Arthur: Book Three of the Pendragon Cycle

  In the end, however, they were forced to uphold their pledge to Arthur as War Leader. So, four days before midsummer we gathered at dawn on the strand at Abertaff near Caer Dydd—men and horses, weapons and supplies. Three kings came with us: Idris, Bedegran, and Maglos.

  Old Bishop Gwythelyn and his renowned pupil Teilo led us in a special warrior’s mass. From his nearby abbey the revered Illtyd came also to give his blessing. The holymen emboldened us with heartening words from the sacred texts, and commended us to the Lord Jesu. Then we all knelt there among the windswept dunes, the sound of the surf and gulls in our ears. We knelt each and every one of us and prayed to the Almighty God for swift sailing and swifter victory.

  When the prayers were finished, we all rose up and sang a song of praise to the Savior God. Ah, there is nothing finer than the voices of the Cymry lifted in song, I can tell you. We were three thousand strong. And that is a mighty voice before the Throne of Light.

  Then, as the sun crested the far hills across Mor Hafren and the first red-beamed rays stretched across the water, we boarded the ships and set sail for the north. Forty-five ships in all—most of them Lot’s, but Arthur had found a good few others. Not since the days of the Romans had such a fleet been seen in the Island of the Mighty. This, and the first of Arthur’s ships had yet to be built!

  Forty-five ships! It was a sight to behold.

  5

  We entered Yrewyn Bay at dusk and came ashore to make camp. The fires were kept low and we posted watchmen in the hills above the bay, lest a rearguard of Irish had been left behind. But the night passed quietly.

  At dawn the next day we began the march inland to meet Cai and the Cymbrogi. We had arranged to come together at a place I knew: a ford where the River Glein joins the Yrewyn as it flows down from the mountains into the vale of Yrewyn.

  There are no settlements in that region—the people were driven off long ago by the relentless raiding. We formed up in two long columns after the Roman fashion. Arthur’s ala—the mounted warriors—leading, foot soldiers coming after, and the supply wagons following. Since we had come by ship, we had only four wagons with us, and only a hundred horses—fewer than we would have liked, to be sure. But as we intended joining Cai in a day or so, we thought we could sustain ourselves at least that long.

  It was not until we reached the Glein that we realized our mistake.

  “There must be ten thousand down there,” I whispered. Arthur and I sat our horses on the ridge, gazing down into dusk thickening in the Yrewyn vale. We had ridden into the foothills to spy out the land below—and good thing, too! The numbers of the enemy ranged around the ford appeared a dark smear spreading along either side of the river. The smoke from their innumerable fires blackened the air. “I have never seen so many Irish in one place. I did not think there were so many.” The cran tara had indeed gone out, and it had been answered in force.

  “They are not all Irish,” said Arthur, his eyes narrowed to the distance. “Look—see how they form two camps there and there?” He indicated the dark mass on the left. “The fires are larger and ranged in a great circle. And there—” He pointed to the other smudge. “…the fires are smaller and scattered; those are the Irish.”

  “So who are the others? Saecsens?” Circular camps built around a central fire is something Saecsens did.

  “Angli,” answered Arthur.

  “Angli—Saecsen? What is the difference? They are barbarians, are they not?”

  “Oh yes,” agreed Arthur with a grim laugh, “they are barbarians. But if they were Saecsens I would know that Aelle and Colgrim had broken the peace.”

  “Cold comfort,” I remarked. “What are we to do now, Bear? They are camped where we are to meet Cai in a day’s time.”

  “We will ride south a little way to meet him.”

  “What are they doing down there?”

  “Waiting.”

  “I can see that. Why, Exalted Duke, are they waiting, do you suppose?”

  Arthur gave his head a slight shake. “I do not know, and that worries me.”

  “Will you offer them peace?”

  “Yes. Why fight for peace if it can be achieved without bloodshed?”

  “That may be, Artos,” I agreed, “and I truly pray that it is. But I do not think they are going to lay down weapons and sail away peacefully. They have come to fight, and I think they mean to have their way.”

  “I fear you are right.” Arthur lifted his reins and turned his mount. “Come, we will go tell Myrddin what we have seen.”

  Our own camp was but two valleys to the east of the enemy encampment. Twilight had fallen and the valley was darkening, although the sky still held light in the west. Arthur rode in, calling for the kings to meet him in his tent, and for the cooking fires to be put out at once.

  Myrddin met us outside Arthur’s tent, and held our horses as we dismounted. “Well, was it to your liking?”

  “You did not tell us there would be so many,” said Arthur lightly. He might have been describing a herd of sheep he had happened to meet.

  “How many?” asked Myrddin, cocking his head to one side.

  “Ten thousand,” Arthur replied.

  “So?” wondered the Emrys.

  “I counted them myself,” I assured him. “Every one.”

  Myrddin shook his head slowly. “It was not to begin this way. This is not how I saw it.”

  “It does not matter,” said Arthur. “This will be to our benefit.” Just then Idris ambled up, and Maglos behind him. “We will hold council in my tent,” Arthur told them, “when Bedegran has joined us.”

  The two entered the tent and Arthur turned to Rhys, his harper and steward. “Have food brought to us, and something to drink.”

  Inside the tent, the lamps were already lit, casting their thin reddish glow over the rough board that had been set up to serve for his council table. Our cups were there, but empty yet. Idris and Maglos sat across from one another, leaning on their elbows.

  “You have seen something, yes?” Idris asked as I settled on the bench next to him.

  “I have seen the vale of Yrewyn,” I told him. “It is a sight worth seeing.”

  He regarded me skeptically for a moment and then shrugged. “Sooner ask a stone.” He turned away and began talking to Maglos.

  I had come to like Idris—at least, I no longer disliked him as much as I once had. He had a good way with his men, whom he treated with all respect. It was unfortunate he had sided with Morcant and Cerdic in the beginning. But I sensed he was deeply sorry for this—which was why he had chosen to ride with us. He was trying to make amends for his lapse by fighting for Arthur every bit as hard as he had fought against him.

  He was a strong man, though slender, and wore his hair and moustache long, like the Celts of old. And although he had never set foot inside a church in his life, he had learned reading and writing from the brothers at the monastery at Eboracum.

  Maglos, on the other hand, was nearly as broad at Cai, though not nearly as tall. He sat his horse like a stump. But like a stump, his roots went deep. Maglos ap Morganwg of the ancient Dumnoni possessed his people’s easy confidence brought by long association with wealth and power, but surprisingly little of their stiff-necked pride. Also, he was seldom to be found in an ill humor.

  We had not fought alongside these men before, and I wondered if they would be able to place themselves under Arthur’s authority as easily as they had placed their warbands under his command. That we would see.

  The tent flap opened, and Arthur entered with Gwalcmai, Bedegran, and Myrddin. The Duke carried a jar of beer in his hand and began pouring the cups with his own hand, then sat down and began passing the cups to the others. Myrddin did not join us at the council table, but remained standing behind Arthur. Gwalcmai sat down at Arthur’s left hand across from me on his right. Bedegran sat next to me.

  Arthur lifted his cup and drank deep. He refilled it and let it stand before him. “We cannot meet Cai and Meurig at the Gle
in ford,” he said. “Yrewyn vale is full of Irish and Angli.”

  “Angli?” Gwalcmai lowered his cup in surprise.

  “They are there,” I told him. “In numbers.”

  “How many?” asked Idris.

  “Ten thousand.”

  The words hung in the air as those gathered around the board struggled to envisage this number. Arthur let them work on it for a while before he said, “I will send to them with an offer of peace. We will pray that they accept it.”

  “And if they do not?” asked Idris.

  “If words of peace do not speak to them, perhaps they will heed British steel.”

  The table fell silent, calculating our chances of surviving against such numbers.

  “Of course,” continued Arthur, “Cai would be unhappy to miss such a glorious battle.”

  Maglos laughed. “I can think of a few others who should be sorry to miss such.”

  “Therefore, tomorrow you will ride south to wait for Cai and the Cymbrogi. Bedwyr and I will take the willow branch to the Irish and Angli camp.”

  I breathed a silent thanks to him for this singular honor.

  “What if the enemy moves from the vale?” asked Bedegran.

  “We will stop them.”

  “We cannot engage them,” insisted Bedegran. “We are too few.”

  “Yet I tell you they will be stopped,” replied Arthur evenly.

  Bedegran opened his mouth to speak again, but thought better of it and took a drink from his cup instead.

  Arthur glanced at each of the others to see if anyone else would challenge him. When no one did, he continued. “Cai is expected in the next few days. He is following the Roman road up through Caer Lial on the Wall. We will ride south and east to meet him where the road ends.”

  “All respect, Duke Arthur,” said Idris, clearing his throat, “but should we not wait for others to join us? At ten thousand they are more than three to one against us. I know I would fight easier with a few more warriors beside me.”

  “My father and brother will soon arrive with the warband of Orcady,” offered Gwalcmai.

  “How many? Three hundred?” asked Idris hopefully.

  “Fifty—”

  “Fifty! Is that all?” sputtered Idris. He turned in appeal to Arthur. “Fifty—”

  “Peace, Idris,” said Maglos. “You above all men should deem yourself fortunate. With fewer kings to divide the plunder, we all get more.”

  Idris glared at him. “Tell me if it is fortunate you feel with ten foemen hanging on your sword arm at every stroke. They will cut us to strop leather.”

  “Where is your courage, man?” said Maglos. He lifted his cup and said, “The battle is before us; there is glory to be won. Bring it on! Hie!” With that, he tossed down his beer, and wiped his sopping moustache on his sleeve.

  “Pray to God that this battle may be avoided,” said Arthur, rising in dismissal. “Pray all of you that peace will triumph.”

  The next day while the others broke camp, Arthur and I mounted our horses and rode to the enemy encampment. We paused at the riverside to gather willow branches. I cut the biggest ones I could find lest there be any mistaking our intentions. Still, I had no great hope that the barbarians would honor them.

  Then, crossing over the river we rode on to meet the enemy. They saw us coming, of course, and we were met by a company of Irish and Angli chieftains. They scowled at us and jeered, but did not kill us outright, and for that I was grateful.

  “I am Arthur, Battlechief of Britain,” Arthur told them. “I have come to speak to your bretwalda.”

  At his use of the barbarian word for War Leader, the Angli glanced at one another. Then up spoke one of the barbarians. “I am Baldulf,” he said, and his speech was not good. “What do you seek?”

  “I seek peace,” replied Arthur, “which I gladly grant to you.”

  Baldulf muttered something to one of his advisors, who muttered back. The Irish, of the tribe called Scotti, frowned mightily but said nothing.

  “What are your terms?” asked Baldulf.

  “You must leave this land. As you have done no harm here, I will suffer no harm to come to you. But you must go from here at once.”

  Again Baldulf conferred with his chieftains. Then, turning with a haughty sneer, he said, “If we do not go?”

  “Then you will all be killed. For I have given my promise to God that there will be peace in this land.”

  “Kill us then, if you can,” replied Baldulf bravely. “Maybe it is you and your god who will die.”

  “I have given my pledge to you. Peace will abide in Britain, whether won by word or deed. Today I give you your lives; tomorrow I will take them. The choice is yours.” So saying, Arthur and I turned our horses and rode back to camp.

  Everything was ready to move; they were only awaiting our return. Arthur chose sentries to watch the enemy camp, and we left the valley and started east to meet Cai.

  The sun had risen fair in the sky, but clouds came in from the sea laden with rain, and by midday the ground beneath our feet was soft mud. The wagons became enmired and time and again had to be dragged free. The going was miserable and slow.

  This should have been a warning to us.

  But the first hint of trouble came when one of the sentries returned on the gallop, his mount lashed to a lather. He flew directly to where Arthur and I rode at the head of the columns. “They are moving,” he gasped, out of breath from his wild ride.

  Arthur halted. “Which way?”

  “Moving up the valley—to the east…”

  For the space of a heartbeat Arthur froze, bringing the image of the valley before his mind. The next instant he was all action.

  “Bedwyr!” he called, wheeling his horse. “Follow me!”

  “Arthur! Where are you going?”

  “If they leave the valley we are lost!”

  I called after him, but he did not hear. A moment later I was flying down the ranks halting the columns and turning them onto our new course. I rode to the end of the columns and shouted at the men tending the wagons, “Leave the wagons here! Fetch your weapons!”

  Bedegran and Idris appeared. “What is happening?” demanded one. “Why are we turning?” asked the other.

  “The barbarians are moving. Arm your men.”

  “We are not going to attack them!” Bedegran gaped at me as if I had lost my wits.

  “I do not see why—” began Idris.

  “Arm your men and follow!” I shouted, and rode to tell Maglos and Gwalcmai, before racing after Arthur, who was quickly disappearing over the broad hump of the hill. Myrddin was with him.

  I caught up with them as they sat looking over the vale of Yrewyn—a good deal east of where we had been the day before. There were no Irish or Angli to be seen.

  “It is as I hoped,” Arthur was saying. “They are slower afoot than we are. We have come in time.”

  The vale had narrowed to little more than a glen, and I saw Arthur’s plan immediately. If the enemy were moving east along the river, they would come through this pinched-up place where we would be waiting for them. Then their superior numbers would not avail them, for we could not easily be surrounded.

  “Do we establish ourselves down there along the river—or wait in the hills?”

  “Both,” Arthur said. “Let the footmen be ready down there. We will hold what horses we have here and here—” He pointed to the steep slopes on either side of the river. “…and then sweep down upon them when they try to come around us.”

  The Duke turned to Myrddin. “Will you uphold us?”

  Myrddin nodded, his golden eyes dark. “You have no need to ask. I will uphold you by the power of the Three.” He sat looking at the sky to the east, and across the hills to the south. “We will be aided by the weather,” he observed. “With the ending of the rain the mist will rise. If they be long in coming, we will be well hidden near the river.”

  It was true. The rain from the west was ending, but behind us
to the east, a thick damp fog was already winding along the river; low dark clouds were scudding in from the south and the wind was turning cold.

  The first of the horsemen began arriving, and I set Idris and Maglos across the valley. Gwalcmai and I held to the near side—fifty horses on either hand. Arthur and Bedegran led the footmen down into the glen and set about hiding them.

  Mist or no, in a few moments when I looked, I could scarcely make them out. Nine hundred men vanished in the glen in the blink of an eye. And with their going, an unnatural calm fell upon the narrow valley as the mist rolled in.

  Well down behind the crest of the hill, I closed my eyes and prayed to the Savior God—as I do before a battle. It helps to settle the mind and put courage in the heart.

  In a little while, I felt a touch on my arm and heard Gwalcmai’s whisper in my ear. “They are coming.”

  Flat on my belly, my face so close to the ground I could smell the sedge, I crept forward to peer over the crest of the hill. The first of the enemy was entering the narrow valley from the west. They came on unheeding, a straggling mass, moving in thickened clusters which defined their battle lords. The Irish came first and Angli after, and slowly. The Picti I did not see, and this caused me to wonder.

  “They are so careless,” remarked Gwalcmai, his voice filled with contempt at their stupidity.

  “But they are so many,” I reminded him.

  He smiled, his teeth showing white in the gloom. “The more glory for us, friend Bedwyr.”

  “Listen!”

  The blast of a horn echoed in the glen. It was Rhys, with Arthur’s hunting horn—the signal to attack. And suddenly there he was, springing up out of the river mist and hurtling into the startled barbarians. All along the river men arose as one. Their shout carried to the hilltops and echoed along the glen.

  The barbarian host was thrown into confusion at once. Those leading were forced back into the mass behind. The Britons thrust ahead, following Arthur at a run. He had taken a white horse so that he could be more easily seen in the murk, and he flew at the enemy like a harrying hawk.