Arthur

THIRTEEN

The Picti had swarmed Caer Alclyd and seized the old fortress, intending to establish a stronghold against us. Like the Angli, they had abandoned open-field battle. They thought to secure themselves in the rock dun and make us root them out from behind stout walls.

By the time I reached the plain below the rock, the battle lines were drawn and Arthur had laid siege to the fortress. He had not attacked the caer, but was inclined to let the siege run its course. This plan enjoyed a double benefit – the Duke would not risk warriors unnecessarily, and he could wait until the British kings joined him and his forces reached full strength.

Ships rode in the Clyd and warbands ringed the great grey rock as we sailed into the estuary. Arthur had camped to the north of the dun, where he could oversee both the water and the rock, and I sought him out the moment my feet touched dry land. It was nearing dusk and the clear northern light shone all honeyed and golden as I rode up the rise to his tent.

He sat in his camp chair outside his tent talking to Cador, who had arrived earlier in the day with a warband of five hundred. Arthur rose as I slipped from the saddle. 'Hail, Bedwyr, my brother! I give you good greeting!'

'Hail, Bear of Britain! What do you here, my Duke? You take your ease while the vile Picti thumb the nose at you?'

'Better their noses than their arrows.' He wrapped me in a rough embrace and clapped me on the back. He broke off abruptly and said, 'I thought to commend you, Bedwyr, but it appears praise might prove overhasty.'

I glanced back over my shoulder and followed Arthur's gaze, to see lanky Llenlleawg trotting up the hill. He had followed me from the ship. 'Oh, him,' I said. 'I can explain.'

There is no need,' Arthur said. 'I can see what has happened.' He stepped away from me and squared off to meet the headstrong Irishman, his face and manner becoming siern.

But, upon reaching the Duke, Llenlleawg threw himself from his horse and quickly drew his short sword, which he placed at Arthur's feet, then stretched himself face down upon the ground. Arthur turned to me, a curious smile on his lips. I spread my hands helplessly.

Arthur observed the prostrate form before him. 'Get you up, Irishman,' he said. 'I will not demand your head – this time, at least.'

Llenlleawg rose slowly, retrieved his sword and replaced it beneath his cloak, keeping his dark eyes downcast all the while.

'What have you to say?' demanded Arthur, not altogether severely.

'On pain of death I am commanded to serve you, Lord Duke.'

'Who has so commanded you?'

Llenlleawg cocked his long head to one side, as if this should have been self-evident. 'Queen Gwenhwyvar has commanded me.'

'You are my hostage,' Arthur reminded him.

The Duke holds my freedom, but the queen holds my life,' the Irishman replied. 'I am here to serve you, lord.'

'What good is a servant that I cannot command?'

'If I have displeased you, Lord Duke, I offer my life.' Llenlleawg made to withdraw his sword again.

Arthur stopped him. 'Put up your sword, Irish Fool. You dull the edge dragging it out like that all the time.'

Llenlleawg removed his hand and knelt on both knees before the Duke. 'I am your man, Duke Arthur. I will swear fealty to you by whatever oaths your people hold most honourable. I will serve you faithfully in all things save one only: I will not harm nor see harm done to the queen.'

Then arise and serve me with a whole heart, Irishman. For no harm will come to your queen through me as long as she remains in my care.'

Cador stared at Arthur as if he had lost his sense. 'You cannot think to take him at his word!' I charged. 'They could be plotting against you, for all you know.'

'So could you, Bedwyr,' Arthur replied. 'So could Cador. Idris and Maglos and others already have!' He stretched forth a hand to Llenlleawg. 'If you would pledge to me, swear by this: your faith on the life of your queen.'

Still kneeling, the Irishman said, 'I, Llenlleawg mac Dermaidh, pledge fealty to you on my life and the life of my queen, Gwenhwyvar ui Fergus. May both be forfeit if I prove false.'

'There,' said Arthur. 'Are you satisfied?' To Llenlleawg, he said, 'Take the horses to the picket, and then find yourself something to eat. You may return to me here when you have finished.'

Arthur and Cador returned to discussing the siege, and I dragged up a camp stool and listened. Cador had come by nearly the identical route that I had travelled, and gave the same report. 'We saw no ships at all, Duke Arthur,' Cador said. 'Though the enemy can ply between the western islands with impunity and we would never see them.'

'What word from the ships on the east coast?'

'No word yet. But I have sent messengers to Ectorius at Caer Edyn, informing him of my plans. They will return in a day or so with any news from that quarter.' Arthur paused, watching the stewards who had set about kindling his fire for the night. 'But one thing troubles me in this… '

'Which is?' I asked. The Duke gazed long at the dusky sky. Lark song spilled down from the blue heights. But for the smoke rising ominously from the great rock, I would have thought the world composed and perfectly at peace.

'What do the Picti want with this fortress?' Arthur said at last. 'It is nothing to them.'

'Control Caer Alclyd,' Cador suggested, 'and they can control the whole valley to the Fiorthe.'

'Not without Caer Edyn,' Arthur pointed out.

'Perhaps they hope to win here and go on to take Caer Edyn as well.'

That is very ambitious of the Picti, is it not?'

It was true. Though fierce, the Painted People were not known for cunning. A savage growl and a club to the skull – that was their way. Overpowering the guard and seizing a fortress was not like the Picti; they preferred slicing throats and slinking away into the forests and heathered moors.

'What does it mean, Bear?' I asked.

'It means, I think, that someone is directing them.'

'Who?'

Arthur lifted his shoulders. 'That we shall have to discover.'

Over the next few days the British battlelords began assembling on the Clyd: Owain, Idris, Ceredig, Ennion, Maelgwn and Maglos. British ships filled the estuary and British warbands encircled Dun Rock on every side. The Picti did not seem discouraged or upset by this show of force. They kept themselves well hidden behind the walls and waited. When the first of Arthur's messengers returned, we began to understand their unusual behaviour.

'Caer Edyn is besieged, Duke Arthur,' the messenger reported. The British chieftains gathered in council in Arthur's tent fell silent. 'I could not reach Lord Ectorius.'

Cai, sitting next to me, leapt to his feet. 'Ector besieged! Damn the heathen! Who has done this?'

The messenger's eyes shifted to Cai's. 'They were Angli, for all I could see. And some Picti.'

'How did things appear at the caer?' asked Arthur. 'Was there fighting?'

'No fighting that I could see, lord. The stronghold appeared secure. I turned and rode straight back, but was twice delayed by warbands coming up from the south. I followed to see where they would go.'

'What did you see?'

'They were making for the old fortress at Trath Gwryd.'

'Indeed!' exclaimed Arthur. 'Then they have learned real warfare at last. Who has taught them this, I wonder?'

This is not the calculation of a barbarian mind,' remarked Myrddin. 'Someone who has fought with British kings is leading this war.'

Who could that be? Most of the nobility of Britain was either fighting alongside Arthur or supporting him. Only one was conspicuous by his absence: Lot. Could it be Lot? That made no sense: Lot had given us ships, and shipwrights. His own sons had taken service in the Duke's army. I glanced at Gwalchavad, who appeared just as concerned and angry as the rest of us. There was no guile in him, nor treachery that I could see. Blessed Jesu, I would stake my life on it!

So the mystery remained: who could it be?

'They will have taken Trath Gwryd,' said Arthur, upon dismissing the messenger to food and rest, 'and have laid siege to Caer Alclyd and to Caer Edyn. This they have done with stealth and silence. They have chosen their positions well: fortresses instead of fords – our mounted warriors are all but useless. And, except for Caer Edyn, they have the advantage.' Arthur paused, his blue eyes sweeping the assembly before him. 'If they succeed,' he continued, his voice low, 'all we have done till now is less than nothing. Britain will fail.'

He had spoken the cold heart of fear. Now he spoke the bright fire of hope. 'Yet they have not won. The battle remains to be fought. We are not beaten because they have outwitted us this once. He of the Strong Sure Hand will uphold us, brothers, for we fight for peace and freedom, which is ever his good pleasure.'

Arthur raised his hands like a priest giving benediction, and said, 'Go now to your tents, and to your prayers, for tomorrow we begin. And once we have begun we will not cease until the Day of Peace has dawned in all Britain.'

The others left, but Cai, Gwalchavad, Bors, Myrddin and I stayed, for the Duke wished to speak to us privately. 'Will" you drink with me, friends?' Arthur asked.

'Sooner ask if a pig would grunt,' said Bors, 'than ask if Cai would drink!'

'Sooner ask that pig to fly,' replied Cai, 'than ask Bors to pass the cup!'

We all laughed, and drew our chairs round Arthur's board. The steward brought in jars and cups and placed them at the Duke's right hand.

As soon as we had drunk a cup together, we fell to discussing what was foremost on our minds: tomorrow's battle.

'A few of those machines Myrddin made for us last year would aid us now,' said Bors. 'We could make some.'

'No time,' said Cai. He was thinking of Caer Edyn, and his father besieged there. 'We must assault the walls.'

'You would brave those Picti arrows?'

'I am not afraid of their arrows.'

'You are welcome to them, then,' said Gwalchavad. 'In Orcady it is said: the Picti have only to see a bird to shoot it out of the sky.'

'Even the Picti cannot shoot what they cannot see,' put in Arthur.

'Then perhaps we should fight at night!' I said. Arthur smiled and slapped his knee.

All eyes turned to Myrddin, as a single thought gripped our minds. 'The moon will rise tonight,' he told us, 'but not until after the third watch.'

'We attack tonightl'

Never have I seen a sky so ablaze with stars, never so alive with light. Although the moon had not risen, the cloudless night seemed like bright midday to me. We all wore dark cloaks, and our faces were blackened with mud. We crawled over the cold rock on our stomachs, our swords hidden, our spearheads and shield bosses muddied. We hugged the ragged stone to our chests and climbed on elbows and knees towards the looming walls above.

Jesu preserve us, the Pied sentries regularly looked down over us! But their attention was occupied with the show of fire Arthur had contrived to conceal us: down in the camps men danced with torches and sang raucous songs. Their voices carried to the dun and urged us on.

Arthur, despite the objections of his chieftains, led the assault himself – up the cragged east side, well away from the narrow gate track. Once we reached the walls, one of us would go up and over to open the gate.

The one chosen for this was Llenlleawg. He volunteered almost before the words were out of Arthur's mouth, and the Duke was bound to let him do it or defame the Irishman by refusing. Since we had no reason to deny him – other than the fact we did not completely trust him – Arthur agreed. So Llenlleawg carried the braided rope and iron hook beneath his cloak.

After what seemed an age, we reached the perimeter of the wall. Huddled under cover of its shadowed roots, we waited.

I do not know how it happened: one moment I was looking down onto the firelit plain, and the next Pied arrows were whispering around me, striking the rocks and shattering their flint tips. I pressed myself flat against the wall, and others took what cover they could.

All at once I heard a shout. Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone stand. A rope snaked out and was pulled taut. The lone figure began to climb…

Llenlleawg! The mad Irishman was proceeding with the attack. Arrows flying, he had secured the hook and was climbing the wall… Jesu save him, he would be killed the instant he reached the top!

I expected next to see his pierced body plummet from the walltop to be dashed upon the rocks and, with him, our hopes of taking the fortress quickly.

But Llenlleawg somehow skittered up the sheer rock face and gained the top. A body fell – but it was not Llenlleawg's. I could tell it was a Pict, even in the darkness.

Somehow all this took place in silence – yet a more noise-battered silence I never want to hear! An entire age passed in the space of a few terror-fraught heartbeats.

Llenlleawg disappeared over the rim of the wall. And then…

Nothing.

A figure rose from the gloom beside me. Arthur's voice whispered urgently, 'Make for the gate! Go!'

I edged my way along the rough wall face, moving as quickly and quietly as possible. From the walltop above I heard not a sound – only the echoed shrieks rising from the camps. The dun was entered from the north by a single narrow door. I peered cautiously round the eastern corner and saw no sign of a guard above. I ran to the gate, reached it, and pressed my ear to the thick wood. I heard nothing from within.

I hunched down before the door and waited, signalling the others behind me to stay well back. An age passed, and another… I was about to go back to Arthur, when I heard a slight scratching noise on the other side of the door.

I pressed myself against the coarse wood. The scratching sound became a sharp rap, followed by another, and the muffled sound of someone cursing under his breath. It was Llenlleawg – the gate was stuck!

Seeking to help him, I pushed with all my might, and one of the warriors behind joined me and together we heaved our weight at the gate. But it would not budge.

'Get back!' came a hushed cry from the other side.

There came a whir in the air and the dull chunk of an arrow striking into the wooden planking of the door. Then another.

The Picti had found the Irishman! Our attack was discovered.

'Get back!' Llenlleawg called loudly – silence was no use to us now. 'You are pushing the wrong way!'

I stumbled back, and at once the door swung wide. The gate opened outward! How was I to know that?

I dived through the narrow opening, rolled on the stone flagging and came up with my sword in my hand. Warriors followed on my heels. Arrows whirred around our heads like bees, chunking into the wood or shattering against the stone and bursting into stinging fragments.

We swarmed into the yard and onto the walls. The Pied, newly roused and wakened, raised the alarm with their piercing battle wail as we hewed into them.

Suddenly, there was torchlight all around. More and more Picti were pouring into the yard. Their blue-stained bodies writhed in die dancing light, garish as nightmares. They rushed upon us with their long knives and double-headed axes. They howled in rage at our invasion.

Before I knew it we were being forced back out of the door by the press of enemy. 'Hold ground!' I cried. 'Hold, Cymbrogi!' But diere were too many of us jammed in the gateway and those behind could not get in. We were trapped between the enemy and our own warriors. And there we would die.

A torch sailed high through die air towards us. I ducked aside as it struck the ground at my feet, and made to reach for it. But die brand was snatched from me and carried off. I looked and saw the torch become a shining trail of flame, whirling and spinning into the barbarian host.

Sparks of fire showered all around, and wherever the torch struck, a body fell. The fire gambolled as if alive. Driving, smashing, reeling, twisting, and twirling away before the enemy could react. The barbarians screamed and fell back before this dreadful killing apparition.

In the fireshot mist of shattered shadow-light I saw the face of our deliverer: Llenlleawg, the Irishman. It was a visage I shall never forget – stark and terrible in its rage, burning like the torch in his hand, eyes bulging with madness, mouth contorted and teeth bared like the fangs of a wildcat! It was Llenlleawg, and the battle frenzy was on him.

'Cymbrogi!' I screamed, and dashed forward into the surging turmoil of the Irishman's bloody wake.

I slashed and thrust with my sword, striking out in the confused darkness at any bit of exposed flesh. I knew my strokes succeeded from the weight that first hindered, then fell from my blade. The ground beneath my feet became slick with blood. The smell of blood and bile hung thick in the air.

I could not see Arthur.

I fought forward, little heeding if any came behind me. My only thought was to overtake the battle-mad Irishman. I hewed mightily but, each time I looked, I found him further ahead – the whirling torch dancing lightly as windtossed thistledown. I heard his voice rising above the battle blare, quavering, calling, swooping like a hunting bird: he was singing.

'Cymbrogi! Fight!' Over and over I shouted, and my cry was answered by the high clear note of Rhys' horn. The forces waiting below the dun had seen the fight commence and had stormed the rock. Now they were shoving in through the gate, and swarming over the walls on ropes and the laddered poles we had prepared. The Picti were thrown into panic, rushing here and there, striking wildly and foolishly.

I lost all sight of anything but the tangled limbs of the enemy before me. I chopped with my sword as if hacking through the dense and knotted snarls of a bramble thicket.

I laboured long, ignoring the ache spreading from shoulder to wrist.

Smashing with my shield, stabbing with my sword, lunging, plunging headlong into the howling enemy…

And then it was finished.

We stood in the fire-reddened yard, Picti corpses piled around us. The stink of blood and entrails in the air and on our hands. Black blood, shimmering in the light of a rising moon. The enemy dead… all dead. The caer quiet.

I raised my head and saw three men struggling with a fourth, and went to lend my aid, thinking it must be the captured Picti chieftain. But it was Llenlleawg. He was still deep in his battle frenzy and, though the fight was over, he could not stop. Cai and Cador had found him lopping the heads from the corpses and heaving them over the wall.

'Irishman!' I shouted into his face. 'Peace! It is over! Stop!'

He could not hear me. I think he could no longer hear anything. There was no sense in him any more. I ran to the nearby trough and lifted a leather bucket, returned and dashed the water into Llenlleawg's face. He sputtered, stared, gave a sharp cry and fell back limply.

'He must be wounded,' said Cai, pushing his helmet back. 'A blow on the head.'

'I do not see any blood,' replied Cador, holding close the torch he had wrested from the Irishman's hand.

'No blood? He is verily drenched in it!'

'Stay with him,' I told Cador, 'until he wakes up, then have him taken back to camp.' To Cai I said, 'Get some more torches and begin searching for wounded. I am going to find Arthur.'

I could have saved my breath, for already scores of warriors were beginning to carry out the wounded. Due to the closeness of the stronghold not all of our attack force could crowd into the yard. Most, it appeared, had remained outside and only now were able to move in. These carried torches and hastened to the task of caring for their fallen sword brothers. Arthur stood on the wall above the gate directing them.

I climbed the steep-stepped rampart and joined him. 'We have taken the fortress, War Leader.'

'Well done, Bedwyr.' He made it sound as if 7 had done it single-handed. He surveyed the torchlit yard beneath him. The flickering shadows made it seem as if the fight still raged silently all around us. The growing heap of enemy corpses told a different tale.

'Is Llenlleawg still alive?' the Duke asked presently.

'Yes,' I answered, weariness beginning to seep into my arms and legs. 'He lives, and not a scrape on him that I could see. How? I do not know. Did you see?'

'I saw.'

'He is mad,' I said. 'I can well see why he was Fergus' champion. Who can fight a whirlwind?'

Later, when all the British dead and wounded had been removed, and the Pied wounded killed – it is a hard fact of war, but we put the enemy wounded to the sword, for we were leaving the next day and they would have received no care; better the quick thrust that sends them across the Western Sea to the Fortunate Isles, or wherever they go, than the lingering torture of a slow death. We burned the bodies of our countrymen in the fortress where they fell, and threw the enemy over the southern wall to the tide flats below. Govannon would take them to feed his fishes.

We stood aloft on the walls of Caer Alclyd and watched the flames reach towards heaven. Blind Myrddin stood with his arms extended over the pyre the whole time, chanting a psalm of victory in death. The Cymry lifted their voices in the song of mourning, which begins as a sigh, grows to a wail, and ends as a triumphant shout. In this way, we sang the souls of our fallen into Blessed Jesu's welcoming arms.

Then we went down to our camps to sleep. The sun was rising, pearling the night vault in the east to glowing alabaster. The dawn was fair, and the grass inviting; I stretched out on the ground outside Arthur's tent. Exhausted as I was, I could not sleep, so lay gazing up into the sky at the slowly fading stars. In a little while the Irishman, Llenlleawg, crept silently to Arthur's tent. He did not know that I was awake, so I watched him to see what he would do. He drew his sword. Was it treachery?

My hand went to my knife. But no, I need not have feared. Llenlleawg placed the sword at his head and lay down across the entrance, as if to protect the Duke while he slept.

At midday, after we had eaten, we broke camp and moved off along the overgrown track of Little Wall – called Guaul in that region – the northernmost wall built by the Romans and then abandoned. It is a ruin mostly, a grass-covered hump; and the old road is not good. But to the east lies a good road running north and south. Reaching this, we turned north to the old fortress of Trath Gwryd.

And I turned my thoughts once more to the mystery at hand: who was directing the war against us?