‘What about soldiers?’ asked a man close by.
‘A troop of twenty Iron Wolves travelled with Meria. They need to be taken out first. Two more points to remember: a few of the villagers will run into the hills. Do not pursue them. Concentrate on those left in the settlement. And secondly no plundering until I give the word. When all the Rigante are dead – save maybe a few women for later pleasures – we will loot the homes. We will then divide the spoils evenly and equally. Are there any other questions?’ Again no-one spoke. Snarri drew his sword. ‘Then let us begin the slaughter,’ he said.
He led the way up the steep hill. The rain had made it treacherous, and as they pushed on it became more so. One man at the rear lost his footing in the newly churned mud, slipped, and slid on his backside all the way to the foot of the hill. The Vars hooted and jeered, and, shamefaced, the warrior scrambled up to join them.
Snarri reached the top of the hill – and saw a column of fleeing refugees heading towards the west. He swore loudly. A wagon, packed with women, was moving slowly up the hillside opposite. One of the occupants was a middle-aged woman with silver hair. She was wearing a fine gown edged with gold. Snarri swore again. ‘First share of the loot to the men who capture that wagon,’ he shouted. Drawing his longsword he set off down the hill, the Vars streaming behind him.
The four horses were straining to drag the wagon up the muddy incline, the iron-shod wheels sinking deeply. Bane, Gryffe and Valian pushed from the back, but slowly the wagon ceased its upward movement.
‘Everyone off!’ yelled Bane. He glanced up at the hilltop some forty paces ahead. ‘You’ll have to make it on foot.’ People began to clamber down. One elderly woman slipped and began to slide. Gryffe threw himself down, catching hold of the woman’s dress. For a moment they both slid, then Gryffe clawed at the mud. His hand hit a buried stone, halting the slide. Valian moved back to help the woman to her feet. Three hundred yards away the Vars had entered the settlement and were racing towards the hill. Freed of the extra weight the wagon surged forward. An old man stumbled close by. Bane lifted him to his feet and helped him up the slope. At the top Bane called out for the bowmen to line the crest. He looked at Wik, who was very pale, his eyes wide and frightened.
‘Do not shoot until they reach the hill itself,’ yelled Bane. They’ll not be able to come up it fast. When you’ve emptied your quivers fall back.’
‘Damn right we’ll fall back!’ said Wik, licking his lips nervously.
‘The rest of you line up behind the bowmen!’ shouted Bane. The outlaws shuffled into line. Bane swung to Gryffe. ‘You think they’ll stand?’ he whispered.
Gryffe shrugged. ‘No way to tell. But I will!’
Finnigal and his nineteen Iron Wolves had tethered their horses some fifty feet back from the hilltop. He led his men forward, and glanced down at the charging Vars. Bane moved in close to the young officer. ‘You mind a word of advice, Captain?’ he asked, keeping his voice low.
‘I’m listening.’
‘Spread your men through the line. Some of the outlaws are looking terrified. Having Iron Wolves among them will stiffen their resolve.’
‘That’s good thinking,’ agreed Finnigal. He grinned suddenly. ‘I’m feeling a little terrified myself.’
The Vars reached the foot of the hill, and a blood-curdling roar erupted from them. Wik was standing, bow bent, staring down at them. Bane saw that his hands were trembling.
‘Take aim – and shoot on my command!’ shouted Bane. The fifty outlaw bowmen drew back on their bowstrings. ‘Now!’
Fifty shafts slashed through the air. Many of the Vars were carrying iron-rimmed shields, and most of the shafts slammed into them, or bounced from iron helms. One man fell, an arrow through his forehead. Several others were hit in the legs or arms.
‘Again!’ yelled Bane. ‘Hit them with everything!’
The second volley was far more deadly than the first, for the charge had slowed as the Vars laboured up the slippery hillside. Now, as men fell, they slid into the paths of those following, knocking them down, or causing them to lower their shields. By Bane’s reckoning at least twenty Vars were down. ‘Keep it going!’ he bellowed.