An ambush.
He, Donnacha, a veteran of two wars was walking into an ambush led by bandits of all things. Hardly a worrying thought considering the convoy was guarded by a full Centain of skilled and disciplined soldiers. Each had proven themselves on the field of battle, earning the favour of King Cathal and were entered into the honoured ranks of the royal guard.
In any situation Donnacha would scoff at the thought of bandits proving any real threat to him or the soldiers under his command. But this was no ordinary situation in which Donnacha could laugh at the foolishness of the bandits that awaited them.
This was a serious problem and a breach of military secrecy. There were dozens of caravans that had been dispatched from Réalta as decoys. Only himself, Cathal, Cú and Medb had been aware of the real caravan. Everyone privy to the news of Medb's departure from Réalta was not aware of this action. Not only that, but while many in the Éire were aware of the coming marriage between Medb and the Cymry King, Rohdri, they did not know the date nor when the Princess would depart from Réalta.
A bandit attack upon their caravan could possibly be seen as coincidence, but Donnacha had not survived through two wars by believing in coincidences. The number of bandits was only further proof that this was not an accident, but part of a wider plan. Subtle differences in the way they conducted themselves, the regions they came from and many more reasons meant that bandit groups rarely ever allied themselves together and were often at odds with one another. The formation of such a large force meant that someone had bribed them and done so with a great deal of money.
After all, despite their own reasons for banditry, even they were not stupid enough to attack a royal caravan. In doing so, it meant declaring war against the royal family itself. Above all that, it meant declaring war against King Cathal and that was not a thing someone did lightly.
King Cathal was known far and wide as a ruthless man. He had to be in order to defeat his brothers at the age of thirteen. Even more so when going to war against the militaristic kingdom that was Cymru. Ruthless to not only his enemies but his own servants if they failed him, but in turn, balanced it with a gentle hand that offered generous rewards to those who succeeded.
He was uncaring of who that person was, whether they be noble or commoner, loyalist or traitor. Anyone that was not with him, was against him yet if they surrendered and had worth, King Cathal would extend a gracious and merciful hand to them. So long as one proved themselves to be loyal and talented, Cathal would recognise that and reward it.
Donnacha had walked that fine line since he was but a child, when his father was executed as a traitor and he was named the head of his family, Diongbháilte. They had supported Cathal's eldest brother, Donal during the civil war and had remained loyal to him till the end of the war. Donnacha himself had fought against Cathal as a young man, newly knighted. He had scored a number of small victories and had made a name for himself as a talented general.
It was that fact alone which saved his life.
His father and younger brothers were executed as traitors, made examples of to those still loyal to Donal. Their family had been one of the pillars of Donal's military force and when they had fallen to King Cathal, many more followed suit. Once holding a barony in the lands of Ros Comáin, their contributions in the civil war had led to them being richly rewarded by Donal, even earning the Dukedom of An Mhumhain.
However after their defeat at the hands of King Cathal, they had been stripped of nearly all their lands and titles except for the small barony they had held in Ros Comáin. It had not been an easy journey, reclaiming some of their former glory, but Donnacha had worked hard in order to achieve what he had for his family.
If something were to happen to Princess Medb, Cathal would not only have his head, but the heads of his wife and children. A message and warning to all those beneath him as to what the price of failure would be. Especially when it came to his family.
He wasn't without options though; in fact, he had many. However, at this point in time, the security of the Princess was his first priority and taking risks was not something he could afford. The sheer number of bandits was a concern and in any other situation he would take advantage of this knowledge and tip the scales in his favour. A calculated risk but one he could not afford with the Princess in his care.
"Halt!" He ordered, fist raised and while taking a little time, eventually the entire caravan came to a stop. Muttering filling the forest as many questioned as to why they had stopped here of all places.
Grip tightening around the reins of his horse, Donnacha urged his horse onwards, heart threatening to burst from his chest. "Feargall." He called, the lump in his throat almost smothering his words. "Take a detachment of riders to the west, there is a group of bandits waiting there in ambush."
'No doubt positioned there in order to cut off our retreat. A smart plan, very smart.' As Donnacha thought on it further the more his suspicions grew. There was definitely someone behind this, someone not only aware of their plans but also with military experience. 'The road narrows ahead meaning we would have to spread our caravan further apart in order to compensate for that thus leaving us more exposed. They also had bandits positioned to our rear cutting off any escape west.'
"Father!" Jerked from his thoughts, Donnacha blinked and shook his head. "Is everything alright?"
Shaking his head, Donnacha looked towards the approaching Druids. "No, everything isn't." He answered. "Lefrich, where were the bandits positioned to the west?"
"North, down the slope mostly. They were well-hidden."
"Should we not have kept the knowledge that we knew secret, now that we have stopped, surely they will be aware that we know?" Ardan asked, Donnacha shaking his head in response.
"With the Princess in our care it would be too great a risk. Fortifying our position would be the best decision to eliminate that risk." He replied. "The path narrows ahead meaning we would have the spread our caravan and soldiers further out in order to accommodate leaving the security around the Princess much scarcer and that's something I can't afford. We wait here and prepare for an attack."
Here he looked towards his son. "I'll deal with them." Feargall nodded, understanding his orders as he drew his blade free from its sheath.
As he rode off, accompanied by mounted knights, Donnacha turned back to Lefrich. "What about those ahead of us? A few hundred but positioned where exactly?"
"Mostly to our south, up on the slope with a few to the north down it."
'A pincer attack. This is definitely no ordinary bandit attack. It's too organised.' Unsheathing his blade, Donnacha centred his breathing. "All soldiers, form a square formation around the Princess' carriage!" He demanded, urging his horse into the centre and the armoured soldiers quickly burst into action. But the various servants and officials accompanying their caravan took a moment before the panic set in.
"Lefrich, you and your apprentice are to ensure that the Princess is escorted to safely should we lose this battle." Donnacha said, tone firm and clear. "My son, Feargall shall be waiting north of our position once the bandits to our rear are defeated."
"Will he not come to your aid?" Ardan asked.
"He knows his duty. There is no use in charging into a battle that is already lost." Scanning the tree line, Donnacha narrowed his eyes, trying to see through the foliage that obscured his view.
All around him people rushed to their positions. Armoured knights moving methodically and efficiently into formation, spearman up front, shields propped against the ground and a spear held in one hand. Behind them, rows of swordsmen awaited, anxiously gripping the handles of their blades. A square that surrounded them on all sides, four sides of tightly locked shields standing like an impenetrable fortress. Within it, servants and aids moved around frantically, unsure of where they should stand or where to hide. Some had begun crawling under the carriages, others climbing atop them.
Stood within the centre of the formation, Donnacha was able to view it all. But his eyes were focused only upon the tree line, picking up the sight of blurred figures moving across.
'It's time. I've denied them the advantage of the narrowed path, but they still have the slope.' Dismounting from his horse, Donnacha handed it off to his squire, Aodh and made his way towards the southern flank of the formation. "Lock shields!" Upon his order, a sound of metal scrapping against metal filled the air, shields lifted up almost within unison, sliding into an interlocked shape. Firm and strong, a wall of steel. "Spears down!"
The sound of metal and wood clattering against one another sounded in his ears, the aids and servants of the royal caravan going still as the reality of their situation set upon them. Fear filling every fibre of their being as their words got caught within their throats. It was a feeling many experienced when participating in their first battle.
Taking a breath, Donnacha calmed his pounding heart, watching and waiting. Battles were not always determined by who had superior numbers or quality of troops. The weather, knowledge of the land, tactical and strategical capability of the commanders and their officers, they were all aspects of a battle. Sometimes, battles could be won and loss during the first clash and even before that.
A common tactic used is simply the act of waiting.
Of allowing the fear and anxiety of the enemy soldiers to increase eventually resulting in mistakes.
"Hold the line." Donnacha called, more as a reminder than an actual order. "Steady…"
In that moment of silence, everything became still. No one dared move, or speak, or blink or breathe in fear of breaking the tranquility. This moment of peace that had befallen them all was broken by a low whistling. A whistling sound that he had become intimately familiar with over the many years he had fought upon the battlefield.
Reflexively he ducked down as arrows shot out of the foliage and towards their defensive formation. There was only from what he could make out by the sound, a few dozen of them, each colliding with the shields and armour of the royal guard. There grunts and even a few cries, some of the initial volley of arrows piercing through gaps between the pauldrons and breastplates. Others dropped dead, arrows piercing cleanly through the helmets but they were few and far between.
Many arrows overshot, sailing above and striking the muddy ground in the centre, some against the carriages with a few aids and servants getting caught in the crossfire.
However, by that point the soldiers had raised their shields, protecting their upper bodies and absorbing the remainder of the arrows. Donnacha himself, moved along the ground in a crouch, more and more arrows firing at their formation from the south. Beside him, Aodh dropped to the ground, clutching the arrow embedded into his shoulder, teeth grit in pain.
He could do nothing though as in that moment, the arrows simultaneously stopped and a loud battle cry rang out from the treeline. Hundreds of bandits rushing out with axes, swords, pitchforks and any other weapon they could have found during their time waving in the air. Their volley of arrows had been an attempt to disrupt their formation, but it had hardly made a dent.
A fact they realised only too late.
As soon as the arrows had stopped, shields were lowered slightly, Donnacha rising to his feet. Yet he didn't even need to give an order, the royal guards seamlessly positioning their spears parallel with the ground, thrust forwards perfectly in time with the moment the bandits came in close.
The guard of professional soldiers contrasted with the bandits in many ways. Their armour was minimal, mostly layers of cheap leather and some didn't even have any at all. Others were wearing cheap, thin fabric that made up their tunics and nothing else. A few amongst them were lucky and had thick furs, chainmail and plate armour that they had gotten from their ill-gotten gains.
Without the element of surprise, the hammer blow they had intended to inflict with the first charge that would cause disorder amongst their ranks failed. The bandits that charged like a mob, a direct contrast to the well-disciplined and orderly ranks of the armoured soldiers crashed against them like a wave upon the rocks.
When the spears thrust forwards it pierced directly through flesh, blood splashing through the air. Spears were pulled back, bodies dropped and their comrades clambered over them only to collide into a wall of steel. A wall that held from under the number of bodies that collided against it, feet digging into the ground as to withstand against the force exerted against them.
"Hold!" Donnacha exclaimed, grip tightening further around his blade as he grabbed hold of Aodh, pulling him away from the ranks of armoured knights. "Third ranks break off, reinforce the southern and eastern lines!"
From the west and northern areas, the back lines of the soldiers broke away from their positions, rushing towards where the bandits had concentrated their assaults. Currently those positions were enduring only a minor assault, most upon the sides connecting to the southern or eastern fronts. However, Donnacha would not risk further weakening those areas just in case the bandits swung round.
For a while, the sound of clashing steel and the cries of the dying filled the air. Donnacha watching it all unfold from his position of relative safety within the formation. 'It seems I worried for nothing. They may have had some military knowledge to plan this ambush, but the lack of armour and proper weapons has cost them heavily.'
"My Lord! Above you!" His squire cried out, Donnacha turning to look up.
There, descending from the trees fell a single figure clad all in black. He saw a flash of a blade, but it was too late to fully dodge out of the way in time. Instead, Donnacha was only able to move his body slightly to the right ensuring the blade dug into his shoulder, it's edge scrapping against his breastplate and then through the gap between it and his pauldron. That fact alone saved his life as the both of them dropped to the ground.
The two grappled in the dirt, Donnacha attempting to leverage his bigger form to push the figure off him. However, his armour was weighing him down and it took everything he had just to keep the figure from stabbing him with the knife. He was slippery and skilled, using Donnacha's own weight to keep him pinned to the ground and it was tiring to wrestle against him. He had experience as well, positioning his weight in just the right area to make it that little bit more difficult.
So much so that the knife kept on drawing closer and closer to his face had it not been for Aodh tackling the figure to the ground.
Panting heavily, Donnacha tried to breathe in as much air as possible in this momentary reprieve. Only to sit up and see the figure rushing away, Aodh laid dead on the floor where he had been, knife embedded into his throat.
Yet before Donnacha could even fully register this fact, a sizzling sound reached his ears. His eyes tracked his surroundings for the origination of the sound only to find a number of little black balls resting near the eastern flank of the defensive formation.
'It can't be.' Eyes widening, Donnacha scrambled to his feet. "Magic Powder!" He roared but it came too late as an explosion erupted outwards, ripping Donnacha off his feet and through the air.