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Clearly, they meant to fight from their platforms as much as possible, saving themselves the added effort of climbing the entire five hundred feet from plain to summit every time they made a charge at the Britons' perimeter walls. And still the Briton defenders watched in stony silence, doing nothing to interfere or discourage the work, hiding their own strength and hoarding their finite supplies.
The silence was finally broken just after midday, while Stirling was washing down the last mouthfuls of bread and cheese with a cup of ale. A ru
It was, indeed, the nervous princeling of Wessex.
"Greetings, gewisse!" Cadorius called out strongly. "What message do you bear us from your foreign masters?"
The prince of Wessex lost what color remained in his face, lips clamping tightly at the double insult. "I bear a message from King Cerdic of Wessex!" the young man shouted back.
"And what does the usurping murderer of Wessex have to say that would possibly be of interest to loyal Briton kings?"
Creoda's ashen features flooded scarlet. "My father, king of Wessex, urges you to abandon this folly!" He swept a gesture at the walls of the newly strengthened hill fort. "We can starve you out at our leisure! Would you condemn the women and children who've mistaken your hospitality for safety, when Wessex guarantees their safety should you bow to reason and surrender quietly?"
Before any of the Briton kings could frame an answer, a woman's voice split the silence.
"Do not presume to speak of Saxon guarantees to me!"
It was Princess Iona, standing tall and proud atop the i
"Yes, you might well be astonished to see me alive!" she snarled down at him. "I know whose gold it was paid the traitors of Ynys Weith! Firsthand, I've seen how Saxon dogs greet i
She snatched up a javelin from an astonished foot soldier and hurled it with all her strength. An instant later, Creoda's horse reared with a savage scream, with the javelin buried in the animal's neck. The horse toppled, kicking and screaming as it died. Creoda, hurled to the ground, rolled and slid ignominiously through the mud. A thunderous cheer rose spontaneously from Briton throats, rolling like an avalanche down across the mud-soaked princeling.
Iona, trembling atop the wall, spat once in Creoda's direction, then turned her back. Ancelotis leaped forward, assisting her down to the ground. She was shaking violently now, barely able to keep her feet, and tears spilled loose, blinding her. Ancelotis guided her gently back toward the barracks, relieved when Covia
"Help her," Ancelotis said quietly. "She must have some relief of the grief that has wounded her heart so deeply."
"Come, Iona," Covia
Ancelotis was on his way back to Cadorius and the others when a scream of ram's-horn trumpets shattered the raw morning. The sound came not from the Saxons' command pavilion, but from the northern slope. He ran forward, just in time to see a group of five heavily armored riders burst down the hillside through the northern gate, horses thundering toward the Saxon lines.
"What in hell—?" Stirling gasped.
The riders met infantry with a shock of lances on shields. The first wave of Saxons went down, but infantrymen poured in from the flanks, cutting off the riders' escape. One of the Britons went down, hacked to death by Saxon war axes. The others tried again for a breakout and were blocked at every turn. When the infantry tried to drag the cavalrymen from their saddles, the Briton war-horses screamed and lashed out with flinty hooves, kicking and biting to clear a path back up the hill. The remaining four riders spurred their horses up the steep slope, having failed to break through the Saxon lines. Spears whistled after them, bringing down two of the war-horses. Their riders rolled clear of the wounded animals, then clawed their way upward, until all four were safely back inside the gates.
"What in God's name was that in aid of?" Stirling demanded.
Cadorius spoke behind him. "To convince the Saxons we are desperate to break out a message for help—and are too weak to do so."
Stirling tightened his jaw muscles, then nodded. He, too, had ordered men to their deaths. Necessity never made it easy, however, and Cadorius' eyes reflected the same pain Stirling and Ancelotis felt so keenly. "So it begins," Stirling said through clenched teeth. "A cat-and-mouse tradeoff of blows."
"Take heart," Cadorius said quietly, laying an arm across his tense shoulders. "They can do us little damage and Iona's proud defiance has stirred the men's blood far better than you or I could have done."
That, at least, was nothing more than raw truth.
And so they waited the Saxons out, midday stretching interminably toward a cold blustery dusk, while the Saxon army continued its work, throwing up fighting platforms around the circumference of Badon Hill. Four times more did Cadorius send riders thundering downhill, attempting breakout, testing Saxon strength and responsiveness, testing their signaling systems and how well they worked together as infantry. And four times more were the Briton riders turned back, with greater ease and swifter responsiveness as the day wore endlessly on and the Saxons, too, began to hit their stride as a functional battle unit. Cadorius said little, Ancelotis even less. Stirling bided his time, waiting for the proper moment to spring the first of their surprises.
By dusk of the second day of siege, the civilians atop Badon Hill were begi
Ancelotis paused. "To wear down our nerves," he said quietly.
The woman, dressed as a farmholder, turned in surprise—and gasped when she recognized him. "My apologies, King Ancelotis," she stammered.
"No." He smiled, resting a hand on her shoulder. "It is a fair question and deserves answer. They hope to fray our patience, to leave us so jittery we'll lose all effectiveness when their charge does come at our walls."
Her eyes flashed. "Filthy curs! They'll not succeed with such tricks!"
Ancelotis smiled as she stormed off, shouting the news to the other women, sending the word of Saxon perfidiousness through the encamped refugees. Stirling chuckled. Brilliant, Ancelotis. Absolutely brilliant. You've put the fighting spirit right back into them.
Aye, he sighed. Now if we can just keep their spirits high...
Stirling waited until full darkness had descended, walking through the camp to give the high sign to the men he had selected a week previously and trained so carefully by day and night. The rain ended shortly after dark, the wind blowing rents in the clouds, through which glittering cold constellations could be seen. How long the clear weather would last, there was no way of knowing, but Stirling did not intend to waste the opportunity.