your war? Some of you may wish to be elsewhere. But I say this to you: unless we join together and be rid of this menace, none of us will ever be safe. The Welsh are united in an alliance to drive us away. This place is where they intend to start and it is at this place that they will be stopped.”
We crashed our spears against our shields and shouted out oaths that we would destroy the Welsh enemy or die trying. The enemy were close now and the Prince moved back to stand near Harald. Then, we waited for the attack to come.
The Welsh halted some fifty paces away and to our surprise, they began singing in their strange tongue.
“They are calling to their God to defeat us,” Grettir said, “I have heard them sing like this before.” Not far away, Aethelric heard his words and turned to us all.
“Call to Woden, men of Deira!” bellowed the Prince.
Grettir and the other veterans began pounding their own shields with their spears. Soon, our entire company took up the beat, followed by the companies from Eoforwic. Then, we began chanting, “Woden! Woden!”
Woden was worshiped at the temple at Godnundingham, as well as at shrines in many villages and most of our people trusted in him.
The chanting went on, becoming louder and louder. It did battle now with Christian hymns sung by the Welsh to our fore. Whether Pagan or Christian, the purpose was the same: to put courage into our souls. To set the hearts pounding and to make us believe we could not lose − that we could not die. Indeed to fire us up to fever pitch.
Then, the slaughter would begin.
Suddenly, there was a great shout from the enemy and as one they moved towards us. A handful of archers and slingers ran ahead of them, trying to weaken our line by killing or wounding as many as they could, so that when the shield wall arrived the wedges could bite into the weak spots and cut us apart. Cuthbert and a couple of dozen of our skirmishers exchanged shots with the enemy archers and also fired at the mass of men bearing down upon us. In the scale of this battle it would make little difference, I thought, until a moment later when a sling stone missing the front row, glanced off my shield and ricocheted away from my helmet. I was stunned by the blow and staggered backwards into Grettir who caught me and held me up, until my head stopped spinning. When my vision did clear, the first thing I saw was an arrow taking the warrior in front of me, in the neck. He collapsed back onto my shield and slid gurgling and choking onto the ground where, after what seemed like an eternity of thrashing and twitching, he finally died. The warrior to his left looked down at him, shrugged and then picked him up by his tunic, heaving him forward to form an obstacle to the attack.
“Close up, close up,” came the cry from the rear and the warrior was forgotten as the front rank moved together.
The Welsh were closer now, so that I could make out their features as they advanced. A rugged, scar-faced old veteran scowled at us in rage, whilst next to him a gangly-limbed youth of no more than fourteen years quivered and shook in fear as he tried to hold a shield that was too heavy for him. All men are just human in the end and their army had its fair share of anger, rage and fear − just the same as ours. Yet the simple truth was that they had more men than we did and they were all coming right at us.
Our archers moved out of the way to the flanks as the main body of the enemy closed upon us. Over on the right wing, I heard Earl Sabert order his companies to angle backwards, so as to try and deny the more numerous enemy access to our flanks.
They were closer now: only twenty yards away and both sides started to hurl small javelins and throwing axes. Eduard groaned as an axe bounced off his shield and gashed across his right shoulder, already weakened by his previous injury. Another warrior in the front rank fell, with a javelin impaled through his arm and he was dragged back, screaming, to the rear. The ranks closed up to fill the gap. Our missiles found targets as well and the scarred old veteran was hit in the leg, tripped and fell, then the youth stumbled over him leaving them both in a heap on the ground, but still their army came on. They were five yards away now. I straightened my arm and brought my spear up so as to be ready to strike down over an enemy shield.
Suddenly, I saw Hussa. There he was, in the Elmetae shield wall, towards the rear. He had a helmet too, as well as a shirt of mail armour, so I figured that some of the worth of my mother’s earring had perhaps already been spent. He was not far from me now, maybe just thirty yards away and I wondered if I could work my way over to him, but as soon as I had the thought, he was gone from sight as the warrior in front of him lifted his shield higher. Then, all thoughts of Hussa were banished as the Welsh charged at us.
A huge, red-headed warrior with a battleaxe came screaming towards us, followed by four others, just ahead of their main shield wall. He leapt at our front rank and brought the great blade down upon a warrior from the village. The poor fellow was lucky to die at once, cut almost in two by the blow. This was the wedge tactic at work: the enemy were trying to cut their way into our shield wall, to make a breach and pour through the gap.
A moment later, the armies collided as spears splintered against shields. The force of the blow knocked some men right off their feet and the enemy fell upon these warriors and hewed at them.
Eduard lunged forward with his spear and skewered a man through the neck. He roared in triumph as the victim crashed back through the ranks. My spear, however, smashed against a shield boss and to my alarm the spearhead snapped right off. Now, in the crush of bodies, I struggled to find my sword. Eventually my fingers folded around the hilt and I pulled it free of the baldric and brought it up high.
The world was now filled with the pleas of the dying, the screams of the living, the clatter of shields and the ring of blades as the two bodies of men pushed against each other. To me it seemed that any strategy had been abandoned. Victory and defeat depended simply on who would tire first and who would give way.
There was a sudden shout of alarm from my right. Looking that way, helped by
our position on rising ground, I saw that one of the companies from Eoforwic was beginning to fall back, pushed by the Welsh to the front and also threatened on their flank by a score of enemy warriors that were overlapping that wing of our army. Once they broke, the enemy would be able to get round behind us. I was not alone in spotting this: I could feel panic rising along the whole army. The enemy sensed this too, for they pushed forward eager for the kill.
Then, horns sounded from Stanwick camp and I could now see that the gates had opened and out from the fortress charged the companies of Deirans that had held it. They ran out with no thought for formation. Their leaders had grasped that speed was essential and like a river in flood they surged down upon the left and rear of the Welsh, just where the pressure of their attack had almost led to disaster for us. The tide of battle now swung back our way again. Soon, we had united with our fellow companies from the fortress and were pushing the Welsh west and north, so we had swung round and the camp was now to our rear. The Welsh counter attacked and brought in, as fresh reinforcements, the redundant companies who had been watching the fortress.
For an instant, the situation again hung in the balance. Then, our counter attack began to lose impetus.
At that moment a sole trumpet sounded, bright and loud, away to the north. It was soon joined by others. They swelled into a fanfare and seconds later out of the woods to the north, cavalry emerged. The Welsh leaders had prepared a surprise that they now expected would win them the battle.
Of that charge, poems and songs have been written. The most moving was penned by the Welsh poet Aneirin, who was present amongst their ranks. Years later it was popular in the court of King Cadfan of Gwynedd, which is where I heard it. What a race the Welsh are for song: songs of joy, songs of beauty and songs of war.
How does it go?
Warriors went to Catraeth, embattled, with a cry;
A host of horsemen in dark blue armour, charging nigh;
Spear shafts held aloft, of sharp steel pointed;
And shining swords which the Angles, with death anointed.
Well, I have never been much of a poet, but I agree with Aneirin’s theme. The charge of the Goddodin was indeed magnificent. They were three hundred strong. Every one rode a fine steed and wore a mail shirt, which in the late afternoon sun had a blue tinge to it. Each carried a shield, painted blue with an eagle design in the centre. Forward they charged with lance and blade. Forward came the Goddodin, allies of Strathclyde and Rheged; charging to bring death and defeat to us English. I had seen how frightening just a few dozen cavalry were in Elmet. Three hundred was, frankly, terrifying.
They started under the trees and moved forward a little way onto the open fields. They halted there a moment to form up. Then, the captain raised his sword aloft and brought it down to point at the flank of our army. There was a second fanfare and the cavalry began walking forward. Then they were trotting and finally, galloping. Faster and faster the horses came, urged on by their riders. Now, as they closed, the lances were brought down to point at the enemy: to point at us!
My fellow Angles to our right had seen their doom. Men in their rear ranks − those immediately at risk − began to pull back or turned at least to face the threat. Others threw down spears and shields and started to run. But, it was already too late for them. A moment later, the Goddodin reached their foe. There was a loud crash and then the slaughter began.
Cavalry, such as the Welsh used of old, was effective in three ways. Firstly, the men themselves carried spear or sword to pierce, slash and cut at the enemy. Secondly, the speed and weight of the mounts was sufficient to kill or maim by itself. Finally, the sight and noise of several hundred armoured cavalry thundering towards a body of men would cause terror and panic. This alone might be sufficient to break the will to fight of even the bravest warriors. One moment there was an orderly fighting force, the next a fleeing mass of humanity − ripe for the slaughter.
Such was what occurred over on the Deiran right wing that day. The flank collapsed and several hundred warriors broke and began to run in all directions. The Goddodin cavalry was amongst them in a flash. Scores of our men died in a moment, falling under the steel and hooves of the enemy.
The effect of the charge on the morale of the rest of the Welsh army was instantaneous. Where, five minutes ago their shield wall had been about to crack open, they now pushed back with fresh impetus, so soon we were giving ground all over, while to the north, the Goddodin cavalry was cutting its way further into our army.
As I was in the second rank, it was difficult to do much other than push forward. Then, a man to my front was felled by a red-headed Welshman and went down with a scream. The enemy brute, sensing the change in the fortune of the battle, leapt into the space created and hewed to left and right, cutting down our men on both sides and widening the gap in our front rank. Suddenly, I was face to face with a Welsh veteran. Grinning, his yellow teeth dripping with spittle, he swung his axe back preparing to bring it down upon me. On either side, his companions advanced − pushing their wedge deeper into our line.
Grettir, standing behind me, lunged with his spear towards the red-headed warrior, who dodged to his side and then shattered it with a blow from his weapon. However, in doing so he had opened himself up and I jumped forward and rammed my shield against him, cracking some of his ribs and causing him to cry out in agony. My victory was short-lived, however, as the pain just seemed to intensify his fury, so that he now roared at me, seized my shield and heaved it downwards and then swung back his axe preparing to hack at my neck.
In desperation, my feet slipping and sliding on blood and gore, I swung my sword over the top of my shield, bringing it down hard upon his left arm, cutting deep into the muscle and opening an artery, which now spurted forth blood. He shouted an oath at that and his face screwed up in rage but, before he could hew at me, Eduard, having impaled his own opponent on his spear, followed up by advancing a step, then seized the warrior’s weapon arm. Whilst he was thus distracted, I hacked at him again and this time my blow landed higher up his arm, on his shoulder. As he went down on one knee, I plunged my blade into his chest and a great gush of blood drenched my hand then, with a final cry of pain, he was dead.
Eduard picked up the man’s axe and swung it wildly at the Welsh behind him who, taken aback by the death of the great fighter they were following, held back a moment. I slashed at the man to my right and cut his throat open. For a few heartbeats, the pressure was off and gasping for breath, we fell back and reformed our shield wall.
Along the left wing, where I was fighting, the Deiran force was holding well, but it was at the other end of our line where the enemy was directing his wrath. The cavalry were now behind our right wing and the slaughter went on and on, so that it could not be long before we broke and all was lost. That moment came all too soon: for now, the rout began.
Firstly, twenty men at the rear, close to where the monsters on horseback were attacking us, threw down their spears and turning away, ran east towards the camp. Another twenty joined them, then fifty more until, in a heartbeat, the whole army turned and ran. Harald shouted at them, he bellowed and cursed as the men ran past him.
“Stand firm, you bastards! Come back you cowards!”
But, it was no use. Once an army is running it takes a miracle to stop it and that day there was to be no miracle. There was just blood, death and steel and the horror of three hundred mounted warriors cutting and hacking at us as we ran. The Welsh shouted in triumph and − close by now − I could see Owain come forward with Samlen by his side, both laughing in glee. Then, with a huge wave of his arm which encompassed all his army, he ordered the pursuit.
Suddenly, Aedann pushed past me and moved out of the shield wall. He shouted something in Welsh and both Samlen and Owain stared at him. Aedann drew his sword and moved forward towards them. He was going to challenge Samlen − right here in the middle of the rout. But, I didn’t let him. I seized the collar of his tunic with
my hand and dragged him back behind the shields.
“Let me go, Cerdic.”
“No, don’t be a fool. You dying now won’t help.”
“But I want to kill him.”
“So do we all, but let’s live today and see about that tomorrow, eh son?” Eduard said. Aedann slammed his sword against his shield in frustration but then, after directing another glare full of hatred back towards Samlen, he relented.
By now, we had all moved back a few hundred paces and the right wing was pinned against Stanwick camp. Its outer ditch and palisades, which had been built to protect our army, now prevented the escape of the very men who were here to defend it. The Goddodin rode on and hacked their way into dense masses of panicstricken, unarmed warriors who had abandoned their weapons when they started to run.
I was now close to Wallace, Harald and the Prince. The Prince’s house troops were standing firm and Wallace was shouting at the Wicstun Company to join them.
Gradually, some sanity returned and in tens and twenties, men started to huddle around the Prince’s company and those of us with shields attempted to reform our shield wall.
The Welsh warriors began to lap around our left wing, just as the cavalry were pushing us from the right. I said there was no miracle that day, but there was just a glimmer of hope: for the battle had raged some hours now and the sun was sinking fast in the west.
It would be dark soon and escape is certainly easier in the dark. There was one other hope − one other chance. We had been retreating now for several hundred yards along the southern edge of Stanwick camp and I suddenly became aware that the gates to the fortress were open and only a hundred yards away. If we could just get inside ....
“My Lord,” I shouted at Wallace, he didn’t hear me: I tried again.
“My Lord,” I bellowed and this time he turned, so I pointed towards the open gates. He now also understood the chance for escape and he turned to shout over to Earl Harald. Harald frowned at him for a moment and then he nodded and roared out an order to the whole army.
“Fall back, but keep it orderly. Fall back, but keep together!” Harald yelled and we did.
With only fifty yards now to go, I felt that we might just make it. Just those very few paces and we could close the gates and take refuge from the army that wanted to destroy us. Just forty-five paces now ... but then, I saw that it was no use.
A hundred of the Goddodin cavalry, having finished the slaughter west of the camp, had circled behind their own army and were now passing to the south of us. As they curved around us, their commander saw the open gates of Stanwick Camp.
He saw us withdrawing in stages, slowly moving towards the fortress and safety. In an instant, he too realised what we were trying to do and digging in their heels, the enemy horsemen charged again.
If they reached the gate first ... we were dead!