Despite the array of spear and sword points darting and thrusting into their front ranks, the Bethlarii pressed forward in their anger and, almost immediately, the shield wall yielded a few paces. Men from the centre rushed to the weakening section, some helping their comrades to push their spears forward or to hold their shields, others using their own spears and swords to lunge and hack at those Bethlarii who had managed to force their way to the wall.
Archers, as ordered, waited, searching the heaving throng of roaring men for those on whom to best spend their remaining arrows.
The square held, but only just. It had been the right decision to stand and fight. The Serens were faring far better in this close-ranked defensive position than they could possibly have done had they been fallen upon from behind by the far more numerous Bethlarii. But it needed no fine judge of men or military tactics to see that their defeat, and possibly total annihilation, was simply a matter of time.
Their first furious charge having failed, the Bethlarii withdrew a little way and began to spread out to surround the square on all four sides.
Arwain and Ryllans took the opportunity to renew their exhortations to the men, ‘While they wait, while they think, while you hold, Ibris and the army draw nearer.'
Inwardly, however, Arwain knew that the next assault would be far more dangerous than the first. Then, the Bethlarii had struck in almost blinding anger and passion. It had cost them several men killed and many badly hurt and they had inflicted virtually no harm on their enemy. Now, however, their officers had obviously gained control again and the Serens could look to a much more disciplined and methodical attack.
Archers, long pikes, or delay, he thought to himself. The long pike was the weapon for massed shock troops and, not unexpectedly, he had seen none at any time during the pursuit. And the passions of the Bethlarii were too high for them to wait until the Serens were too tired, cold and hungry to stand. That left …
'Archers.’ It was Ryllans, calling to their own men and also drawing their attention to the Bethlarii's next tactic. Bowmen were rapidly assembling along the Bethlarii front opposite one side of the Serens’ square.
Ibris's archers needed no detailed instructions, they knew well enough what was about to happen and that they were the only ones who might stop it. A sustained arrow storm would break the square more surely than any charge.
They pushed through to the front rank and began their own assault before the Bethlarii were properly prepared.
Mantynnai-trained, Ibris's personal bodyguard were marksmen. They released no arrow storm of their own, but merely a handful of well-aimed shots before retreating to the back of the line again. Most of the arrows struck their targets, killing some of the Bethlarii archers and wounding several more.
Briefly the rage of the Bethlarii surged through again and there was an angry move forward. Some frantic shouting halted it quickly, however, and after withdrawing a little further for a while, more archers were brought forward again; this time behind a strong shield wall.
The square quivered as the first volley came over. High-held shields and a forest of waving spears stopped or brought down many of the arrows, but three men were injured.
The physician rushed to help the men, the reserve guard and the archers hurriedly picked up such of the fallen arrows as they could, and Ryllans and Arwain moved hither and thither, encouraging the men.
Another volley came, and another. With each one, jeering cheers rose up from the Bethlarii ranks. Two more Serens fell.
Somehow, Arwain managed to transform his terror at this fearful rain into anger. As he did so, he felt his vision clear and, almost to his surprise, he saw the attack for what it was, namely, not very effective. The Bethlarii had insufficient archers to end this matter quickly and, despite the casualties, the atmosphere in the square was becoming one of participating in a dangerous sport rather than defending against an overwhelming attack.
'This isn't going to break us,’ he said to Ryllans. ‘They must see that by now. Do you think they're waiting for more archers from the camp?'
Ryllans shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘They want us now.'
Then he took Arwain's arm. ‘They're going to charge soon,’ he said, nodding to the Bethlarii forces on the flanks of the square. Another volley came over, to be met again with waving spears and high shields. This defensive response was possible because the enemy before them was some distance away. However, it left the front vulnerable and, Arwain realized, it was possible that the Bethlarii at the side could charge in when a volley was released and penetrate the temporarily weakened line. It would need careful timing, but …
Ryllans shouted to the officer in charge of the archers. ‘Time to send them their own back. Deal with them one at a time.'
The officer nodded and the Serens’ archers moved forward again to retaliate.
Using the enemy's own arrows, groups of them began to shoot simultaneously at the shields protecting individual Bethlarii. It was a tactic that was wasteful of arrows, and not many of the Bethlarii archers or their shield men were hurt, but it was profoundly intimidating and soon their line was badly disrupted, and the lethal rhythm of their volleys, broken.
'Fast!’ Ryllans shouted when he was satisfied with the disarray among the enemy. ‘Reserves move forward and replace centre ranks.'
Arwain shot him an alarmed glance. This was no time for parade ground exercises! Before he could protest, however, the changeover was under way and the weary front-rankers were retiring thankfully to the centre.
A strange silence suddenly descended on the battlefield as the Bethlarii too watched this unexpected manoeuvre.
A light came into Ryllans’ eye. ‘Go and negotiate,’ he said suddenly, to Arwain.
'What?’ Arwain responded in disbelief.
'Go and negotiate,’ Ryllans repeated. ‘And take your time. Quickly man, while they're wondering what's happening.'
The Mantynnai seized his Lord's arm and pushed him towards the front of the square. ‘Something green- white! — white, something white, for a flag of truce,’ he shouted to the men around him. A soiled rag was thrust into his hand and he tied it around a spear shaft and pushed it into Arwain's hand.
'Give me your sword and shield,’ he said, taking them before Arwain could demur. ‘Say anything, but say it slowly. And confidently! The archers will cover you.'
The front rank opened to let Ibris's bemused son through. Arwain felt the focused anger and hatred of the watching Bethlarii like a physical impact. He stepped forward a little way and then slowly looked along the enemy line as if he were a visiting dignitary conducting a formal inspection.
Then, raising the spear with its ragged flag, and taking a surreptitious deep breath, he stepped forward again.
The valley turf was damp and crushed, and in places had been torn into muddy strips. After about twenty paces he stopped and drove the spear into the ground. Then he waited. Each heartbeat brings my father nearer, he kept repeating to himself, though his eyes were still scanning the Bethlarii front line, waiting for one of the archers to draw his bow. His legs were shaking and he had to remind himself that this was so that they could move the quicker if need arose. The knowledge did not help a great deal.
The strange, waiting silence continued for some time, then a figure emerged from the Bethlarii ranks. He was tall and powerfully built and his dress identified him as a priest.
This religion must pervade their whole society, Arwain thought as the man walked towards him.
He stopped after some twenty paces, as Arwain had done. Wait, Arwain thought. Let him set the pace, I'll follow as slowly as I can.
The Bethlarii priest spoke immediately, however, and his words offered little hope of delay.
'We will allow you some time to make your peace with whatever pagan gods you worship, Serens,’ he called out, his voice loud and commanding. ‘Then we shall end this foolishness and crush you as we would crush any irritating insect.'
Arwain ignored the taunt. ‘I am Arwain, son of Duke Ibris, priest. I do not debate with underlings, priest. Return to your prayers and leave this matter to soldiers.’ He made a dismissive gesture and, looking past the priest towards the waiting solders, shouted loudly, ‘Someone fetch an officer of my standing so that we may speak together with authority.'
The priest angrily came forward several paces. Arwain moved forward also.
