All was confusion now, and Ruathain welcomed the time gained, for he was breathing heavily and needed a rest. He looked back towards the south. Wing should have sent more men by now, but none had arrived as yet.
Suddenly he thought of Bendegit Bran. He too had been left behind at Old Oaks, on the insistence of Meria. The boy had been furious. Ruathain realized then that he had not said his farewells to his sons. The thought saddened him.
Then the Vars attacked again. Ruathain pushed himself into the line alongside Fiallach and Conn. His strength was back, and there was still no pain.
The feel of the battle was changing now. The Rigante had held the charge, and though they had taken fearful losses they were now pushing back the Vars. The Sea Wolves could sense it too. No longer were they fighting to conquer, but to stay alive.
Maccus, his archers having loosed every shaft, rode behind the lines, dismounting his men. They gathered up weapons from the fallen and ran to join the fighting.
Ruathain’s left calf had begun to seize up now. His boot was full of blood and he was limping badly. Conn ordered him back, but Ruathain shook his head. Then the fighting swept over them once more.
Ruathain took a blow to the head from the flat of a sword blade. He reeled back and fell. Two Iron Wolves hauled him to his feet, but he stumbled again. He thought he could hear horses and squinted back towards the south.
Hundreds of riders were galloping their ponies towards the battle. In the lead he saw the golden hair of Bendegit Bran. Ruathain staggered back towards them, waving his hand towards the eastern hill. Bran saw him and swerved his mount, leading the riders up the hillside, where they dismounted and charged down to strike the enemy’s left flank.
The Vars pulled back, trying to reform.
Their allies had fled. They were now outnumbered. They simply could not win. For a while they fought on, then the line broke and the survivors turned and fled, running back towards the north.
The Rigante did not follow.
Ruathain watched them go. He was tired now, bone weary. He plunged his blade into the ground before him and sat down on a rock. Conn walked back to him. ‘Well, Big Man, so much for geasas,’ he said.
‘Aye, I’ll drink to that,’ said Ruathain. ‘Did you see Bran lead the charge? By Heaven, boy, he’ll be a man to match the mountains.’
Conn sat down beside the Big Man. ‘I lost count of the number of times you saved me today.’
‘I feel I owed it to your father. He truly was the finest of men, Conn.’
‘You are the finest of men. But I’ll honour him in my mind from now on.’
‘That would please me, son.’
Bendegit Bran came strolling up, a broad smile on his handsome face. ‘Almost missed the victory,’ he said.
Conn knew exactly what the Big Man was going to say. So did Bran, who looked at his older brother and winked.
‘I’m proud of you, lad,’ said Ruathain, drawing the youngster into a hug. The boy grinned, then kissed his father’s bearded cheek. ‘Has there ever been a time when you were not proud of me?’ he asked.
‘Not that I recall,’ said Ruathain, with a grin.
‘I need to check on the wounded,’ said Conn. ‘Come with me, Bran. You can explain why you’re here against my orders.’
Ruathain watched them walk away, saw Conn drape his arm around Bran’s shoulder. The sun broke out through the clouds as he gazed with great pride on his sons.
Resting his arms on the quillons of his sword Ruathain gazed around the battlefield, then at the distant mountains.
This has been a good day, he thought.
The death toll was chilling. Just under three thousand Rigante warriors, including two hundred and twenty of Conn’s Iron Wolves. A further two thousand had suffered serious wounds, some requiring amputation. No-one counted the bodies of the Pannone and Sea Wolves. By Conn’s order they were stripped of all armour and weapons, then the bodies hauled to deep pits that were being dug.