Pendragon pc-4 Page 15

  The Irish were ecstatic at their easy mastery of a much more numerous foe. In this, I saw Arthur's genius at work: he had designed this exercise not only to harass the enemy, but to inspire the Irish at the same time. They had gained confidence in their ability to attack and rout the invader with small risk to themselves. Thus, when next the two forces met, the Irish would hold themselves superior no matter how many foemen faced them across the line.

  A pale white sun was showing above the eastern rim when Arthur finally returned. Like Conaire, he had suffered no loss greater than his night's sleep. Unlike Conaire, he was far from jubilant. He kept his distress to himself, however, until we were alone at Rath Mor.

  'What is troubling you, Arthur?' I asked. As he had seemed ill-disposed to talk on the way back, I waited until Gwenhwyvar had gone to bed before challenging him outright.

  'I do not like these Vandali,' he said darkly.

  'Conaire is very well pleased with them,' I remarked. We sat at the far end of the hut the Irish king had provided for their quarters; Gwenhwyvar slept in the bedplace behind the wattle wall.

  'Yes,' granted Arthur, 'but the Irish have little experience dealing with barbarians. They think that because the enemy fears our horses, he can be easily beaten.'

  'What do you think?'

  'I think they are waiting for their lord. He has yet to come ashore; when he does, it will begin.'

  'Indeed. But why would he wait?'

  Arthur shrugged heavily. 'Who knows why the barbarians do anything? Their ways are past reckoning.'

  'That is true.' I paused, then asked the question foremost in my mind. 'Can the Irish defeat them?'

  The High King of Britain considered this for a long time before answering. 'No,' he said at last, shaking his head. 'They are skilled horsemen and warriors," he allowed, 'but their courage is brittle and they are easily given to despair. Also they are wayward and contrary, Myrddin, I swear it. Tell them one thing and they do another.' He paused. 'But that is not what disturbs me most.'

  'What then?'

  'We cannot drive these invaders away without the aid of the British kings,' he said gloomily.

  I finished his thought: 'And British kings will never risk their lives and kingdoms to aid the Irish.'

  'They will sooner cut off their own arms than lift sword to defend Ierne,' he muttered. 'Even so, how long do you think the barbarian will content himself with this scrag of turf and rock when Britain stands ripe for the plucking? Even the Irish do not content themselves with raiding one another, but ever and always leap across the sea to our fair shores when seeking easy plunder.'

  He had read the situation aright, and I told him so.

  'Aye,' he agreed grimly, 'when the barbarian has plundered here, he will turn greedy eyes towards Ynys Prydein. Pray that does not happen, Myrddin. We have just put down the Saecsens – Britain cannot survive another war.'

  SEVEN

  'Wayward and contrary!' Gwenhwyvar cried. 'Easily given to despair!' She charged into the room and planted herself before us, fists on hips.

  'Gwenhwyvar,' Arthur said, somewhat startled. 'I thought you were asleep.'

  'Listen to the both of you,' she scolded. 'I will tell you what troubles me, shall I? You haughty Britons think you are the only men alive who know how to throw a spear.'

  'Calm yourself. I did not mean -' began Arthur.

  'You think you are the only men under God's blue heaven who know how to defend your land and people from enemy invaders! You think -'

  'Enough, woman!' Arthur said, rising to his feet. 'I am sorry! I did not mean for you to hear.'

  'Sorry!' Gwenhwyvar stepped nearer, her nose almost touching his chin. 'Sorry that I heard your scurrilous talk, or sorry for what you said?'

  'I feel the way I feel,' Arthur told her, growing angry. 'I cannot change that.'

  'What do you know, you big stump?' Gwenhwyvar pushed her face into his, though she had to stand on toe tip to do it.

  Arthur's jaw bulged dangerously. 'I know what I see with my own eyes.'

  'Are you blind then?' Gwenhwyvar scoffed. 'For a truth you know nothing of Ierne's people. You know nothing of our courage. You know nothing -'

  Taken by fury, she leaned too far and fell forward. Arthur, red-faced and furious, without a thought reached out, took her elbow and steadied her.

  Quick as a flash, Gwenhwyvar snapped, 'Take your hand from me, Briton!' placed both hands against his chest, and shoved him backwards. Caught off-balance Arthur went down, and Gwenhwyvar, supremely triumphant, stormed out of the house.

  Arthur sat astonished for a moment. Then: 'It is as I told you, Myrddin. They are a contrary race, and hasty. And that is the end of it.'

  I put out a hand to help him up. 'What will you do now?' I said, ignoring the squabble.

  'We must return at once to Britain,' he said. 'We must raise the support of Britain's kings and persuade them to pledge warriors to the fight.'

  'Easier to persuade the invaders to turn their ships and sail away,' I replied.

  'You know them too well,' Arthur agreed. 'Yet, I see no better hope for Ierne. Indeed, it is Britain's best hope as well. For if we can defeat the Vandali here, Britain will remain unscathed.'

  I left Arthur to his rest then, and went in search of a place where I might sit alone with my thoughts. I found a sheltered nook in the shadow of the wall, wrapped myself in my cloak, and settled down to contemplate the magnitude of the disaster that had befallen us.

  Oh, it was a calamity and I knew it. Britain was newly united, the alliance still soft; it would harden in time – given the chance. But the British kings had suffered at Baedun, and they needed time to heal their wounds and rebuild their warbands. Even Arthur's most loyal lords would view a war across Muir Eireann with cold eyes. The Irish had long been a thorn in the British flesh with their incessant raiding. Few Britons would see the prudence of Arthur's summons – much less understand it – and none would welcome it.

  At the very least they would resist. Worse, I feared, they would turn against him. And should worse come to worst, the fragile alliance would shatter; our hard-won peace would be but a memory, and the Kingdom of Summer would die in its infancy. It had long been all my care to aid that birth, and the last thing I desired was to see that long and arduous – and life-costly – work undone. Great Light, I would do anything, anything to prevent that.

  I thought long and hard, and was drawn from my contemplation at last by the jangling clang of the alarm. Conaire, like the chieftains of old, had a strip of iron hung from a post outside his hall. When need arose, the iron was struck with a hammer and the people ran to answer the alarm.

  Stirring myself, I rose and made my way to the hall among the scurrying Uladh folk. I saw Cai, with his distinctive hobbling gait, hurrying across the yard, and called to him. He joined me and we walked together to the assembly place.

  Conaire stood with the hammer in his hands and a fierce look on his face. 'The enemy approaches!' he shouted, and began ordering the defence of Rath Mor.

  'Where is Arthur?' Cai wondered, looking around the crowd.

  'Asleep, I suppose. You'd best go wake him.' Cai hastened away. Warriors were already rushing to arm themselves and take up defensive positions on the wall.

  Bedwyr and Llenlleawg appeared. 'What is happening?' Bedwyr yawned. 'Trouble?'

  'We are being attacked,' I answered. 'Reprisal for last night's raid, no doubt.'

  'Where is Arthur?'

  'Cai has gone to rouse him.'

  'Did he need rousing?' wondered Bedwyr.

  My eyes flicked to his face, and then to where he was looking. I saw Arthur emerging from the round house, doing up his belt. And then I saw what Bedwyr had seen: Gwenhwyvar, face flushed, emerging behind him, her hair awry and her laces undone.

  'Perhaps not,' I replied. 'It appears he was already well roused.'

  Llenlleawg smiled, and Bedwyr observed, 'The barbarians will rue the day they called the Bear of Britain from his den.'
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  Arthur joined us and received word of the enemy advance calmly. 'How many?' he asked.

  'Conaire did not say,' Bedwyr informed him.

  Arthur gave a nod to Llenlleawg, who dashed away at once, and it came to me that Arthur had begun trusting more and more to the Irish champion. Not that he neglected Cai and Bedwyr, mind, but he now included Llenlleawg in his confidence. Where there had been but two, there were now three. I wondered where Gwenhwyvar would fit in this triumvirate.

  Still, judging from what I had seen in the hut, Gwenhwyvar could speak for herself. I had no doubt she would make a place for herself precisely where she wanted it. She joined us now and took her place beside Arthur. 'How many?' she asked.

  'I have sent Llenlleawg to determine,' Arthur replied. There was no trace of vexation or ire in either of them. Like a summer storm over Loch Erne, it had all blown over without a trace, leaving the sky brighter and the sun warmer than before the wind and rain.

  Conaire summoned his bards and chieftains to attend him, and pushed his way into the hall. The Irish king was outraged that the Vandal horde should appear at his gates. 'They tracked us from the beach,' he shouted as we entered the hall. He threw an angry fist in Arthur's face, the previous night's euphoria forgotten in the new day's crisis. 'This would never have happened if you had not attacked them. Now they have come here for their revenge.'

  Arthur bristled at the king's accusation. 'It was to be expected,' he replied coolly. 'Or did you think they would not march against you if you let them take your land?'

  This reply made Conaire even angrier. 'This is your doing! I should have known better than to listen to a British tyrant. On my father's head, I will not allow myself to be beguiled again.'

  'Conaire Red Hand!' It was Gwenhwyvar in full cry. 'It is a wicked thing you are doing. Stop it! You disgrace yourself and I will not hear it.'

  Fergus joined his daughter. 'If not for Arthur, the enemy would have overwhelmed us before now. The Britons have faced barbarians before. I say we listen to them.' He turned to Arthur. 'Tell us what you would have us do.'

  I believe Conaire felt some relief at having the decision taken from him. In his heart, he was secretly grateful to Arthur for his superior battle cunning. But, lest his bards and lords account this a weakness, he felt he must rant against Arthur. Thus, it was all bluff and bluster, and there was no real wrath in it.

  Arthur did not wait to be asked again. 'I say we move against them at once. We must not allow them to establish themselves outside our walls, or we will be trapped inside.'

  Conaire drew himself up. 'That is just what I was going to suggest myself. It is good to see that the British battlechief agrees with me.' He turned to his lords. 'We will assemble as before. Those of you who followed Arthur last night will do so again. The rest will follow me.'

  He turned back, and regarded us with an imperious gaze. 'When you are ready, Britons,' he said, as if we were recalcitrant children. 'The enemy awaits.'

  Gwenhwyvar regarded him with an angry stare. 'That swaggering butt of a man,' she said. 'Does he think he is Emperor of Rome to treat us this way?' She turned to her husband. 'We should leave him to the Vandali.'

  'Truly,' replied Arthur, watching as the Irish lords noisily left the hall. When they had gone, we followed.

  Out in the yard, the stablers and boys were saddling the horses, and warriors strapped on armour and swords while their kinsmen scurried about on desperate errands. Gwenhwyvar went to fetch her arms and ready herself for battle. Arthur stood at the door of the hall and looked on the tumult for a moment, then said, 'If we live to see the end of this day, Myrddin, I swear upon my sword that I will yet teach these Irish some order.'

  The turmoil quickly abated, however, and we were soon ready. All that remained was for Llenlleawg to return with word of the strength and position of the enemy forces. We waited, growing anxious and apprehensive. 'Something has happened to him,' Cai grumbled, jabbing the end of his spear into the dirt.

  'Not Llenlleawg,' Bedwyr replied. 'He is too slippery an eel to fall foul of any barbarian net.'

  Still we waited. Cai was for going after Llenlleawg to discover for himself what had happened. Arthur advised against it. 'He knows the hiding places in the land. He will return when he can.'

  'Oh, aye,' Cai agreed. 'Aye. I know. But I would feel better for knowing the enemy's strength and position.'

  'So would I, Cai,' Bedwyr said, 'and trust Llencelyn to bring us word in time.'

  Cai laughed aloud at Bedwyr's epithet, and Arthur chuckled.

  'Llencelyn?' I asked. 'Why do you call him that?' It was a play on the Irish champion's name with the word for storm. I saw the humour, but was curious to hear Bedwyr's reason, for it meant they had begun to admit the Irishman into the intimate fellowship enjoyed by Arthur's Cymbrogi.

  'You have seen him, Emrys. We all know he fights like a whirlwind.'

  'Indeed,' Cai concurred, 'he is a very tempest.'

  Gwenhwyvar joined us then, all gleaming points and keen edges. Her mail shirt shimmered like a wet skin, and the spike of her spear blade shone. She wore a kilt of leather and high leather boots. Her hair was gathered and bound tight at her neck; and, like the warrior queens of her people, she had daubed her face and arms with bright blue woad: spirals, stripes, sunbursts and serpents. She appeared fierce and beautiful, almost lethally dangerous to behold.

  I had never seen her so, and remarked at my surprise in her transformation. She took my astonishment for flattery. 'You have never seen me lead a warband against an invader,' she replied. 'But you are fortunate indeed, Myrddin Emrys, for this woeful lack is soon redressed.'

  'Lady,' Bedwyr said, 'I reckon myself fortunate that I do not have to lift blade against you, and I can but pity the luckless wretches who do."

  Arthur, deriving great pleasure from his wife's appearance, grinned and put his hand to her chin. He took a dab of woad onto his finger and applied it to his own face: two slashes high on his cheeks beneath each eye.

  'Allow me,' said Gwenhwyvar, taking some of the paint from her arm. She put her fingertips to his forehead and drew two vertical lines down the centre of his brow. In a stroke, the Bear of Britain became a Celt like the warrior kings of old who first faced the Roman Eagles across the ditch.

  'How do I look?' he asked.

  Cai and Bedwyr were as taken with the transformation as I was, and acclaimed it by demanding marks of their own. 'I will have woad-paint made for all of us,' Gwenhwyvar told them as she dabbed their faces. 'From now on we will greet the enemy with the blue.'

  A shout came from the platform above the gate. 'A rider approaches!'

  'Llenlleawg returns,' Arthur said, starting towards the gate as the gatemen hastened to admit the rider. The sound of hooves reached us, and a moment later, Llenlleawg pounded through the gap and into the yard. He slid from the back of his mount and, ignoring Conaire and the Irish chieftains who called out to him, strode instead directly to Arthur.

  'They want to talk to you,' Llenlleawg told him.

  'Do they indeed?' wondered Arthur. 'When and where?'

  'On the plain,' Llenlleawg answered. 'Now.'

  'How many have come?' asked Bedwyr.

  'A thousand and two hundreds at least, maybe more.' While the others strove to take this in, he added, 'I think they have all come ashore now.'

  'God save us,' Bedwyr muttered under his breath. 'Twelve hundred to our three.'

  'Treachery for certain,' Cai declared.

  Conaire arrived, angry at being made to run to Arthur for word of what Llenlleawg had discovered. 'Am I to beg for every scrap from your table?' he demanded. 'Will someone yet tell me what is happening here?'

  'They want to talk to us,' replied Arthur simply.

  'By all means,' spat Conaire, 'let us talk to them. Our spears will be tongues, and our swords teeth. We will give them such a splendid conversation.'

  'They say that if we do not talk to them,' Llenlleawg continued, 'they will rub us out and burn
everything. Then they will strew the ashes in the sea, so that nothing will remain.'

  'If this is how they parley, then we are speaking to the wind,' Cai replied.

  'Who told you this?' I asked Llenlleawg. 'How did you come by this message?'

  The lean Irishman's face fell and he blushed with shame. He drew a deep breath and confessed: 'I was taken prisoner, Emrys.'

  'How could this happen?' wondered Fergus.

  'I alone am to blame. I saw the foemen assembled on the plain, and thought to ride close.' He paused. 'I rode into a band of enemy chieftains scouting ahead of the host. They were in the wood and I did not see them until it was too late.'

  'Why did you not fight them, man?' demanded Fergus.

  'I would have welcomed such a fight!' declared Conaire.

  'Let him speak!' shouted Arthur, growing annoyed.

  'They surrounded me,' Llenlleawg said, 'and before I could draw sword one of them began shouting to me in our own tongue. He begged me to save my own life and that of my kinsmen by taking word back to our lords.'

  'You did well,' Arthur told him. 'Let us hope it is the saving of many lives.'

  'It is a coward's ruse,' Conaire announced. 'They can have nothing to say that we care to hear.'

  'No doubt,' allowed Arthur judiciously. 'Still, we will listen all the same.'

  'Listen? Let them listen! I mean to give them words of my own to chew on,' boasted Conaire. He was becoming exasperated at finding himself pushed aside by this turn of events.

  'They want to speak to Arthur alone,' Llenlleawg told him. 'They said they would only speak to the king who ordered the night raid.'

  Fergus shook his head. 'It is surely a trick,' he warned. 'Revenge for last night's attack.'

  Cai agreed. 'Hear him, Artos. Fergus may be right. We cannot allow you to meet them alone.'

  Arthur made up his mind at once. 'Very well. We will go out to them together,' he said, 'then Myrddin and I will advance to speak to them.'

  We mounted with the war host and rode to the wide grassy plain south of the stronghold where, as Llenlleawg had said, the Vandal horde waited. The ground sloped slightly away towards the west, rough and uneven with hillocks of turf and rocks. A ragged little stream meandered through the centre of the plain, dividing it from north to south. We rode to the head of the plain and halted to overlook the battleground.