Drystan and Kurvenal had barely gotten around to depositing their gear in their quarters in the city garrison when Arthur sought him out.
"Would you care to come along when we meet with Cerdic and Ambrosius, Cousin?" Arthur asked.
Drystan blinked, surprised. "Certainly, if you will have me." It was starting to become obvious to him that Arthur was grooming him for a leadership position among the companions. While he was flattered, he found it difficult to believe that he deserved such an honor.
Cerdic's townhouse was situated in the level southeast part of town, next to the garrison. From conversations overheard on the ride south and east, Drystan had learned that Cerdic's principal residence was a villa to the west on the road to Sarum, and he had an additional military stronghold, Caer Guinnet, to the south on the way to Portus Adurni. A wealth of residences. Although his position was military, as was Arthur's, he seemed to style himself a minor king. Guinnet was Ambrosius's base of power, which he ruled primarily from Sarum and Caer Emrys, but he had made Verulamium his main capital since being elected High King of the Britons. With the High Kingship, a governor for his own territory had become necessary, and he had instated Cerdic in Venta.
A handful of Arthur's most trusted companions waited for them in the courtyard of the garrison, and together they walked to Cerdic's townhouse. On the way, Drystan had the impression of a rich city, despite the fact that the quality of newer construction lagged far behind that of the older buildings. Before Rome left Britain to her own fate, Venta had been outgrowing its walls; there were a large number of houses outside the fortifications, Roman in construction but most now in disrepair. When they arrived, they'd stabled their mounts in a row of converted shops north of the town on the road to Calleva. Within the fortifications, on the other hand, buildings were springing up in every available space, streets nearly blocked by new dwellings built right on the cobblestones of the former roads, in the lee of old walls. Few people in this part of Britain cared to live outside of the protection of city walls anymore.
The wealth of Venta came from a textile mill in the eastern part of town near the river. Unlike other industries such as the creation of tiles and mosaics, which craftsmen seemed to have forgotten the way of since Rome no longer controlled civic administration, the mill in Venta still produced quality cloth, in demand throughout Britain and beyond.
Cerdic's residence was in surprisingly good repair —perhaps he had the services of last city masons trained in Roman building techniques. A servant met them at the door and led them into a room in the south wing of the house with a fine mosaic floor, where the Count of the Saxon Shore waited for them.
Cerdic was a large man with a wide smile, blond of hair and blue of eye, with a superficial resemblance to Cai. Drystan judged him to be a little older than Arthur. Drystan liked Cerdic on sight, despite the things his townhouse and his multiple residences might say about him.
High King Ambrosius was already there with his advisor Myrddin, as were two other men and a woman Drystan didn't know. Her hair was dark, but her eyes were the same unearthly light blue-gray as Yseult's, and he couldn't help staring. She felt his gaze on her and lifted her head to stare back. No feminine modesty, that one.
Introductions were made, and Drystan discovered she was Ambrosius's daughter Modrun, second wife of King Honorius of Gower. The other two he didn't know were Oneon, who ruled in Calleva, and his son Natanleod. Oneon was a huge man, similar to Murchad in stature.
Drystan tried to push such memories aside as they settled into the couches, and gazed down at the fine floor mosaic depicting the fall of Troy. When he raised his head again, his hands clenched at his side, he found Modrun looking at him. Something twisted in his gut, and he realized he was attracted to her — a woman at least ten years his senior, married, and nothing like Yseult?
She gave a slight shake of her head accompanied by a knowing smile, and Drystan realized that she was something like Yseult: this one had blood of the old ones, ways of knowing he hadn't been aware existed before his visit to Eriu, he was sure of it.
Cerdic was informing them of the situation at Portus Adurni, and Drystan pulled his attention back to the conversation.
"How many troops were stationed at Portus Adurni when Aelle attacked?" Ambrosius was asking now.
"Four centuries, under the command of Lucius Fulvianus."
Arthur shot up from his couch and faced Cerdic. "How could you leave Portus Adurni so defenseless?"
While he had to agree with the Dux Bellorum, Drystan was still surprised at his outburst — Arthur was usually very in control of his feelings, but stupidity made him wild.
Cerdic pursed his wide lips. "How am I to defend all of the southern coast with less than ten cohorts and only twenty ships, can you tell me that?"
"Less now, I take it," Myrddin said, the tone of his voice more mild than that of Arthur or Cerdic. "Or were there none in Portus Adurni?"
"Yes, three," Cerdic confirmed shortly.
"If you thought the men or supplies at your disposal insufficient, you should have applied to me," Ambrosius said, obviously trying to temper the effects of Arthur's reaction on another of his generals.
"It is too late to worry about that now," Oneon put in. "Instead of accusations, what we need is to keep the Saxons from getting a permanent foothold in Guinnet as well as Ceint."
Arthur's anger slipped away from him visibly — or perhaps Drystan had spent too long on the magic isle of Eriu and could now see people's thoughts? He doubted that, but perhaps he was more in tune to moods and their physical manifestations after those months of watching his own thoughts and emotions so closely.
Bedwyr couldn't resist a sarcastic comment. "As I recall, Ceint was given away, not lost."
"Which is not the case here," Ambrosius stated firmly. "Luckily, the traitor Vortigern is no more."
"Luck had nothing to do with it," Natanleod said, but before any of the rest of them could chime in with praises of the High King, Ambrosius waved the comments away. Much like Arthur would have done, Drystan thought. He had never known Uthyr, but from the tales he'd heard, he doubted Arthur showed much resemblance to his natural father.
"How many Saxons are besieging Portus Adurni?" Arthur had returned to his couch, and the tone of his voice was all business again.
"We don't know exactly," Cerdic said. "It was a night attack, and those who escaped to tell us can be no more specific than 'hordes.'"
"Why were they unable to send a signal?"
"We don't know that either."
"And your scouts have not been able to obtain any more detailed information?" Ambrosius asked.
"There are now six Saxon ships in the harbor, which would mean nearly six hundred men."
"All are besieging the port? None have advanced from the coast?"
Cerdic shook his head. "There has been no move on the part of the Saxons to attack any towns between here and Portus Adurni."
"Perhaps they only have enough men for this siege," Natanleod suggested.
Ambrosius rose and began to pace. "They could also be baiting a trap."
"Or waiting for reinforcements," Geraint added.
"We will have to besiege the besiegers," Arthur said.
"And what if their numbers are too great?" Cerdic asked.
Arthur paused for a moment, watching his foster-father walk back and forth in front of the couches where the rest of them sat. "Then we have to lure them away."
"How are we supposed to do that?"
"Attack and run."
There was a shocked silence among the assembled soldiers. A deliberate act of cowardice?
Modrun nodded. "An excellent idea, Arthur. Cerdic knows the area between Portus Adurni and Venta well and could head the main forces in the ambush. I assume you yourself would lead the false attack?"
Arthur grinned, an expression Drystan had never seen on his face before. "Once again, you have grasped the situation perfectly, Cousin."
Modrun acknowledged
the praise with a slight inclination of her dark head.
"But we would have to move quickly," Ambrosius said. "We can't give the Saxons time for reinforcements to arrive."
"How are we to convince them to chase us?" Drystan threw in. "If we merely show up beyond the city gates and turn tail, they will see through the ruse."
Arthur nodded. "That is why we will have to fight what must look like a hopeless battle."
* * * *
When they arrived at the fort, it was obvious that the siege had been successful and the Saxons were now in charge —behind the walls. And these were at least twenty feet high and thick, the bastions and walkways lined with Saxon defenders. Their plan would have to be modified.
"How did the Saxons take it?" Gwythyr muttered.
"By surprise," Arthur said, his voice matter-of-fact. "An advantage which we do not have. They have probably been expecting us for days."
"It certainly looks that way," Bedwyr contributed laconically.
It certainly did. Not only did Saxons march the walls, they had already reinforced the protective ditch outside, putting the doors of the fort well out of enemy reach.
"A battering ram will be useless," Cai said.
"But catapults will not," Arthur stated. "And the ships are nearly unprotected. They will be our first goal." He turned his mount around to face Drystan. "Cousin, I want you and Kurvenal to be responsible for the ships — I will need Geraint here."
Drystan nodded, gazing past the fort at the boats on the shore and in the harbor, making calculations. "There are only three Saxon ships on the beach — the rest must be on their way to Vectis for reinforcements."
Arthur's expression was grim. "Most likely."
"Will you send a messenger to the fort to offer terms?" Geraint asked.
Arthur shook his head. "They can see we're here, and they'll know what we want. I see no need for useless small talk. Today we make camp and set up the war machines. Before light, Drystan's seamen will storm the beach, while another contingent uses the catapults on the fort. Drystan and Kurvenal will take as many of the ships as they can and bring them to Noviomagus. Cerdic was complaining about lack of ships, and ships he shall have."
"And if all does not go well?" Kurvenal asked.
"Burn the ships. Perhaps that will make the Saxons more likely to follow us when we run, heh?"
* * * *
The night was mild with no moon. The fort was situated on a small arm of land extending into the bay. The Saxon longboats were pulled up onto the beach, while the three captured British ships — too large to be moored on land — were anchored out in the water.
The smell of sweat and sea filled his nostrils as Drystan led his men, three score strong, through dune grass and sand just hours before daylight. As they set out on their wide loop around Portus Adurni, a fighting troop under Geraint was preparing to attack the fort with catapults from the north, and bands under Arthur and Bedwyr were to take out the nearest watches.
When they were in position on the beach, Drystan called a halt. Now, they waited. Even standing motionless in the cold night air, Drystan felt more alive than he had in months, both scared and exhilarated, every sense heightened, his heart pumping, his face hot, his fingertips cold.
As soon as they heard the cries of alarm from Portus Adurni, they rushed for the Saxon ships.
Two guards were posted at each ship, but they were no match for Drystan and his men. They could not be taken out without a fight, however, and soon a band of Saxon warriors from the fort was headed their way.
"Tuthal, to me!" Drystan called out. "Kurvenal and Alun, take one of the Saxon boats with the men under your command and recapture our ships in the harbor, now!" He knew Kurvenal would be reluctant to leave him on the beach, but he also knew he would follow orders, and he trusted Kurvenal implicitly.
"Those Saxon dogs are ours," Drystan yelled above the sound of the waves, while the first spears flew over their heads, aimed at the troops pushing the Saxon ship into the water. "Ruan, left, Dadweir, right. Britannia patria!"
With a roar echoed by his men, they charged the barbarians, swords drawn. A battle frenzy came over Drystan, stronger than he had ever felt before. The few skirmishes he had participated in Armorica were little more than border disagreements, but even the attack on Ard Ladrann had not affected him as this fight against Saxon intruders did — here, on the land of his forefathers.
A blow glanced off the chain mail of his shirt, and he plunged his sword into the eye of his opponent.
The Saxon force was not strong enough to hinder them, but they left Dywel, Bradwen and Dadweir bleeding out their life into the sand next to the bodies of the enemy when they turned back to the two remaining ships on the beach.
"Kimin, torch the third ship and rejoin Arthur's forces!" Dadweir was supposed to have captained one of the British ships, and Drystan didn't know if any of the others would be capable of navigating it to Noviomagus without him.
He and the rest of his men pushed the longboat into the sea, splashing through the moonlit waves as quickly as they could. When the dark water hit their thighs, they scrambled into the rocking boat. Each of them took an oar and pushed farther out into the bay, desperate to get out of the range of arrows before Saxon reinforcements reached the shore. Drystan heaved a sigh of relief as the dark beach receded.
Before the sun reached the highest point in the sky, their Saxon and British ships sailed into the harbor serving Noviomagus. Two more longboats were already pulled up on the sand, and Kurvenal waited for them on the beach.
He came out into the water to help them pull the landing boat to shore, and when they were standing on dry land again, they embraced.
Together, they walked to the timber buildings south of the ruins of an old Roman villa. "I haven't been able to requisition horses yet," Kurvenal said. "The port here is only an outpost. The commander is in Noviomagus proper, a mile inland."
"Hopefully the commander also has food and a bed," Drystan said, rubbing his tired eyes.
* * * *
Tadius, the commander at Noviomagus, did have food and a bed, but he absolutely refused to provide enough mounts for all fifty-eight men.
"We only have eighty horses in our stables," he insisted. "What if we need to get troops somewhere fast?"
Drystan ran a hand through his hair. "Aelle has taken Portus Adurni and Arthur needs us in order to take it back. How many horses do you think you will need if you have the Saxons as neighbors?"
Tadius shook his head. "It is still too many. You would nearly clear out our stables. I can give you mounts for yourself and your leaders, as well as pack horses for whatever you are carrying so you can move faster, but I can afford no more."
Drystan sighed. He had to get to Caer Guinnet as soon as possible for Arthur's plan to work, but Tadius had a point — he could hardly take three-fourths of the garrison mounts. "Give me twenty men and rations for a two days' march, and I will be satisfied with pack horses and mounts for myself, Kurvenal, Alun, Tuthal and Ruan, plus ten more so that those on foot can switch off to speed up our progress."
Tadius pursed his lips, but Drystan knew it was a good offer. Twenty men and twenty mounts were much less than fifty-eight horses in garrison terms.
Unfortunately, it meant they had to march the nearly forty miles to Caer Guinnet. With enough mounts, they could have made it in one day, but on foot they could only make it in two in a forced march. At least they had the pack animals. Drystan could only hope everything had as gone as planned in Portus Adurni.
It was June, and the wild roses were blooming, announcing summer and the season for war: the time when men could move more quickly, with less danger to themselves and more danger to those they no longer wanted as neighbors. Drystan breathed in the scent of the summer wildflowers, realizing that he had forgotten to be miserable for over a week now: too bone-weary from the travel, too caught up in problems bigger than his own to worry about his broken heart. It was there, he still felt it, bu
t the ache was duller, not as immediate.
Except for when he thought about it — like now.
With the pack animals carrying their rations and equipment, they made good time. On the afternoon of the second day of their march, they were coming up the rise of a hill in the south downs when they caught sounds of battle. Drystan spurred his mare forward, followed by the others who were mounted. When they reached the summit, they were greeted by the sight of a horde of Saxons, harrying retreating forces perhaps half their size flying the pennant of Ambrosius's red dragon.
"Damn," Drystan muttered, calming his excited mount.
"There are so many more than we expected," Ruan said.
Kurvenal drew up next to them. "Earlier than we expected too. Perhaps Hengist came to their aid."
Drystan shook his head. "This quickly from Ceint? No, they probably had reinforcements from the island of Vectis, as we feared."
They sat their horses on the crest of the hill, silent for a moment until the unmounted soldiers caught up with them. Drystan shaded his eyes against the afternoon sun and examined the situation more closely. While Arthur's forces appeared to be outnumbered at least two to one, the situation wasn't as bad as it at first appeared. The British troops were moving north at a steady clip; the sounds of battle had come from a small skirmish between some of Arthur's mounted companions and the vanguard of the Saxon troops, hopefully meant to lure the Saxons on, tease them forward to the site of a waiting ambush, as they had planned.
Nonetheless, they had to make haste to join their compatriots.
"You all see what the situation is to the north," Drystan said to his men. "We need to pick up the pace to rejoin Arthur's troops. Lucius, Esgeir, I want you to take over the pack animals and follow behind. We can't have our speed determined by mules."
Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur Page 23
