Battle of Badon Hill

I previously described how my unit, the Caerleon Legion, met with Arthur's knights at Badon Hill. We took up position on the hill itself while the knights protected the flanks. I was positioned in reserve on the crest of the hill, which afforded me an excellent view of the battle.

The horde of barbarians rapidly approached. They blackened the land like a swarm of locusts. Their war cries echoed throughout the land. Our men grew nervous at the horrific sights and sounds of the advancing enemy. But our commander called out to his. "Worry not, men, for God and Arthur are on our side." That calmed us a tad, and we held our positions in the face of the barbaric horde.

The Saxons did not pause for fancy maneuvering or stratagems. They rushed madly forward, straight at us. Their masses crashed into our line. With spear and shield, we pushed them back. Their dead littered the ground, but their ranks seemed untouched. They attacked again and again, with the same result. We pushed them back, their dead carpeted the field, but our ranks grew smaller. Bit by bit, I found the fight growing closer and closer to me.

Then, unbelievably, Arthur and his knights broke! They spurred their mounts and fled from the battlefield, forgetting about the infantry. We were all alone to fend for ourselves. Panic threatened to overwhelm us. Our commanders urged us to stay calm. If we ran, the enemy would only cut us down. Our only chance was to stick together. One infantry unit did break and run but they were quickly swamped by a surge of barbarians. Spurred by their unfortunate example, we determined to sell our lives dearly.

By now, I found myself in the front line. Once again, the Saxons came rushing up the hill. One particularly large barbarian, naked to the waist and wielding a massive, two-handed battle ax ran straight at me. I raised my shield and readied my sword. His first blow struck my shield with a force like a battering ram. I was stunned by the attack and failed to counter. He wound up and struck again. This time, my shield shattered. The powerful blow knocked me to my knees, dislocated my shoulder, and broke my hand. I leaped back to my feet and raised my sword to parry. He laughed at me, raised the ax above his head, and chopped down. The strike easily knocked my blade from my hand and the ax head rushed at my head.

Then, I believe that Divine Providence took a hand. I felt a pull on the back of my collar and I staggered backward. The Saxon's blow missed my head and instead grazed across the front of my mail hauberk. Nevertheless, the swing was so powerful and the ax so sharp that it tore through the mail and sliced into my skin. A fountain of blood sprayed out; I fell to the ground, pressing my hands upon my wound. The giant barbarian yelled in triumph and rushed forward to finish me off. From behind me, a pair of spears lanced forward, skewering the Saxon. He bellowed in rage, and tried to pull himself forward along the shaft of one of the spears. An arrow then struck him in the eye and he fell dead.

I was lying on the ground, woozy from the loss of blood. I felt a pair of hands grasp me and pull me away from the battle to the top of the hill. There, a surgeon tended to my wound.

As I lie there in a daze, wondering when the barbarians would break through and end us all, I heard the clarion call of a horn. Shouts erupted from our ranks. "Arthur! Arthur! He's back!" Then I saw what seemed like a glorious vision. King Arthur and his knights charged into battle.

Arthur charging into the Saxons
One error in the drawing. On that day, Arthur carried the cross on his shield

As the sun gleamed off their armor, they looked like angels come to our rescue. They plowed into the barbarian horde, parting their ranks like Moses at the Red Sea. They struck left and right, leaving a swathe of Saxon dead in their wake. Their attack was irresistible. Overwhelmed, the Saxons broke and fled from the field. Arthur pursued and struck them down in droves. The Saxons would trouble us no more.

By the way, Arthur did not cravenly retreat, leaving us on our own. It was all a stratagem. With his feigned flight, the Saxons recklessly charged uphill, leaving their flanks exposed. Arthur then regrouped and struck the decisive blow.

What about me? Obviously, I survived. Although it bled a lot, the wound was literally skin-deep. The surgeon was able to patch me up and after a period of convalescence, I was nearly as good as new although I still have the scar from the battle.

OOC Notes:

• This story does not represent any particular LARP event (although great weapons have bedeviled me on plenty of occasions). Instead, I made it up to explain a surgery scar on my stomach. I also dislocated my shoulder when I was younger (playing flag football in ROTC) and a red weapon broke my hand at Summer Slaughter. So this story is an amalgam of personal experiences.
• I found the picture at the Deadliest Blogger but it comes from an earlier source - the Prince Valiant comic by Hal Foster.
• The reference that "Arthur carried the Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ for three days and three nights upon his shield" comes from the Annales Cambriae and is referenced on Wikipedia.