Arthur

ONE

I Bedwyr, a prince of Rheged, write this. My father was Bleddyn ap Cynfal, Lord of Caer Tryfan in the north, kinsman to Tewdrig ap Teithfallt and the lords of Dyfed in the south.

Though the Devil take me, I will always remember meeting Arthur for the first time. It was at Caer Myrddin in Dyfed. Myrddin had brought Arthur there to hide him from his enemies, and my father had come to deliver me to Tewdrig's court, where I would receive my first fosterage. Arthur was but a squally babe.

Not that I was so very much older myself – all of five summers, perhaps, but old enough to think myself already a warrior of vast renown. I stalked the rampart of Tewdrig's stronghold, gripping the shaft of a short wooden spear my father had made for me.

While the kings held council concerning affairs of the realm, I marched around the caer pretending that I was its lord and chief. My only thought was that one day I would become a warrior like my father, a respected batdechief, and I would kill Saecsens and make my people proud of me.

To be a warrior! It was sun and stars to me. I could not sleep unless I held my wooden spear in my hand. The life of a warrior held great allure for me then; it was all I knew. Oh, but I was very young.

Caer Myrddin – Maridunum of old – fairly blazed under a hot summer sun. Everywhere men were busy and working; hard metal glimmered and gleamed from every corner, and the sound of a hammer on steel rang in the shimmering air like sounding iron, or church bell. The caer was a good deal larger than our own at Penllyn. It bespoke the power and wealth of the king, as was fitting.

And Tewdrig had a smith – which we did not have. The hall was larger, too; timber and thatch, with a great planked door bound in iron. The walls were timber, topping steep earthen ramparts.

I stood on the bank above the ditch, imagining I alone defended the gates and that victory depended upon me. Absorbed in my dreams of future glory, I felt a touch on the haft of my spear and glanced round. The infant Arthur was clutching the end of my spear in his chubby hands and grinning toothlessly at me.

I jerked the spear angrily. But he held on. I jerked again, and still he did not let go. Such a grip! Well, of course I was forced to show him that I was his better, so I stepped close and shoved the spear against his chest. His unsteady stumps buckled and he toppled backwards into the dust. I laughed at him and gloated in my superior strength.

He did not cry put as I expected him to, nor did the smile disappear from his round face. He simply gazed merrily at me with not so much as a mild reproach in his wide blue eyes.

Anger and shame battled within me. Shame won. Glancing around guiltily – lest anyone should see what I had done – I quickly stooped and took his fat little arm in my hand and pulled Arthur to his feet.

We were friends from that moment, I believe. Little Arthur became my shadow, and I the sun that rose in the sky for him. Few were the days that we did not spend in one another's company. We broke the same bread, drank from the same cup, breathed the same air. And later, when he joined me in the boys' house, we became closer than brothers.

When men think of Arthur now, they think of the emperor and his lands and palace. Or they think of the glorious battlechief, whose victories stretch behind him like a gem-crusted strand. They think of the invincible Pendragon who holds all Britain in sure, strong hands.

God's truth, I believe they consider him an Otherworld being, sprung up in their midst from the dust under their feet, or called down by Myrddin Emrys from the mists of high Yr Widdfa. Certainly, no one thinks of him as a man – with a birth and boyhood like any other man. Nor do bards tell of it.

Stories abound in the land in these days; they grow thick, like moss on a fallen branch. Some few have a mote of truth in them, but far too many do not. It is natural, perhaps, the desire to make more of things – a tale does often grow greater in the telling.

But it is not needful. Purest gold needs no gilding, after all.

It is Arthur the War Leader that I speak of, mind. Artorius Rex, he was not. All through that long season of strife he remained unacknowledged by the small kings. Small dogs, more like. Though they begrudged him even the tide of Dux – and that was a travesty! – he wore it proudly, and fought the wars for them.

The wars… each glorious and hideous, each different from all the others, yet each one exactly alike in the end.

There were twelve in all. The first took place the very next summer after Arthur bested Cerdic in single combat and ended the rebellion against him. Arthur had spent the winter at Ynys Avallach and returned in the spring, bearing his new sword, and burning with his new vision of the Kingdom of Summer.

I had gone to the breeding runs – the sheltered glens east of Caer Melyn, where we wintered our horses and maintained the breeding stock – to see what we could count on for the coming year. It was foaling season, so I stayed on to help midwife a few colts into the world.

Winter had lingered long and I was glad to be free of the caer for a few days. I have always disliked close places, preferring wide hills and a lofty sky to the walls and peaked roof of a hall. Though cold at night, I was glad to stay with the herders in their hut, and ride with them during the day as they tended the animals.

One gusty morning, I was leading four swell-bellied mares down the valley to the enclosure near the hut where they could be delivered more easily. Feeling the fresh wind on my face, my spirit rose within me and I began to sing – loudly and with vigour – or I might have heard the rider calling me.

Indeed, I did not hear him until he was all but on top of me. 'Bedwyr! Hail, Bedwyr! Wait!'

I turned to see one of the younger warriors galloping towards me. I greeted him as he reined up and fell in beside me. 'Greetings, Drusus, what do you here?'

'Lord Cai has sent me to bring you. Arthur has returned and would have you with him. We are riding out in three days' time.'

'Riding where?' I knew nothing of any trouble anywhere. 'I cannot say; Cai did not tell me. Will you come?' 'I will see these horses settled first. Rest yourself while you wait, and we will return together.'

I continued on down the valley and gave the mares over to the care of a herdsman. I gathered my cloak and weapons from the hut, and rode back to the caer at once. All the while, I bethought me what could be happening. I could get nothing more from Drusus, so contented myself with flying over the windswept hills as fast as my horse could run. God's truth, I would have made all speed anyway, I was that anxious to see Arthur.

He was standing in the centre of a tumult of urgent bustle, talking to Cai, when I rode in. I threw myself from the saddle, and ran to meet Arthur. 'Jesu be praised! The wanderer has returned!' I cried.

'Hail, Bedwyr!' he called, a great grin appearing instantly on his face. 'Have we a herd?'

'We have a herd. Fifteen foals already, and twenty more perhaps before the season is done. It is blood and breath to see you, Artos.'

I stepped close and we gripped one another by the arms like brothers, and he wrapped me in his rib-cracking bear hug. 'You have weathered well, I see.' He thumped me soundly on the back. 'Was the winter to your liking?' 'A little long,' I admitted, 'but not too cold.' 'Cai has told me you drove Rhys nearly mad with your complaining. He is only a bard, Bedwyr. Would you have him change the weather with a song?'

'A fresh tale to pass the time would suffice. But look at you, Bear – you seem to have fallen in with the Fair Folk.' His smile became mysterious and he drew his sword for me to admire. 'This is Caledvwlch,' he told me. 'It was given me by the Lady of the Lake.'

I had never seen a weapon like it, and told him so. 'A man could win a kingdom with this,' I observed, feeling its quick weight fill my hand. The blade seemed instantly a part of me, more a bright extension of my arm than a measured length of cold steel.

'Well said,' Arthur replied, 'and that kingdom has a name.'

That is all he said, and he would speak no more about it then. 'Come to me in my chambers. I will summon Myrddin.' He walked away across the yard.

I glanced at Cai, who shrugged, as puzzled by the change in Arthur as I was myself. For our friend had changed.

Or perhaps, because of bis long absence, I was only seeing a different side to Arthur from any I had seen before. But no, we were brothers! I knew him well enough to know that something had happened to him at Ynys Avallach. I determined to find out from Myrddin.

'I hear we are to ride in three days,' I said, as Cai and I moved off towards the hall. 'Any idea where we are going?'

To the Saecsen Shore.'

I stopped walking and turned him round by the arm. 'Is this one of your tasteless jests?'

'It is no jest.' For once the green eyes in his ruddy face were serious. 'That is what he told me – although he said no more than that. And now you know as much about it as I do.'

'Did you notice how he grinned at me?' I said, as we continued to the hall. 'I have seen a smile like that only twice in my life till now: the first time was on the face of a slow-witted youth who stole a pig from my father's sty and was caught trying to sell it in the market, and the second was when old Gerontius died at his prayers.'

Cai laughed out loud. 'I do not think Arthur has been stealing pigs, but that is always a possibility.'

'It is the truth I am telling, Caius; I do not like this. Mark me well, nothing good will come of this.'

'Come of what?'

This… this! You know what I mean.'

He laughed again and slapped me on the back. 'You think too much, Bedwyr. You should have been a druid. Let be; all will be well.'

We walked through the hall to Arthur's chamber at the far end and waited. Presently, Pelleas entered and greeted us warmly – after his peculiar fashion.

The Fair Folk always astonish me. They are not like us in the least. They are a lofty race, for ever holding themselves apart from the life around them. Wondrous fair to look upon, they are nonetheless shy, and by nature do not display their emotions. I think it is pride.

Myrddin is less like this. But then, he is only half Fair Folk… although, what the other half is no one knows.

'Any news from Ynys Avallach, Pelleas?' I asked. I had never been to the Fisher King's palace, but I had heard Myrddin talk about it often enough to know the place.

'We passed a most agreeable winter, Prince Bedwyr,' he replied. This was meant, I suppose, to be a most detailed account of their activities. I had known Pelleas since I was a twig, and this was how he talked to me.

'Is it true that it never snows on the Glass Isle?' Cai put the question to him seriously, but I saw the edges of his mouth twitch in mirth.

'Of course it snows, you young genius!' The voice was that of the Emrys, who entered at that moment with Arthur behind him. 'Greetings, Cai and Bedwyr.'

'Myrddin!' I turned and was swept into his embrace.

'Winter starved and spring hungry, eh?' he said, gripping my arms and peering into my eyes as if searching my soul for the answer. He always did that. Some people find it most unnerving, I am told.

'God's truth, I am!' I declared. 'But you look as if you have lived on roast duck and honey cakes all winter. Jesu be good to you, look at you now!'

Indeed, he appeared as fit as I have ever seen him – not that he ever changed all that much.

'Sit down, all of you,' said Arthur, indicating the benches at his council table. 'We must talk.' He drew up his chair – it was Uther's old camp chair. I never learned where or how he had come by it, unless Tewdrig had somehow got it for him.

Spreading his hands across the board, Arthur studied his fingers, as if trying to decide which of the ten pleased him most. 'It is my intention to ride to the Saecsen Shore in three days' time.'

I glanced round at the others. No one showed a flicker of surprise. Perhaps I have misheard him, I thought; perhaps he said, 'It is my intention to have mutton for supper.'

But, as no one else responded, I said, 'Forgive me, brother, did I understand you to say that we were to attack the Saecsen Shore in three days?'

Arthur smiled his fishy smile again, and shook his head. 'No, there will be no attack. I am going to offer them terms for peace.'

'Peace?' I stared dumbfounded. 'Now I know you have straw for brains, Artos. Leaving aside the fact that you have not the authority, what makes you think they will honour a treaty of peace made with you?'

'I am the Duke of Britain, the war leader. Who else has the right to grant peace if I do not?'

'But, the Saecsens! Have you forgotten the slaughter of four years ago?'

'I have not forgotten, Bedwyr. But I stand ready to forgive them, if they will hold peace with us.'

'And if not?'

'Then we will do what we have to do,' he said, sounding a little more like the Arthur I knew. 'But we would be less than Christians if we did not offer peace before taking up the sword.'

'I see. And what will prevent them from cleaving your head from your shoulders before your tongue has finished flapping? They are Saecsens!'

'And they are men, as we are. No more will I make war on any man – be he Saecsen or Briton – unless I have first offered peace.' The conviction with which he spoke was unassailable.

'Is that the way of it?'

That is the way of it.' Arthur might have been a standing stone for all he would be moved. Once he had an idea in his head, there was no shaking it from him. Arthur was not the Bear of Britain for nothing.

'I am sending messengers to bid any king who will to ride with us,' Arthur continued. 'I pray that some will. But whether they ride with me or not, we leave Caer Melyn in three days.'

'And may God go with us,' I said. We fell to talking about readying the warband to ride – moving so many men is always a chore. Nothing more was said about Arthur's crack-brained peacemongering scheme. When we finished, Arthur called for beer to be brought and we drank. Then we went about our various tasks.

So it was not until we returned to the hall for our supper that I found opportunity to speak to Myrddin.

'Tell me, Wise Emrys,' I said, as I sidled up to him, 'what has become of our beloved Duke?'

He regarded me closely with those golden eyes of his. 'He is coming into his power.'

'That is no answer. What power? How has it come to him? Who conferred it? Where has it come from? And why does it make him soft-headed?'

'It is not his head that has changed, Bedwyr, but bis heart.'

'Head, heart – I hardly recognize him!' Myrddin smiled understandingly. 'Give it time. He will come back to himself."

'I welcome your assurance. Unfortunately, we will all be dead. Saecsens do not want our peace, they want our land and cattle.'

'Arthur has learned a greater truth. His kingdom will be established on justice and mercy towards all men who shelter in this island.' 'Including the Saecsen?'

'Yes, Bedwyr, including the Saecsen. It must be this way.'

'That is not truth, that is madness.' 'If any man has reason to hate the Saecsen, it is me,' Myrddin replied gently. 'Do you know what my friend Hafgan used to tell me?'

Hafgan, I knew, was Myrddin's druid teacher. He was now remembered as the last of the Three True Bards of the Island of the Mighty. 'No, Wise Emrys, enlighten me. What did Hafgan tell you?'

'He said that once some men were digging a well and came upon a great flat stone. It was, they discovered, the foundation stone of this worlds-realm, so they decided to lift it up and see what lay beneath it. This they did. And do you know what they found?'

'I cannot say. What did they find?'

'Love,' replied Myrddin simply.

'Love. That is all?' I resented myself for being cozened by Myrddin's children's tale.

'There is nothing else, Bedwyr. Love lies beneath all that is and upholds it. Arthur has seen that this is so. His kingdom will be built upon the only enduring foundation.'

I went away, shaking my head. It was not that I did not believe. For the love of God, if faith alone lent men rank, I would be Pope! But I know a thing or two about Saecsens, I will say. And it is a difficult thing to preach the love of Christ to a man with his axe in your skull!

Wonderfully benevolent Arthur's plan might be, and wonderfully foolish as well.

Yet, if Myrddin was with him in this, there was nothing to be done. Bors might have been counted on to argue against Arthur's peace scheme, but he had not returned from Benowyc, and would not until the spring seas calmed. It was no good trying to enlist Cai's aid. Cai would never hear a word against Arthur, God love him. His devotion knew no hindrance, his loyalty no restraint. He gave all to Arthur without stint. Right or wrong – it was all the same to Cai, where Arthur came into it.

This was due, I believe, to something that had happened between them years ago. I once heard the tale from Pelleas – how the two of them had climbed a mountain together. With Cai's crooked leg, this could have been no easy task. Be that as it may, when the deed was done Arthur had inspired in Cai the kind of devotion few men ever know: zealous, deep, unselfish, stronger and more steadfast than death.

So, since that was the way of it, I decided to say my prayers and sharpen my sword.