Terryll Arial (Piercing Spirit)
Llefelys and Gwerdded surveyed the
huge Roman encampment with grim expressions, as it was enormous and well-built.
It lay in the vast bow of the River Mosa as it approached the great Rhine,
winding around the eastern fringes of these lands of the Eburones, and the
great palisade around it was still raw with its newness. The small fort which
had existed here for over three years had been extended and fortified massively
this year, housing all the 14th Legion and five cohorts of
auxiliaries. The crushing weight of the Roman occupation in this war-torn and
beleaguered region had grown alarmingly, along with this fortress before them
in the distance.
Whilst Caesar was fighting Caswallawn
in Trinobanta, these two Brythonic Kings had come to bolster their embattled
family member’s war tactics, by undermining Caesar’s governance here in Gallia.
Their mission here would add to the pressure on the Roman General to break-off
his invasion of Prydein and return to Gallia. Gwyn ap Nudd’s ancient and
devastating Aer y Synod bone-game
gambit was a two-pronged attack, and always had been. Lludd Llaw Ereint had
sowed the seeds of this coming rebellion in the spring and together the three
Prydeinig Kings had lobbied hard for it to commence this summer in support of
his besieged brother, but the Gallic tribes had refused. Fearing the increased
presence and the martial brilliance of Rome’s infamous 14th Legion
and its fearsome response to any challenge, they needed the security of far
greater numbers before they would attack this burgeoning fortress, and they
constantly claimed they were not ready. Failing to raise an allied Galliad
revolt early enough to support his Ewythr
Caswallawn in Prydein, King Gwerdded ap Nynniaw of the Northern Gorddoficau had
felt it his duty to cross the channel, join his other famous ‘uncle’; Llefelys
ap Beli Mawr and together as their ancestors had always done, they would lead
by example. This new fortress would be under siege before the snows returned of
that both these Brythonic warriors were sure, but that would be too late for
their beleaguered relative across the channel. They were not here to conquer
that Roman edifice, far from it, they were here merely to cause chaos and
convince these Romans that the rumoured rebellion was heating up and apparent.
Almost half of the 14th
Legion were out foraging among the broad inland pastures and woodlands to the
south but were expected back this hour. Long scouts had brought constant
updates to these two Brythonic Kings, with progress reports of almost three
thousand men heading this way as they returned wearily to their new stronghold
and would soon be traversing this shallow valley bellow them.
Not only had the white-dragons of
Gwened and the red-dragons of the Essyllyr come here to do battle against the
Romans once more, as an overseas wing of Caswallawn’s bold Aer y Synod ploy, they had also come to swell Ambiorix’ war-chest
with much Prydeinig gold for the forthcoming rebellion. The gold coins had been
well received, as the greater revolution Ambiorix was preparing would involve
most of the fractured remaining tribes, in a bold and hopefully decisive
assault on Caesar’s returning troops this coming winter, forcing him to flee
south-east over Cisalpine Gallia and home to Italy.
The Treveri Chieftain Indutio-marw
had been nominated Commander of the combined Gallic rebellion, which he
struggled to coalesce into one fighting force from his fortress, high above the
River Mosella in Eastern Celtica. It was Indutio-marw who had authorised
Ambiorix as his sub-commander, to raise the Belgic Galliad for the upcoming
insurgency and who it was ultimately, who had given the go-ahead for this
Brythonic attack. Another thousand
Galliad volunteers made up the balance of this ambuscade and apart from the
element of surprise, the opposing forces would be evenly matched. Llefelys and
Gwerdded’s allied warriors would have looked remarkable in their contrasting
white and red, and black and red mantles, had they not all been dressed in dark
brown clothing for this battle like their Galliad allies. Llefelys’
White-Dragon banner made up for it however, snaking among the folds of the
Essyllyr’s crimson counterparts and the black, star-spangled banner of
Gwerdded’s sacred Gorddoficau added its gravitas to this unfolding event.
King Gwerdded ap Nynniaw had brought
a thousand of the indomitable Essyllyr here to Gallia to fight these Romans and
Llefelys had brought a similar number of eager warriors of Gwened from the
Armorican coast, all in support of Caswallawn’s optimistic game of bones gambit
across the channel. Along with his valiant spearmen, Gwerdded had brought with
him from his first cousin King Lleu ap Rianaw in Wenyllon, the re-forged blade
of King Leir ap Bladud Fawr, an ancient progenitor to them all and his sundered
sword was legend.
Leir’s sword had been shattered
almost eight centuries ago by his own daughters Goronilla and Riganna
in a ferocious battle. This inter-family conflict for power and control of all
Cymbri and Albion, was a notorious part of Prydein’s ancient history and the
Bards had worn the lyrics thin over the generations in their florid
descriptions of the conflagration, which had set all Prydein and Gallia alight.
This was especially so in Llefelys’ Gwened, where the battle between aged
father and two of his emboldened daughters had raged.
Goronilla may have
ruined Leir’s blade that day but the King and his loyal daughter Cordaella were
victorious and had defeated the combined forces of both his other unruly
offspring. Almost eight centuries previously, Goronilla and Riganna had laid a
claim on Albion and Cymbri respectively when their father had withdrawn from
courtly life in his middle-age, overstepping their authority and ousting their
rightful sister Cordaella, who was not only the rightful ruler but a Galliad
Queen in her own right. This bold and avaricious flouting of Leir’s authority
had brought him out of semi-retirement and back into his war gear once more as
being Brythonic women through and through, his fierce daughters would not back
down. Joining Cordaella and her Galliad husband King Aganippus in Gwened, King
Leir and Queen Cordaella had vanquished the two vainglorious sisters, sending
them into ignominious exile from where they were never heard from again.
The broken sword of
Leir had become over the
interceding generations a fundamental icon to both the Gwened and the Cymbri,
who are all from the same blood-stock of Beli Mawr and of course the great Leir
himself. His issue, one or more of the
remaining Red Dragons of Prydein would once a year without fail on the anniversary
of their ancestor’s pivotal victory, carry the two parts of the fabulous blade
back to Llefelys’ Capital Fortress in Gwened for an annual celebration in
honour of King Leir ap Bladud Fawr.
It had been no surprise when Arfon
Mawr, the pre-eminent master sword maker of all Prydein had been commissioned
to re-forge this famous sword, remaking it into its pristine and singularly
deadly, previous condition. Gwerdded had presented the reformed sword to his
regal uncle King Llefelys in all honour and much ceremonial rite on arrival,
and it now shone with a terrible and malevolent promise in Llefelys’ fist, as this fierce White Dragon waited eagerly
to use it. In fact Llefelys couldn’t wait to wield it in battle to the eternal
honour of his ancestors and burned to witness the blade of Leir reaping the
souls of his enemy with its deadly beauty once more, after almost eight hundred
long years. In honour of this glorious and deeply
sacred event, Leir’s infamous banner had also been recreated and its stark
symbolism wasn’t lost on any of these combrogi
warriors, as it meant ‘no prisoners!’
Leir’s blood-curdling and flame-formed,
crimson red pennant was known throughout history as Pennon y Gwaed Didostur and the long and narrow military flag, was
only brought out in the most-dire circumstance, meaning nothing less than the
‘Banner of Merciless Blood’. With its ragged edge, this long, narrow and
flaming red banner of unflinching vengeance was only carried by those ancient
men of Prydein for the most calamitous of occasions, when victory had meant
more than life itself. Its glorious reappearance here today added to the
importance and the sanctity of the battle to come but as its blood-red folds
snaked in the breeze, it told all these awaiting men what was required of them
this day. Llefelys had decided on flying the banner of merciless blood today,
as Julius Caesar thought himself the bringer of total, all-out war. The King of
Gwened this day was determined to introduce these Romans to the ancient,
Brythonic type of total war, and
every man gathered around him were sworn to the flag’s stark demands.
Gwerdded looked stunning in his
Gorddofican plate-armour this late evening and it was completely different to
Llefelys’ more continental style of gleaming white, fish-plate armour in the Camlann style, but none the less
effective for its intricacy. Gwerdded’s eyes shone, as his regal Ewythr and one of Beli Mawr’s ferocious
Dragons, looked as fierce as his late father beside him, with his bone-white
and domed helmet standing out from the crowd of officers around them both. With
the tension of imminent battle drawing their faces, Llefelys reminded Gwerdded
of his late father Nynniaw at that moment, when the dragon’s light was lit deep
in those oh-so familiar blue eyes, and he was comforted by it. With their ranks
vanishing into the trees behind them, this dual Brythonic Gŵyrd was drawn up, on and behind this hill overlooking the
ancient drover’s road below them, which had wound its way to the coast long
before that angular, palisaded Roman scar on this sacred Galliad land was even founded.
Pulses were raised now at the hurried
approach of all three of their long scouts, as it could only mean one thing.
Looking west through the trees, Llefelys and Gwerdded could just make out the
distant column of dust which followed the Roman army everywhere it went when
the weather was dry, and it marked them well. It also announced their
approximate arrival at this ambush point and the white teeth of the Brython’s
and their Galliad cousins broke out in earnest. Sounds of crunching feet,
clanking armour and the rattling of thousands of marching men reached them on
the wind now and the grim light of battle was lit deep in these warrior’s eyes.
Roughly half of the rectangular
formations had passed them, before Llefelys made the signal to a cornwr and the
war-horns were finally blown. The stark call of two uniquely Brythonic
war-horns cleaved the air and this covert side of Gwyn ap Nudd’s Aer y Synod fell into place, here in the
besieged lands of the combrogi
Eburones. Below an old and ragged but terrible red flag of annihilation, a
thousand wild and grinning Essyllyr with their dragon tattoos and their long,
drooping moustaches fell into the right flank of these Romans and caught them
completely by surprise. The Galliad volunteers attacked their left flank
simultaneously and the mindless, unnerving chaos of total Brythonic battle
ensued among the glittering ranks of Rome once more.
It was noted by the Bards, that
Gwerdded ap Nynniaw in his insurmountable fury looked very much like his late
father, who had been the Champion swordsman of all Prydein before being foully
murdered by Caesar himself. His glorious son demonstrated why this evening, as
he slew Romans with a blazing, white-hot fury unseen in these parts for
generations. His vaunted Ewythr
beside him was equally ferocious in his twinkling white armour, wielding the
repaired and sacred blade of his procreator. The sibilant lament of Teryll Arial was heard once more and the
mournful, head-taking song of Leir’s ancient sword whispered again on the wind.
In his regal ‘Uncle’ Llefelys’ powerful fist, dozens of Romans fell to the
deadly and ‘Piercing Spirit’, as the very late King Leir ap Bladud Fawr’s long
and ragged pennant of blood, fluttered its desolate promise of obliteration
over all.
The Roman’s officers and their
vanguard reached the safety of the fortress and the garrison quickly opened its
gates so that the cavalry could pour out in support, but the majority of their
foraging force were not so fortunate. They had been utterly ambushed, caught out
in the open between the horns of two incensed bulls, and their accurate formations and
exact manoeuvring did not and could not save them. What was left of their
compatriots, were now strewn across the road and the embattled rear ranks who
were now completely cut off seemed to be swarmed by an army of brown ants, amassing
under a long and fluttering flag of blood. The officers watched horrified and
stunned into silence as their men were subsumed by this ungodly horde of
barbarian warriors with their long flashing steel blades. By the time the
officers of the 14th Legion could regroup, and their cavalry made
ready for the charge, those wildly uncontrollable Gaulish warriors had melted
away as quickly as they had appeared, and so there was no-one to attack and on
closer inspection, there was nobody left to rescue.
As the dust began to settle, the
legionaries were consigned to collecting their numerous dead comrades from the
blood-spattered road and both gore-filled ditches, watching their equites withdraw to the fortress for
their evening meal with dour expressions. When the last parts of the last
remaining dead soldiers and all the scattered weapons had been retrieved and
carried into the fortress, a fast rider was dispatched to the coast with a
sealed message for Labienus at Portius Itius. It reported the highly organised
and costly attack on their Legion and its fortress here on the Plain of
Eburone, along with all the latest intelligence and rumour hereabouts of the
building rebellion and all here were sure, that the sealed report would find
swift passage across the channel to their rampaging General Caesar.
Corresponding reports were sent south-east toward Cisalpine
Gallia in similar haste and all were heading for Rome, where a number of
important recipients would be kept informed of these developments. Some of the
addressees were well-known whilst others were not, but there were inevitably a
few hidden copies somewhere on the person of the messenger, destined for
powerful but nameless and unknown people in the Roman Capital.
No comments:
Post a Comment