Arthur: Book Three of the Pendragon Cycle

“Myrddin! Pelleas! It is a fine and happy sight I am seeing! Welcome, welcome!” Arthur called in greeting. His smile was as immense as it was genuine. “How did you fare in the south, my friends?”

  Merlin did not have it in him to soften his reply. “Disaster threatens, boy,” he said, “and darkness must soon overtake us.”

  Arthur, the smile still on his broad happy face, glanced from one to the other of us, as if unwilling to believe. Indeed, the hall was warm, the fire bright—despairing words held little meaning. “How so?”

  “There is a power in this land that will not be appeased until all are in subjection to it.”

  “Well, that is a worry for another day. Tonight, I am with my friends and the wine is good.” He lifted his cup. “To our enemies’ enemies! And to your safe return!”

  It was Arthur’s welcome alone, I believe, which turned the tide of misery for Merlin.

  For I saw my master behold the young Duke in all his youthful zeal, the light of life burning so brightly in him, and he determined for Arthur’s sake to put the gloom and depression that had dogged our journey behind him. I saw the line of Merlin’s shoulders lift; I saw his chin rise. And though the smile with which he returned Arthur’s welcome was forced, it was a smile nonetheless, and the greeting with it true.

  Thus, soon after our arrival at Caer Melyn the pall which hung over Merlin’s spirit began to lift. This was Arthur’s doing, as I have said. For even then he was beginning to display that rarest of qualities: a joy inspired by hardship, deepened by adversity, and exalted by tragedy.

  Arthur could find the golden beam of hope in defeat, the single glimmer of blue in the storm-fretted sky. It was this that made him such a winning leader—the kind of man for whom other men gladly lay down their lives. Arthur’s enthusiasm and assurance were the flint and steel to the dry tinder of men’s hearts. Once he learned to strike the spark, he could set the flame any time he chose. And that was a sight to see, I tell you.

  That night as we stood together before the hearth, my master found reason to hope against all evidence to the contrary. He began, I think, to sense the shape of our salvation: it was larger, grander, higher, purer, and far more potent than he had ever imagined.

  “Of course,” he would say later, “it had to be like this. There was no other way!”

  That would come in time. All in good time. And not for a long, long time. But it would come.

  That night of homecoming, however, it was only young Arthur lifting our hearts with his boundless joy at our return. Oh, how he loved Merlin!

  “Tell me about your journey,” Arthur said as the board was being readied for supper. “Did Ban receive you? Will he help? Is he sending aid? When will it—”

  “Arthur, please!” cried Merlin, holding up his hand to stay the flood of Arthur’s curiosity. “One question at a time.”

  “Answer any one you like, only tell me something!”

  “I will tell you everything,” Merlin promised. “Only let us sit down and discuss it in a civilized manner. We have ridden far today, and I am hungry.” We took our places at the board to await the stew.

  “There,” said Arthur when we had our cups in hand. “Now sing, bard. I am waiting.”

  “Yes, Ban received us. Yes, he is sending aid. Supplies will arrive as soon as the harvest is gathered—”

  “Well done!” Arthur slapped the board, making our cups jump. “Well done, Myrddin! I knew you would succeed.”

  “—men will arrive in the spring with Bors.” To Arthur’s look of amazement, he added, “Yes, in addition to supplies, Ban is sending his warband and his brother Bors to lead them. They are yours to command.”

  “Better and better!” cried Arthur, leaping up. “Cai! Bedwyr!” he called across the hall as the door opened to a group of men just entering. “Come here!”

  Shaking rain from their cloaks, the two came to stand at the board, dripping water over us. “Greetings, Myrddin…Pelleas,” said Bedwyr. “What news do you bring us?”

  “Is Ban with us?” asked Cai. Apparently the Benowyc king’s disposition was much on everyone’s mind.

  “Men and supplies!” Arthur fairly shouted. “Bors is bringing his warband.”

  “Horses, too?” asked Bedwyr.

  “A hundred warriors, and horses for all. Supplies enough for them and us, too. That is the bargain.”

  Bedwyr and Cai grinned at one another, and at Arthur. Bedwyr clapped Merlin on the back, saying, “Truly you are a wonder-worker, Myrddin!”

  “Cups!” called Cai. “Bring us something to drink! We must celebrate our good fortune.”

  “They are not coming until the spring,” Merlin told him.

  “We will celebrate then, too,” laughed Bedwyr. “You would not deny us the first good news we have heard since you left?”

  “Why? What has happened while we were away?”

  Bedwyr glanced at Arthur, who said, “We have heard that Morcant has made an alliance with Coledac and Idris against me.”

  “Owen Vinddu has pledged men and horses to them,” muttered Cai. “This, when he told us he could not spare an oat or he would starve this winter. Curse the lot of them!”

  “By summer they hope to field a warhost a thousand strong against us,” added Bedwyr. “More if they can get other lords to throw in with them.”

  The hurt in their voices was real enough, the sense of betrayal strong. Merlin nodded in sympathy. “Well,” he offered, “it may not come to that. One of them, at least, will be in no position to make war against you in the spring.”

  “Why? What do you know?” asked Arthur.

  “Coledac is dead,” Merlin said, “and most of his warband with him.”

  “Ha!” barked Cai mirthlessly. “Treachery repaid.”

  “What happened?” asked Bedwyr.

  “Sea Wolves have taken the Saecsen Shore.” Merlin let the significance of this news grow in them.

  Arthur was first to speak. “How bad was it?”

  “The strongholds seized and the settlements burned—the small holdings as well. Coledac was killed in the first onslaught and the warband routed. No one escaped. After that there was no defense.”

  Arthur, eyes narrowed, weighing the danger in his mind, gripped the brass cup between his hands, bending the metal. “How far inland have they come?”

  “It is not certain,” Merlin replied. “From what we were told, the main attack appears to have taken place further south.”

  Thus was it a somber group that assembled to celebrate our return. The next days the dire news was repeated once and again as straggling groups of homeless came to the caer seeking shelter on their way to the west.

  Gradually, from many confused and conflicting stories the truth emerged: Saecsens under a war leader named Aelle had overrun several of the old fortresses on the southeast coast between the Wash and the Thamesis. The main attack, however, was concentrated a little further south between the Thamesis and the Afon, the old lands of the Cantii. This assault was led by a king named Colgrim, with the aid of another—Octa, the son of Hengist now grown, and returned to avenge his father’s death.

  This southeastern region is the Saecsen Shore, so called by the Romans for the linked system of beacons and outposts erected along the coast to protect against raiding Sea Wolves.

  It was along this same stretch of southern coast that Vortigern settled Hengist and Horsa and their tribes in the vain hope of ending the incessant raiding that was slowly bleeding Britain dry. And it was from this coast that the barbarians spilled out to flood the surrounding land, until Aurelius contained, defeated, and banished them.

  Now they were back, taking once more the land Hengist had overrun. The Saecsen Shore—its name would remain, but henceforth for a different reason. These invaders meant to stay.

  * * *

  We worried with this through the long winter. The thought of Saecsens seizing British lands burned in Arthur like a banked fire, but there was nothing to be done save endure the ignominy of it
. Indeed, we had no other choice. We had to await Bors’ arrival in the spring with the needed men. And then, Morcant must be brought to heel before we could even consider facing the Saecsens.

  In all, it was a sorry winter for us. Despite Ban’s generous gift of provisions, food began running low just before midwinter. We had grain enough, thanks to Ban, but no meat. The eve of the Christ Mass found us riding the hunting runs, clutching our spears in stiff, frozen hands, hoping to sight a deer or pig or hare—anything that would put meat on the board.

  Merlin sang often in the hall, doing what he could to keep our spirits up. But spring found our courage at lowest ebb nonetheless, anxiously awaiting the arrival of Bors with Ban’s men. With each day that passed Arthur’s resentment of the small kings hardened, and his anger against them grew.

  Spring saw no improvement. The weather stayed cold, the sky grey. Day upon day, icy rain whipped the southern hills. The wild wind howled through long chill nights; and it seemed the earth would never warm beneath the sun, nor know any milder clime again.

  Then, one day the weather broke. The clouds parted, and the sun shone brightly in the high, blue sky. Light returned to the land. And with it came the news that we had feared all winter.

  The messenger’s feet had hardly touched the ground when the cry went up: “Morcant rides against us!”

  “Where?” asked Arthur.

  The messenger wiped sweat from his forehead. “They are coming along the coast. They will have crossed the Ebbw by now.”

  Arthur nodded sharply. The Ebbw River formed the eastern border of Arthur’s realm. By riding along the Mor Hafren coast a force could move much faster than one having to thread the winding glens. It was speed Morcant wanted.

  “How many?”

  “Three hundred.”

  “What!” Cai demanded. He had hastened to Arthur’s side at the arrival of the rider. “How did the old lion raise so many?”

  “There is time yet before we meet them,” Arthur announced. With the coming of spring, Arthur had ordered the ring of smaller hillforts manned with watchers—especially those along the coast, where he hoped for word of Ban’s ships arriving any day. It was the watchman at Penygaer who saw Morcant’s forces crossing the Ebbw estuary along the coast.

  “Artos,” said Cai calmly, “how do you propose to meet them? It is seventy against three hundred.”

  “I admit the fight is not even,” Arthur’s grin was lopsided and reckless, “but Morcant will just have to survive as best he can.” He turned to me. “Pelleas, fetch Bedwyr and Myrddin. We will gather in my chambers.”

  “At once, lord.”

  He and Cai strode off across the yard as the hunting horn sounded the alarm. I found Merlin and Bedwyr together at one of the granaries, examining our dwindling supply of barley.

  “Hail, Pelleas,” called Bedwyr as I dashed toward them. He saw my face, and his smile of welcome faded. “What is it? What is wrong?”

  “Morcant is riding against us. He is on his way here now with three hundred.”

  “We cannot meet them,” observed Bedwyr. “There are just too many. Even with Meurig’s warband, they would still outman us three to one.”

  “Where are they?” Merlin asked. His tone showed no surprise or concern.

  “They have crossed the Ebbw River at the coast to take us from the south.”

  “Yes,” mused Merlin, “that is what I would do.”

  “There is no time to ride to Caer Myrddin anyway.”

  “We are to meet Arthur in his chambers at once,” I told them.

  Arthur and Cai sat over the long board in Arthur’s chambers at one end of the hall. “It is not possible,” Cai was saying as we entered, “and even if it were, the risk is terrible.”

  Arthur smiled and reached across the board to ruffle Cai’s red curls. “Trust Cai to count the risk.”

  “By Heaven’s honor, that is the truth. I do heed the risk. Someone must.” Cai folded his arms across his chest, glowering out from beneath his copper-colored brows.

  “What impossible thing is he proposing this time?” Bedwyr laughed as he sat down on the bench. I settled beside him; Merlin remained standing.

  Cai, a pained expression pinching his ruddy features, put up his hands. “Do not ask me to repeat it. I will not.”

  Arthur gazed placidly at Cai and then shrugged. “Perhaps he is right—it cannot be done.” He turned to Bedwyr and Merlin. “Well, wise advisors? Advise me wisely, or Morcant will.”

  We all looked at one another, silently calculating our chances of surviving this day.

  “Well,” said Merlin after a moment, “perhaps it is a day for impossible feats. Who knows?”

  “It seems we have no other choice,” muttered Cai.

  “Are we to know this impossible plan of yours?” demanded Bedwyr. “Speak it out.”

  “I was only thinking,” began Arthur slowly, “you know how these hills catch the echoes…”

  * * *

  The sun stood directly overhead, and there was still no sign of Morcant’s warhost. Scouts had been dispatched and had returned with confirmation that indeed a force of three hundred or more were approaching along the coast. They had crossed the Ebbw and were making for Glyn Rominw—the vale of the Rominw River.

  The deep glen circled Caer Melyn, describing a half-moon arc to the east before curving away to meet Mor Hafren just to the south. Any attacking army would find it a natural roadway straight into the heart of Arthur’s realm.

  The young Duke knew the vale for what it was, and knew his enemies would regard it a weakness. But part of Arthur’s genius lay in his remarkable ability to read the land.

  He had only to see a place once to know it—each hill and hollow, every freshet and stream, every dingle and dell, rock cliff and standing stone. He knew where it was safe to ford, where the ground cover was thickest, where the hidden trails met and where they led. He knew all the ancient tracks and ridgeways, where men might safely ride without being seen, how the fields of the various realms were laid, which height would afford protection, which lowland a hiding place, where natural defenses could be found, where the land favored attack, or retreat, or ambush…

  All these things and more Arthur could read in the fold and crease of the earth. The land spoke to him, readily revealing its secrets to his quick eyes.

  This is how I came to be squatting on a hillside overlooking a ford on the Rominw, holding a blackthorn bush before me, surrounded by a company of warriors, each similarly hidden behind. Across the glen, Cai, with another company, lay hidden behind a low, grassy rise. And to the north another company; to the south another, and so on all along the vale.

  Time passed. I sat watching cloud shadows on the hillside opposite me or gazing south along the curving length of the river, listening for the sound of the approaching warband and wondering what detained them—thinking that perhaps they had not chosen Glyn Rominw after all.

  The wind had shifted to the north, making the sound of Morcant’s approach more difficult to hear—if indeed he had entered the vale. What was taking the old lion so long?

  Perhaps he had continued on along the coast to come at us out of the west. Perhaps he had forded the Rominw and crossed back to the east to come inland along one of the smaller streams. Perhaps he had…The thought never finished itself, for at that moment I heard it: the quick, rolling drum of horses’ hooves upon the earth.

  I craned my neck to the south and peered through the branches of my blackthorn bush. A moment later I saw them: Morcant’s forces moving through the glen. They came on in a loose pack; there were no orderly ranks, no coherent divisions of any sort. They spread across the valley floor in a ragged swarm. More a mob than a force of disciplined men.

  That was the pith of it! So arrogant was Morcant, so smug and self-assured, so confident in his superior numbers he made no attempt at order in his ranks. He meant to overwhelm Arthur’s warband like a wave on the shore, to simply wash over us and crush us with its all-engulfi
ng weight.

  I watched the unruly throng stream into the valley below, and anger leapt up a hot red flame within me. Fool! Morcant esteemed Arthur not at all. So lacking in respect, he did not even deem it wisdom to order his ranks. Oh, the insolence was blinding, the pride deafening.

  I saw it all and did not care that we were only seventy against three hundred. Blessed Jesu, if we die today, let it be as true warriors with honor.

  The first foemen had reached the ford. Some splashed through the stream, others stopped to drink—the ignorant louts, careless and stupid in their arrogance. My anger burned more fiercely in me.

  As soon as the main body of the warband reached the opposite bank, a mighty shout went up, an all-encompassing shout, a shout to shake the roots of the world. “ALLELUIA!”

  I looked and saw Merlin standing alone on the hilltop, arms raised over his head, his cloak loose and blowing. At the very same instant there came an answer from across the glen. “A-l-l-e-l-u-i-a!”

  The echoes rang. “Alleluia!…Alleluia!”

  I joined in the gladdening cry, and the warriors with me on the hillside shouted too. “Alleluia!”

  The shouts were coming from all along the glen now, the echoes pealing like bells, ringing on and on. Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

  The effect was immediate and dramatic. At that first enormous shout, the enemy had halted. The cries of alleluia assailed them from every side. They scanned the hillside for the foe, but saw no one. Now the echoes encircled them, pelting down upon them…Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

  Morcant’s host scattered. The main body drove back across the stream into those still straggling behind. Seeing the ford hopelessly blocked, others turned to the hills. A group of twenty broke off, riding straight toward us.

  We let them come. Nearer…nearer…

  With a mighty shout we threw off the blackthorn branches that hid us. “Alleluia!”

  Up we leaped, swords in hand, striking, pulling the startled riders from their saddles. We struck them to the ground and sent their terrified horses back down the hill into the confused host. I looked across the glen. The same thing was happening on the opposite hillside as astonished warriors disappeared behind the grassy rise where Cai’s men waited.