"Nothing. But I would like to know what's going on up at the fort. Flavius may not be able to bring out his cavalry."
"Then he'll be dead. That's the only thing that will stop him."
"I know," I concurred, "but as I said, we don't know what's going on up there. If Flavius does not come out, my three hundred will not make much of a difference."
Uther barked his strange laugh again. "By that time, if that happens, it will not matter, Cousin. We'll be in the hands of Mithras. Anyway, I will keep watch. If Flavius does not come out, I'll turn my own men and come to help you rather than capturing their camp. One way or another it will be an ending, have no fears."
I grinned at him in the greying darkness. "I have no fear, Uther. I'm too terrified for fear!"
He laughed again and punched me in the shoulder. "See you later, Cousin."
I can take no credit for the conduct of the battle or for the successful unfolding of the plan. I can say only that it worked perfectly when it did unfold. We had the better part of an hour to make our troop dispositions before daylight revealed our presence to the enemy. By then I had my own three hundred men well hidden, far to the right of Uther's launching point, with time on my hands to worry over whether he would make it to his own position in time to begin his attack with surprise on his side. I had nothing else to do but wait for the sounds of his charge, but I waited and waited and the sky grew bright. Finally, when I could wait no longer without seeing for myself what was afoot, I went back alone towards the forest's edge and found a spot where I could see through the screen of trees. There was no sign of Uther's force on the plain to my left. He had not yet moved his men out of hiding.
I can recall my initial reaction of anger clearly as I wondered why he would have delayed so long, and I leaped from my horse and went forward on foot. Ahead of me, on the very fringe of the tree line, stood a mighty oak tree, and I climbed high into its branches and looked out over the campus that stretched unbroken from its base to the hill of Camulod. The citadel on the hilltop was obscured by drifting smoke, but as I looked a wind sprang up from the east and began blowing the roiling clouds away from the walls. I could see no flames, but I was far away. And it was only then that I perceived the reason for Uther's delay in launching his attack.
The enemy was on the move, in massed, seemingly disciplined ranks, towards our camp at the bottom of the hill. As they moved, I guessed their numbers at around five thousand, with a leading assault force of some three hundred war chariots. I stared at these in disbelief, not having known until that time that war chariots still existed in Britain. To my knowledge, none had been used in battle for decades, and then only in the far north. They moved with pomp and purpose, and as they neared our embattled camp their brethren who had been attacking it, some two to three thousand strong, fell back to give them access.
As these retiring fighters streamed away, their numbers mingled with and crossed through the confident, advancing army, so that for a space all semblance of disciplined movement disappeared, and it was then that Uther committed his forces from the south, behind them, his brazen trumpets neighing loud and clear. His surprise was absolute. Lot's melding armies, advancing and withdrawing through each other, wavered in confusion for a fatal interval as their commanders sought to assimilate and respond to this unexpected apparition. By the time their ranks started to wheel in some semblance of formation, Uther's three hundred cavalry, charging in five tight-knit, invincible wedge-shaped squadrons, each with three individual twenty-man wedge formations, had halved the distance separating them. I watched spellbound in admiration, clearly seeing Uther's great dragon standard at the apex of the central squadron. This was the formation manoeuvre we had spent month after month preparing but had not used in battle until now.
Then, a half minute before the opening clash of battle, another rally sounded to my left as the first half of our centre, two hundred horse, broke into their charge, their formations emerging as they built up speed, advancing to hit the enemy on the now-open flank. I glanced back towards Uther's charge and, in the moments that remained before the action joined, I saw the morning light reflect from massed spearpoints as Titus sent his infantry out through the southern and the eastern gates in maniples of one hundred and twenty men each.
Caught up in the excitement of the scene, I almost lost sight of my own role in the events that were unfolding. Lot's people came to pillage, I exulted. They had not known what they would really face. They had not expected Roman tactics combined with the strategies of Alexander! Then I threw myself down from the tree, leaping from limb to limb, castigating myself for my doubts, but already beginning to anticipate the launching of my own three hundred men. I swung myself back onto my horse and rejoined my troops, signalling them to stand fast, then I sent one of Uther's Celts up into the tree where I had been, bidding him pass the word to me when the enemy had passed the northeast corner of our camp and the final assault of our centre had begun.
It seemed to take hours for that to happen, and in the meantime we sat and waited, seeing the battle only through the eyes of the man up in the tree although, from his shouted commentary, it soon became clear that all was unfolding as planned. I experienced again the agonies of waiting and wondering, and in my agitation I found myself fidgeting with the weapon that Uther had made for me, the iron ball on the length of chain. I untied it from where it hung by my saddle and slipped the loop over my wrist, gripping the thick, wooden handle and enjoying the substantial, solid weight of the apparatus. I was standing in my stirrups, vainly trying to see through the screen of leaves ahead of me when the cry came from the man in the tree above: the gates of the fort were open and our cavalry coming out. I swung the iron ball around my head, shouted to the men ranked behind me, sat back in the saddle and kicked my horse hard, seeing the man in the tree coming down almost as fast as I had, and then we were out in the open and driving hard across the path of Lot's demoralized army, trumpets blaring, lost in the growing thunder of our hooves as our mounts increased their speed with every stride, moving into the tight, arrowhead formations that were designed to slice through any mass of foot-soldiers. And as the distance closed between us and the enemy, I raised my eyes again and again to the summit of the hill in front of us and heard my own voice soaring in exultation as I watched my father's cavalry swarming out from the curtain wall and pouring down the hill to join us for the killing.
In the heat of the battle, Uther's new weapon impressed me more than anything else. It felt feather light in my grasp and yet each time that swinging iron ball hit someone, it threw the man bodily aside like a child's doll of cloth and straw. At one point I felt a heavy blow on my chest and then a pain in my wrist and briefly saw a spent arrow fall down by the side of my horse. I ignored it and killed another man on the ground, caving his helmet and skull with my swinging ball before the realization hit me that I might be dying from one of Lot's envenomed arrows. I felt a wave of panic sweep upwards from my gut and I reined in my horse violently, oblivious of the fighting around me, my eyes fastened to the small, shallow cut on my left wrist. And then my proud horse went to its knees with a stricken grunt of pain and I found myself standing on the ground, my feet still in my stirrups as the horse heaved under me in its death agony. Even as I regained my senses I saw the broad blade of a spear directed at my chest and I threw myself to the side, vainly trying to kick my feet free of the stirrups. One of them came free, and luckily it was the one I needed free to save my life. The spearhead hissed along my side, beneath my arm, and then the man holding it crashed into me, throwing me backwards and driving the breath out of me. Through eyes suddenly awash with tears I saw him come to his knees above me, shortening his grip on the spear, and then he was gone, smashed backwards himself by a swiping sword across the face. A second later there was a horse directly above me, rearing to keep from trampling me, and I heard a voice yelling my name.