The Distant Tide by Heather Day Gilbert

Author:Heather Day Gilbert
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Medieval
Published: 2020-08-24T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

Training began straightaway, even in the gathering darkness. Britta insisted on aiding the townswomen by keeping torches lit and giving the men water.

Ronan had demanded that the handful of men who had chain mail wear it when sparring, so even in the cool of the evening, they overheated easily. Britta made sure the water bucket stayed full so they could occasionally wipe down with wet cloths, a luxury they would not have in battle.

After serving the men, she retreated up to her stone balcony, where she could get a better view of the clashing swords, shields, maces, and daggers. Some of the men wore bull-hide vests that would scarce protect them from the well-armed Normans. Some had no protection at all.

She felt grieved by the poorly dressed state of her father’s soldiers, but most Irish kingdoms were the same. If only they were wealthier, able to afford well-crafted swords like Ari’s. She had caught Ronan coveting that shiny blade, touching it to see how sharp it was.

Ari’s family must be wealthy. Perhaps his father was a chieftain or king? She cringed, knowing the Viking royals probably rose to power with the aid of plunder they took from Irish monasteries.

The courtyard training was halted by a deep shout from Ari. He stood, one hand in the air, as if to silence everyone. Was he unable to spar with his injured foot?

Even as Ronan strode toward him, Ari began to guide the scattered Irish soldiers into a formation. He barked a word here or there to indicate what they were to do—some were to move forward with shields while others protected the sides with swords and maces. The men with daggers were sent away, only to return bearing spears.

From what Father and Ronan had told her, the Irish soldiers rarely used a structured formation in battle. They placed a high value on surprising their enemies, rather than meeting them head-on. Most of her father’s soldiers were simply landowners and slaves; they understood more of farming than of fighting. Thus far, the only invaders they had faced were loose marauding groups from other kingdoms, bent on stealing cattle.

To be safe, her father had already ordered the women, children, and elderly to take the cattle and livestock into the caves of Crow Mountain. Although it would be slow travel at night, they would be out of harm’s way by morning.

Father had recommended she accompany the group to the mountain, but at Ronan’s insistence, he had allowed Britta to make the final decision. She wanted to be close to Father, no matter what happened, so she planned to stay with James and Florie in their cottage during the attack. It was doubtful any Norman would trail to the outskirts of the village, much less care about raiding a small farmhouse.

Her attention was pulled back to the sparring men below. Ronan and Ari stood off in a mock battle, but their intense, savage looks made her catch her breath. Ari held his gleaming sword and shield, and Ronan held his beloved mace and smaller shield.

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