To Kill the Christ! - Chapter Seventeen: Battle for Volodion

       Four leaders of the eastern Coritani tribes visited Nottingham early in March. They were stout men, lowlanders, sturdy and warlike, but farmers who lived east of the River Trent and in the great valley that had been formed by ancient glaciers. Vasli was their spokesman, although too young to lead. His knowledge of several languages showed why he spoke for the group. But Masso was the real leader. He was a wiry man with leather clothes, except for a cotton jerkin under his leather vest. Of average height, he was the man to whom several Coritani tribal leaders turned for advice and approval. Vasli made the speeches. Masso made the decisions.

       Carl had difficulty grasping the story, but he learned that Voliscios, who was Belgae, three years earlier had begun raiding Coritani farmers who lived along the eastern side of the Trent Valley.

       Vasli explained the situation. "The Romans require duties of wheat and barley from the Belgae on the continent. Since they can't meet the levy, they appeal to kinsmen in Britannia for help. Most of the Belgae in the south contribute.

       "Voliscios is from the same tribe, but he came to Britannia earlier with warriors who conquered a group of Coritani living along the coast. Voliscios and the other Belgae live mostly in the fens, a marshy area, or along the low lying coastline between surf and wold. They can't grow grain there, so they can't meet kinship obligations. They rely upon the sea for food. Thus they raid the nearby Coritani farmers. The thieving Belgae steal crops and herds, kill the Coritani farmers, and burn the scattered farms.

       "This has gone on for three years," Vasli coughed into his hand, "for the Coritani seldom organize to defend themselves against the Belgae." Then, he embarrassedly added, "Though they are good fighters."

       It was a knotty problem. Carl was elated they had sought his help for this would extend his influence to the coast. What to do with Voliscios? The people he controlled were primarily fishermen since only a few farmed, but he had gathered together an army large enough to attack and destroy the isolated farms of the Coritani. They were a people Carl wanted on his side. What's the solution?

       That day the Nottingham leadership debated while the visiting Coritani were wined and dined in the mansion's outer buildings. The situation was simple from the Coritani viewpoint. They wanted their kinsmen restored to their farms on the plateau near the coast and the Belgae annihilated.

       Catuvolcus was reluctant to help Masso and the Trent Valley tribes since they themselves had been a source of boundary troubles in the past. Nor did he support Voliscios, a foreigner like Dumnocoveros had been. "A pox on both their houses," Catuvolcus said. Thus, he argued against "fighting outside our territory. We do not have the men."

       Morius was strong to intervene. He had caught part of the Long Reach spirit and recognized how powerful Nottingham could become. "We should destroy Voliscios and control the Coritani. We need the land, men, and grain." He was practical.

       Carl wanted a political solution to the problem, one that lasted. "Why don't the Belgae trade for grain with the Coritani instead of stealing it?" he asked.

       Morius shrugged his shoulders. "It's their way. They plunder and rob, not trade."

       Vasli was brought into the discussion. Had the Belgae traded with the Coritani, or offered to do so?

       "No. Everyone knows the Belgae are thieves and take what they want when they want it. Anyway, the Coritani don't grow extra grain, so the Belgae take everything that's harvested."

       For the first time Carl began to see an answer. He spoke to his leaders. "There is a long term answer and a short term answer, it seems to me. The long term answer is for the Coritani to grow more grain and to trade the surplus, that which they don't need for food or planting, to the Belgae."

       He spoke to Vasli. "We can help your tribes increase crop yields. But that will take several years. We need to stop the Belgae from raiding and provide short term supplies to them to meet their kinship needs. We can provide some grain from the royal stores, but probably not enough. Nevertheless, I'll offer grain to them in trade. If they don't accept, we'll have to go to war, unless they're more reasonable than you've indicated."

       Catuvolcus vacillated, but the other officers wanted to try the new military tactics against the Belgae. They were ready to march off to battle the next day.

       "We'll talk with the Belgae first," Carl said. "We'll try for agreements which meet their needs but also require them to restore the Coritani farmland, pay indemnity, and stop their attacks. If they don't agree, we'll have to act to save the Coritani."

       The morning he left, Rebecca handed him her pistol, which she had never used. "You have about forty shells, Raphael. Keep them in this moisture proof bag. Try ten or so kneeling practice shots on the journey to see if you can shoot with your right hand." She couldn't resist being his nurse. "And keep exercising that hand!"

       He took her advice, although it required that he practice away from the escort and Gaio. He recovered all of the cartridges and successfully deflected Gaio's queries about the noise.

       The negotiations with the Volodion Belgae went badly. Voliscios, as others had said, proved obdurate. He was a hulking warrior who limped because of missing toes on his left foot, the result of a battle years before. The Belgae were not large in number, but they were cohesive and located in a sharply defined area. And they were pugnacious.

       After several ineffective messages, Voliscios signaled the end to negotiations by personally lashing Nottingham's emissary until his back was raw before returning him in humiliation. The message was clear. He would brook no interference from Nottingham, and he would not stop attacking the Coritani.

       Carl's next message was delivered at night and attached to an arrow driven so deeply into the doorway of Voliscios' one-story wooden home that it couldn't be pulled out. With the help of Vasli, Carl declared war in Latin, since Gaelic wasn't written.

       Carl supported the Coritani, but not without exacting promises from them. They would have been surprised if he had done otherwise. They were required to supply volunteers and certain military supplies to Long Reach's professional army. Perhaps more important, their existing councils would represent the Trent Valley Coritani in Nottingham councils. It was a step—a very small step—toward a Parliamentary democracy.

       The Volodion Belgae lived along the coast from the mouth of the Humber to Skegness, along the northern edge of the Wash to Volodion, and they had spread farther west, toward Nottingham, by conquest. Most of the area was low lying marshland fed by rivers from the north, west, and south. The land was so low that spring tides, if accompanied by east winds, drove people from their homes along the Wash. Volodion itself was higher and well protected. It would be difficult to invade.

       Morius led the cavalry and a small detachment of archers and infantry riding on pack horses. To escape detection by Volodion spies, they left Nottingham under cover of darkness and moved north through the Trent basin. Halfway to the Humber they turned east and climbed into the wolds, then moved south through the wolds to attack Skegness on the coast before moving southwest along the edge of The Wash in a pinchers movement toward Volodion.

       Catuvolcus led the main army, which was made up of infantry and archers, with Brogitarus second in command. The infantry was outfitted with pikes and javelins as well as swords since the Belgae had infantry with only a few archers. Nottingham's archers, commanded by Bruscillus of Ver, would have the field to themselves.

       A small guard remained in Nottingham to protect against sneak attack. It was commanded by Iona, who seemed always to be left behind since he had broken his hand on the trip north.

       Carl's army was small. He had neither time nor money to build a large army, and he refused to bring in peasants and servants to serve as infantry. There were no more than four hundred men with the main unit, including archers. Morius' cavalry and infantry/archery detachment numbered a little over one hundred.

       But all were well trained. Their weapons and tactics would win the day or Nottingham would be humiliated and Long Reach would go a' glimmering.

       Rebecca directed her little corps of medical people who trailed the army to treat the wounded. She already missed Gaio.

       For two days the infantry slowly moved toward Volodion, in mist and spring rain, allowing Morius time to travel a more circuitous route to attack from the east.

       The morning of April 6, by Carl's reckoning, his infantry and archers encamped on the edge of a large woods where he saw the enemy for the first time. It was a clear day and the grass glistened from the earlier rain. Voliscios had a much larger army with more than a thousand men made up of several Belgae and Coritani tribes now under his command. It was a colorful, frightening sight. Most warriors were painted in greens and blues, with red and yellow mixed in their hair, which was brushed high to make them appear taller than they were.

       They massed on the lower slopes of a long hill several miles west of Volodion, with a small rise behind them. Voliscios had gathered his men at the bottom of the slope, prepared to meet Nottingham's charge.

       "Why have they left Volodion to face us in the fields?" Carl asked Catuvolcus. "I expected to attack the city and its walls."

       "They have contempt for our forces. They will attack us in the open and then march on Nottingham."

       Carl gritted his teeth. "Seems I've seen that concete before. Don't these guys learn from each other?" The comment was directed to himself.

       The Belgae were armed with pikes, spears, and swords. The pikes would serve as javelins. Most of the men were nearly naked. The officers wore distinctive copper helmets with figures that stood a foot above them, and three officers had armor and elaborate decorated shields.

       Carl consulted with Catuvolcus. "Have the archers concentrate on their officers in the first volleys," he said. "Anybody wearing a helmet should be killed with the first volley. Have Bruscillus select those archers who will concentrate on the officers." He gave the hint of a smile as he glanced back at the field. "I don't want all of the officers dead and all of the warriors alive, but no Belgic officer in the first three ranks should be alive after the battle has been joined."

       Catuvolcus resisted the suggestion. "We should attack now. They are downhill and we can get a running attack which will overwhelm them. It is not right to stand here while they attack. It is not manly."

       "Catuvolcus, we want to win the battle without losing men. I don't care if they think I'm a coward. (He was ignoring the fact that Catuvolcus thought the tactics were cowardly.) What happened to all that strategy we talked about?" Carl grew angry, and Catuvolcus was unhappy. Old habits died hard, even if they were the kind that got one killed.

       "Look," Carl added. "That 'downhill' advantage is what gives us the best position. We'll wait in a defensive position and allow them to attack us. They'll have to attack uphill, which will slow them and cause their javelins to fall short. If they don't attack, we just wait. Word should soon arrive from Volodion that the eastern seaboard now lies in our hands. That will force Voliscios to retreat or attack us to save face."

       The Belgic forces began a beating of spears and swords against shields and raised chants and taunts against the Nottinghamers. Carl had been forewarned and had commanded his men to wait quietly. Only when they attacked could they yell.

       Suddenly, a lone warrior stepped from the Belgae ranks, brandishing his sword and spear and challenging a champion of the Nottinghamers to come forward. The men shuffled uneasily, forbidden to accept such a challenge.

       Finally, as his men cast guilty glances his direction, Carl dismounted, threw himself prone and had Catuvolcus cover him and his rifle with his "magic blanket." At a signal, his own men began to chant. Carefully adjusting his sights, Carl focused on the sword the warrior was holding aloft.

       It took two shots, both muffled by the chants of the warriors, to send the sword spinning from the challenger's hand, but a man in the front ranks dropped to the ground, clutching his groin, hit by the ricochet. Before the challenger could recover, another shot smashed his shield, breaking it loose from his grasp. The disbelieving warrior picked up his shield, glanced worriedly toward the hill, and quickly backed into the milling army.

       The Belgae were stunned by the turn of events, and an uneasiness spread through their ranks. Men whispered to men, their top hair bobbing uneasily. Behind them Carl could see a lone rider gallop up to the command center, which was on a rise.

       The Nottinghamer ranks wore smiles as Carl remounted Murt and returned to his command center.

       Catuvolcus informed Carl of the obvious. "A rider has arrived, probably with news of Morius' attack on Volodion."

       "Yes, now we'll get action. Either Voliscios will retreat to attack Morius, or he'll decide to take us on. In any case, prepare the men. If the Belgae retreat, we follow after them, but the men must stay in formation!"

       But Voliscios wasn't going to retreat. He could do more damage to those warriors in front of him than he could by chasing after cavalry. He gave the command to charge. A five-foot trumpet spoke into the murky air.

       The lower slope erupted with men brandishing weapons and charging pell mell up the hill, irregular but about fifty to sixty men wide. The screams curled one's hair and the Nottingham squares shuddered but stood firm.

       Bruscillus held his men in readiness, waiting until the enemy had closed within two hundred feet, close enough for his archers to bring down the front ranks in the first volley. Then his arm dropped, and sixty arrows leaped from as many bows. Before the wounded and dead slipped to the ground, with arrows protruding from arms, necks, and chests, another sixty arrows followed close behind. The first to fall were the helmeted Belgae in the front ranks. Then again the twang of string could be heard above the screams. Four volleys were loosed. It was a slaughter.

       But there were too many Belgae, and some men broke through the volley, either shrugging off the arrows or having the good luck to be missed. They were strung out across the field, but they rapidly closed on the archers, who retreated under Bruscillus' orders.

       The infantry passed through the archers then closed ranks and moved forward to meet the oncoming enemy. One Nottingham soldier got carried away and left his group, charging into the field. He cut down one man but was slashed by two others who came upon him in his lonely fight.

       Carl was furious. "Catuvolcus, make them hold ranks! The Belgae can't penetrate if they stay together!"

       Catuvolcus looked back with distaste, but commanded Brogitarus to get his men to close ranks. And they did. They linked bodylength shields with pikes and spears peering out. The leading Belgae warriors were impaled or if they flung themselves upon the shields with axes and swords, were cut down by swords from neighbors of the man they were attacking. The Nottinghamers were fighting as disciplined Romans did.

       The Nottingham infantry stepped forward as a unit into the few warriors who had made it to the front ranks and killed every man who succeeded in reaching their shields. Here and there an axe breeched the shields, felling a Nottingham warrior before the Belgae warrior fell in turn, but a reserve infantryman quickly stepped into the gap and the solid wall of shields continued. The first three uneven ranks of the Belgae were dead or wounded.

       The fourth rank had charged half way up the hill before it realized what had happened. As though on command the warriors threw their javelins. All fell short of the Nottingham infantry landing on the slopes and impaling several of their wounded comrades. Meanwhile, Nottingham's archers, who had regrouped behind the infantry, decided the battle by unloosing a shower of arrows over their own men into the Belgae back ranks as they hesitated. The attackers turned and fled the scene.

       Catuvolcus rode to the front and harshly commanded his officers to keep the men in formation, then Nottingham began a controlled attack, the archers and infantry loping after the fleeing enemy, but keeping a tight formation. Whenever a warrior would charge ahead, an officer reluctantly commanded him to return. Safety lay in unity.

        As they passed wounded Belgae, infantrymen drove swords into their bellies or cut off their heads. There were no Belgic survivors on the battlefield. It was the warrior code. It was the first time Carl had seen such a horrendous practice. It was also too late to do anything about it.

       The enemy fled through woods and over gentle hills, retreating toward the marshy low land. As they neared Volodion they abruptly stopped at the sight that confronted them. Black smoke from a hundred scattered burning farms and the village itself lifted straight up into the sky where it caught a breeze at about a hundred feet, dissipating to the south. Their land had been devastated. They did not know that women and children had been spared.

       Voliscios' army began to mill about, frustrated and frightened at the turn of events. They had retreated nearly five miles and had arrived at the Wren River. East, across the river, stood the Nottingham cavalry. West, behind the retreating Belgae, was the Nottingham army, which was in battle formation a quarter of a mile away. The Belgae forces were in disarray for most of the officers, who were tribal leaders, had died in the first waves of the attack. Only the command officers were able to bring order, gathering the men into a semi-circle with their backs to the river, facing Nottingham's infantry and archers.

       The Nottingham army formed up in tight formation and moved within two hundred feet. From there, the archers could decimate the enemy, but Carl knew the Belgae, out of desperation, would begin a final assault and Nottingham would suffer many casualties. His losses had been light so far, and judging from Morius' forces across the river, he too had suffered few losses. Carl could ill afford to lose men.

       "We should attack now," Catuvolcus urged.

       Carl's face tinted under his tan. "No! They are too compact. We would lose too many men. Besides," he looked sideways at his commander, "we already control them. Call for them to surrender."

       Catuvolcus spoke loud enough to be heard by officers and nearby archers. "We should destroy them—now!"

       Carl turned in his saddle to confront him. "Call for their surrender—now!" He would deal with Catuvolcus after the battle was over.

       The general, his face stony, rode forward to demand Voliscios' surrender. He was met with a javelin, thrown from the back ranks, a contemptuous answer.

       Carl rode out to meet Catuvolcus, who was swearing at the Belgae. "Which one's Voliscios?"

       "He stands on that stump. He'll not surrender. We must attack."

       Carl checked his ammunition. Since he had been transported to ancient Britain he had shot to kill only those who had threatened him or others. But Voliscios' intransigence would kill Nottinghamers as well as Volodion Belgae. He dismounted, drew the blanket awkwardly over his head and rifle, forced Murt to the ground, then, using the saddle as a brace, centered the scope on the warrior's head. He sent a bullet crashing into his skull. Voliscios jerked backwards as the sound arrived, then toppled from his perch onto his officers. The milling Belgae grew absolutely silent. Surreal.

       Catuvolcus moved forward and called for the remaining leaders to surrender. The Belgae must pay restitution to, he hesitated to say Carl's name, "Nottingham." But behind him Brogitarus led a chant, quickly picked up by the Nottingham warriors. "Carl of the Long Reach, Carl of the Long Reach." Morius' cavalry echoed the cry from across the river.

       An emissary from the Belgae slowly came forth. The battle was over.

       In his heart Catuvolcus felt envy over the cheers for the king and humiliation that the victory was earned with so little person-to-person combat. Carl, flush with victory, remembered his general's insubordination. A personal confrontation was in order.