Arthur

FIFTEEN

We rose before dawn and broke fast. We donned leather and mail; we helmed ourselves with iron and strapped steel to our hips. We slung our heavy wooden shields over our shoulders and bound our arms and legs with hard leather. We saddled our horses, formed the ranks, then moved silently through the wood to Baedun Hill.

Before daylight we assembled below the hulking flanks of Baedun and looked long upon the two dark fortresses rising above us. The enemy sentries saw us gathering below the hill on the eastern side and sounded the alarm. In moments the screams assaulted our ears as the massed barbarian hosts – Picti, Angli, Irish, Saecsen and others – raised their hideous battle cry.

Rhys on his left hand, Llenlleawg on his right, Arthur advanced slowly up the slope. The grade rises sharply halfway up, and here Arthur halted the army, dismounted, and walked forward alone. He walked boldly to the bank of the first ditch and stopped. 'Cerdic!' he called. 'Come down! I would speak to you.'

'Speak, Bastard of Britain!' came the sharp reply. 'I can hear you.'

'I stretch out my hand to you in peace, Cerdic,' said the Duke. 'I stand ready to forgive you and all those with you if you will swear fealty to me.'

'Whorespawn!' screamed Cerdic. 'I have no need of your forgiveness or pardon. I will swear only to your death. Come up here, if you are not afraid, and we will see who bends the knee.'

'I have offered peace, and I am reviled,' said Arthur. 'Yet I will have peace in the end.' With that he turned and walked back to bis horse.

Once remounted, he signalled Rhys, who raised the horn to his lips, giving forth the long, ringing call to battle. Arthur drew Caledvwlch and lofted it high. The sun's first rays struck the well-honed blade and set it aflame. 'For God and Britain!' he cried, and his cry echoed along the line on either hand and down from the stone wall above.

The battle call sounded again, and his horse trotted forward. The a/a surged forth behind him, the doubled ranks of footmen behind them. The trot became a canter and then a gallop.

The combined warbands of Britain stormed up the rock-strewn slope and reached the first ditch. Down we plummeted, and up we rose, scrambling for a foothold on the opposite side. Then we were up and over, and climbing steeply. The mighty battle horns of the Saecsen – great buUroarers to shake the dead in their graves! – trembled the cool dawn air. I felt the pounding thump of the war drums hi my stomach and the cool rush of air on my face.

But my hands were steady on my spear; my shield was solid beside me. I gave my mount his head and let him choose the ascent. The terrain was so rocky that I could not guide him and fight at the same time. Ahead I saw the leading bank of the second ditch. I stole a glance to either side to see that my men were with me, and then we plunged into the ditch together.

As in previous battles the ala was formed into divisions, each led by one of Arthur's battlechiefs: Cai, Bors, Gwalchavad and myself, two kings each below us. Arthur and Cador, and the remaining lords, led the footmen, coming on behind us as swiftly as they could. Even above the thunder of the horses' hooves, I could hear the dull pounding of their feet on the earth.

The second ditch was deeper than the first, its sides steeper. Several horses stumbled, throwing their riders; a few more balked at the climb and fell back. But all the rest cleared the ditch and charged ahead.

Seeing that our approach was not greatly hindered by the ditch, the barbarians leapt over the wall and flew down the hill to meet us. The steep downward slope lent force to their blows and let them inflict wounds more easily. This they did.

Many fell in the first assault. Difficult terrain and the ferocity of the foe conspired to bring good men down to their deaths. Thus was our first foray turned back.

At the rim of the upper ditch I reformed my division. Quickly scanning the higher slopes, I saw that the other divisions had fared no better. All along the hillside we were being forced back.

Upon my cry, the a/a charged once more.

This time we let the foemen hurl themselves at us. We held back at the last and they plunged headlong onto our spears. It was a simple trick, but it worked laudably well. The barbarians learned quickly enough and reeled back – leaving hundreds dead and wounded upon the ground.

Still, though we pushed after them, our horses foundered on the higher slope. We fell back once again and the enemy pursued us, striking wildly at our backs. Upon reaching the bank of the upper ditch, we were met by the footmen charging up from below.

I gave command of the division to Owain, and rode quickly to Arthur. 'It is no good,' I told him. 'We cannot carry an attack up here – it is too steep and there are too many of them.'

Arthur saw that I spoke the plain truth. 'It is as I feared. Very well, save the horses. We may need them later. We will carry the attack on foot.' His blue eyes searched the wall line looming above us, and his finger pointed. That place there – do you see it?'

"That low place? I see it.'

'We will centre the attack there. Follow me!'

I hurried back to my division and passed on Arthur's order. Rhys signalled the dismount and a moment later we were racing back up the hillside, scrambling over the rocks, falling, picking ourselves up, running on.

The enemy saw that we had abandoned our horses and took this as a good omen for them. They raised their evil screams with renewed vigour, and danced their frenzied war dances along the top of the wall. They were frothing mad with blood lust.

As soon as we came within range the enemy loosed their throwing axes at us. We threw pur shields before us and stumbled on. Some among us picked up the hateful axes and hurled them back. More than one barbarian was killed with his own weapon.

The sun had risen higher and I could feel its warmth on my back. My blood pounded hot in my veins, and I drew the cool morning air deep into my lungs. It was a good day for a battle, I thought, and then remembered that in numbers and position Cerdic boasted the advantage.

The place Arthur had found proved the only weak place that side of the wall. He had chosen the eastern side for assault because the incline was easiest, but the enemy realized this, too, and had built up the wall on the eastern side. The low place Arthur saw was a section that had been hastily repaired and some of the stone had fallen in when the first foemen swarmed over.

We drove towards this place, all of us, our force becoming a spearhead to thrust up under the enemy's defences and into his heart.

It nearly worked.

But there were simply too many barbarians, and the incline too steep. Though we stood to our work like woodmen felling trees, we could make no headway. Picti, Cruithne, Angli and Scoti, Saecsen and Frisian and Jutes… there were too, too many. We could not come near the wall.

For every pace we advanced, the enemy pushed us back two. For every foeman we killed, three more sprang up before us. Our warriors were being dragged down by the enormous crush of the enemy host. They rushed down upon us, hacking with their cruel axes: eyes wild, mouths twisted, arms swinging like flails.

But our warriors had fought barbarians before and were not unnerved. We lowered our heads and stood to our grim toil. And the battle settled into its awkward, lurching rhythm.

The day passed in a haze of blood and havoc. As the sun descended westward, I heard Rhys raise the retreat and knew that we were beaten. I gathered my division and we withdrew with our wounded; everywhere warriors were streaming down the hillside to the refuge of the wood.

The enemy seemed eager to give chase at first – would that they had done so! We would have cut them down with the a/a. But Cerdic knew enough to halt the pursuit at the lower ditch, and the barbarians returned to the hill fort.

While the warriors lay under the trees recovering strength and having their wounds bound, the cooks and stewards brought us meat and bread and watered ale, and we ate. My limbs ached and my head throbbed. My clothing was sodden with sweat and blood. I stank.

A still and sinister dusk settled over the land. The trees around us filled with crows from the battlefield, croaking grotesquely over their ghastly feast. But that was as nothing to the wild cries of victory from the hill fort above us. Fires leapt high into the darkening sky as the victory celebration commenced.

We slept fitfully that night, the sound of savage revelry loud in our ears. At dawn we awoke, broke fast, took up our weapons and climbed the hill once more. The barbarians allowed us to crawl so far and then fell upon us, hurtling down from the heights, axes whirling.

We took them on the points of our spears and swords, and struck them with our shields. But many a warrior fell, his helm or shield or mail shirt riven asunder. The carnage was appalling, the tumult deafening.

Once again the flanks of Baedun Hill blushed crimson with the blood of the brave.

And once again, as the sun passed midday Rhys signalled the retreat and we withdrew to the wood to Uck our wounds. The warriors sank to the grass and slept. The stewards crept among them with water jars and woke the sleeping soldiers to drink. The wood grew still, given only to the hum of flies and the flutter of birds' wings in the branches above. On Baedun, the enemy was silent.

When they had refreshed themselves and put off their weapons the lords of Britain held council with Arthur.

'I say we must lay siege to the hill and send south for more men.' This was Maglos' suggestion, and after the heavy going of the morning, several agreed with him.

'If we could only take the fortress,' began Ceredig, but he was cut off by the scorn of the others.

'Take the fortress!' Idris shouted. 'What else were we doing up there? It is impossible – there are too many! I agree with Maglos: we should lay siege and wait for more men.'

'No,' said Arthur. 'That we cannot do.'

'Why not?' demanded Idris. 'It worked at Caer Alclyd; it worked at Trath Gwryd… '

'It will not work here,' Arthur told him flatly.

But Idris gave no heed to the iron in Arthur's voice. He persisted, saying, 'Why? Because you want to exalt yourself over Cerdic?'

'If that is what you think – ' I snapped, jerking my head toward the hill, 'join him!'

Myrddin, leaning on his rowan staff nearby, stirred and came near. 'This hill is cursed,' he intoned softly. We all quieted to hear him better. 'There is distress and calamity here. The slopes are treacherous with torment, and disaster reigns over all.'

We all glanced over our shoulders at the looming hill. The clouds playing across its surface gave it a brooding, dangerous aspect. Certainly, the corpses scattered on its rock-crusted slopes argued eloquently for disaster. Myrddin did not need sight to know our torment – but what else did he see?

'In older times armies have fought upon this troubled mound. A great victory was won here through betrayal, and the wicked defeat of good men clings to the earth and rocks. The mountain is unquiet with the evil practised upon it. Cerdic's treachery has awakened the vile spirit of this place to work again.'

Tell us, Emrys,' said Custennin. 'Give us benefit of your wise counsel. What are we to do?'

It was the formal request of a king to his bard. Myrddin did not fail to oblige. 'This battle will not be won by stealth or might. It will not be won by bloodshed alone. The spirit abiding here will not be overthrown except by the power of God.'

The lords peered helplessly at one another. 'What are we to do about that?' they demanded.

'We must pray, lords of Britain. We must erect a fortress of our own whose walls cannot be battered down or broken. A caer that cannot be conquered. A stronghold of prayer.'

Some of the lords scowled at this, embarrassed at their lack of faith and understanding. But Arthur rose and said, 'It will be done as you say, Wise Counsellor."

Myrddin placed his hands on Arthur's shoulders. 'I will do all to uphold you – as I have ever done to this day.'

Though men may scoff, it is no small thing to be upheld by the Chief Bard and Emrys of Britain.

The next morning, as we arrayed ourselves for battle, I saw the solitary figure of Myrddin toiling up the hillside, picking his slow, blind way with his staff, his cloak wrapped tightly around him. For the day broke grey and misty, and a chill wind blew at us out of the north.

'Do you want me to go after him?' I asked, fearful for Myrddin's safety.

'Wait here. I will go to him,' replied Arthur, starting after the stumbling Emrys.

I watched Arthur stride out upon the hillside. Cai and Bors saw him and came running to where I stood at the edge of the wood. 'What is he doing?' asked Bors. 'Does he think himself invisible?'

'I do not know,' I answered.

'I am going to bring him back,' said Cai.

'He said to wail here. But signal Rhys to be ready to sound the attack. If the barbarians come over the wall, I want the Cymbrogi to move at once.'

Llenlleawg, who had been lurking nearby, came to stand beside me. He spoke not a word and his eyes never left the hill, but he gave me to know that our hearts beat as one for Arthur.

'Now what are they doing?' wondered Bors aloud. 'It looks as if they are gathering stones.'

God's truth, that is what they were doing. Arthur, after a brief word with Myrddin, stooped and began piling rocks upon the ground. Myrddin laid aside his staff and, kneeling down, began to heft rocks onto the pile.

They are building a cairn,' observed Cai, eyes wide with disbelief.

'Not a cairn,' I said. 'A wall.'

'Bah!' huffed Bors, who was having none of it. 'They will get themselves killed out there as soon as the enemy stirs.'

The leaden sky had lightened somewhat with the rising sun. Arthur and Myrddin toiled openly on the slope. The enemy must have observed their presence by now. Our own army had gathered at the edge of the wood to view the strange proceedings.

'We cannot let this continue,' blustered Bors. 'It is not meet for the Duke of Britain to heap rocks on the ground.'

'What do you propose?' I asked.

'You must stop him!'

'You stop him.'

Bors drew himself up. 'Very well, I will.' So saying, he stalked from the wood.

Gwalchavad came running to us. 'What is happening? What are they doing out there?"

'Building a wall," Cai replied.

Gwalchavad opened his mouth to laugh, and then stared in amazement. They are!' he declared. They will be killed!'

'Possibly,' I allowed.

'Is no one going to stop them?'

'Bors is going to do that,' said Cai.

Gwalchavad gaped at us as if we had lost our reason. Out on the hill Bors picked his way among the tumbled stones. 'Well, he will need help,' Gwalchavad said, and hastened after Bors, who had reached the place where Arthur and Myrddin toiled.

The lord of Benowyc waved towards the hilltop stronghold and then in the direction of the wood. Arthur raised his head, spoke a word, and Bors stopped gesturing. The Duke returned to his labour and Bors stood looking on.

'Look at that,' scoffed Cai. 'Bors has certainly stopped them."

Gwalchavad reached the three on the hill and fell to work beside them at once.

At the appearance of Gwalchavad running out upon the hillside, the floodgates opened and others began moving from the cover of the wood. By twos and threes they went, then by dozens and scores to see what was happening.

'Well, Gwalchavad has persuaded them beyond all doubt,' Cai observed. 'What are we to do now? Our army is advancing without us.'

Llenlleawg turned to me. 'It is the supreme dishonour for a battlechief to fall behind his warriors."

'Cai, are we to be taught our duty by an Irishman?'

'Never!' Cai cried. 'Flay me for a Pict! I will not have it flaunted about that we neglected our duty.'

'Brave Cai,' I said, 'foremost in war and wall building!'

Together we marched from the wood. Llenlleawg fell into step beside us. I confess, I had begun to warm to that man. He was Irish, there is no denying it, but a deal less vile than others of his race. The soul within him was noble, and his heart was true. More the shame for men like Cerdic: when the barbarian reveals higher nobility than right-born Britons!

We advanced to where Arthur and the others laboured at the rocks. 'What do you here, Bear?' I asked.

Arthur straightened. 'I am building a wall.'

'This we have observed,' said Cai. 'Are we to know the reason for this unseemly toil?'

The Duke hefted a stone and lifted it above his head. He stepped onto the pile of rocks he had raised. 'Men of Britain!' he called. 'Listen to me!'

Warriors pressed close to hear him. The cold wind fluttered the red cloak about Arthur's shoulders; mist pearled in his hair. 'Look in my hand and tell me what you see.'

'A stone!' they cried. 'We see a stone!'

Arthur lofted the stone before them. 'No, I tell you it is not a stone. It is something stronger than stone, and more enduring: it is a prayer!

'I tell you,' Arthur continued, 'it is a prayer for the deliverance of Britain. Look around you, my brothers; this hillside is covered with them!'

We scanned the rough and rocky steeps of Baedun as Arthur directed. Baedun was, as he said, covered with stones – as if we had not known this already!

'You ask what I am doing. I will tell you: I am gathering up the prayers and making a wall with them. I am raising a stronghold to surround the enemy.

'Our Wise Emrys has decreed that we must erect a fortress whose walls cannot be battered down or broken – a caer that cannot be conquered. My countrymen, that is what I am doing. When I have finished, not a single barbarian will escape.'

With that Arthur stepped down and placed his stone upon the pile he had made. Men regarded him as if he had become mad. The wind whipped through the crowd and uttered sinister whispers against the Duke. The silence grew dense with accusation: he is mad!

Then, throwing his cloak over his shoulder, Cai stooped and, every sinew straining, lifted an enormous rock and, grinning with the exertion, heaved his rock on top of Arthur's. It fell with a solid and convincing crack. 'There!' Cai declared loudly. 'If stones be prayers, I have sung a psalm!'

Everyone laughed and suddenly other stones began toppling onto the pile as one by one we all stooped to the stones at our feet and lifted them to top the foundation Arthur had made. In this way, the wall was begun.

The lords of Britain held themselves aloof from this toil, but when they saw the fervour of their men, and the zeal of the Cymbrogi, they put off their cloaks and directed the work. It was a triumph to see them – Ennion and Custennin, Maelgwn and Maglos and Owain, Ceredig and Idris, all of them barking orders and urging on the men.

We are a song-loving people and labour is long without a melody to lighten it. Once the work began in earnest, the singing began. Holy songs at first, but when these gave out we turned to the simple, well-known songs of hearth and clan – and these I believe are holy too. The wall rose stone by stone, each stone a heartfelt prayer.

High up in the hilltop stronghold, the barbarians looked down upon our strange labour. At first they did not know what to make of it, and then as the line of the wall appeared and stretched along the hillside, they began to shout and jeer. When the wall began to rise, their jeers became angry taunts. They threw stones and shot arrows at us, but we were beyond hurtful range and the stones and arrows fell spent long before reaching us. They raged, but they did not leave the protection of their fortress.

Now, two men working diligently can raise a twenty-pace section chest high in a day. How much more, then, can three thousand times that many accomplish? Saints and angels, I tell you that wall raised itself, so quickly did it appear!

See it now: hands, thousands of hands reaching, grasping, lifting, placing, working the rough stone into a form.

Backs bending, muscles straining, lungs drawing, cheeks puffing with the effort, sweat running. Palms and knuckles roughened, fingers bleeding. The wind billowing cloaks, rippling grass, curling mist and rain.

Dusk fell full and fast. And though dark clouds swirled about the hilltop, light, clear and golden, shone in the west. In that light's last gleam we placed the final stone on the wall and stood back to see what we had done. It was marvellous to behold: a long, sinuous barrier rising to shoulder height and surrounding the entire hill.

The enemy wailed to see it. The barbarians howled in frustration. They cursed. They screamed. They saw themselves surrounded by stone and called upon one-eyed Woden to save them. But their cries were seized by the wind and flung back in their faces. The wall, Arthur's Wall, stood defiantly before them, encircling Baedun with its stern message: you will not leave this battle ground. Here you will die, and here your bones will lie unmourned for ever.

My arms ached, and my legs and feet and back. My hands were scraped raw; my arms were cut. But I looked upon that wonderful wall and my small agonies were less than nothing. It was more than a wall – it was faith made manifest. I looked upon the work of our hands and I felt invincible.

The barbarians looked upon the wall and despaired. For they saw that Arthur had cut off his own retreat – no one does that who doubts the victory. Thus was Arthur telling them: your doom is sealed; you are lost. They keened their death songs into the gathering gloom. And then, though the day was far spent, they attacked.

Why they waited so long I will never know. Perhaps God's hand prevented them. Perhaps Arthur's Wall of Prayer daunted them. But all at once they swarmed out from their stronghold and flew down the hill towards us. Rhys signalled the alarm and we snatched up our weapons, turned and formed the line, then raced to meet them. The shock of the clash shuddered the mountain to its roots.

Fighting at night is difficult and strange. The enemy has a shape, but no face; a body of limbs, but no features and no definite form. It is like fighting shadows. It is like one of those Otherworldly battles the bards sing about, where invisible armies meet in endless combat on a darkling plain. It is strange and unnatural.

We fought, though exhaustion hung like a sodden cloak upon us. We fought, knowing that all our work would be for nothing if we could not now shake off our fatigue and keep the enemy from reaching the wall. Indeed, the barbarians seemed more intent on gaining the wall than in fighting us. Perhaps they thought to escape. Or perhaps they saw in Arthur's Wall something which they could not abide – something they feared worse than defeat or death.

Gloom enwrapped the hill. The wind shrieked in our ears and rain drove down. The barbarian host pressed us back and back. Heedless of danger, heedless of death, they swarmed before us, driving at us out of the storm-tossed darkness. On and on and on they came, torches flaming, forcing our backs to the wall our hands had raised.

Clear and high, Arthur's hunting horn sounded; short blasts cutting through the tumult: the rallying call. I looked to the sound and saw Arthur – his white shield a gleaming moon in the darkness; Caledvwlch flashing as his arm rose and fell in graceful, deadly arcs; crimson cloak streaming in the wind, muscled shoulders heaving as he leaned into the maelstrom… Arthur.

I could not see his face, but there could be no doubt. He fought like no other warrior I had ever known. Such controlled ferocity, such deadly grace; the dread purity of his movements, spare and neat, each flowing into and out from the other, became a dazzling litany of praise to the fearful hand that had framed him.

It came into my mind that it was for this Arthur was born; this was why his spirit was given. To be here, now, to lead the battle in just this way. Arthur had been created for, and summoned to, this moment. He had heard his call and he had obeyed. Now all was delivered into his grasp.

I wanted to be near him, to pledge faith to him with my blade and with my life. But when I fought to his side, he was gone.

I also saw Llenlleawg. He had taken up a Saecsen torch and now became once more a whirling firebrand of a warrior: torch in one hand, short sword in the other, he danced in his mad battle ecstasy. The enemy fell before him and on every side, scattering like the sparks that flew from the flame in his hand.

Garish faces came at me out of the darkness – tattooed Picti and blue-painted Cruithne, fair-haired Saecsen and dark Angli, all of them writhing and grimacing with hatred, livid with blood-lust, inflamed with death.

The blood ran hot in my veins, drumming in my ears, pounding in my temples. My sides ached and my lungs burned. But I struck and struck again and again and again, sword rising and falling in deadly rhythm: falling like judgement from the night-dark sky, falling like doom upon the heads of the unheeding.

With each stroke I grew stronger – like the ancient hero Gwyn, who increased in strength as the day wore on. I felt the ache leave my muscles, melting away in the rain that drenched me. My hands were no longer stiff on the grip of my sword and shield. My head cleared. My vision grew keen. I felt the heat of life rising in me, the battle glow which drives out all else.

My men pressed close beside me; shoulder to shoulder we hewed at the enemy. To be surrounded by brave men faithful through all things is deeply to be wished, and my heart swelled within me. We laboured in combat as we had laboured on the wall, matching thrust for thrust, and stroke for stroke. I felt their spirits lift with mine. No longer were we being driven back. We had somehow halted the advance of the enemy and now stood against it.

Though the darkness round about was filled with the howls of barbarians and the shrieks of berserkers and the dire blast of Saecsen battle horns, we did not give ground. The enemy became the sea surging angrily against us as against the Giant's Steps. Like the sea they battered the rock, washed over it and whelmed it over, but when the waves broke the rock remained unmoved.

Wild the night, wild the fight! Buffeted by wind and battle roar, we stood to the barbarian host and our swords ran red. I killed with every thrust, every blow stole life. My arm rose and fell with swift precision, and at each deadly stroke a soul went down into death's dark realm.

The foemen fell around me and I saw all with undimmed clarity. I was fierce. I was cold as the length of steel in my hand. Jesu save me! I slaughtered the enemy like cattle!

I killed, but I did not hate. I killed, but even as they fell before me I did not hate them. There was no hate left in me.

Dawn drew aside the veil of night and we saw what we had done. I will never forget that sight: white corpses in the grey morning light… thousands, tens of thousands… strewn upon the ground like the rubble of a ruin… limbs lifeless, bodies twisted and still, dead eyes staring up at the white sun rising in a white sky and the black blurs of circling, circling crows…

Above, the keen of hawks. Below, the deep-stained earth. All around, the stink of death.

We had won. We had gained the victory, but there was scarcely a hair's breadth of difference between the victors and the vanquished on that grim morning. We leaned upon our spears and slumped over our shields. Wide-eyed and staring, too tired to move. Numb.

Anyone coming upon us would have thought that we were one with the dead. Though we lived, it was all we could do to draw breath and blink our swollen red eyes.

I sat with my back to a rock, my sword stuck in my unbending fingers. My shield lay beside me on the ground, battered and rent in a hundred places. 'Bedwyr!' A familiar voice called out my name and I looked and saw Arthur striding towards me. I drew up my knees and struggled to rise.

Grey-faced with fatigue, his arms criss-crossed with sword cuts, his proud red cloak rent to rags and foul with blood, the Duke of Britain hauled me to my feet and crushed me to him in his bear hug. 'I have been searching for you,' he whispered. 'I feared you must be dead.'

'I feel as if I am.'

'If all the barbarians in the world could not kill you, nothing will,' Arthur replied.

'What of Cai? Bors? Cador?'

'Alive.'

I shook my head, and my gaze returned once more to the corpse-choked field and the glutted crows swaggering upon the pale bodies. My stomach turned and heaved; I vomited bile over my feet. Arthur stood patiently beside me, his hand upon my back. When I finished, he raised me up and led me aside with him.

'How many are left?' I asked, dreading the answer. But I had to know.

'More than you think.'

'How many?'

Two divisions – almost.'

'The kings?'

'Maglos and Ceredig are dead. Ennion is sorely wounded; he will not live. Custennin is dead.'

'Myrddin?'

'He is well. Do you know – when the battle began he climbed up on the wall and stood there the whole night with his staff raised over us. He upheld us through the battle, and prayed the victory for us.'

'What of Gwalchavad? He was near me when the battle began, but I lost him… So much confusion.'

'Gwalchavad is unharmed. He and Llenlleawg are searching the bodies.'

'Oh,' I said, though his meaning at the moment escaped me.

We walked a little down the hill and I saw others moving about, slowly, carefully, picking their way sombrely among the silent dead. As we approached the wall there came a shout from behind us up the hill. Gwalchavad and Llenlleawg had found what they were looking for.

We turned and made our way to where they stood. I saw the skull-and-bones standard lying beneath the body and knew what they had found.

Arthur rolled the body with the toe of his boot. Cerdic gazed up into the empty sky with empty eyes. His throat was a blackened gash and his right arm was nearly severed above the elbow. His features had hardened into a familiar expression: the insolent sneer I had so often seen on him – as if death were an insult to his dignity, a humiliation far beneath him.

He was surrounded by his Saecsen guard. All had died within moments of each other – whether in the first or last assault no one could tell; no one had seen him die. But Cerdic was dead, and his treachery with him.

'What are we to do with him?' asked Gwalchavad.

'Leave him,' said Arthur.

'He is a Briton,' Gwalchavad insisted.

'And he chose this place for his tomb when he made war against me. No one forced him to it – it was his own choice. Let him lie here with his barbarian kin.'

Already men were removing the bodies of our comrades for burning. As a witness and warning to all future enemies, the corpses of the barbarians would be left where they had fallen. They would not be buried. So Arthur decreed; so was it done.

The westering sun stretched our shadows long on Baedun's hillside as the funeral flames licked the wooden pyre on which was placed the bodies of our countrymen. Priests of Mailros Abbey prayed and sang psalms, walking slowly around the burning pyre with willow branches in their hands.

Myrddin walked with them, holding a thorned length of rose cane before him. The rose, called Enchanter of the Wood, signified honour in druid lore, the Emrys explained; and to the Christians it symbolized peace. Peace and honour. These brave dead had earned both.

The ashes were glowing embers and twilight softly tinted the sky when we finally left Baedun Hill. We did not go far for we were tired and sore, and the wagons bearing the wounded could not travel any great distance before dark. But Arthur would not stay another night beside that hill, so we went back through the wood to the lake where we had baptized our sword brothers and consecrated ourselves for battle.

There beside its placid waters we made our camp and slept under a peaceful sky in the Region of the Summer Stars.