Arthur

TEN

Deep in the twisted pathways of black Celyddon the barbarians waited. They had not been idle. Merciful Jesu, they were more than ready for us! Baldulf had once again taken command of the combined foe, and had forced his horde to labour long in preparation for the battle.

They thought to have the dark treacheries of the forest on their side. And they did. But we had Myrddin Emrys on ours.

Myrddin had lived in Celyddon for many and many years, before ever Arthur came. And he knew the hidden trails and byways of that dark wood. Every mound and stream, every valley and overgrown glen, every rock and tree and weed-grown pool was known to him. And, even in his blindness, he could describe those familiar features as closely as the lines of his own face.

Nor was Arthur ignorant of the great forest. He had hunted there often. The hills of Eildon he knew as well as the hills of Dyfed in the south. The ruins of old Trimontium, the Roman fortress on the Twide, and the nearby monastery at Mailros were as much a home to him as Caer Edyn and Caer Melyn.

So, as we advanced along the Megget, Arthur and the Emrys riding at the head of our great army, we sang the songs of the Cymry – the ancient songs of battle and victory; the songs of honour and valour and courage. And our hearts soared within us, as the eagles riding the high winds above the steep-sided green glens around us.

Three days we marched, giving time for the ships to come round and for Cai's contingent to secure the eastern coast before striking inland to join us. On the fourth, the day before the battle would commence, we camped on the banks of a silvered lake.

We ate well and slept in the afternoon. Many bathed and sported in the cold, clear water of the lake. Some fished, and others looked to their weapons and armour.

From the hillside above, I gazed down upon our thousands ringing the long crescent lake and pride rose within me. Myrddin and Arthur were nearby, playing a game of gwyddbwyll on the grass. 'Has ever such an army of Britons been raised in the Island of the Mighty?' I asked aloud. 'Look at them! Southerners and Men of the North fighting together, side by side, under the command of one war leader. Angels and archangels, it is a stirring sight!'

'There was a time, once,' answered Myrddin presently, guiding sightless eyes to the sound of my voice. 'Aurelius united the kings to fight the Saecsen Hengist and his brood.'

'Were there as many?'

'No,' admitted the Emrys, 'but then, there were fewer Saecsen, too.'

Arthur raised his head from the board and scanned the hillside. Everywhere were tents scattered on the slopes, and behind them long pickets of horses. Supply wagons formed a wall along the water's edge, where the cooking fires were lit and whole oxen roasted day and night to keep the bellies of our warriors filled. Oh, it was indeed a marvellous sight.

'What dp you feel, Artos, to look upon such a thing?' I asked, sitting down beside him on the grass.

'I feel – ' he paused, his blue eyes drinking in the vista before him, 'I feel humble and afraid.'

'Afraid!' I hooted. 'Why afraid? There are ten thousand down there and not a man among them who would not gladly give his life to protect yours. You are the safest man in all Britain.'

'I do not fear death,' Arthur said. 'I fear displeasing God. I fear losing his favour.'

'How so, Bear?'

'When much is given a man, much is required in return. I fear giving less than I have been given,' he explained, and I began to see it. He raised his hand and spread his fingers out across the lake. 'And look you, Bedwyr, my brother, I have been given more than any man in Britain. What will be required of me, do you think?'

'Any man as desperate to please God as you are, Bear, cannot fail.'

The Emrys sang that night beside the lake, his voice echoing in the empty hills, the moon high and fair to look upon, the wavelets shining silver at his feet. The harp nestled against his shoulder poured forth its matchless gift of song, and our hearts soared high in the star-flecked sky. Myrddin sang of battles fierce and hot, of courage, valour, and honour. He sang us the victory and the glory. He sang the old songs, and some I have never heard.

He sang of the Kingdom of Summer and its excellent king. His clear, strong voice conjured images hi our minds and the images lived. His song took life and grew until it became more real to us than the dull earth beneath our feet. To hear the Emrys was to see, and to see was to believe.

The Summer Realm lived in our midst; the yearning of our hearts gave it shape and substance. We tasted the sweetness of its fragrance on our lips, and heard the gentle music of its fair winds rising within us. The gleam of its unfailing light filled our eyes.

We were made for this, I thought. We were made for the Kingdom of Summer, and it was made for us. Sweet Jesu, let it be.

We awakened to a blood-red dawn and a white mist upon the lake. We ate the food that had been prepared for us through the night: fresh barley bread and brose, and good roast meat. Fare to fill a warrior's stomach with warmth, and his spirit with courage.

Arthur walked among the men, talking to them, laughing with them, stirring their mettle with bold words, praising their valour, encouraging them, exhorting them.

The other kings saw how he was with his men – and how the Cymbrogi repaid his respect – and they began to follow the Duke's example. When the time came to don battle dress and mount horse, the battle flame had already begun to burn in our hearts.

I do not think a more gallant army will ever be seen in the Island of the Mighty than the one that rode along the lake that brilliant, sunlit morning. We moved like a great silence through the empty hills. The forest lay directly ahead of us to the east. We marched swiftly along the Yarow river towards where the Yarow water met the Etric and the forest together – a good flat place of wide shallow water surrounded by thick-wooded hills behind, and Celyddon before.

Upon leaving the glen we came upon something very strange and little seen any more: a band of Hill Folk. We saw them on the ridgeway above us and, as we passed by, three of their number rode down to meet us on their shaggy, thick-legged little ponies. Arthur, Myrddin and I turned aside to receive them while the army continued on.

Although I was there and heard every word, I will not pretend to know what they said. I heard only the words kentigem and tyrfa drwg gelyn ffymig. I would not have understood those but for the fact that they were repeated several times with great emphasis. Still, the airy ripple that passes for speech among those quaint folk was meaningless to me.

'What do they want?' I asked Arthur. 'And who are they?'

Arthur turned to Myrddin at his right hand, who did not answer but held conversation for some moments with the Hill Folk leader. This gave me the opportunity to observe them carefully, which I did with great fascination. They were small men, yet fair of form; straight of limb, fine featured, and fully grown – yet none of them above the height of a boy of twelve summers. They were dressed in scraped skins and wore gold liberally about them: gold ear-rings and neck rings, armbands and bracelets. Each had a small blue mark on his right cheek: four tiny slashes.

When they finished speaking, Myrddin turned to Arthur. 'They are of the Wolf Clan,' he explained, 'and have come looking for the leader of Bear fhain. That is you, Arthur. They want to fight the beast-men who have been destroying their crannogs and killing their children.'

'But how do they know me?'

'They heard that the Ken-ti-gern, the Wise One of the Tallfolk – that is me – had raised a mighty son who is to drive the beast-men into the sea. They have come to see this miracle, and to lend their aid.'

Their aid?' I wondered in amusement, regarding the slender bows and short, fragile-looking reed arrows the Hill Folk carried. 'What can they do?'

'Do not dismiss them lightly,' Myrddin warned. 'The flint arrowheads carry a poison that kills with the slightest scratch. And their accuracy with the bow is astonishing.'

'But can they fight?' asked Arthur.

'Oh, yes. In their own fashion. Their ways are different, but most effective. They mean to join the battle whether you will or no, so you need not question their courage.'

Arthur laughed. 'If that is the way of it, then I give them full freedom to join us.'

Myrddin inclined his head, as if in deference to Arthur's judgement, and loosed a long string of wispy sounds. Whereupon the Hill Folk turned their ponies and galloped off without a blink. They disappeared over the ridge with their tiny warband and we did not see them again.

When we regained the head of the army, the dark, bristled mass of Celyddon lay directly ahead. And across a flat meadow and the dull-glinting Etric water, stood the barbarian host in the accustomed wedge-shape. Baldulf, with his kinsmen Ebbisa, Boerl and Oesc, and the Irish king Fergus, had drawn up before the forest at a wide ford on the river.

Arthur gazed on this sight for a long moment, and then turned to the waiting troops behind us. 'The enemy is before us, brothers!' he cried. There is glory to be won! For Holy Jesu and Britain!'

Lofting his spear in the air, Arthur signalled Rhys, who raised the hunting horn to his lips and gave forth a rousing blast. Arthur turned his horse and began trotting towards the ford. He had no need of ordering the warbands. We all knew what to do. The armies of Britain arrayed themselves even as we flew to join the enemy – the a/a in a strong double line going before; the foot soldiers, seven thousand in all, advancing behind.

The earth trembled with the pounding of hooves and the drumming of feet. The sun blazed high overhead in a blue-white haze of sky. The ford spread before us the colour of hard iron, and beyond it the innumerable ranks of the foe-men. Before that day, I had never seen so many barbarians in once place.

The thunder of our charge was nothing to the world-splitting lightning of our clash. Saints and angels bear witness! The foe scattered before us like sheep – retreating from the first charge!

We pursued them as they fled into the forest, and learned too late the reason for their seeming cowardice.

Row upon row of sharpened stakes had been planted on the forest fringe. The cruel shafts tore at the legs and ripped the bellies of the horses. We lost scores before we could halt the charge. Down they went, the ranks riven by the brisk brutality of the trap. All around me were men and horses impaled upon those hateful pikes.

Fortunate were those who died outright. The screams of agony were terrible to hear. More terrible still was the sight of those brave horses and riders thrashing, struggling to free themselves from the death trap, their flanks and chests pierced by the wicked stakes; the blood and entrails of the brave spilling freely upon the earth.

I was saved only by the narrowest chance. To think of it chills the marrow in my bones even now. I saw the brutal stakes before me and jerked back the reins with all my strength, lifting my mount's head and forelegs in an insane leap. The nearest stake raked the hide from the animal's belly, but we landed untouched in the only clear place that I could see for dozens of paces in any direction.

The cold cunning of the barbarians took us by surprise. They feared our horses, and that fear inspired them to new depths of savagery. At the sight of our ala faltering in bewilderment, our precise formation collapsing in chaos, the enemy roared in delight and leapt upon our helpless warriors. They hacked the defenceless with their sharp war axes, and Sung the severed heads at us.

Carefully, carefully, we fought through the trap, picking our way among the stakes, advancing slowly over the bodies of our own. The enemy gave ground, but stubbornly. Each small advance was made at heavy cost.

And then we were through the trap and into the forest. And here the barbarians triggered the second of their deadly stratagems. For, the moment we cleared the forest's edge, the foe turned and ran, vanishing into the wood.

We had no choice but to follow if we were to maintain our advantage. So we plunged blindly after them. This was our second mistake.

As I have said, the barbarians had laboured through the early summer, and as we drove deeper into the forest the fruit of those labours became apparent. All summer they had hewed trees and delved soil to build a perfect mazework of earth and timber. They had opened ditches and constructed elaborate walls and barriers against us.

We careened into the forest, storming headlong into the ditches and walls. The barbarians stood on top of the timbers and hurled stones and tree trunks down upon us. Suddenly we discovered our attack halted and overwhelmed. In a single swift moment our horses were made useless and we were impossibly outnumbered.

Yet we fought doggedly on. We charged the barriers and threw ourselves against them as if to break them down by force of will alone. We slew and were slain, but could gain no advantage. The cunning barbarian mazework kept us separated and confused. We tried to circle round the earthworks, to breach the furthest edge, but the forest prevented us. It was too thick and the way too easily lost. So we charged the barriers. Again and again and again… we were thwarted. Each time we came away leaving more dead in the ditches than the time before. Our efforts grew erratic, frantic, reckless.

Arthur had no choice but to order the retreat. Rhys blew the long quavering note and riders began streaming past me out of the wood. Arthur was last among them.

'We can do nothing against this,' he said, his voice husky with fatigue. 'We must find another way.'

Out of the forest, I saw our troops streaming across the ford. It was a dismal sight. Battered bloody, and limping with exhaustion, they dragged themselves to the far bank and collapsed. Food and drink had been prepared by the camp cooks and these were hastily brought and given the warriors where they dropped.

Rhys sounded assembly, and the battlechiefs sought us where Arthur had planted his spear on the riverbank. Grim-faced, they slid from their saddles, wiping sweat and blood from their eyes. The lords came to stand in a ring, with Arthur at the centre.

The curses with which they greeted the Duke spoke their despair. They blamed Arthur for the retreat, or rather its necessity, and wasted little time telling him how they felt about it. Arthur took their abuse, but the Emrys frowned and raised his staff.

'Did you think yourselves invincible?' inquired Myrddin sourly. 'No? Then why condemn Arthur for your own weakness?'

'Weakness!' Idris cried. 'You blind bastard! I own no fault in this. Half my warband was cut down by those cursed stakes.'

Ceredig grumbled agreement, and Owain tactfully suggested, 'Our War Leader should have known better.'

'Did you know better?' I demanded hotly. 'Or you, Ceredig? Ogryvan? I did not hear your protests when Arthur laid die battle plan.'

'It is our fault, is it?' wailed Maglos, his voice thin and pathetic. They were hurting and did not know what they were saying, it is true, but it rankled me to have them blame Arthur.

'I cannot see it serves any purpose to accuse each other – ' began Custennin, his voice quickly drowned in the railings of the others.

Myrddin made to speak again, but Arthur laid his hand on the Emrys' arm. 'I am with you, my lords," he declared loudly, so as to be heard above them. 'I should have seen the traps sooner. I should have guessed. I own the fault. But we are in it now and must decide what is best to do. We are beaten where we stand if we fall to fighting among ourselves.'

'Hear him!' said Custennin and several others. Meurig added, 'Let us save our fury for the foeman.'

Tempers were brought to heel, and a sullen silence settled over the lords. The stewards came with cups and we were given cold water to drink. 'Now then,' began Arthur, draining his cup in a gulp, 'what did you want to say to us, Wise Emrys?'

‘The pit that snares the wolf, may also capture the hunter. And there are many, many traps in Celyddon,' Myrddin said.

'Spare us your riddles, Bard,' growled Idris.

'What the Emrys means,' explained Arthur, 'is that perhaps we can turn the traps to our advantage.'

'How?' demanded the surly kings. 'Our horses are no use to us in the wood. You can scarce swing a sword without tangling blade and arm in the branches.'

'You are right,' soothed Arthur. I looked and saw the light come up bright and fierce in his eyes. 'Listen, Baldulf thinks to use the forest against us; very well, we will take up the weapons of the forest: darkness and disguise, secrecy and stealth.'

I do not know how Arthur did this. Was it in his mind, waiting to be called forth at need? Did it come to him fresh from the Otherworld – like the awen of a bard? Or did he simply invent it as he spoke it out? As many times as I saw him do it, I cannot say. But when at need a plan of genius was required, genius we received.

As Arthur began to elaborate on his plan, all grumbling and vexation ceased. The kings crowded in closer to hear the scheme and their disappointment soon turned to delight.

Although our shadows stretched long on the meadow, we reformed the battlelines according to Arthur's orders and advanced once more into Celyddon – all except the troops under my command. For as soon as the first ranks reached the forest and the fighting began again, those with me broke to horses, mounted, crossed the ford, and began galloping west and south along the Etric glen.

There were a thousand with me under the younger battlechiefs: Idris, Maelgwn, Maglos. We followed the river a goodly way before finding the place Myrddin had described to us – a small dingle where the Etric met a smaller stream, one of countless thousands of burns that flowed out from the forest. This was our entrance.

Abandoning our horses, we took our spears and headed into Celyddon along the burn. We ran reckless through the undergrowth, now in and now out of the water. Our only thought was to reach the battle as quickly as possible. But the burn wandered in the wrong direction! We were moving away from the fray.

'Damn his eyes!' shouted Idris, 'That meddling bard has sent us the wrong way!'

I halted and whirled on him. 'Shut up, Idris! We see it through.'

The others caught us. 'I say we go back,' insisted the stubborn Idris.

Maglos stood undecided, though inclining more towards Idris than Myrddin. But Maelgwn spoke up, 'A blind bard is to be trusted above all else. Who else sees the world so clearly?' He planted the ash haft of his spear between his feet and would not be moved.

I glared at Idris, furious with him for halting our march and provoking the warriors to doubt. I could have run the spear through his arrogant heart. 'I said we will see it through, Idris. Follow me.'

I turned and continued on. Maelgwn followed without hesitation. Maglos and Idris remained stubbornly behind, but when the warriors began passing them, they came along.

The burn continued bending away from the battle site. I trusted the Emrys with my life, but as the sound of the clash diminished, doubt began to creep in. Perhaps Idris is right and Myrddin has misremembered, I thought. Celyddon is so vast; there are so many brooks and burns perhaps this is not the one he thought it was. Or perhaps we have come to another…

No, we must go on. There was no other way. The lives of our kinsmen depended on it. The battle depended on it. If we failed the battle was lost. I clenched my teeth and kept running.

And then, the sound of the battle faded away altogether. I strained after it, and heard only the drum of blood in my ears, and my own rasping breath. Please, God, I prayed, do not let us fail. I kept my eyes on the track ahead and ran, my feet pounding the soft earth even as my heart pounded in my chest. My mouth went dry and my lungs burned, but I swallowed the pain, lowered my head and ran on.

Then all at once we were running uphill and the burn became a straight and open pathway. The trees arched overhead and the water ran swift. Above the sound of rushing water came the faint din of the fight.

The sound grew to a mighty roar. By this I knew we were coming to the battle-place – but now we were behind it. Heaven bless your Most Excellent Bard, he has remembered aright!

There was a pool ahead which the barbarians had used for water, now dark in the failing light. Beyond the pool rose the central bulwark of the earth and timber mazework Baldulf had constructed to thwart us. I could see it through the trees, and I could see the swarming host upon it.

Around the mounded structure, like vast contorted limbs, lay the immense timbered walls of the mazework. It was as Arthur had suggested – the maze had a centre which, because it served to protect the other sections, would not be protected itself. The enemy had trusted the forest to prevent an assault from the unprotected side.

Before me the chaos of battle raged unrestrained. The British warriors struggled against the barriers, gained them, and were time and again turned back. Our Cymbrogi fought bravely. The battle din was a ground-trembling roar, the clash of shield on shield and sword on axe a steadily pounding drum. Fierce was the fight, dread the slaughter.

It was all I could do to keep from dashing in at once and attacking the unsuspecting enemy. But that was not the plan.

Instead, we knelt at the edge of the pool and kindled the brands we had brought with us. This stole precious moments from the fight. Father of Light, kindle your wrath against our enemies and let it burn as brightly as the torches in our hands.

At last, when every man held a flaming brand, up I stood and cried the charge. My shout was answered by a thousand throats and a thousand pairs of feet sprang forward as one.

The startled barbarians turned to see a blazing wall of fire rushing towards them. We fired their camp as we passed through. The flames leapt high and the smoke curled black and thick.

The barbarians quailed to see it. Our sudden appearance inspired alarm, and the blaze of our torches greatly magnified our numbers in their eyes. For in the fading light of the forest they thought themselves surrounded by a numberless fiery foe.

But they quickly gathered courage. Some abandoned their earthwork defence and raced to join battle with us. The charge was ill-timed and inept. It did nothing to halt us, or even divert our path. We drove straight to the timbered mound whereon Baldulf stood to direct the battle.

Upon reaching the foremost earthwork we seized the clay jars at our belts and smashed them against the timbers, spilling oil everywhere. We thrust the torches forth and held them. The oil sizzled and burst into flame. Greasy smoke billowed into the air. Curtains of shimmering flame leapt high. The smoke rolled to heaven. Everywhere along the timbered mazework the assault was repeated and the timbers began to burn.

Now were the barbarian hosts entrapped in a maze of their own making. Battle taunts became shrieks of terror. Men plunged through the flames to the ground and we ran among them with sword and spear, cutting them down.

We had prayed for confusion, and were granted chaos.

Angels and archangels bear witness, we gave the barbarians a taste of the burning hell that awaited them! Oh, it was terrible to see!

The disordered ranks of Angli and Irish collapsed. The Irish screamed and flew to the refuge of the forest. The Angli raged and began slashing at one another in utter hopelessness and frustration. In all, the enemy hordes behaved foolishly, for if they had simply held firm for a moment they would have seen how few we truly were, and how scant the fire.

But it has been said, and indeed proved true, that for all their ferocity and cunning, the barbarians are easily discouraged. They lack the spirit to stay the course. Let their scheme be thwarted and they surrender wildly to despair. They fall away; they die. Myrddin says it is because they do not know how to hope, and I believe him.

We had only to run shouting at them, throwing our torches into their midst, and they faltered. Our simple surprise unnerved them. They yielded not to our swords, but to fear. And it was their doom.

They might have rallied given time, but Arthur snatched that chance clean away. For the instant the barbarians turned to glance behind them at our onslaught, the dauntless Cymbrogi swarmed up and over the embankments. Fire on one side, Arthur on the other – little wonder that so many chose the flames.

With deft, sure strokes we hewed them down. Though they had been a forest, we could not have felled them so swiftly. All around us the enemy wailed. Where one or two brave battlelords stood to fight like men, a dozen others deserted king and kin. Thousands bolted into the dark refuge of the forest.

'Bretwaldal'

I heard the familiar voice and searched the melee for it. Not a hundred paces before me stood Arthur at the foot of the central mound, Caledvwlch streaming red in his hand. I ran to his side.

1Bretwalda, I challenge you!' the Duke called boldly.

From the earth mound above us came a great cry of rage. We looked up through the shining veil of smoke and flame and saw a knot of foemen clustered about the skull-and-bones standard of the Bretwalda. Out from the midst of his house carles roared Baldulf like a bull, his helm gleaming in the firelight, his axe shining dull red; blood drenched his sinewy arm to the elbow. Trampling without heed over the corpses of his kin, the battlechief plunged down the hillside straightway, so that the force of his assault might be the greater.

Arthur faced him unafraid. And when the Bretwalda leapt through the flame-curtain, his loathsome axe high in the air, the wily Arthur dodged aside, leaving only the sharp edge of his sword behind.

Baldulf s steel shirt saved him from the fatal thrust, but the frenzy of his attack carried him beyond Arthur. In trying to stop, his feet slid in the blood-soaked earth and he fell onto his back. Arthur was there and ready.

Caledvwlch sang in the air. The thirsty blade bit deep, and Baldulf s head rolled cleanly from his shoulders.

Seeing their mighty Bretwalda slain, the barbarians fled, howling in despair and anguish. Their flight to the forest became a migration. The hundreds, thousands – abandoning the field like dogs running from a scalding.

Arthur strode to the severed head of his enemy and lifted the helm from its face. The bulging eyes that stared at him were not those of Baldulf. The face belonged to another man: Boerl, the Bretwalda's kinsman.

'They must have taken one another's helms and weapons,' I observed.

Arthur nodded. 'It matters not. Baldulf has doomed himself.'

The Duke signalled Rhys, who raised the hunting horn to his lips and sounded the rout. The Britons pursued the fleeing foemen into the darksome tracks and game runs of Celyddon. The wood echoed with the screams of the unfortunate. It was the sound of miserable defeat. I do not know any warrior who likes hearing it.

But twilight comes early to the forest and we could not run the enemy to ground. Many escaped in the dark.