“Left flank!” A Centurion roared, and Caesar’s horrified gaze was torn from his own front ranks, just as an eaneator blew a sharp tone in confirmation from their rear. His narrowed eyes were drawn to a brigade sized mass of warriors which had silently taken the field from the west. Coming from the shadows of that dense forest fringe, they had followed those monstrous war dogs to battle, and were now marching steadily toward their left flank as the chaos ensued in his forward ranks. Whilst these new warriors approaching at a trot were lightly armed men and looked normal enough to Caesar, they seemed a little underdressed for battle. These unusual looking warriors broke into a run then and with a blood-curdling yell, and although they looked fierce enough to Caesar, they carried only a black iron hammer.
“How primitive!” The General shook his head and grinned, now prepared for absolutely anything, or so he thought.
* * * * *
“Who on this green earth are they my Prince?” Meyrug asked from Cadwy’s right hand.
His eyes were huge, as several hundred strangely attired and equipped men had trotted forward from behind the ranks of Bregantau spearmen to proudly assemble in front of their host, to thunderous applause and loud cheering. These sparsely attired men bowed deeply to their combrogi, before trotting off to assemble in a loose formation at the treeline.
“Lug’s arse!” Cadwy breathed, recognising the shorts and tooled leather aprons from his history lessons.
“They can’t be!” Meyrug answered him blithely and with a smirk.
Cadwy turned on him quickly with an arched eyebrow and a surprised look.
“You’ve been spending far too much time in the company of my esteemed but incapacitated and rude Pencampwr - Meyrug ap Prys!” Cadwy scolded him with a grin. “Those esteemed warriors Meyrug are the Corion Aer Gofannon no-less, of the Coritanau in Breged!” He confirmed with more than a touch of awe, looking back at those holy warriors assembling by the trees with his eyes glittering. “The legendary ‘Flaming Crowns of Gofannon’!” He said in wonder. “They are an ancient and sacred order from long ago, last seen in the time of the long-slaughter. You do know when that was?” Cadwy arched his eyebrow again at his understudy champion, who nodded wordlessly in response, blushing somewhat now at his earlier outburst.
These two combrogi and the rest of the Albion nobility looked-on in wonder at these all-volunteer male warriors from Coritana in south-eastern Breged, forming up in their lines and proudly donning their infamous crowns, which amounted to no more than plain, wrought-iron bands. They sported long leather shorts over stout forge-boots, and cropped, highly stylised leather aprons, all deeply embossed with their runes and spiral decorations of spiritual protection. This unusual dress was to signify their dedication to the Smith-God, and each was a well-muscled, powerful looking warrior who was clearly no stranger to the anvil. As they jogged past the mounted Gŵyrd of Prydein in a measured but athletic step, each man glistened in the sunlight, looking strangely wet from head to foot. These men were armed with just a long-handled and spiked forge-hammer of black iron and an ancient flint knife, reflecting the staggering age of their order.
Corion Aer Gofannon was a sacred order that had faded into myth and legend over the centuries, but was now honourably recalled by the Druid Council, specifically to meet this new Roman threat. Doused in a stinking, brownish jelly of an ancient Druid’s concoction, they too were death-sworn this day, as were the Chwaeroliaeth Wyllt who had already made their ultimate and revered sacrifice. The ‘Flaming Crowns of Gofannon’ came hard on the heels of that departed sisterhood, and they were all seasoned men who had already procreated and consolidated their family line. These proud and God-dedicated warriors of Coritana now trotted off to their final battle, and with the clamorous cheering of their combrogi sustaining and fortifying them, they looped around the forest fringe to approach the Roman invaders from the west.
They rushed to battle now as the dogs were being slaughtered in their diversionary service, and as they neared the left flank of the enemy lines at full tilt, they chanted the song of the revered swordsmith; Arglwydd Gofannon. They did this at the furious tempo of his Godly forge hammers, and singing at the tops of their voices, the Corion Aer charged headlong into everlasting glory.
They had drawn to within twenty reeds of the hastily reforming Roman lines when they earned their celebrated name. These muscular, sprinting and singing warriors struck their ancient flint blades against the iron head of the hammers they carried close to the soaked leather apron over their hearts. This created a vivid spark, and the rank brown sludge they were smeared in revealed its terrifying power in an instant. These courageous, leather-aproned warriors ignited themselves with a loud series of ‘whooshes’, exploding into vortices of violent flame from head to foot as they charged-in, attacking as living human torches. The Corion screamed at the top of their voices the name of the great God Smith ‘Gofannon!’ as they smashed into their startled enemies, each knowing that the longer they lived and the more enemies they slew this historic day, the greater their everlasting glory would be. One legendary warrior of the ancient Corion was called Morthwyl, and his song was still sung by Coritana’s Bards, who over five centuries earlier had managed to kill more than thirty warriors, and had lived as a fighting, burning torch all that morning. Some of Morthwyl’s descendants called his name at the point of ignition here today rather than Gofannon, and they fought the wildest.
The terrified Romans reeled from these living, screaming torches, who scorched, smashed and spiked many of them to death before collapsing into sizzling and smoking heaps on the ground. As their final act in this living world, some were able to envelop one or more of the Roman gelyn in a blazing hug of death before they succumbed, and huge spaces were suddenly cleared around these terrifying, spiritually inspired attackers.
* * * * *
Excerpt from; Iron Blood & Sacrifice (The Sons of Beli Mawr), the 1st novel in the uniquely Brythonic perspective, iron-age trilogy, available now as e-books on Kindle/Amazon.
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