On the left Fell was battling furiously. Here the Outlanders retained at least a semblance of order, and were pulling back towards open ground. Again and again Fell led his men in increasingly desperate charges.
But there were fewer of them now. Obrin and twenty Highlanders ran to his aid. Fell had been cut on the right cheek, and blood was flowing from a deep wound in his thigh. His claymore, though, felt light in his hand as he charged again, Obrin beside him.
‘Don’t let them re-form!’ he bellowed.
The archer captain Cheops reached the crest of the eastern slope and glanced across at the enemy defensive wall. Beyond that he could see the cavalry charging the woods. It was all going well; the range from his position to the enemy was less than two hundred yards, well within killing distance. It was hot, and today would be thirsty work. Glancing behind him he saw a heavy stand of gorse, and beyond it a grove of trees.
‘You!’ he shouted to a young recruit. ‘Go back into the trees and see if there’s a stream or a pond. If there is, you can refill our canteens.’
‘Yes, sir!’ the boy called out, setting off at a run.
Cheops strung his longbow. He had made it himself five years ago, a splendid weapon tipped with horn. Pulling his shafts from his quiver, he pushed them point first into the earth. For some reason that Cheops had never been able to fathom, arrowheads with a little clay stuck to them pierced armour all the better.
Selecting his first shaft, he notched it to the bow. There was little point in trying to select a target, since he would have to arc the arrow over the shield-wall. Still, the Highlanders were densely packed on the hill-top, and any hit would be an advantage. Cheops drew back on the string and sent the shaft in a long, looping flight.
This was going to be a good day. No sign of rain, to warp the arrows. Not much wind.
His archers gathered on both sides of him, selecting their arrows and removing their cloaks.
It was all so easy ..
Idly he wondered why the Highland bitch had decided to make a stand here. ‘
Cheops did not have long to wait for an answer. From behind there came a scream and he swung round to see the boy he had sent looking for water, running for all he was worth. The lad had discarded his longbow, which amazed Cheops, for the loss of a weapon meant a thirty-lash flogging. What had he seen? A bear?
The boy glanced back as he ran and tripped, rolling headlong. Gripped by panic, he scrambled to his feet. From the gorse and the undergrowth came thousands of Highland warriors.
Cheops stood transfixed. It was not possible. They had an army of three thousand – and there were at least that many on the hill-top opposite.
Impossible or not, they were here!
‘Back! Back!’ yelled Cheops. His men hardly needed the order. Lightly armed with bow and knife, they were no match for sword-wielding warriors and began to stream back down the hill, leaving their arrows stuck in the soft earth. The Highlanders poured after them.
Cheops hurled aside his longbow and pumped his arms for extra speed. Ahead he could see the Baron, directing an attack on the western side of the hill-top.
The Baron swung round, and stood open-mouthed as his archers hurtled down into the pass. The thin circle of soldiers around the hill also glanced up. Cheops knew that his dignity was fleeing ahead of him, but he didn’t care. Dignity could be regained. Life was another matter entirely. He reached the foot of the pass just ahead of the fastest of his men, and slipped through the infantry to what appeared the relative safety behind the infantry lines.
There he stopped and looked back.
The Highlanders were pouring down the hillside, screaming some incomprehensible battle-cry. They struck the infantry like a hammer.
Then they were through.
With nowhere left to run, Cheops drew his dagger. As a burly white-bearded warrior carrying a battle-axe charged him, Cheops ducked under the swinging blade and thrust his knife at the man. The blade was turned by a breastplate and Cheops stumbled and fell. The axe clove him between the shoulder-blades.