Pendragon

THREE

Coldly furious, Arthur ordered Barinthus to make landfall farther up the estuary, and sent Bedwyr, Llenlleawg, and the Cymbrogi to scout the way ahead. He stood in water to his knees, commanding his battlechiefs as they disembarked. The last ships had not even touched shore before the first divisions were armed, mounted, and moving away.

The Vandali had left a wide trail along the valley floor – grass trampled into the dry dirt by thousands upon thousands of trampling feet.

The trail led directly to Caer Legionis. The city itself, such as it was, had been abandoned in the days of Macsen Wledig when the legions left; the people had moved back into the surrounding hills and built a hillfort there, returning once more to an older way and a more secure.

We skirted the deserted town and continued on to Arthur's fortress at Caer Melyn. As we drew nearer, we met Bedwyr and two scouts returning. 'They sacked our stronghold,' he reported, 'and tried to burn it. But the fire did not take hold. The gate is broken.'

'And those inside?' asked Arthur.

'Dead,' answered Bedwyr. 'All of them – dead.'

When Arthur made no reply, Bedwyr continued. 'They took what they could carry off, and moved on. Shall I send Llenlleawg and the others ahead to discover where they have gone?'

Still Arthur made no reply. He seemed to look through Bedwyr to the hills beyond.

'Artos?' said Gwenhwyvar. She was coming more and more to recognize and understand her husband's moods. 'What are you thinking?'

Without a word, he lifted the reins and continued to the caer. If the Black Boar had wanted to devastate the fortress, not a single timber would have remained upright. As it was, however, aside from the broken gate, the stronghold appeared intact – quiet, but undamaged. It was not until we entered the yard that we saw the fire-blackened walls and smelled the death stink. A party of Cymbrogi were already at the sorrowful chore of dragging out the dead, preparing to bury them on the slope of the hill below the timber palisade.

We joined in this heartbreaking labour, then gathered on the hillside in the twilight to offer up prayers for our fallen brothers as we consigned them to their graves. Only when the green turf covered the last corpse did Arthur enter the hall.

'They were careless,' Cai observed. 'They were in haste.'

'How do you know this?' wondered Urien. Since the last days in Ierne, he had dogged Arthur's steps, insinuating himself into the group closest to the High King. If anyone else noticed his presence, they gave no sign.

'If Twrch Trwyth had desired its destruction,' Cai answered curtly, 'the caer would be ashes, and those scattered to the winds.'

Embarrassed by his failure to discern the obvious, Urien withdrew and said no more.

'It is fortunate we have the war host with us still,' Bedwyr said. 'That great horde on foot -'

'Our horses can easily overtake them,' Cai put in, finishing the thought. 'They cannot have travelled far.'

'But the war host is fewer now than it was in Ierne,' Cador pointed out. 'Without the support of the Irish lords, I fear we will fare less well than before.'

'Gwalchavad will have reached the northern lords with our summons,' Bedwyr reminded him. 'Idris, Cunomor, and Cadwallo will arrive soon.'

Cador nodded, but the frown did not leave his face. 'We need more,' he said, after a moment. 'Even with the northern warbands it is still ten or twenty Vandali for every fighting Briton.'

'Bors and Ector should arrive any day,' Cai added. 'Together they will bring above six hundred.'

There followed a reckoning of numbers; warbands were estimated and tallied. At best we could count on four thousand, perhaps more – though likely far fewer. However, lack of fighting power was not the uppermost concern. Men must eat if they are to fight. And the talk soon turned to the persistent problem of provisions. Warriors require a constant, uninterrupted supply of food and weapons. We had not enough of arms or food to sustain a lengthy campaign.

'We must send to the settlements for our support,' Cador observed gloomily. 'And that will take men away from battle.'

'If we do not send them,' Gwenhwyvar replied, 'it will cost the lives of more. There is no other way.'

'There is another way,' Arthur said quietly, finding his voice at last. 'We will use the treasure of Britain to buy grain and cattle in Londinium.' Turning to Cador, he said, 'I give this task to you. Take everything we have saved from the Saecsen wars and use it in the markets.'

Bedwyr shook his head in amazement. 'Bear, God love you, we were plundered! Amilcar has it all!'

'All?' wondered Arthur aloud; this problem had not occurred to him.

'Not all, I suppose," Bedwyr allowed. 'We have that left which was hidden under the hearth, and the little we had with us in Ierne.'

'It is enough? That little is enough?'

'Perhaps,' Bedwyr said doubtfully.

'Artos,' Gwenhwyvar said, 'whatever we lack can be made up from the churches. They have gold and silver aplenty. Go to them. Let them help us now as we have helped them.'

'Tread lightly,' I warned. 'Separating holy men from their worldly wealth is not without consequence.'

'Listen to your queen,' Bedwyr urged. 'What good will their gold and silver do them when the barbarians come and carry it off? They will lose both their treasure and their lives. But if they give their gold to us, they may at least keep their lives.'

'So be it,' said Arthur, having heard enough. To Cador he said, 'Stop at the churches on the way and raise whatever you can. Tell them Arthur has need of it. When you reach Londinium, see you bargain well – our lives depend on you.'

Cador accepted reluctantly. 'As you will, lord,' he said. 'I will leave at first light tomorrow.'

Arthur stood. 'I am going to my chamber-what is left of it. When the lords have settled their men, let them attend me in council here.'

Thus, as a woeful sliver of moon rose to shine upon the ruined caer, the lords of Britain sat down to plan the defence of the island. Having had a taste of the Vandal way of fighting, the Britons were all for blunt confrontation. 'Give them the edge of the sword, I say,' Ogryvan argued. 'They shake with fear whenever they see our horses. We can catch them and ride them down.'

'He is right. A bold attack will send them back to their ships, smart enough,' added Brastias. 'They are cowards and we are swiftly done with them.'

Meurig spoke up. 'The sooner we engage them, the sooner we are rid of them. We must ride at once.'

'And then we will not need all the supplies you deem necessary to purchase,' Ulfias put in hopefully. 'We can finish this business before harvest.'

The High King abruptly banished all such thoughts from their minds. Up he rose, fists clenched. 'Did the sight of burning ships mean nothing to you?' he shouted. The noblemen glanced at one another warily. When no one made bold to answer, Arthur said, 'Hear me now: it will not be as it was in Ierne. The Boar has changed. He knows well what awaits him here, and yet he comes. I tell you the truth, Amilcar has become a new and more dangerous enemy.'

'How so, lord?' demanded Brastias. 'He tramples, he burns, he runs away. It is the same reckless enemy. You may mistake carelessness for cunning, but I reckon it well when I see it.'

Gerontius made to press the argument, but Arthur cut him off with a chop of his hand. 'Am I surrounded by fools?' he asked, his voice tight with fury.

'Tribes and families!' he shouted. 'Their ships burned behind them. Think!' He glared the length of the board, towering in his anger. When he spoke again, his voice was a tight whisper. 'The Black Boar will no longer content himself with plunder only. He means to settle.'

Before the noblemen could frame a reply, Arthur continued. 'The entire realm is unprotected – and Twrch Trwyth knows this. He runs before us, laying waste the land as he goes.' The High King's words were finding their mark at last; the lords kept their mouths firmly shut and listened. 'Only now does the enemy begin to show his true likeness, and it is an aspect I greatly fear.'

Having made his point, Arthur concluded simply, saying, 'Return to your men. Tell them we ride in pursuit. We leave at dawn.'

While the battlechiefs made ready to ride, I sat alone in the empty hall and considered the meaning of the change in the Black Boar's designs. Arthur had discerned the matter aright: enraged, or at least frustrated, by Arthur's opposition to his intended plundering of Ireland, the Black Boar had moved on to easier pickings. What better place than an undefended Britain? With the war host of Ynys Prydein in Ierne, the Vandal chieftain could plunder here to his heart's content, amassing great wealth before he was caught.

Arthur had read the signs aright, certainly. Even so, misgiving gnawed at me. Amilcar knew – and knew beyond any doubt whatsoever – that the lords of Britain would soon arrive to put an end to his plunder. Having faced Arthur and suffered defeat at every turn, why risk confronting the Bear of Britain again?

More importantly, if he meant to settle, why choose Britain? Did he not fear Arthur? Did the Black Boar believe he would not be hunted down and killed?

Something drove Amilcar to this extremity. Was it desperation? Revenge? Something of both perhaps, but there seemed to me also a portion of shrewd defiance. How was that to be weighed?

I went to sleep with an uneasy mind and was roused a short while later by Rhys. Declining to break fast, I went out to walk the ramparts of Caer Melyn until it was time to leave. I watched the sky lighten in the east. Away in the south, white clouds crept along the coast, but these faded even as I watched and with them vanished any chance of rain. The day before us would be the same as those just past: scorching hot.

I turned my eyes to the hills. The grass was beginning to wither and dry. Already the trails were turning to dust. If it did not rain soon, the streams would begin to dry. Drought is not unknown in Britain, God knows, but it is rare and always betokens hardship.

As I stood looking out upon the slowly parching land, these words came again to mind: Burn it… We have no choice. 'We have no choice,' the voice had said. 'Burn it down. Burn it to the ground.'

Words of despair, not anger. They spoke of resignation and defeat, of a last hopeless extremity. Burn it down. What calamity, I wondered, did burning resolve? What emergency was served by fire?

We have no choice… Burn it to the ground. I looked down upon the caer, busy with the surge of men preparing for battle. Yet, even as I looked, the commotion changed before my eyes: the men were not warriors anymore, and the disturbance was of a very different order. I heard weeping and shouting. Men bearing torches flitted among the dwellings, pausing to set the roof-thatch alight and hurrying on. Smoke drifted across the yard. And there, in the centre of the yard – corpses stacked like firewood for a pyre. A man with a torch approached this gruesome heap and touched the flame to the kindling at the base of the heap. As flames licked up through the bodies, a woman dashed forward as if to throw herself onto the pyre. The man with the torch caught her by the arm and pulled her back, then threw the torch onto the stack. Leading the woman, he turned, shouted over his shoulder to others looking on, and walked from the caer, consigning the dead and the empty stronghold to the flames.

Smoke passed before my eyes, and I heard someone call my name. When I looked again, I saw Rhys hastening to his horse at the gate. Cai and Bedwyr were already mounted, and the Flight of Dragons stood by their horses. Shaking with the force of the vision, I thrust the unsettling image from me and went to my horse. Below the caer, word of the impending departure was shouted from camp to camp. In a moment we would all ride from Caer Melyn, some to search out and gather provisions, most to engage the invader. Many who stood now blinking in the sunlight of a new day would not return.

Great Light, we ride today on paths unknown. Be a bright flame before us. Be a guiding star above us. Be a beacon pyre behind us. We are lost each one unless you light our way. Raising my hands in a bard's blessing, I said:

Power of the Warrior Host of Angels!

Power of Raven be upon us,

Power of Eagle be ours,

Power of the Warrior Host of Angels!

Power of storm be upon us,

Power of tempest be ours,

Power of God's holy wrath!

Power of sun be upon us,

Power of moon be ours,

Power of eternal Light!

Power of earth be upon us,

Power of sea be ours,

and lead us along the paths by which we must go.

Power of the Heavenly realms!

All Power of Heavenly realms to bless us,

and keep us, and uphold us.

And a Kindly Light to shine before us,

and lead us along the paths by which we must go.

Satisfied with this benediction, I hurried to my place, took up the reins, and swung myself into the saddle.

Like countless invaders before them, the Vandali followed the Vale of Hafren, striking deep into the heart of the land. There were few settlements directly in the Black Boar's path- spring flooding kept the valley folk on higher ground for the most part – until he reached the broad midlands where the valley gave way to meadows and fields around Caer Gloiu, the old Roman town of Glevum.

If Amilcar had already reached that far, the whole of Lloegres' soft middle would lie open before him. The barbarian hordes would then spill out over the low, fertile meads, and there would be no containing them.

Thus we rode with dire urgency, stopping only to water the horses, pressing on through the heat of the day. The long time waiting in Ierne had given Amilcar a fair start on us, and Arthur was determined to find and engage the enemy without delay. Day's end found us far down the valley, but, aside from the much-trampled earth, we had seen no sign of barbarians.

'They move more swiftly than I imagined,' Arthur observed. 'Fear drives them at a relentless pace, but we will catch them tomorrow.'

We did not catch them the next day, however. It was not until the sun had fallen behind the hill-rim two days later that the enemy finally came into sight. Though we had been watching their dust clouds before we came upon them, that first sight still took breath away: a great restless swarm surging like an angry flood up the wide Hafren valley. These were not a new breed of Sea Wolf looking for spoils and easy plunder, these were whole tribes on the move, a people looking for a place to settle, an entire nation searching for a home.

One glimpse of the Vandali host, asprawl like a vast dark stain spreading over the land, and Arthur ordered the columns to halt. He and his chieftains rode to the nearest hilltop to assay the predicament. 'God help us,' Bedwyr murmured, still struggling to take in the immensity of the throng before us. 'I had no idea there could be so many.'

'We saw the ships,' Cai said, 'but this… this – ' Words failed him.

Arthur surveyed the multitude with narrowed eyes. 'An attack now would only push them farther inland,' he decided at last. 'We must strike from the far side.'

Upon returning to the waiting columns, Arthur summoned the lords and told them his decision. Having chased the enemy for the better part of three days, the noblemen, anxious to engage, were not pleased to have the anticipated battle denied them.

'Go around?' demanded Gerontius. 'But they stand waiting before us! They are in no position to fight. We have only to attack and they are defeated.' This view found favour with others, who added their endorsement.

'If it were so certain,' Arthur replied wearily, 'I would have given the order before you thought to complain. But victory is far from assured, and I would sooner force Twrch Trwyth back along a path he has previously trampled than offer him opportunity to venture farther afield.'

'Is that prudence?' inquired Brastias, not quite concealing the sneer in his tone. 'Or plain folly? If we look to our swords, sparing nothing in the attack, I have no doubt at all that this will be concluded before nightfall.'

Arthur turned his face slowly to the disagreeable lord. 'I wish I could be so easily convinced,' he replied. 'But for the sake of all who will raise sword beside me, I must own my doubts. And, since I am High King, the matter is not at issue.' He turned in the saddle. 'We go around.'

'And waste another day at least!' protested Brastias. He and Gerontius had apparently taken it upon themselves to question Arthur's every move. In this they were to be pitied, for there is no cure or comfort for this sort of blindness, and men who fall victim often find it fatal.

Circling the enemy meant a long day toiling through the rough-wooded hills to the north of the Hafren valley – an arduous task to move so many men quickly and quietly. The first stars were already showing in the sky when we finally descended to the valley once more, no great distance ahead of our slower-moving foe. After setting sentries along the hilltops to either side, we made camp by the river and remounted before dawn to take up our attack position.

We were assembled in a crook in the valley, ready and waiting when the Vandal horde finally appeared. They came on in a great dark flood, like a tidal wave pouring through the valley, pausing, swelling, flowing – inundating the land. We waited and listened – the sound of their advance rumbled like dull thunder upon the earth. The dust from their feet clouded the air like smoke.

Closer, we heard more particular sounds: the cries of children and some times laughter, the barking of dogs, the lowing of cattle and sheep, the sharp squeal of swine.

Arthur turned his face to me, his blue eyes dark with worry and lack of sleep. 'They advance with women and children at the fore.'

He quickly summoned his battlechiefs.

'Bairns on the battlefield!' Cai protested. 'What kind of war leader would force his people so?'

'Amilcar must know we would not willingly slaughter women and children,' Bedwyr pointed out. 'He uses them as his shield.'

'I do not care,' said Brastias gruffly. 'If they are fool enough to wander onto the battleground, they deserve whatever happens to them.' Others agreed.

'But women and children,' Gwenhwyvar protested. 'They have no part in this.' She looked to her husband. 'What will you do, Artos?'

He thought for a long moment. 'We cannot give in to Amilcar. The attack will commence as planned, but let each warn our warbands that innocents advance before the battle host, and they are not to be killed if it can be helped.'

'Even so, many will die,' Gwenhwyvar insisted.

'That is as it may be,' Arthur conceded. 'I know no other way.' Yet, unwilling to give the order, he asked, 'Does anyone suggest a better plan?' The king looked to each of his chieftains in turn, but all remained silent. 'So be it,' he concluded. 'Return to your places and prepare your warbands. I will give the signal.'

The High King's commands were relayed quickly through the ranks: the British war host advanced to their positions and made ready to charge. The forerunners became aware of us then, for a shrill, blatting horn sounded and all at once the leading edge of the dark flood froze. The sudden halt sent rippled waves coursing back through the oncoming throng.

'May God forgive us our sins this day,' said Arthur grimly. And, without another word, raised his hand to Rhys, who put the battle horn to his lips and sounded the attack.