The Winter King Part 23

"And I am your most worshipping servant, dear Lady," I said, 'but I am also tired and this cold weather makes the ink clog. I shall write the rest of the story, I promise you."

"If Sansum lets you," Igraine said.

"He will," I answered. The saint is happier these days, thanks to our remaining novice who is no longer a novice, but consecrated a priest and a monk and already, Sansum insists, a saint like himself. Saint Tudwal, we must now call him, and the two saints share a cell and glorify G.o.d together. The only thing I can find wrong with such a blessed partnership is that the holy Saint Tudwal, now twelve years old, is making yet another effort to learn how to read. He cannot speak this Saxon tongue, of course, but even so I fear what he might decipher from these writings. But that fear must wait till Saint Tudwal masters his letters, if he ever does, and for the moment, if G.o.d wills it, and to satisfy the impatient curiosity of my most lovely Queen, Igraine, I shall continue this tale of Arthur, my dear lost Lord, my friend, my lord of war.

I noticed nothing the next day. I stood with Galahad as an unwelcome guest of my enemy Gorfyddyd while lorweth made the propitiation to the G.o.ds, and the Druid could have been blowing dandelion seeds for all the note I took of the ceremonies. They killed a bull, they tied three prisoners to the three stakes, strangled them, then took the war's auguries by stabbing a fourth prisoner in the midriff. They sang the Battle Song of Maponos as they danced about the dead, and then the kings, princes and chieftains dipped their spearheads in the dead men's blood before licking the blood off the blades and smearing it on their cheeks. Galahad made the sign of the cross while I dreamed of Ceinwyn. She did not attend the ceremonies. No women did. The auguries, Galahad told me, were favourable to Gorfyddyd's cause, but I did not care. I was blissfully remembering that silver-light touch of Ceinwyn's finger on my hand. Our horses, weapons and shields were brought to us and Gorfyddyd himself walked us to Caer Sws's gate. Cuneglas, his son, came also; he might well have intended a courtesy by accompanying us, but Gorfyddyd had no such niceties in mind. "Tell your wh.o.r.e-lover," the King said, his cheeks still smeared with blood, 'that war can be avoided by one thing only. Tell Arthur that if he presents himself in Lugg Vale for my judgment and verdict I shall consider the stain on my daughter's honour cleansed."

"I shall tell him, Lord King," Galahad answered.

"Is Arthur still beardless?" Gorfyddyd asked, making the question sound like an insult.

"He is, Lord King," Galahad said.

"Then I can't plait a prisoner's leash from his beard," Gorfyddyd growled, 'so tell him to cut off his wh.o.r.e's red hair before he comes and have it woven ready for his own leash." Gorfyddyd clearly enjoyed demanding that humiliation of his enemies, though Prince Cuneglas's face betrayed an acute embarra.s.sment for his father's crudeness. "Tell him that, Galahad of Benoic," Gorfyddyd continued, 'and tell him that if he obeys me, then his shaven wh.o.r.e can go free so long as she leaves Britain."

"The Princess Guinevere can go free," Galahad restated the offer.

"The wh.o.r.e!" Gorfyddyd shouted. "I lay with her often enough, so I should know. Tell Arthur that!" He spat the demand into Galahad's face. "Tell him she came to my bed willingly, and to other beds too!"

"I shall tell him," Galahad lied to stem the bitter words. "And what, Lord King," Galahad went on, 'of Mordred?"

"Without Arthur," Gorfyddyd said, "Mordred will need a new protector. I shall take responsibility for Mordred's future. Now go."

We bowed, we mounted and we rode away, and I looked back once in hope of seeing Ceinwyn, but only men showed on Caer Sws's ramparts. All around the fortress the shelters were being pulled down as men prepared to march on the direct road to Branogenium. We had agreed not to use that road, but to go home the longer way through Caer Lud so we would not be able to spy on Gorfyddyd's gathering host.

Galahad looked grim as we rode eastwards, but I could not restrain my happiness and once we had ridden clear of the busy encampments I began to sing the Song of Rhiannon.

"What is the matter with you?" Galahad asked irritably.

"Nothing. Nothing! Nothing! Nothing!" I shouted in joy and kicked back my heels so that the horse bolted down the green path and I fell into a patch of nettles. "Nothing at all," I said when Galahad brought the horse back to me. "Absolutely nothing."

"You're mad, my friend."

"You're right," I said as I clambered awkwardly back on to the horse. I was indeed mad, but I was not going to tell Galahad the reason for my madness, so for a time I tried to behave soberly. "What do we tell Arthur?" I asked him.

"Nothing about Guinevere," Galahad said firmly. "Besides, Gorfyd-dyd was lying. My G.o.d! How could he tell such lies about Guinevere?"

"To provoke us, of course," I said. "But what do we tell Arthur about Mordred?"

"The truth. Mordred is safe."

"But if Gorfyddyd lied about Guinevere," I said, 'why shouldn't he lie about Mordred? And Merlin didn't believe him."

"We weren't sent for Merlin's answer," Galahad said.

"We were sent to find the truth, my friend, and I say Merlin spoke it."

"But Tewdric," Galahad answered firmly, 'will believe Gorfyddyd."

"Which means Arthur has lost," I said bleakly, but I did not want to talk about defeat, so instead I asked Galahad what he had thought of Ceinwyn. I was letting the madness take hold of me again and I wanted to hear Galahad praise her and say she was the most beautiful creature between the seas and the mountains, but he simply shrugged. "A neat little thing," he said carelessly, 'and pretty enough if you like those frail-looking girls." He paused, thinking. "Lancelot will like her," he went on. "You do know Arthur wants them to marry? Though I don't suppose that will happen now. I suspect Gundleus's throne is safe and Lancelot will have to look elsewhere for a wife."

I said nothing more about Ceinwyn. We rode back the way we had come and reached Magnis on the second night where, just as Galahad had predicted, Tewdric put his faith in Gorfyddyd's promise while Arthur preferred to believe Merlin. Gorfyddyd, I realized, had used us to separate Tewdric and Arthur, and it seemed to me that Gorfyddyd had done well, for as we listened to the two men wrangle in Tewdric's quarters it was plain that the King of Gwent had no stomach for the coming war. Galahad and I left the two men arguing while we walked on Magnis's ramparts that were formed by a great earthen wall flanked by a flooded ditch and topped with a stout palisade. "Tewdric will win the argument," Galahad told me bleakly. "He doesn't trust Arthur, you see."

"Of course he does," I protested.

Galahad shook his head. "He knows Arthur's an honest man," he allowed, 'but Arthur's also an adventurer. He's landless, have you ever thought of that? He defends a reputation, not property. He holds his rank because of Mordred's age, not through his own birth. For Arthur to succeed he must be bolder than other men, but Tewdric doesn't want boldness right now. He wants security. He'll accept Gorfyddyd's offer." He was silent for a while. "Maybe our fate is to be wandering warriors," he continued gloomily, 'deprived of land, and always being driven back towards the Western Sea by new enemies." I shivered and drew my cloak tighter. The night was clouding over and bringing a chill promise of rain on the western wind. "You're saying Tewdric will desert us?"

"He already has," Galahad said bluntly. "His only problem now is getting rid of Arthur gracefully. Tewdric has too much to lose and he won't take risks any more, but Arthur has nothing to lose except his hopes."

"You two!" A loud voice called us from behind and we turned to see Culhwch hurrying along the ramparts. "Arthur wants you."

"For what?" Galahad asked.

"What do you think, Lord Prince? He's lacking for throw board players?" Culhwch grinned. "These b.a.s.t.a.r.ds may not have the belly for a fight' he gestured towards the fort that was thronged with Tewdric's neatly uniformed men 'but we have. I suspect we're going to attack all on our own." He saw our surprise and laughed. "You heard Lord Agricola the other night. Two hundred men can hold Lugg Vale against an army. Well? We've got two hundred spearmen and Gorfyddyd possesses an army, so why do we need anyone from Gwent? Time to feed the ravens!"

The first rain fell, hissing in the smithy fires, and it seemed we were going to war. I sometimes think that was Arthur's bravest decision. G.o.d knows he took other decisions in circ.u.mstances just as desperate, but never was Arthur weaker than on that rainy night in Magnis where Tewdric was drawing up patient orders that would withdraw his forward men back to the Roman walls in preparation for a truce between Gwent and the enemy.

Arthur gathered five of us in a soldier's house close to those walls. The rain seethed on the roof while under the thatch a log fire smoked to light us with a lurid glare. Sagramor, Arthur's most trusted commander, sat beside Morfans on the hut's small bench, Culhwch, Galahad and I squatted on the floor while Arthur talked.

Prince Meurig, Arthur allowed, had spoken an uncomfortable truth, for the war was indeed of his own making. If he had not spurned Ceinwyn there would be no enmity between Powys and Dumnonia. Gwent was involved by being Powys's most ancient enemy and Dumnonia's traditional friend, but it was not in Gwent's interest to continue the war. "If I had not come to Britain," Arthur said, 'then King Tewdric would not be foreseeing the rape of his land. This is my war and, just as I began it, so I must end it." He paused. He was a man to whom emotion came easily, and he was, at that moment, overcome with feeling. "I am going to Lugg Vale tomorrow," he finally spoke and for a dreadful second I thought he meant to give himself up to Gorfyddyd's awful revenge, but then Arthur offered us his open generous smile, 'and I would like it if you came with me, but I have no right to demand it." There was silence in the room. I suppose we were all thinking that the fight in the vale had seemed a risky prospect when the combined armies of Gwent and Dumnonia were to be employed, but how were we to win with only Dumnonia's men? "You have a right to demand that we come," Culhwch broke the silence, 'for we took oaths to serve you."

"I release you from those oaths," Arthur said, 'asking only that if you live you stand by my promise to see Mordred grow into our King."

There was silence again. None of us, I think, wavered in our loyalty, but nor did we know how to express it until Galahad spoke. "I swore you no oath," he said to Arthur, 'but I do now. Where you fight, Lord, I fight, and he who is your enemy is mine, and he who is your friend is my friend also. I swear that on the precious blood of the living Christ." He leaned forward, took Arthur's hand and kissed it. "May my life be forfeit if I break my word."

"It takes two to make an oath," Culhwch said. "You might release me, Lord, but I don't release myself."

"Nor I, Lord," I added.

Sagramor looked bored. "I'm your man," he said to Arthur, 'no one else's."

"b.u.g.g.e.r the oath," ugly Morfans said, "I want to fight." Arthur had tears in his eyes. For a time he could not speak, so instead he busied himself ramming at the fire with a log until he had succeeded in halving its warmth and doubling its smoke. "Your men are not oath-bound," he said thickly, 'and I want none but willing men in Lugg Vale tomorrow."

"Why tomorrow?" Culhwch asked. "Why not the day after? The more time we have to prepare, the better, surely?"

Arthur shook his head. "We'll be no better prepared if we wait a whole year. Besides, Gorfyddyd's spies will already be going north with news that Tewdric is accepting Gorfyddyd's terms, so we must attack before those same spies discover that we Dumnonians have not retreated. We attack at dawn tomorrow." He looked at me. "You will attack first, Lord Derfel, so tonight you must reach your men and talk to them, and if they prove unwilling, then so be it, but if they are willing then Morfans can tell you what they must do."

Morfans had ridden the whole enemy line, flaunting himself in Arthur's armour but also reconnoitring the enemy positions. Now he took handfuls of grain from a pot and piled them on his outspread cloak to make a rough model of Lugg Vale. "It's not a long valley," he said, 'but the sides are steep. The barricade is here at the southern end." He pointed to a spot just inside the modelled valley. "They felled trees and made a fence. It's big enough to stop a horse, but it won't take long for a few men to haul those trees aside. Their weakness is here." He indicated the western hill. "It's steep at the northern end of the valley, but where they built their barricade you can easily run down that slope. Climb the hill in the dark and in the dawn you attack downhill and dismantle their tree fence while they're still waking up. Then the horses can come through." He grinned, relishing the thought of surprising the enemy.

"Your men are used to marching by night," Arthur told me, 'so at dawn tomorrow you take the barricade, destroy it, then hold the vale long enough for our horse to arrive. After the horse our spearmen will come. Sagramor will command the spearmen in the vale while I and fifty hors.e.m.e.n attack Branogenium." Sagramor showed no reaction to the announcement which gave him command of most of Arthur's army. The rest of us could not hide our astonishment, not at Sagramor's appointment, but at Arthur's tactics.

"Fifty hors.e.m.e.n attacking Gorfyddyd's whole army?" Galahad asked dubiously.

"We won't capture Branogenium," Arthur admitted, 'we may not even get close, but we shall stir them into a pursuit and that pursuit will bring them down to the vale. Sagramor will meet that pursuit at the vale's northern end, where the road fords the river, and when they attack, you retreat." He looked at us in turn, making sure we understood his instructions. "Retreat," he said again, 'always retreat. Let them think they win! And when you have sucked them deep into the valley, I shall attack."

"From where?" I asked.

"From behind, of course!" Arthur, energized by the prospect of battle, had regained all his enthusiasm.

"When my hors.e.m.e.n retreat from Branogenium we won't go back into the vale, but hide outside its northern end. The place is smothered in trees. And once you've sucked the enemy in, we'll come from their rear."

Sagramor stared at the piles of grain. "The Blackshield Irish at Coel's Hill," he said in his execrable accent, 'can march south of the hills to take us in the rear," he pushed a finger through the scattered grains at the Vale's southern end to show what he meant. Those Irish, we all knew, were the fearsome warriors of Oengus Mac Airem, King of Demetia, who had been our ally until Gorfyddyd had changed his loyalty with gold. "You want us to hold an army in front and the Blackshields behind?" Sagramor asked.

"You see," Arthur said with a smile, 'why I offer to release you from your oaths. But once Tewdric knows we're embattled, he'll come. As the day pa.s.ses, Sagramor, you will find your shield-line thickening by the minute. Tewdric's men will deal with the enemy from Goel's Hill."

"And if they don't?" Sagramor asked.

"Then we will probably lose," Arthur admitted calmly, 'but with my death will come Gorfyddyd's victory and Tewdric's peace. My head will go to Ceinwyn as a present for her wedding and you, my friends, will be feasting in the Otherworld where, I trust, you will keep a place at table for me." There was silence again. Arthur seemed sure that Tewdric would fight, though none of us could be so certain. It seemed to me that Tewdric might well prefer to let Arthur and his men perish in Lugg Vale and thus rid himself of an inconvenient alliance, but I also told myself that such high politics were not my concern. My concern was surviving the next day and, as I looked at Morfans's crude model of the battlefield, I worried about the western hill down which we would attack in the dawn. If we could attack there, I thought, so could the enemy. "They'll outflank our shield-line," I said, describing my concern. Arthur shook his head. "The hill's too steep for a man in armour to climb at the vale's northern end. The worst they'll do is send their levies there, which means archers. If you can spare men, Derfel, put a handful there, but otherwise pray that Tewdric comes quickly. To which end," he said, turning to Galahad, 'though it hurts me to ask you to stay away from the shield-wall, Lord Prince, you will be of most value to me tomorrow if you ride as my envoy to King Tewdric. You are a prince, you speak with authority and you, above all men, can persuade him to take advantage of the victory I intend to give him by my disobedience."

Galahad looked troubled. "I would rather fight, Lord."

"On balance," Arthur smiled, "I would rather win than lose. For that, I need Tewdric's men to come before the day's end and you, Lord Prince, are the only fit messenger I can send to an aggrieved king. You must persuade him, flatter him, plead with him, but above all, Lord Prince, convince him that we win the war tomorrow or else fight for the rest of our days."

Galahad accepted the choice. "Though I have your permission to return and fight at Derfel's side when the message is delivered?" he added.

"You will be welcome," Arthur said. He paused, staring down at the piles of grain. "We are few," he said simply, 'and they are a host, but dreams do not come true by using caution, only by braving danger. Tomorrow we can bring peace to the Britons." He stopped abruptly, struck perhaps by the thought that his ambition of peace was also Tewdric's dream. Maybe Arthur was wondering whether he should fight at all. I remembered how after our meeting with Aelle, when we made the oath under the oak, Arthur had contemplated giving up the fight and I half expected him to bare his soul again, but on that rainy night the horse of ambition was tugging his soul hard and he could not contemplate a peace in which his own life or exile was the price. He wanted peace, but even more he wanted to dictate that peace. "Whatever G.o.ds you pray to," he said quietly, 'go with you all tomorrow." I had to ride a horse to get back to my men. I was in a hurry and fell off three times. As omens, the falls were dire, but the road was soft with mud and nothing was hurt but my pride. Arthur rode with me, but checked my horse when we were still a spear's throw from where my men's campfires flickered low in the insistent rain. "Do this for me tomorrow, Derfel," he said, 'and you may carry your own banner and paint your own shields."

In this world or the next, I thought, but I did not speak the thought aloud for fear of tempting the G.o.ds. Because tomorrow, in a grey, bleak dawn, we would fight against the world. Not one of my men tried to evade their oaths. Some, a few, might have wanted to avoid battle, but none wanted to show weakness in front of their comrades and so we all marched, leaving in the night's middle to make our way across a rain-soaked countryside. Arthur saw us off, then went to where his hors.e.m.e.n were encamped.

Nimue insisted on accompanying us. She had promised us a spell of concealment, and after that nothing would persuade my men to leave her behind. She worked the spell before we left, performing it on the skull of a sheep she found by flame light in a ditch close to our camp. She dragged the carca.s.s out of the thicket where a wolf had feasted, chopped the head away, stripped away the remnants of maggoty skin, then crouched with her cloak hiding both her and the stinking skull. She crouched there a long time, breathing the ghastly stench of the decomposing head, then stood and kicked the skull scornfully aside. She watched where it came to rest and, after a moment's deliberation, declared that the enemy would look aside as we marched through the night. Arthur, who was fascinated by Nimue's intensity, shuddered when she made the p.r.o.nouncement, then embraced me. "I owe you a debt, Derfel."

"You owe me nothing, Lord."

"If for nothing else," he said, "I thank you for bringing me _ Ceinwyn's message." He had taken enormous pleasure in her forgiveness, then shrugged when I had added her further words about being granted his protection. "She has nothing to fear from any man in Dumnonia," he had said. Now he clapped me on the back. "I shall see you in the dawn," he promised, then watched as we filed out from the firelight into the dark.

We crossed gra.s.sy meadows and newly harvested fields where no obstacles other than the soaking ground, the dark and the driving rain impeded us. That rain came from our left, the west, and it seemed relentless; a stinging, pelting, cold rain that trickled inside our jerkins and chilled our bodies. At first we bunched together so that no man would find himself alone in the dark, though even crossing the easy ground we were constantly calling out in low voices to find where our comrades might be. Some men tried to keep hold of a friend's cloak, but spears clashed together and men tripped until finally I stopped everyone and formed two files. Every man was ordered to sling his shield on his back, then to hold on to the spear of the man in front. Cavan was at our rear, making sure no one dropped out, while Nimue and I were in the lead. She held my hand, not out of affection, but simply so that we should stay together in the black night. Lughnasa seemed like a dream now, swept away not by time, but by Nimue's fierce refusal to acknowledge that our time in the bower had ever happened. Those hours, like her months on the Isle of the Dead, had served their purpose and were now irrelevant. We came to trees. I hesitated, then plunged down a steep, muddy bank and into a darkness so engulfing that I despaired of ever taking fifty men through its horrid blackness, but then Nimue began to croon in a low voice and the sound acted like a beacon to beckon men safely through the stumbling dark. Both spear chains broke, but by following Nimue's voice we all somehow blundered through the trees to emerge into a meadow on their farther side. We stopped there while Cavan and I made a tally of the men and Nimue circled us, hissing spells at the dark.

My spirits, dampened by the rain and gloom, sank lower. I thought I had possessed a mental picture of this countryside that lay just north of my men's camp, but our stumbling progress had obliterated that picture. I had no idea where I was, nor where I should go. I thought we had been heading north, but without a star to guide me or moon to light my way, I let my fears overcome my resolve.

"Why are you waiting?" Nimue came to my side and whispered the words. I said nothing, not willing to admit that I was lost. Or perhaps not willing to admit that I was frightened. Nimue sensed my helplessness and took command. "We have a long stretch of open pasture ahead of us," she told my men. "It used to graze sheep, but they've taken the flock away, so there are no shepherds or dogs to see us. It's uphill all the way, but easy enough going if we stay together. At the end of the pasture we come to a wood and there we'll wait for dawn. It isn't far and it isn't difficult. I know we're wet and cold, but tomorrow we shall warm ourselves on our enemies' fires." She spoke with utter confidence.

I do not think I could have led those men through that wet night, but Nimue did. She claimed that her one eye saw in the dark where our eyes could not, and maybe that was true, or maybe she simply possessed a better idea of this stretch of countryside than I did, but however it was done, she did it well. In the last hour we walked along the shoulder of a hill and suddenly the going became easier for we were now on the western height above Lugg Vale and our enemies' watch-fires burned in the dark beneath us. I could even see the barricade of felled pine trees and the glint of the River Lugg beyond. In the vale men threw great baulks of wood on the fires to light the road where attackers might come from the south. We reached the woods and sank on to the wet ground. Some of us half slept in the deceptive, dream-filled, shallow slumber that seems like no sleep at all and leaves a man cold, weary and aching, but Nimue stayed awake, muttering charms and talking to men who could not sleep. It was not small-talk, for Nimue had no time for idle chatter, but fierce explanations of why we fought. Not for Mordred, she said, but for a Britain shorn of foreigners and of foreign ideas, and even the Christians in my ranks listened to her.

I did not wait for the dawn to make my attack. Instead, when the rain-soaked sky showed the first pale glimmer of steely light in the east, I woke the sleepers and led my fifty spearmen down to the wood's edge. We waited there above a gra.s.sy slope that fell down to the vale's bed as steeply as the flanks of Ynys Wydryn's Tor. My left arm was tight in the shield straps, Hywelbane was at my hip and my heavy spear was gripped in my right hand. A small mist showed where the river flowed out of the vale. A white owl flew low beside our trees and my men thought the bird an ill omen, but then a wildcat snarled behind us and Nimue said that the owl's doom-laden appearance had been nullified. I said a prayer to Mithras, giving all the next hours to His glory, then I told my men that the Franks had been far fiercer enemies than these night-fuddled Powysians in the valley beneath us. I doubted that was entirely true, but men on the edge of battle do not need truth, but confidence. I had privately ordered Issa and another man to stay close to Nimue for if she died I knew my men's confidence would vanish like a summer mist. The rain spat from behind us, making the gra.s.sy slope slick. The sky above the vale's far side lightened further, showing the first shadows among the flying clouds. The world was grey and black, night-dark in the vale itself, but lighter on the wood's edge, a contrast that made me fear the enemy could see us while we could not see him. Their fires still blazed, but much lower than they had during the dark spirit-haunted depths of night. I could see no sentries. It was time to go.

"Move slowly," I ordered my men. I had imagined a mad rush down the hill, but now I changed my mind. The wet gra.s.s would be treacherous and it would be better, I decided, if we crept slow and silent down the slope like wraiths in the dawn. I led the way, stepping ever more cautiously as the hill became steeper. Even nailed boots gave treacherous holding on wet ground and so we went as slow as stalking cats and the loudest noise in the half-dark was the sound of our own breathing. We used spears as staffs. Twice men fell heavily, their shields clattering against scabbards or spears, and both times we all went still and waited for a challenge. None came.

The last part of the slope was the steepest, but from the brow of that final descent we could at last see the whole bed of the vale. The river ran like a black shadow on the far side, while beneath us the Roman road pa.s.sed between a group of thatched huts where the enemy had to be sheltering. I could only see four men. Two were crouching near the fires, a third was sitting under the eaves of a hut while the fourth paced up and down behind the tree fence. The eastern sky was paling towards the bright flare of dawn and it was time to release my wolf-tailed spearmen to the slaughter. "The G.o.ds be your shield-wall," I told them, 'and kill well."

We hurled ourselves down the last yards of that steep slope. Some men slid down on their backsides rather than try to stay on their feet, some ran headlong and I, because I was their leader, ran with them. Fear gave us wings and made us scream our challenge. We were the wolves of Benoic come to the border hills of Powys to offer death, and suddenly, as ever in battle, the elation took over. The soaring joy flared inside our souls as all restraint and thought and decency were obliterated to leave only the feral glare of combat. I leaped down the last few feet, stumbled among raspberry bushes, kicked over an empty pail, then saw the first startled man emerge from a nearby hut. He was in trousers and jerkin, carrying a spear and blinking at the rainy dawn, and thus he died as I speared him through the belly. I was howling the wolf-howl, daring my enemies to come and be killed. My spear stuck in the dying man's guts. I left it there and drew Hywelbane. Another man peered from the hut to see what happened and I lunged at his eyes, throwing him back. My men streamed past me, howling and whooping. The sentries were fleeing. One ran to the river, hesitated, turned back and died under two spear thrusts. One of my men seized a brand from the fire and tossed it on to the wet thatch. More firebrands followed until at last the huts caught fire to drive their inhabitants out to where my spearmen waited. A woman screamed as burning thatch fell on her. Nimue had taken a sword from a dead enemy and was plunging it into the neck of a fallen man. She was keening a weird, high sound that gave the chill dawn a new terror.

Cavan bellowed at men to start hauling the tree fence aside. I left the few enemy that still lived to the mercies of my men and went to help him. The fence was a barricade made from two dozen felled pines, and each tree needed a score of men to pull aside. We had made a gap forty feet wide where the road pierced the barricade, then Issa called a warning to me.

The men we had slaughtered had not been the whole guard force in the valley, but rather the picquet line who guarded the fence, and now the main garrison, woken by the commotion, was showing in the shadowy northern part of the valley.

"Shield-wall!" I called, 'shield-wall!"

We formed the line just north of the burning cottages. Two of my men had broken their ankles coming down the steep slope and a third had been killed in the first moments of the fight, but the rest of us shuffled into line and touched our shield edges together to make certain the wall was tight. I had retrieved my own spear so now I sheathed Hywelbane and pushed my spear-point out to join the other steel points that bristled five feet ahead of the shield-wall. I ordered a half-dozen men to stay behind with Nimue in case any of the enemy still lay hidden among the shadows, then we had to wait while Cavan replaced his shield. The straps of his own had broken so he picked up a Powysian shield and swiftly cut away the leather cover with its eagle symbol, then took his place at the right-hand end of the wall, the most vulnerable place because the right-hand man in a line must hold his shield to protect the man to his left and thus expose his own right side to enemy thrusts. "Ready, Lord!" he called to me.

"Forward!1 I shouted. It was better to advance, I thought, than let the enemy form and attack us. The vale's sides grew higher and steeper as we marched north. The slope on our right, beyond the river, was a thick tangle of trees, while to our left the hill was gra.s.sy at first, but then turned to scrub. The valley narrowed as we advanced, though it never narrowed sufficiently to be called a gorge. There was room for a war-band to manoeuvre in Lugg Vale, though the marshy river bank did help to constrict the dry level ground needed for battle. The first clouded light was illuminating the western hills, but that light had yet to flood into the valley's depths where the rain had at last stopped, though the wind gusted cold and damp to flicker the flames of the campfires that burned in the upper vale. Those campfires revealed a thatched village around a Roman building. The shadows of hurrying men flickered in front of the fires, a horse whinnied, then suddenly, as at last the dawn's ghostly light sifted down to the road, I saw a shield-wall forming.

I could also see that the shield-wall held at least a hundred men, and more were hurrying into its ranks.

"Hold!" I called to my men, then stared into the bad light and guessed that nearer two hundred men were forming the enemy wall. The grey light glinted from their spearheads. This was the elite guard Gorfyddyd had set to hold the vale.

The vale was certainly too broad for my fifty men to hold. The road ran close to the western slope and left a wide meadow to our right where the enemy could easily outflank us and so I ordered my men back.

"Slowly back!" I called, 'slow and sure! Back to the fence!" We could guard the gap we had ripped in the tree fence, though even so it would only be a matter of moments before the enemy clambered over the remaining trees and so surrounded us. "Slowly back!" I called again, then stood still as my men retreated. I waited because a single horseman had ridden out from the enemy ranks and was spurring towards us.

The enemy's emissary was a tall man who rode well. He had an iron helmet crested with swan feathers, a lance and sword, but no shield. He wore a breastplate and his saddle was a sheepskin. He was a striking-looking man, dark-eyed and black-bearded, and there was something familiar in his face, but it was not till he had reined in above me that I recognized him. It was Valerin, the chieftain to whom Guinevere had been betrothed when she had first met Arthur. He stared down at me, then slowly raised his spearhead until it was pointed at my throat. "I had hoped," he said, 'that you would be Arthur."

"My Lord sends you his greetings, Lord Valerin," I said.

Valerin spat towards my shield that again carried the symbol of Arthur's bear. "Return my greetings to him," he said, 'and to the wh.o.r.e he married." He paused, raising the spear-point so that it was close to my eyes. "You're a long way from home, little boy," he said, 'does your mother know you're out of bed?"

"My mother," I answered, 'is readying a cauldron for your bones, Lord Valerin. We have need of glue, and the bones of sheep, we hear, make the best."

He seemed pleased that I knew him, mistaking my recognition for fame and not realizing that I had been one of the guards who had come to Caer Sws with Arthur so many years before. He raised his spear-point clear of my face and stared at my men. "Not many of you," he said, 'but many of us. Would you like to surrender now?"

"There are many of you," I said, 'but my men are starved for battle, so will welcome a large helping of enemies." A leader was expected to be good at these ritual insults before battle and I always rather enjoyed them. Arthur was never good at such exchanges, for even at the last moment before the killing began he was still trying to make his enemies like him.

Valerin half turned his horse. "Your name?" he asked before riding away.

"Lord Derfel Cadarn," I said proudly, and I thought I saw, or maybe I hoped I saw, a flicker of recognition before he kicked his heels back to drive his horse north. If Arthur did not come, I thought, then we were all dead men, but by the time I rejoined my spearmen beside the barricade I found Culhwch, who once again rode with Arthur, waiting for me. His big horse was noisily cropping the gra.s.s nearby. "We're not far away, Derfel," he rea.s.sured me, 'and when those vermin attack, you're to run away. Understand? Make them chase you. That'll scatter them, and when you see us coming get out of the way." He grasped my hand, then enfolded me in a bear hug. "This is better than talking peace, eh?" he said, then walked back to his horse and heaved himself up into its saddle. "Be cowards for a few moments!" he called to my men, then raised a hand and spurred away southwards.

I explained to my men what Culhwch's parting words had meant, then I took my place in the centre of the shield-wall that stretched across the gap we had made in the felled trees. Nimue stood behind me, still holding her b.l.o.o.d.y sword. "We'll pretend to panic," I called to the shield-wall, 'when they make their first attack. And don't trip over when you run, and make sure you get out of the way of the horses." I ordered four of my men to help the two with broken ankles to a thicket behind the fence where they could hide. We waited. I glanced behind once, but could not see Arthur's men who I presumed were hidden where the road entered a patch of trees a quarter-mile to the south. To my right the river ran in dark shining swirls on which two swans drifted. A heron fished the river's edge, but then lazily spread its wings and flapped away northwards, a direction Nimue took to be a good augury because the bird was taking its bad luck towards the enemy.

Valerin's spearmen came on slowly. They had been woken to battle and were still sluggish. Some were bare-headed and I guessed their leaders had rousted them from their straw beds in such haste that not all had been given time to gather their armour. They had no Druid, so at least we were free of spells, though like my men I muttered swift prayers. Mine were to Mithras and to Bel. Nimue was calling to Andraste, the G.o.ddess of Slaughter, while Cavan called on his Irish G.o.ds to give his spear a good day's killing. I saw that Valerin had dismounted and was leading his men from the line's centre, though I noted a servant was leading the chieftain's horse close behind the advancing line.

A heavy gust of damp wind blew the smoke of the burning huts across the road, half hiding the enemy line. The bodies of their dead comrades would wake these advancing spearmen, I thought, and sure enough I heard the shouts of anger as they encountered the newly made corpses, and when a gust of wind cleared the smoke away the attacking line was coming on faster and shouting insults. We waited in silence as the grey early light seeped down to the valley's damp floor. The enemy spearmen stopped fifty paces from us. All of them carried Powys's eagle on their shields, so none were from Siluria or from the other contingents gathering with Gorfyddyd. These spearmen, I a.s.sumed, were among Powys's best, so any we killed now would be a help later, and the G.o.ds knew how we needed help. Thus far we were having the best of the day, and I had to keep reminding myself that these easy moments were designed only to bring the full might of Gorfyddyd and his allies on to Arthur's few loyal men.

Two men raced out from Valerin's line and hurled spears that went high over our heads to bury themselves in the turf behind. My men jeered, and some deliberately took the shields away from their bodies as though inviting the enemy to try again. I thanked Mithras that Valerin had no archers. Few warriors carried bows for no arrow can pierce a shield or a leather breastplate. The bow was a hunter's weapon, best for use against wildfowl or small game, but a ma.s.s of levied countrymen carrying light bows could still make themselves a nuisance by forcing warriors to crouch behind their shield-walls. Two more men hurled spears. One weapon thumped into a shield and stuck there, the other flew high again. Valerin was watching us, judging our resolve, and perhaps because we did not hurl spears back he decided we were already beaten men. He raised his arms, clashed his spear on his shield, and shouted at his men to charge.

They roared their challenge and we, just as Arthur had ordered, broke and fled. For a second there was confusion as men in the shield-line impeded each other, but then we scattered apart and pounded away down the road. Nimue, her black cloak flying, ran ahead of us, but always looking back to see what happened behind her. The enemy cheered their victory and raced to catch us while Valerin, seeing a chance to ride his horse among a broken rabble, shouted at his servant to bring the beast. We ran clumsily, c.u.mbered by cloaks, shields and spears. I was tired and the breath pounded in my chest as I followed my men southwards. I could hear the enemy behind and twice looked over my shoulder to see a tall, red-headed man grimacing as he strained to catch me. He was a faster runner than I, and I was beginning to think I would need to stop, turn and deal with him when I heard that blessed sweet sound of Arthur's horn. It sounded twice and then, out of the dawn-dulled trees ahead of us, Arthur's might erupted.

First came white-plumed Arthur himself, in shining armour and carrying his mirror-bright shield and with his white cloak spread behind like wings. His spearhead dipped as his fifty men came into sight on armoured horses, their faces wrapped in iron and their spear-points glittering. The banners of the dragon and the bear flew bright and the earth shook beneath those ponderous hooves that slung water and mud high into the air as the big horses gathered speed. My men were running aside, forming two groups that swiftly gathered into defensive circles with shields and spears outermost. I went left and turned around in time to see Valerin's men desperately trying to form a shield-wall. Valerin, mounted on his horse, shouted at them to retreat to the barricade, but it was already too late. Our trap was sprung and Lugg Vale's defenders were doomed.

Arthur pounded past me on Llamrei, his favourite mare. The skirts of his horse blanket and the ends of his cloak were already soaked in mud. A man threw a spear that glanced off Llamrei's breast armour, then Arthur thrust his spear home into the first enemy soldier, abandoned the weapon and sc.r.a.ped Excalibur into the dawn. The rest of the horse crashed past in a welter of water and noise. Valerin's men screamed as the big brutes hurtled into their broken ranks. Swords slashed down to leave men reeling and b.l.o.o.d.y while the horses ploughed on, some driving panicked men down beneath their heavy iron-plated hooves. Broken spearmen had no defence against horses, and these warriors of Powys had no chance to form even the smallest shield-walls. They could only run and Valerin, seeing there was no salvation, turned his light horse and galloped northwards.

Some of his men followed, but any man on foot was doomed to be ridden down by the horses. Others turned aside and ran for the river or the hill, and those we hunted down in spear-bands. A few threw down spears and shields and raised their arms, and those we let live, but any man who offered resistance was surrounded like a boar trapped in a thicket and speared to death. Arthur's horse had disappeared into the vale, leaving behind a horrid trail of men with heads cut to the brain by sword-blows. Other enemies were limping and falling, and Nimue, seeing the destruction, screeched in triumph. We took close to fifty prisoners. At least as many others were dead or dying. A few escaped up the hill we had come down in the grey light, and some had drowned trying to cross the Lugg, but the rest were bleeding, staggering, vomiting and defeated. Sagramor's men, a hundred and fifty prime spearmen, marched into sight as we finished rounding up the last of Valerin's survivors. "We can't spare men to guard prisoners," Sagramor greeted me.

"I know."

"Then kill them," he ordered me, and Nimue echoed her approval.

"No," I insisted. Sagramor was my commander for the rest of this day and I did not enjoy disagreeing with him, but Arthur wanted to bring peace to the Britons and killing helpless prisoners was no way to bind Powys to his peace. Besides, my men had taken the prisoners, so their fate was my responsibility and, instead of killing them, I ordered them stripped naked, then they were taken one by one to where Cavan waited with a heavy stone for his hammer and a boulder for an anvil. We placed each man's spear hand on the boulder, held it there, then crushed the two smallest fingers with the stone. A man with two shattered fingers would live and he might even wield a spear again, but not on this day. Not for many a day. Then we sent them southwards, naked and bleeding, and told them that if we saw their faces again before nightfall they would surely die. Sagramor scoffed at me for displaying such leniency, but did not countermand the orders. My men took the enemy's best clothes and boots, searched the discarded clothing for coins, then tossed the garments on to the still burning huts. We piled the captured weapons by the road.

Then we marched north to discover that Arthur had ended his pursuit at the ford, then returned to the village that lay about the substantial Roman building which Arthur reckoned had once been a rest house for travellers going into the northern hills. A crowd of women cowered under guard beside the house, clutching their children and paltry belongings.