'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.
FOUR
Arthur intended to halt the enemy's advance – which our attack accomplished admirably well. One look at the flying hooves and levelled spears hurtling towards them and the Vandali fled.
Pressed between the valley's steep sides, the invading host shrank from the impact. The mass shuddered, surged, and began to move away, effectively trapping the main body of warriors in the rear and keeping them from ever reaching the fight. We did not even unsheathe our swords.
Having so easily succeeded in his aim, Arthur commanded Rhys to signal the lords to break off the charge. This brought cries of outrage from the British kings.
'Why have you called us back?' demanded Gerontius, flinging himself from the saddle. Brastias and Ogryvan galloped to where Arthur, Gwenhwyvar, Bedwyr and I stood together. 'We could have defeated them once and for all!'
'Look!' shouted Brastias, gesturing wildly in the direction of the fast-retreating horde. 'We can catch them still. It is not too late. Resume the attack.'
Meurig joined the group then; Ulfias and Owain were not far behind. Llenlleawg and Cai sat their horses, looking on.
'What has happened?' demanded Owain. 'Why have we broken off the attack?"
'Well you might ask!' cried Brastias. 'Let Arthur explain if he can. It makes no sense to me.'
Owain and Meurig looked to Arthur, who replied, 'This day's fighting is done.'
'Madness,' spat Gerontius.
'Madness?' challenged Bedwyr, his temper flaring instantly.
'We had victory in our grasp and threw it away,' answered Gerontius hotly. 'I call that madness, by God!'
'They were women and children!' Bedwyr replied, his face growing red. 'Oh, a very great victory to slaughter sheep and babes in arms. By all means, trample down the defenceless and count it a triumph!'
'Aghh!' growled Gerontius in frustrated rage. He opened his mouth to renew his protest, but Cai restrained him.
'Enough, Gerontius. Say no more,' advised Cai, 'that way you will have less to regret.'
Brastias put a hand to his friend's arm and made to turn him away, but Gerontius shook off the hand and stabbed his finger in Arthur's face. 'We might have settled it today but for your damnable caution. I am beginning to wonder if it is not cowardice instead.'
'If you value your tongue, stop it flapping,' warned Bedwyr, stepping towards him.
Gerontius glared at Bedwyr, then at Arthur, and stormed off. Brastias went after him, calling him back to make his objections known before all. Though the others said nothing, I could tell they also faulted Arthur's decision. They had supposed an easy victory and saw it snatched away. After an awkward silence, they slowly dispersed, frustrated that the first battle fought on British soil should be cut off without at least punishing the invader for his audacity.
'It was the right thing to do, Bear,' offered Bedwyr, hoping to soothe. Instead, he produced the opposite effect.
'Little you know me, brother, if you imagine I care what a fool like Gerontius thinks,' Arthur replied hotly. 'Or that his words will sway me.' He turned on his heel and ordered Llenlleawg to lead the Dragon Flight in making certain the retreat continued.
When they had gone, Gwenhwyvar and I sat down with Arthur. 'Do they truly believe this war will be won in a day? Or that a single battle will decide it?' he asked, shaking his head. 'Have they fought at my side so long, yet even now can speak of cowardice?'
'It is nothing,' Gwenhwyvar told him. 'Less than nothing. Pay it no mind, my love.'
'They are not with me in this yet,' Arthur said. 'Is it not enough that I must fight Amilcar? Must I carry those faithless lords on my back as well?'
'Was it ever different?' I asked.
Arthur glanced at me, and then allowed himself a slow smile. 'No,' he admitted. 'In truth, nothing has changed. But I thought that taking the High Kingship might have granted me a whit of authority.'
'It only gi
ves them reason to fear you all the more,' Gwenhwyvar said.
'Why should they fear me? Is it Arthur invading their lands? Is it Arthur plundering their treasure and making widows of their women?'
'Let me go to Fergus and Conaire,' Gwenhwyvar urged. 'They will show their loyalty and shame the Britons.'
Arthur gently declined; he rose and said, 'Come, we must make certain the Vandali do not overcome their fright and turn back.'
Remounting our horses, we continued on down the valley, leading the warbands of Britain. The Dragon Flight were already far ahead, the dust from the hooves of their horses rising up to mingle with that of the fleeing enemy. I saw the white pall hanging over the valley and grew suddenly lightheaded.
I entered a waking dream.
It seemed as if I were lifted out of myself- as if my spirit took wings to glide above me. For I felt a rush of movement and looked down to see myself riding beside Arthur; Gwenhwyvar and Cador rode at his right hand, and behind us the warbands in three long columns: a Roman aid, though no one now alive, save me, had ever seen one.
And I recalled the day I gazed out from my Grandfather Elphin's hillfort into the dale to see Magnus Maximus, Dux Britanniarum, leading the Augusta Legion south. I did not know it then, but soon that great general would lead his army across the Narrow Sea to Gaul, never to return. He is remembered now as Macsen Wledig, and has become a fabulous figure: an illustrious British Emperor. But he was Roman through and through; and though he fought well to preserve us from the barbarians, he was no Briton.
How long ago was that? How many years have passed? Great Light, how long must I endure?
I lifted my head and soared higher. When I looked again, I saw the dark stain on the land, the cancer that was the Black Boar's invading host, flowing through the valley. There were so many of them. So very many! It was a migration, an entire civilization on the move.
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