Arthur

EIGHT

Four warriors lay dead in pooled blood on the floor. The room was filled with Picti waving swords and clubs and spears. I was the only Briton alive to defend the queen and I was unarmed. Medraut's sword bit into my throat.

'What treachery is this?' I demanded.

'We have come to pay homage to the Emperor,' replied Medraut with a sneer. 'Imagine our disappointment when we discovered that he is not here to receive us.'

Two Picts thrust spears at me from either side. I know they would have killed me in that selfsame instant if Medraut had not prevented them. 'Cadw! Ymat!' he shouted in their coarse tongue. Then, to another swarthy Pict who looked to be a king, he said, 'This one is more valuable to us alive. Have him bound and put with the others.'

My wrists and knees were bound with thick leather thongs and I was dragged through the palace and hauled into the yard. There were signs of the briefest and most futile of struggles: here and there a cluster of dead bodies, some armed, most without weapons; men cut down where they stood.

No organized resistance had been possible. We were overcome before we could raise spear or draw sword. And those of us still alive were becoming Medraut's hostages. The humiliation was worse than death.

Shock and outrage coiled within me, twin serpents of revulsion. The evil of it! Vile disgrace! Vicious and wicked, Medraut had perpetrated the unthinkable.

More than thirty of the queen's warriors had been captured – attesting to the utter surprise with which the city had been attacked. No man, from the highest warrior to the lowest stablehand, would ever have allowed himself to be taken alive if he had weapon to hand, or, failing that, a chance to swing his fists.

The waiting warriors stood with their heads bowed in disgrace, hands bound, surrounded by Picti guards. Smoke rolled across the yard and coiled from numerous sites within the city. Shrieks and screams echoed in the distance. I was brought to stand with the other Britons and after only a few moments saw the Emrys and the Queen roughly dragged from, the palace. The sight of Myrddin and Gwenhwyvar, bound and hooded, the hands of the enemy upon them, made the gorge rise in my throat. I retched and choked back bile. The tears welled up in my eyes.

Medraut, his expression wild and fantastic, strutted forth across the yard, a big Pict battlechief on either side of him. He was no true warrior himself, so moved only in the company of warriors. In truth, he was nothing more than a cunning coward.

Upon reaching the place where the captives waited he uttered a sharp command in the barbarian tongue. All at once, the Picti raised blade and spear and began stabbing the hostages. Brave men fell all around me. I saw more than one sword plunged into the belly of a defenceless man, and that man fall to his death without a sound, courageous to the end. One battle-scarred veteran even seized the sword as it swung towards him and with a defiant cry thrust it through his own heart rather than allow the enemy to kill him so shamefully.

I was struck to the ground and pinned there with the point of a spear. When the slaughter was finished, only eleven remained. Medraut saved the most important of his captives for the hostage pits: the queen, the Emrys, myself, and eight others whose fives he hoped to bargain with.

Let him do his worst. That day I watched good men die and pledged my life to seeing Medraut's headless corpse torn to pieces by the High King's hounds.

I was thrown into a loathsome pit beneath the roots of the fortress. There with some few of the other hostages I stayed. Whether day or night, I knew it not. Where the queen was held, or what had become of the Emrys, I could not say.

Occasionally, we were hauled from the pit and made to parade in chains before our Picti captors who wished to boast of us before their chieftains. At one of these times I discovered that we were enjoying the hospitality of Keldrych, a powerful Pict king, who had succoured Medraut when the tyrant fled Arthur's fosterage.

Keldrych summoned the fierce tribes of the north to attend him in Caer Lial, there to see for themselves how he and Medraut had seized the Pendragon's city. Word of rebellion spread like plague among the Picti, who had never loved Arthur and needed little enough encouragement to break faith with him.

A blind man could have seen what was happening! Having stolen the queen, the traitor bargained with the lords and battlechiefs of other Picti tribes for support. And this he won.

Curiously, the Picti, among other primitive peoples, consider the kingship of a lord to rest in his queen. The king's wife is the living symbol of his reign. It is a belief ancient beyond reckoning, and more enduring than stone.

For this reason, the Picti were much impressed with Medraut's abduction of Gwenhwyvar: she was Arthur's kingship. As Medraut possessed her, so he possessed the throne of Britain. To the Picti this was self-evident. In seizing the queen, Medraut had made himself king, and in their eyes proud Gwenhwyvar became Medraut's wife. This treason moved the Picti as nothing else could. In treachery was Medraut the master.

Arthur, of course, was expected to return and fight for his throne. Medraut meant to be ready. With extravagant promises and subtle deceptions he wooed the rebel kings. As the summer waxed full, the forces of the Picti gathered for war. With each day that passed the enemy grew stronger, as more and more warbands arrived in Caer Lial, summoned by Keldrych and Medraut, and emboldened by the prospect of Arthur's defeat.

From the wild hills of the north they came – from Sci, from Druim and Gododdin, Athfotla and Cait. They came by the hundreds, gathering together in a mighty host, separate tribes united only by their quick-kindled hatred of Arthur, and the promise of enormous wealth through plunder.

At the riotous Lugnasadh celebration the hostages were once again dragged out to parade before the assembled battlechiefs. The sight of them nearly stole the breath from my lungs. Gathered in Arthur's hall was an immense host of blue-painted Picti lords, each and every one a chieftain with many hundreds of warriors in his keep. Never had such a host been assembled in Britain, I thought; surely the Pendragon cannot match such a force.

To our disgrace, we were made to serve our captors meat and drink and endure their crude sport as they viciously shoved us and choked us with our chains. When the riot reached its height, Medraut rose up and with much demonstration spoke to the assembled chieftains. I do not know what he said, but that night we were not returned to the hostage pits. We slept in our chains in a storeroom and the next morning were taken out into the yard.

The hostages were herded together and, to my joy and relief, I saw that the Emrys and the queen remained unharmed. I had not seen them since the fall of Caer Lial and had feared for their safety. Although the queen was held a little apart from the rest of us, I was encouraged to see that she appeared defiant and unbowed, full of fire. By stealth I managed to creep near to the Emrys.

'Emrys, are you well?' I asked.

'Well enough, Aneirin,' he answered, his voice low and raw. 'And you?'

'I have not been harmed – nor have the others,' I replied. 'Do you know what is happening?'

'Arthur is returning,' the Emrys told me. 'Word came to Medraut a few days ago that the High King's fleet had been sighted. Today the battle will be joined.'

These words heartened me, but I noticed they brought no cheer to the Wise Emrys. 'But surely this is good news,' I said. 'What is wrong?'

'We have endured so much and laboured so long to be undone like this,' he said, 'and you ask what is wrong?'

'Arthur will not fail.'

The Emrys regarded me long, his golden eyes deep-shadowed with sadness. 'Trust God, Aneirin. And pray that the sky does not fall upon us.'

I crept away, confused and dismayed. All I had suffered till now was nothing compared to the despair I felt in the Emrys' few words. For the first time I began to sense something of the magnitude of Medraut's treason. My heart broke, and my soul cried for leaving. I was that unhappy.

After a time, we were marched through the city to the harbour, where some ships were arriving from Orcady. I little guessed that Lot was in league with Medraut but, to his everlasting shame, Lot did nothing to aid the queen. Instead, in the full view of all, he waded to shore with his chieftains and embraced the tyrant like a kinsman.

'How can he do this?' I wondered aloud to the Emrys as we squatted on the shingle. 'I thought Lot was Arthur's ally.'

'Do you not see it yet?'

Once again I was forced to admit that I did not. I had no idea what Myrddin was hinting at. 'You mean Lot has joined the treason?'

'Do you not know Medraut even now?'

'He said he was the son of a Picti lord – Urien of Monoth. That is what he said when he came before Arthur,' I answered.

'He is no Pict,' snapped the Emrys. 'Think! Did you not see how they treated with him, and how he wheedled and schemed with them?'

'I was in the hostage pit!' I reminded him. 'I saw nothing.'

'Medraut is Mdrgian's son!' The Emrys answered my disbelief with a further revelation. 'And the man greeting him on the shore is not Lot, it is his half-brother, Urien.'

'But Medraut said Urien was his father,' I remarked. 'Why should he lie about that?'

The Emrys shook his head slowly. 'That,' he said, 'is the one truth Medraut told – the same that killed Lot hi the end.'

Slowly the grim meaning of the Emrys' strange words came to me. My stomach tightened with revulsion. 'Morgian married Urien, her own son,' I said, taking it in at last. The incest produced a child and that child was Medraut.

'My years of blindness were nothing to this,' the Emrys muttered bitterly. 'Alone among men, I should have known what we were fighting against. More than my sight was shattered, I think. But it comes to this: Morgian placed her devil spawn in Arthur's court, knowing that one way or another she would have her revenge.'

Revenge. The word stank of death. I heard in it the cry of ravens flocking to blood-spattered battlefields. Oh, the Enemy is tireless in hate and endlessly resourceful. I suddenly felt very small and ignorant. I knew nothing of the world's true nature. I knew nothing of the forces arrayed against us. I knew nothing…

'What is to be done?' I asked, hoping for some word of hope from the Ever Wise Emrys.

'That which is given to us to do we will do,' he said, and turned his face away. 'We are men and not angels after all.'

I drew neither hope nor comfort from these words, and once again was thrown back into the misery of despair as into the loathsome hostage pit. I beat my fists impotendy against my leg. If I could have killed the traitor there and then I would have done it, even at the cost of my own soul! But I could do nothing – only stand aside and look on.

Urien's ships were drawn up and arranged to form a blockade of the harbour. When Arthur entered he would not be able to land directly, but would have to fight his way ashore. Shrewd Medraut gave himself every advantage.

But here I was mistaken, for after effecting the blockade, Medraut ordered the Picti host to withdraw into the hills. Gwenhwyvar, the Emrys and the other hostages were put onto horses and led away with Keldrych's warband.

Then did Medraut turn to me. 'Your Wonderful Pendragon is coming. When he arrives, tell him this: I am waiting for him in the hills. The Emrys and Gwenhwyvar are with me. He will come to me alone and I will receive him.'

That he will never do!' I declared.

Medraut slapped me hard across the mouth. Tell him! If he brings his war host, I will kill the queen before he has set foot in the crooked glen. This is between us two alone. When we have settled the blood-debt for my mother, I will give up my hostages – not before.'

I glared at the tyrant with narrowed eyes. 'Say whatever you like, and know that I will tell him. But you are insane if you believe the Pendragon of Britain will meet you alone in a place of your choosing.'

Medraut stiffened. His hands began to shake, as if he were warring within himself to control his movements. His face twisted in a savage leer. 'Then let him bring his closest advisers. Yes, bring his best! But if I see so much as a single blade among them, the queen will die and the Emrys with her.'

My chain was then fastened to an iron ring used to tie up ships and I was left there alone on the shore. I watched and waited through the day, and endured a cold night on the strand without food or water.

As dawn faded the night to the colour of grey steel in the east, I awakened to the sight of thirty ships sailing into the harbour. The foremost ships bore the red dragon on their sails. Close behind followed fifteen sister ships, with twenty more just clearing the harbour mouth.

The Pendragon made his landing after threading his way through the blocked harbour. I stood in sea-wster up to my shins, waiting for the landing party to make its way to me. Arthur himself was among the first to come ashore, and greeted me anxiously. 'Where are they? What is happening here?' Bedwyr, Cai, Cador and Gwalcmai quickly gathered around.

'We are hostages, lord,' I replied, indicating my chain – whereupon the High King drew Cut Steel and, with one mighty chop, freed me from the iron ring in the stone. Thank you, Pendragon. I knew you would come. I knew you would not leave us to suffer Medraut's treachery.'

'Where is that rat?' demanded Cai. 'I will see him hung • upon the gates of Caer Lial.'

Bedwyr lifted my chain. 'What of the queen and the Emrys? Do they live?'

They are alive,' I answered. 'But, aside from the hostages, all the rest are murdered.'

'He will pay with his life for this!' declared Cador. He smashed his fist against his chest.

Arthur turned his eyes to his ruined city, then back to me. 'Where have they gone?' he asked softly.

'Lord, I am instructed to deliver this message,' I said. 'But please, remember these are Medraut's words, not mine.'

'For the love of Jesu,' cried Cai, 'get on with it!' I swallowed hard and began. 'I am to tell you that he is waiting for you in the hills. The Emrys and Gwenhwyvar are with him. You are to go to him alone, but for your chosen advisers, and Medraut will receive you.'

Cai snorted and Bedwyr muttered under his breath. Cador opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur held up his hand for silence and bade me continue.

'Medraut says that if you bring your war host he will kill the queen and the Emrys before ever you set foot in the crooked glen. He says that when the blood-debt has been settled, he will give up his captives – not before.'

'Blood-debt?' wondered Bedwyr. 'What blood-debt could there be between you?' he asked Arthur.

'For his mother's death,' I answered.

All looked at one another uneasily. 'Who is his mother?' asked Cai.

'Morgian,' I answered. 'So the Emrys says.' And I told them what I had learned from Myrddin regarding Medraut's unnatural parentage. Gwalcmai listened in stunned silence.

This answers much,' observed Arthur. He turned to Gwalcmai. 'You bear no fault.'

'I never did trust that schemer,' muttered Cai.

'What else can you tell us?' Bedwyr asked. _

'Only this: that you must come to him unarmed. If he sees so much as a single blade among you, the queen will die and the Emrys with her. So Medraut says.'

'How many are with him?'

Thousands – fifty thousand, at least. I cannot be certain, but there are more than I have ever seen before. All the Picti tribes are here.'

I thought for a moment that I saw defeat in the bold blue eyes. But I was mistaken. 'The crooked glen… ' he mused, searching the wave-washed pebbles at his feet. 'Camboglanna – Camlan?' He raised his head with a grim smile.

'Medraut is canny,' observed Bedwyr. 'If that is where he has taken them – a narrow valley with a fortress above. The place is a killing-ground.'

Indeed, I thought Bedwyr's appraisal only too accurate when later that day Arthur, Bedwyr and Cai surveyed the place from a nearby hilltop. I accompanied them and despaired to behold our ruinous position. For Medraut had moved his army east to a sheltered valley below the Wall. To the north rose a steep rocky ridge, and to the south an enormous hill, topped by one of the old Roman garrisons, the fortress Camboglanna, now called Camlan. The old word means crooked glen, and the place proved true to its name. Long and narrow, with a sharp-angled bend formed by the intrusion of the ridge, the desolate, rock-filled little valley appeared well suited to treachery.

The fortress, even in its ruined state, still commanded the region with its superior advantage. Medraut's forces could hold their positions with far less effort, while the Pendragon would be made to fight on two fronts from the beginning.

Cai observed the terrain and said, 'You cannot think of going down there to meet him unarmed.'

'I do not see that I have a choice,' replied Arthur.

'There is always a choice.' Bedwyr scanned the hillside and the fortress. 'They are waiting up there to ambush us – I can smell the treachery.'

'That I do not doubt, brother,' replied the Pendragon evenly.

Cai burst into laughter – a loud whoop of mirth. Bedwyr turned in his saddle to regard him. 'Fifty thousand Picti waiting for us – each with a thirst for our blood. You find this funny?'

'Na, na,' Cai replied, 'I was only thinking. Remember when Cerdic took Bors prisoner?'

Arthur smiled. 'Of course.'

'You crushed his hopes quick enough when you said: "Kill him if that is what you intend… " Cerdic never expected that.' Cai indicated the valley before them. 'Medraut would swallow his tongue if you told him that!'

He laughed again and Arthur laughed with him. I realized I had never heard the Pendragon laugh aloud before. 'That I would like to see!'

Bedwyr regarded them both with contempt. 'You cannot take this red-haired bull-roarer seriously, Artos. It is Gwenhwyvar's life we are talking about.'

'Never fear, brother,' Arthur replied lightly. 'I know my wife – she will appreciate the jest.' He cast his eyes to the surrounding hills. 'We will take the high ground – here and here – ' he said, indicating the twin hilltops above the valley. He had become the War Duke once more.

'Cador will lead the right flank, and Ban the left… ' The Pendragon turned and began walking back down the hill to where the war host waited hidden in the valley. Cai and Bedwyr joined him and I hurried after, as the three began making their battle plan.

Upon reaching the waiting army, the Pendragon's orders were conveyed to his battlechiefs, and the warriors began moving into position at once. Arthur donned his war shirt and high-crested helm; he strapped Caliburnus to his hip, and slung Prydwen, the white battle shield with the cross of Jesu, over his shoulder. He took up Rhon, his spear, stout veteran of many fierce and fiery combats.

Each of his great captains dressed themselves for battle as well: Bedwyr, Cai, Gwalcmai, Gwalchavad, Bors, Llenlleawg and Rhys. Champions all, helmed and armed for the fight. It made my heart soar to see them flaunt Medraut's challenge.

When the High King was ready he mounted to the saddle, and the others joined him. They rode together into the crooked glen – Camlan, valley of death.

I stood on the hilltop beside Cador and watched, my heart beating in my throat. I knew not what would happen – feared the worst, but prayed for the best.

At first, it appeared my prayers would be answered.

As the Pendragon and his men moved down into the glen, Medraut appeared from his hiding-place in the ruined fortress. With him came Keldrych and the hostages, together with at least thirty Picti warriors – naked and blue-stained with woad, their long hair stiffened with lime and pushed into white, spiked crests. They had also limed their shields and the heads of their spears.

Halfway to the stream coursing through the crooked valley, Medraut halted. He had seen that the Pendragon rode forth armed, in contempt of his command. Medraut whirled round, his arm went up and he pointed to the hostages.

But Keldrych stepped close, and after a quick consultation they advanced as before. No doubt, Keldrych had explained to the hot-headed Medraut that killing the captives removed any advantage they held over Arthur. However it was, the Pendragon's iron-hearted defiance had proven true again.

The two parties met a little apart, the stream between them. Arthur dismounted, but the others remained in the saddle. Arthur and Medraut advanced to meet one another alone. I would have given my right hand to hear what passed between them, but from my lofty vantage I saw its outcome right enough.

They talked for a time, whereupon Medraut returned to where the hostages waited, surrounded by the Pied warriors. Gwenhwyvar stepped out from among the others; the tyrant took her arm and pulled her with him back to where Arthur stood. Cai's hand went to his sword. Bedwyr put out a hand to steady him.

Upon reaching the stream where Arthur waited, Medraut seized the queen. He shouted something – I heard its echo, but could not make it out. He struck the queen cruelly on the face and she fell to her knees.

Arthur stood as one carved of stone. Not a muscle twitched.

Medraut stood over the queen and grabbed a handful of her dark hair. He jerked her head up, exposing her throat. Steel glinted in his hand. A knife!

Medraut shouted again. Arthur made an answer.

The knife flashed as it rose high in the air and struck swiftly down.

My heart stopped.

I opened my mouth to scream. Arthur's spear was in the air before the sound left my tongue.

Straight and true, like God's swift judgement, the spear streaked across the distance between them. I have never seen a spear thrown so swiftly, or with such force. It struck Medraut in the chest and pierced him through.

Arthur was on him in the same instant, driving the spear deeper. But Medraut, heedless of his wound, grasped the spear in his hands, and pulled himself up the shaft towards Arthur. He slashed wildly with the knife and caught Arthur a glancing blow.

Arthur dropped the spear and the traitor fell back writhing on the ground. The Pendragon drew Caliburnus and struck off Medraut's head.

I saw this clearly – and just as clearly saw Keldrych raise his spear and signal the attack. Instantly, the glen was alive with Picti! They came squirming out of the very ground it seemed – leaping up from behind rocks and bushes, and up out of shallow holes where they had hidden themselves.

'Ambush!' shouted Cador, and cursed, striking the ground with his sword.

Keldrych had hidden half of his warband in the glen and now they sprang to the attack – sixty in all, at least. The Pendragon was surrounded.

Gwenhwyvar ran to Medraut, plucked the spear from his chest and turned to stand beside her husband. They stood together to face the onslaught.

In the same instant, across the glen, a tremendous cry burst forth from fifty thousand throats as the hidden Picti rose up. Spears in hand, they stood on the hilltops, poised for attack, venting their hideous battle shriek. My skin pricked to hear it.

'Hurry!' I shouted at Cador. 'Sound the attack!'

Cador, his face grim and his jaw set, shook his head. 'I ' cannot. I am ordered to stand firm unless the Picti attack.'

'Look!' I flung my hand to the battle ground below. 'They attack!'

'I cannot!' Cador cried. 'I have my orders!'

They will be killed!'

'God knows!' Cador screamed. 'But unless the war host commits to battle, I can do nothing!'

I understood then. However things went between Medraut and the High King, Arthur had made Ban and Cador vow not to interfere. So long as the main force of Picti held back, the British would not provoke them. If there was to be war, the Pendragon's host would not begin it. As the main force of the enemy had not yet joined battle, Cador could do nothing.

In a fever of horror and rage, I turned back to the crooked glen. Arthur had unslung Prydwen and Gwenhwyvar now held it. The Picti were upon them, but the warriors of the Round Table, the Flight of Dragons, charged into the fray.

The renowned Dragons met the Picti just as they reached Arthur. I stood amazed at how masterfully the Britons engaged the enemy, divided them, and began turning the attack aside.

Cai and Bedwyr, riding side by side, drove in towards the centre of Keldrych's warband, their spears carrying the enemy before them. Gwalcmai and Gwalchavad struck in from the right, scattering the enemy as they thundered past. Bors, Llenlleawg and Rhys moved in from the left, hewing into the Picti, reapers at a bloody harvest.

In the churning mass of bodies, limbs and weapons, I saw the Pendragon's mighty sword Caliburnus rising and falling with relentless strokes, each blow a killing blow. The stream ran red; the water scarlet.

Any moment I expected to see the great Picti war host join Keldrych in the glen. But each time I stole a glance to the hills I saw them standing as before. What were they waiting for?

Sharp the battle clash that filled the air, a deafening din: shouting, screaming, shrieking, all dreadful to hear. The first frenzy passed and the combatants settled into the inexorable rhythm of the fight. Everywhere I looked, the enemy surged, struggling to join their ranks. Keldrych stood in the centre of the field, attempting to calm his frantic troops.

The Picti, however, dashed here and there to little purpose, striking out wildly and then running away. The Britons exploited this weakness and I marvelled at their dire efficiency. Fully half of Keldrych's warband lay dead on the ground before he succeeded in uniting his troops.

But once united, the rout slowed. The slaughter began to go the other way. The Picti advanced, stumbling over the bodies of their companions, forcing the Flight of Dragons back across the red-foaming stream.

God in heaven! Gwenhwyvar fell! Four big barbarians drove her down with spears… I could not look.

But the queen's fall did not go unnoticed. From out of nowhere faithful Llenlleawg appeared. He heaved his spear through the stomach of the largest Pict. The others fell back momentarily and the fearless Irishman threw himself from the saddle, snatched up Gwenhwyvar and lifted her to his horse.

The queen, the bloody shaft of a broken spear in her hand, threw the useless weapon aside and her champion pressed his sword into her hand. The enemy rushed in again. Llenlleawg turned to face them. He leapt onto the back of the foremost Pict, hacking with his knife and was carried down as the body fell. That was the last I saw of him.

Gwenhwyvar, saved from one death, now faced another. Three more Picti flew at her, even as she wheeled to Llenlleawg's aid. Two thrust at her with spears whuj; the other jabbed at the legs of her mount. With one cho^pf her sword she neatly lopped the spearhead from the sha|t, at the same time lifting the reins and bringing the horse\ forelegs off the ground. One swift hoof caught the attacked just behind the ear. His skull cracked like an egg and he fell dead to the ground.

The two remaining Picti lunged desperately. The queen knocked their spears aside with the rim of Arthur's shield, and drew her sword across their throats in a single sweeping stroke. They dropped their spears and clutched at their bubbling wounds.

Gwenhwyvar rode over them as she flew to Arthur's side once more. Bors and Rhys had joined them and together the four pushed deeper into the tumult, where Gwalcmai and Gwalchavad had become surrounded. Those two fought like giants! But spears thrust and hands reached up and I saw Gwalcmai hauled from the saddle and overwhelmed.

Gwalchavad fought on alone. Could no one save him?

I scanned the battlefield and suddenly saw the Emrys leading the remaining hostages into position behind Keldrych. The Picti, so eager to attack Arthur, had left them on the hillside. They had swiftly succeeded in freeing themselves from their bonds and were now entering the fight at the enemy's back, using weapons retrieved from the dead on the ground.

Surely now, I thought, the Picti war host will attack. But they stayed on the hilltop, never moving forward so much as a step.

The hostages joined the battle with a shout. Keldrych turned to meet them, and this was his undoing. There were fewer than ten hostages and they were on foot. More dangerous by far were the Flight of Dragons still driving into the Picti ranks. But the barbarian warband was in disarray, lurching about in confusion, flailing uselessly with their weapons.

Perhaps he thought that subduing the Britons on foot would hearten his remaining warband – numbering less than twenty now. Or perhaps he hoped to take the Emrys hostage once more and force Arthur to grant him quarter. I cannot say, but turning away from the Pendragon was a deadly mistake. Keldrych did not live to make another.

For the Pendragon saw the Pict chieftain turn and in the sajne instant struck. Caliburnus cut a terrible swath. No one cpuld stand against that invincible blade in Arthur's hands. Too late Keldrych learned of Arthur's progress. He swung round, his sword sweeping in a deadly arc. Arthur deflected the blow with his shield and drove in with the point of his sword as Keldrych's arm swung wide.

The Pied chieftain gaped in astonishment as Caliburnus pierced him through the heart. Keldrych toppled backward to the ground; both heels drummed on the earth.

The battle is won!' I cried. 'Did you see it? Arthur has won!'

The cheer died on my lips as Cador drew his sword and pointed to the hilltops across the glen: the great Pied war host was forming the battle line on the hilltop and the foremost ranks were already moving slowly down into Camlan to attack.

'Cymbrogi!' called Cador, drawing his sword. His call was relayed and I heard the ring of steel all down the line, as the Britons readied themselves to meet the foe. On the hilltop to our left, Ban's forces rose up in battle array, sunlight gleaming on their bright-burnished helms, spears clustered thick like a forest of young trees.

Fifteen thousand British stood to meet the foemen. Someone in one of the ranks somewhere began beating on his shield with the haft of his spear – the age-old challenge to combat. Another joined his sword brother, and another, and more and more, until the entire British war host was beating on their shields. The sound rolled across the narrow valley like thunder and echoed in the hills round about.

I felt the drumming pulse in my stomach and brain, and rise up through the soles of my feet. My heart beat wildly in my chest. I opened my mouth and combined my howl of jubilation with the din. It seemed to me that the sound poured up from my throat and spread out across the hills like the great and terrible voice of doom.

Though the Picti host greatly outnumbered the Pendragon's forces, we had six thousand horses with us. This, I think, and not our war cry – terrifying though it was – is what decided the Picti in the end. Nor do I fault them. Indeed, it would have been the height of folly lightly to disregard the horse-mounted warriors of the Pendragon's a/a. It has been said that a warrior on horseback is worth ten men on foot, and there is wisdom in the saying.

Besides, it had been Medraut and Keldrych's rebellion, and both those traitors were dead. Any allegiance owed died with them. Even for the Picti, it took more than the lure of plunder to make death appealing.

So, as the battle of Camlan ground to its bloody end, the entire army of the rebel Picti simply turned and melted away, fading once more into the northern hills. When Arthur was at last able to raise his eyes from the slaughter before him, the enemy had vanished. The rebellion was over.