"Have you ever been besieged?" I ask calmly, and cut Magnus off before he can respond. "Because I have. Briefly. Or near enough. In enemy territory, you see, if you let yourself get cut off in a settlement or fort without supply lines - and it is an easy thing to do that - your enemy need not actually lay siege. He can wait around, kill any foragers you send out, and bide his time while he grows his strength. It is bearable for him. But for you, it is terrible: there is the anxiety, the discontent, the boredom and worry as your food. Slowly. Diminishes. I shudder to think of what that would be like in the winter." I am speaking slowly now, almost patronizingly, and I am enjoying myself. "Perhaps we suffer some discomfort. But we need only escort carts overflowing with grain and bread and meat from the river to our camp. We have no need to worry about starving, or running out of firewood. When the snows fall - then we will assault King Berdic's walls."
Magnus storms off; it must be the eighteenth time he has tried to persuade me to attack the walls of Colonia Lindum, but we will wait for time to sap the strength of the men atop them. Magnus cannot take them by himself. He may be Mor's captain and have over 4,ooo men under his command, but any assault that consisted of less than six thousands would be doomed to failure. So it does not matter that he controls slightly more than half of our host. And he does not have my northern veterans.
November 14th, 464
The snow came late this year. But it did fall eventully, and still I elected to wait. My camp has been calm. Me aids are in accord with my plan and my veterans are confident in my abilities and those of their captains. Their confidence has spread to the others, conscripts and volunteers who hail mostly from the southern lowlands and the west, men who were too young for or too far from the Northern Wars.
"Send them in," I say. I cannot fight in this battle. The wounds I suffered in the assassnation attempt have yet to heal. Instead Fulvius will direct this half of the assault. He has certainly seen enough sieges.
He kicks his horse forward now, and his signifer blows a horn. Signifer. Another bastardization of a once-Roman word. Several groups of men rush forward, braving a hail of arrows to throw their
ladders against the grey walls. Yet more slowly haul a pair of rams towards the oak gates.
These two ideas came from Fulvius and Merriadoc. Both have changed greatly since the Northen Wars, each becoming more serious, although Fulvius has retained his sense of humor much more than Merriadoc. At least unless the subject revolves around death.
Macsen's death had a powerful effect on the man. While we both mourned, Fulvius seemed to first examine himself for any faults that could have caused our friend's death. Perhaps it was also because many of the Marchomar cavalrymen he lead fell as well. In any case, he then turned to our military in an endeavor to reduce Ebrauc casualties in any way possible. And so we attack the walls and archers first with heavy, disciplined infantry.
Merriadoc has grown harder. He was still a boy, I think, until Cadgor was wounded almost unto death. Despite his brother's recovery, Merriadoc seems to have taken it upon himself to see to his well-being in ways that I do not think any of us will understand. Cadgor himself is nearly unchanged save physically. Another result has been Merriadoc's continued involvement with the Pedites Ebrauc, the elite core of our infantry. How he came to be associated with them I cannot understand, for they generally hold themself aloof from horsemen.
Very well, I said. We will send the ladders first, with the Rherell
. Fulvius smiled and stepped back.
Then Merriadoc stepped forward. Lord, he said, I might also suggest more rams.
More rams?
Yes, more rams.
If one should burn, or get caught, we would not then need to wait. A combined attack is much stronger than a single strike.
True, I nod.
And so here we are. I have Gwrast's son Ednyfed with me, a boy of 10 years who reminds me of my dead brother in his mannerisms and his attentiveness to the ways of war though it has been years since his father died. Also with me is my eldest son, Owain, who is nearly 9. It is time for them to begin their education as nobles in the art of war.
Now the ladders are at the wall. "Look well lads,"
Ælla says in his gruff voice. "The ladders are at the walls now. Would you have the courage to be the first over the battlements?" They look at him wide-eyed, in awe of this grizzled warrior and terrified. "A man must lead to be a leader, a drohten. See," he gestures at the base of the walls, and they look, "there is Merriadoc with the infantry, directing them up the ladders. Mark him; he'll go through the gates with the first of the Pedites Ebrauc." The boys nod. "Lord Dunawt leads as well - usually. You've seen his scars." Again they nod. Poor
Ælla. How he longs for battle, yet he can hardly walk.
I thump the boys gently on the head. "But a leader must also know when to hold back." I point with my sword to where Fulvius' horsemen are, and as they watch three break off in a gallop to distribute more orders. "Not a man here would doubt his bravery, and he must hold back to direct the movement of men and materials." He is doing a good job of it too, as far as I can tell, but this day it will be the infantry who will carry us to victory.
The archers are silenced for the most part now, and one of our rams is at the gates, battering at them. Another lies abandoned, mired in mud, the third ready should the first falter. It is not too long until the gates are battered down, and the Pedites pour through, followed by more of our soldiers. Fulvius directs more and more men through the gateway and up the ladders, and soon there are hundreds of our men in the town. A messenger has reported that Magnus' attack is under way as well.
We ride closer to the walls, and the boys can catch glimpses of the desperate struggles on top as the defenders are slowly pushed away from the ladders, and fall. They are enthralled, fixated, yet slightly pale. Finallly, the soldiers tasked with securing the gatehouse are successful, and roar their triumph, shaking bloody weapons at the sky. They are giants; they are invincible.
The fighting is in the streets now, and that means we have won. We ride into the city, over the corpses of those who fell at the foot of the walls. "Make no mistake, this is the price of war," I say, gesturing at the broken bodies. The boys look ill now. "But never forget, that is what we fight for." Now I am pointing at the purple banners of Ebrauc hanging from the gatehouses. "We fight so this carnage is kept from our borders, so it never touches Ebrauc. We fight so our names are known in this world, so our people feel safe and our enemies tremble."
Cheering has begun now from the center of the city, and it has fallen. We try to keep the looting to a minimum, but the men must have some reward for their struggles. My assault, or Fulvius and Merriadoc's, has been incredibly successful, with only a few hundred losses. Magnus, on the other hand, lost close to nine hundred dead. While his men were of lesser quality, I did not expect him to take such heavy casualties.
to rede I me delyte
Re: The Tin Isles [IB2 Conqvuestvs Britanniae] updated 9\20\15 - quasi update
Decanus
Frothy Goodness
Domesticus
(But a return is promised!
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non flectis non mutant
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