Chapter 26

Arandur, Central Hispania

Cormac rode at the head of his makeshift army comprised of one century of Britannian legionnaires and five hundred warriors from across Hispania, a mixture of all the various tribes making up the new Hispanic Alliance. While he probably would have had an easier time if the force had been more homogenous, as the first battle of the alliance Cormac wanted every member to have skin in the game.

It was also less than he could have gotten if he’d pushed, but there were other needs for Hispanic warriors now, and Cormac was fairly certain he could win this battle with six hundred men, all armed with firearms. Especially since his one hundred men were highly trained and coordinated, armed with rifles and were bringing two field pieces with them, giving the force a significant firepower advantage. Besides, the Arandur might have been a large tribe, but they would have trouble fielding an equal-sized force.

Cresting a ridge, he saw a sprawling village spread out before him. It was no surprise that the Arandur managed such prosperity. The village was situated in a valley between two chains of hills with a river flowing down the center, creating a particularly fertile valley. Defensively, it allowed them to be hemmed in, as forces could ride down on them from the east or west, but economically, it was excellent.

“Split our allies in half and have them surround the village, but hold until they hear our guns fire, unless they’re directly attacked,” Cormac told Llassar. “Make sure they understand it’s imperative that they not go charging in until we all do. I’m sending in negotiators, and I do not want them getting our men killed.”

“You’re not going in with the negotiators,” Llassar said, more as a command than a statement.

“While I’d like to, no, I’m not. Even I know that would be foolhardy.”

“Why send anyone? They made their position very clear. You think they’ll suddenly see wisdom now, with us at the edge of their homes with an army?”

“No, I don’t think they’ll see wisdom, but I want to give them that chance. Or rather, I want the rest of the Hispanians to see me giving them that chance. This is as much about convincing the other tribes that we aren’t like the Carthaginians as it is about teaching the Arandur a lesson.”

Llassar looked at Cormac, appraising him, before saying, “You really have made progress. You know that?”

“I’m a slow learner sometimes, but I am trying,” Cormac said, and then smiled. “Or at least I am trying now.”

“Maybe you did need to get out in the field after all,” Llassar said, still with the appraising look, before turning his horse and riding off to deliver the messages.

“Cian,” Cormac called to the decanus, one of the few Ulaid in this contingent. “Pick four men and ride to the edge of town under a flag of truce. Offer their leaders the chance to surrender and talk terms before this turns deadly and threatens their civilians.”

Cian nodded, and a few minutes later, Cormac watched as the decanus and four men, unarmed, one waving a white flag high over their heads, made their way down the hillside toward the village.

As they neared the edge of the village, a group of maybe fifteen Arandur warriors appeared from between the buildings, all cradling muskets or swords, held at the ready but not raised, moved to intercept the negotiators before they entered the village itself.

Things went downhill from there. Even from this distance, he could see the tense body language and animated gesturing as the two groups conversed. It was clear the discussion was not going well. Silently, Cormac tried to tell Cian to end things and come back, not that the decanus could hear him. There was nothing to be gained from extending the conversation, not with how defensive the Arandur were being, and would only work to provoke them further.

Suddenly, without warning, the Arandur warriors raised their muskets and opened fire on the unarmed Britannian delegation. Cormac stared in horror as three of his men were struck down in an instant. The remaining two men turned and sprinted back toward the Britannian lines in a desperate attempt to escape. Neither of them was Cian, who’d gone down in the first cowardly blast.

One of the two fleeing men was struck in the back as he ran, but the other had better luck, making it to the hill and up the side, the Arandur rounds going wide, kicking up dust all around him, until he was beyond their shorter range.

Rage boiled up inside Cormac. He knew the Arandur were honorless, but Cormac never imagined they’d stoop so low as to kill men under a flag of truce.

“Put fire on those men,” Cormac commanded the two cannons already set up on the hill, overlooking the enemy. “Send word to our allies to begin encircling the village and to move in from all directions but the west. Centurion, give them a volley and move forward. You are permitted to open fire on any armed man but avoid civilian casualties as you can.”

Commands began to snap out, with the first shots from the cannon smashing into the group of offending Arandur warriors as soon as the survivor made it to the bottom of the hillside, a blast from the Britannian rifles followed thirty seconds later. Before the smoke from the volley even cleared, the century began to move through it, guns at the ready, marching with good separation between the lines. The sound of gunfire was all his allies had been waiting for. As soon as the cannons fired, his Hispanian allies let loose a battle cry Cormac could hear from where he was, followed by a charge into the village from the north, south, and east.

Cormac rode behind them, closer than Llassar would have liked. He might not go out front, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to lead them. The Arandur were playing it smart, retreating back into their village as the assault began, refusing an open-field battle and taking away the advantage that firearms gave them.

He could already hear fire coming from the other edges of the village as his men made their way into the cramped streets, breaking into squad-sized units, using the gaps between huts and cross-streets to keep in parallel lines, so none of the units got too far ahead and cut off.

His men moved from hut to hut, leading with their bayonet-fixed rifles, checking one building at a time. A musket cracked from a few feet away as an Arandur warrior leaped out of the hut he’d been using for cover and fired at Cormac, whose position atop his horse made him a target. Thankfully, the muskets had a lot less accuracy than rifles, especially when a man was running, and the round went wide. The attacker did not fare as well; rounds from three rifles struck him simultaneously, spinning the man like a top before he crashed to the ground.

“Get off your damn horse,” Llassar said, standing next to the animal.

Cormac didn’t have to be told twice, sliding off it and handing the reins to one of the men, directing him to take the animal out of the village, lest it become a hazard.

Cormac ducked behind the side of a hut as musket balls whizzed past, chipping off splinters of wood. Around him, his men exchanged fire with Arandur warriors using the maze-like alleys and huts for cover. The crack and boom of gunfire was nearly continuous now, with occasional shouts and screams rising above the din.

As Cormac peered around the edge, an Arandur warrior, who somehow remained hidden as the men in front of him passed by, leaped out, swinging a sword. Cormac pivoted on his heel, narrowly avoiding the blade as it thunked into the hut and smashed the man across the face with the stock of his rifle, wrenching the sword from his grasp as the man fell.

“Forward!” Cormac yelled, waving the men on.

They stormed down the alley. Three Arandur warriors rose from behind a stack of barrels, but Cormac and his men cut them down in a withering hail of lead before they could fire their muskets.

They pressed on, the alley opening up into a small courtyard. An Arandur woman cowered by a well, clutching two young children. Cormac raised his hand for his men to hold position.

“Get them inside, keep them safe,” Cormac said in a halting version of the local dialect.

She hesitated for a moment, and then hurried the children into a hut.

They were nearing the village center now. Cormac could see the large communal building looming ahead, likely where the Arandur leaders were holed up. He was hoping to end this quickly, but the warriors were putting up a fiercer resistance than he had expected. The center of the village was large enough that muskets wouldn’t be that big of a danger until they crossed past the line of huts. His rifles created another problem entirely, however.

“Watch your fire,” Cormac commanded. “Our allies are coming from each direction, and a stray round can hit them. Aim low and focus on using your bayonets.”

As he took a step forward, a crackle of gunfire erupted from the upper floor of a two-story building ahead of them. His men scrambled for cover as balls smacked into the ground at their feet. Cormac pressed himself against the wall of a hut, finding himself across the street from his men, underneath the attackers. They were pinned down by the withering fire, unable to advance.

Cormac turned to the men nearest him. “Provide covering fire on my order. I’m going around the back.”

He could see the look Llassar gave him, but he was across the alley, and the mixture of musket and crossbow fire was enough to keep anyone from crossing over.

Leaning his rifle, which wouldn’t help much in this situation, against the building, he slipped down a side alley, looping behind the building and pulling his sword from its scabbard. Taking a deep breath, he kicked the rear door in and charged inside. No one was downstairs and the din of the rifles and muskets covered the sound of the door crashing in. Cormac crept up the stairs, keeping low and peering around the door. Three Arandur warriors were inside. One was firing down into the street below before handing the spent musket off to one of the men behind him, who rapidly reloaded it. Clever, and an explanation of how they managed to maintain such an impressive rate of fire.

Steeling himself, Cormac rushed into the room, his sword skewering one of the warriors without warning, the man’s face twisting in surprise before Cormac pushed him off the blade, sending the man crashing to the floor. The other loader saw Cormac instantly, starting to open his mouth to shout when Cormac brought the butt of his sword up, smashing it into his face, sending teeth flying, before stabbing out and catching the shooter in his side, his musket going off, blasting into a side wall.

The man dropped, wounded but not dead, which Cormac shortly corrected, stabbing him through again. The other man was groping for a weapon, his hands on his face, which was leaking profuse amounts of blood. Cormac dispatched him on his way back out of the room, slashing his sword across the man’s neck.