They were waiting, but they were not bored. Below the surface, tension permeated the camp, like the constant humming of bees in summer, something a man only noticed when he first became aware of it but which soon was no more than part of the environment.
Ten days after the Saxon longboats were sighted, Drystan was riding up Caer Baddon after taking messages between the other camps on the neighboring hills. The Saxons were nearing Aquae Sulis. Dusk was falling, a sharp wind from the west grew sharper the higher he climbed, and suddenly an eagle flew out of the dark corner of the sky to his right, crying out in a shrill voice that sent a shiver down his spine.
He stopped, and time stood still.
The signal fire on Banner Hill leapt to brilliant life.
Drystan dug his heels into the flanks of his mare and charged towards the earthen ramparts on the flat top of the hill-fort.
The camp was a flurry of activity at the signal, the soldiers gathering in the area empty of tents on the southern edge that Arthur used for mustering the troops. By the time Drystan arrived, beacon fires were burning brightly on all the hills surrounding Aquae Sulis.
As Drystan dismounted just inside the ramparts, Arthur strode into the midst of the waiting warriors. The Dux got up on one of the stumps they used in place of chairs, and the milling men grew still.
Arthur looked around at his audience in the growing twilight. "As you all know, the beacon from the east means that Cerdic's troops have been sighted and are advancing on Aquae Sulis. I do not yet know how close they are or whether they are already deployed; we must wait for the messenger from Banner Hill for that."
Cador brought a torch from somewhere and took up position next to Arthur. "Thank you, Cousin," Arthur said and turned back to his men. "It is doubtful Cerdic's army will try to sneak past our defenses under cover of night — they are too many not to be detected. But in case they do try, we must increase the men at the guard posts. I would like the commanding officers to report to me. That is all. Sleep, for tomorrow we will most likely fight."
When the impromptu gathering broke up, Drystan brought his mount to the pen near the entrance of the earthworks and rubbed her down. There would be time to wash up before joining Arthur and the others in the main tent. The leaders from the other defensive positions would need some time to get to Caer Baddon to discuss their strategy, after all.
When he arrived in Arthur's tent, it was fuller than Drystan had ever seen it.
"Our position is the only advantage we have," Arthur was saying as Drystan pulled aside the tent flap and entered. Arthur looked up briefly with a nod of greeting and continued, bent over the wooden table in front of him, a piece of charcoal in his hand. Drystan crowded in between Aircol and Gormant to see what Arthur was drawing on the table.
"They are nearly four thousand now, and we are two," Arthur continued. "Cerdic's forces have been estimated at one thousand, and here on Caer Baddon and Banner Hill we have six centuries." He marked the position of the two hill-forts with "x"s above the squiggly line representing the Abona River. "We must get them to attack us. That is where Owain comes in."
Arthur looked up and pointed to his nephew with the charcoal. Then he drew an arrow from the Cunetio road to a spot north of the big loop in the river. At this point, he drew a rapid series of small "x"s. "We will deploy most of our men just north of the bend in the Abona River and west of Banner Hill. But another hundred and fifty horse led by Owain will be hidden behind the ramparts and will only join the battle when Cerdic's forces are directly beneath them." Here he drew another arrow down from the "x" marking Banner Hill to the arrow representing Cerdic.
"Meanwhile, another two centuries led by Gawain —" Arthur glanced up again briefly and nodded to Gawain and Gaheris. "—will ford the river farther south and attack Cerdic's troops from behind." He drew another arrow from the area within the bend of the river and across it to the west, then curling up to meet with the Roman road where Cerdic had halted his advance for the night. "If this works as planned, we will have them trapped on all sides — the forces I will be leading to the northwest, Owain's to the north, the river to the south-west, and Gawain to the southeast."
"Only Gawain?" Gaheris asked.
"Yes. I want you to take the rest of the troops under your command and guard the bridge and the city from the north and west. It is protected by the river to the south and the east."
"What of the troops led by myself and Pasgen?" Manawyd asked.
Arthur shook his head. "We cannot pull everyone for the battle against Cerdic. There are perhaps three thousand Saxons in the valley to the west, and I fear they will attack as soon as Cerdic does."
"And they may be trying to draw us out by making Cerdic appear the more immediate danger," Bedwyr said.
"Precisely." Arthur laid his charcoal down and wiped his hands on his breeches. "Now, I suggest the rest of you join your men and get as much sleep as you can. We will need to move at first light."
Unfortunately, Drystan couldn't take Arthur's advice. He tried to rest as much as possible, but sleep eluded him. The gentle snoring of Kurvenal and Cador were background to the thoughts that wouldn't leave him alone as he lay on his pallet and stared at the roof of the tent, a strange, unsyncopated rhythm, interrupted by hiccoughs and turns and grunts.
Tomorrow was his birthday.
It wasn't that he felt sorry for himself for going to battle when he might be celebrating. It had more to do with knowing that many of the men who slept on this flat hilltop would die tomorrow, on the anniversary of his birth. It could be Kurvenal, it could be Cador; it could be him. It seemed as if he had given up so many lives already, given up and left behind and lost, and he was not yet twenty-four years old. There had been no time to feel this philosophical and maudlin on the mad dash to Glevum — everything had gone too fast for thought. But now the enemy was waiting not far away in the valley below.
And he was left to lie here with his hands laced behind his head, wondering if he would ever see Yseult again, ever again hold the little boy he couldn't acknowledge.
Chapter 26
After this, sometimes our countrymen, sometimes the enemy, won the field, to the end that our Lord might in this land try after his accustomed manner these his Israelites, whether they loved him or not, until the year of the siege of Mount Badon, when took place also the last almost, though not the least slaughter of our cruel foes, which was (as I am sure) forty-four years and one month after the landing of the Saxons, and also the time of my own nativity.
St. Gildas, De Excidio Britanniae (Sixth Century)
The horns sounded before the sun had risen and the sky was barely beginning to change color to the east. Drystan was dressed and out of the tent before Cador and Kurvenal had finished rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. All around him, men were preparing for battle, breaking their fast, checking their weapons, leading their horses to the open area next to the gate, saying a few words to whichever god they prayed to. Soon, the whole company was gathered, and they made their way down the side of the hill, silent.
Arthur's three hundred were all mounted, but at the bend of the Abona, they were joined by fifty more horse from Banner Hill and a hundred unmounted archers. The air smelled clean and fresh, of a late spring morning in May, the sky was clear, and a hint of mist from the morning dew lay in patches above the bright green grass. Somehow it seemed unfair that a battle was to be fought on such a beautiful day.
Cerdic was deploying his Saxon and British troops to the southeast where the Roman road came down almost to the level of the river. Just as Arthur had predicted.
The rest, however, did not go as Arthur had predicted. Both armies took up the positions they thought most advantageous —and nothing happened.
Cerdic was not playing along.
"Why do they not advance?" Cai railed after they had been waiting for Cerdic's attack for over an hour.
Arthur gave a wry smile. "He was the Count of the Saxon Shore, remember. He has fought with us and kno
ws the tricks we play when outnumbered."
The two armies were within sight of each other, and as the morning advanced, each tried in their own way to demoralize the other. They were too far away for shouting insults, but Cerdic's forces laid down their weapons and began to play games, holding races and sword fights, and the air was filled with incongruous laughter. Arthur's men turned their backs and sat down on the grass. Although there were no comments yelled about the mothers of those several hundred paces away, Drystan was reminded of the traditional insults the Erainn hurled at each other before a fight.
Arthur was not happy with the delay, but he was not yet ready to advance and give up his advantageous position. A messenger was sent south along the river to intercept Gawain's forces before they could make their presence known; if they arrived before the enemy was engaged, it would ruin Arthur's strategy of surprise.
The rest of the morning, the soldiers lounged in the mild May sun, exchanged an occasional word with their compatriots, or gathered around those who happened to have dice in the pouches at their waists. Drystan found the wait interminable, and he suspected many others did too. He was almost grateful when a messenger hurried through the crowd of waiting soldiers to Arthur's side, although he suspected the news would not be good.
The messenger dismounted and knelt in front of Arthur as if he were king. "Dux, the Saxons under Octha and Aesc have attacked Pasgen's troops to the west of Aquae Sulis," he said, trying to catch his breath between words. "Manawyd has forded the river to assist him, but they are many."
"Rise." Arthur turned to his commanding officers, who had hurried over when the messenger arrived. "The Saxons are forcing our hand: we can no longer just sit idly and wait for Cerdic to make a move. We must attack."
He turned back to the messenger. "I have another task for you. Find Gawain and tell him to advance, but farther east than planned."
The messenger nodded and remounted, turning his gelding to the south. The soldiers made room for him to pass.
Arthur addressed his officers. "We will try to provoke them one last time. We will move forward, but only to bowshot range, the archers in the front line."
Cai was nodding. "Yes. If enough arrows find their mark, Cerdic may finally attack."
Bedwyr grinned. "Or if he does not, the Saxons will."
Arthur mounted his mare Llamrei. "Men!" he called out. Almost five hundred pairs of eyes were trained on him. Dicing and gossiping stopped, and quiet settled around them, a tense quiet, with a palpable frisson of anticipation: the waiting was over. Drystan let out a sigh, and could hear several men near him do the same. He and Kurvenal exchanged a look and then turned their attention to Arthur.
"The Saxons are moving on Aquae Sulis to the west," Arthur called out. "We must deal with Cerdic and his traitors so that we can go to their aid."
Feeling the fear and anticipation around her, Llamrei had begun to dance, and Arthur quieted her. "I have sent to Gawain to attack further east. We will advance until we are nearly within range for our archers. A detail of mounted warriors will dismount and form a shield wall to protect the archers. Cador, I want you and your troops to build the shield wall."
Cador nodded shortly and Arthur turned back to the rest of them. "It is my hope that at this provocation, the Saxons will begin to attack. The archers are to continue to shoot until the enemy is about two hundred and fifty paces distant. When I give the call, archers and their shields will move together in groups of six to allow the cavalry through — organize it, Cador."
Cador nodded again.
Arthur pulled his mare around and came close to where they stood, looking directly at Drystan. "Bedwyr and Cai and I will lead the center charge in the gaps between our archers. Drystan, I want you and your men on the left flank."
The Dux Bellorum turned again and found Aircol in the crowd; Drystan was amazed at how he always seemed to know where his men were at any given time. Perhaps it had something to do with his genius as a general, his immediate understanding and memory of location details.
"Aircol, you will bring your men through on the right flank."
Aircol saluted, and his eyes met Drystan's. He saluted again, grinning, and Drystan returned the gesture; he hoped he would see the Demetian again after this day.
Everything arranged, they began to advance along the old Roman road. At their approach, Cerdic's army seemed to move as one, abandoning their late breakfasts and their games, standing to face them, those with horses mounting. But still they held their position, remaining where the valley widened.
It was not yet enough provocation.
When the archers were within range, Arthur called a halt.
"Shield up!"
Cador's men dismounted, sending their horses behind the lines. Then they knelt shoulder to shoulder, bringing their shields up to form a wall for the protection of the archers nocking their arrows.
Drystan saw shields go up down the valley as well, as if the Saxons too were obeying Arthur's orders.
"Draw and aim!"
In front of Drystan and his mounted troops, the row of archers pulled their arms back above the shields of Cador's men.
"Fire when ready!"
A cloud of arrows shot into the morning sky, singing, and Drystan watched their flight from behind the front line. Somehow, against the bright blue of the May sky, they looked much slower than they must be. One hundred arrows, flying up together, creating dark line above and a mottled shadow on the green spring grass of the valley. It was like a dance, so many at once, the moves choreographed, arching darkness against azure, rising high and falling.
And then the screams.
The enemy raised their shields when the arrows were let loose, but a number found their mark. Cerdic's army still did not break rank. Arthur's archers continued to shoot, and the front line to the east began to show confusion. Drystan saw several horses fall, their screams mixing with the cries of the men. Archers of Cerdic's Saxon-British army hurried forward from the flanks, trying to respond to the long-distance attack in kind, but before they could take position, a roar of rage came from hundreds of throats, and a horde of unmounted and mounted men began to race down the valley towards them.
The archers held their position and continued to shoot as Arthur had instructed them. After two more volleys, which sent a number of Saxons and British traitors to their knees, Arthur's voice rang out above the sounds of battle.
"Archers regroup! Cavalry charge!"
Ahead of them, gaps opened between the archers and the dense wall of shields. Drystan brought his contingent forward and raised his lance high.
"Britannia patria!"
His call was echoed all along the line, and the mounted warriors put their heels into their horses' sides and plunged forward to meet the enemy. The last volley of the archers at closer range had been much more effective than the shots they had sent high, which had been little more than an irritating plague like a swarm of bees. Shooting into the advancing army, they had been able to pick off horses and warriors with more precision, slowing the charge.
Drystan rode knee to knee with Kurvenal, the late morning sun on his shoulders, the sound of the galloping horses and the battle cries of both armies in his ears. On his other side rode Ruan, who had been with him now since Portus Adurni — when Cerdic had been fighting with them rather than against them.
Back then, Drystan had thought Cerdic a good man, despite his wealth of residences.
The armies slammed into each other with a force that unhorsed many men on impact. Neighing and screams filled the air, along with the clash of steel and wood and bone. Drystan narrowly avoided ploughing into a fallen horse struggling to get back up, and batted away the sword of an unmounted Saxon warrior with his lance. Before the man could attack again, Drystan plunged his lance into the unprotected spot between shoulder and helm. The enemy warrior gave a gurgling cry and crumpled beneath the hooves of Drystan's mount. He yanked the tip of the lance out and turned to his next opponent.
A huge cry as from one voice arose from Banner Hill to the north. Owain's forces were a little behind them, their position not as ideal as Arthur had planned. But as they came hurtling down the hill, they provided enough distraction to give Arthur's troops an advantage. On the left flank that Drystan commanded, a number of Cerdic's warriors turned their attention to the new threat. Drystan forced his mare farther into the melee and thrust his lance into a back of boiled leather. The metal tip striking bone sent a jar all up his arm.
"Drys!"
Kurvenal's cry saved him. He whirled his mount around just in time to swing his lance towards a mounted warrior bearing down on him. He caught the enemy on the side of the head, and the man fell, blood streaming down his face, but the wooden shaft of Drystan's lance cracked at the impact.
He drew his sword, and the slaughter continued.
The sun crept across the sky, and between thrusts and parries, Drystan found himself wondering when Gawain's forces would arrive. The battle on the left flank was moving from the Roman road and the valley up the hillside as the combined Saxon and British warriors of Cerdic's army beat back the cavalry under Owain's command.
Driving a wedge between him and Owain.
But perhaps they would be able to use that to their own advantage. In front of him, the enemy lines were thinning, and Drystan thought he saw an opportunity to cut off Cerdic's right flank. He whirled his mare around to face the men under his command. "If we can fight through to the Roman road, we can surround Cerdic's right flank!" he called out above the sounds of the battle. "Forward! Britannia patria!"
They spearheaded the straggling line below Banner Hill, and the thunder of shield meeting shield and sword meeting battle ax, the screams of injured men and horses, grew even louder. To his left, he saw Ruan's mount fall, but he had no time for grief or worry.
Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur Page 40
