Clash of Iron Read Free Page B

line, horses’ hooves would be crushing skulls and splintered chariot draught poles impaling the chests of her own people. That had been unavoidable. She prayed that not too many were killed, and that none of them was Dug.
    The Maidun front line held. The Dumnonian attack crumpled as wave after wave of horses, chariots and charioteers crashed into and on to the broken pile of their fallen comrades.
     
    On the left, Maidun’s chariots stopped twenty paces short of the enemy line, as, Lowa thought with some satisfaction, the Dumnonian heavy chariots should have done. Maidunite javelins flew. The volley whumped harmlessly into thousands of Dumnonian shields. The Dumnonians shouted in delight, dropped their shields and charged. The Maidun chariots paused for a moment, then unleashed their second, unexpected salvo of javelins. That was much more successful, as were the third, fourth and fifth javelin volleys. Hundreds of Dumnonians fell. Their line dissolved in disarray. Some ran back to retrieve their shields. Some ran at the chariots. Captains screamed contradictory commands.
    For centuries it had been the pan-tribal British custom to carry only one javelin in each chariot. You chucked that as an opener, then the crew-warriors dismounted for some proper mêlée fighting with swords, axes, hammers and the like. It hadn’t been easy, but Lowa was glad she’d talked the charioteers into flouting tradition and carrying five javelins each. Hopefully now, if they survived this battle, some of the other innovations she had in mind might be more readily accepted.
     
    On the right, her infantry dropped their pikes and dashed in to finish off the downed charioteers. The Dumnonians saw the line broken, rallied and came at them, but the Maidun soldiers rolled back into their line, retrieved their spare, unbroken pikes, held them aloft and retreated steadily, backwards and outwards, away from Lowa and the centre. The Dumnonian heavy chariots pressed, but, having seen what happened to the first lot, held back from all-out attack on those bristling pikes.
     
    Another discordant trumpet blast honked from the Dumnonian centre and their light chariots set off at a gallop to swing around Maidun’s right and attack the flank of the infantry. Lowa gritted her teeth. She’d planned on Samalur doing exactly that, but not so quickly. If the Dumnonian chariots got round behind her right flank, then her plan was screwed and they were all dead. It was going to be close.
     
    On the left, the Maidun charioteers had exhausted their javelins. Hundreds of Dumnonians had been killed or disabled, but that was only a tiny proportion of their force and the battle there was far from over. On the same trumpet call that sent Dumnonia’s light chariots around their left edge, thousands upon thousands of their infantry charged on the Dumnonian right, armed with shields and heavy iron swords.
    The Maidun chariots cantered away. Like the Maidun infantry, they retreated both backwards and away from the centre, spreading the width of the battlefield.
    One Maidun chariot stopped and was soon left behind, on its own between the two armies. A little warrior leapt out, sword in one hand, ball-mace in the other. Even from a couple of hundred paces away, Lowa recognised Chamanca the Iberian, ex-bodyguard to Zadar, the woman who had bested her on Mearhold and would have done again in the Maidun arena had it not been for Spring’s magic. The fastest Dumnonian infantry reached the lone figure. A blur of movement, the Dumnonians fell and the Iberian was left standing. But there were many more Dumnonians coming. Chamanca leapt for her chariot, but too late. The main body of the Dumnonian infantry swept over and gobbled up horse, chariot, driver and Chamanca. Lowa grimaced, then smiled as Chamanca’s chariot burst from the Dumnonian ranks, with the Iberian aboard and shaking her fist at the pursuers.
    Queen Lowa looked back to Spring, on horseback behind her, and nodded.