The day before the battle we camped near the edge of the plain of Sorviodunum, in a forest by a river called the Bassas. In mid-morning the following day the Saxons arrived, and we were waiting for them.
Arthur had, as always, planned carefully. The road followed a curve beneath the slope of a hill to its south, and he posted the cavalry along this hill, hidden in the woods which covered it. He set the infantry of the Family, with the warbands of Constantius and Eoghan, in the center, just around the curve on the road itself; and dispersed the less skilled armies through the wood on the flanks. The Saxon forces, if all went well, would march around the curve into the foot forces, which should break their shield-wall; after which, on a signal, the cavalry would charge through the Dumnonian lines to cut the Saxons off and to disrupt them.
I waited with the cavalry, beside Bedwyr and Taliesin. Agravain was fighting with the foot, near Arthur, in the manner he still preferred. The morning sun was hot, and we had already thrown off our cloaks and tied them over our saddles, and the sunlight filtered through the trees to glitter off the metal of arms and armor. In the camp behind us the camp-followers were preparing for the battle in their own way, filling buckets with water and readying wagons: we could hear the called orders and the creak of yokes and wheels. We were very happy, oddly tense and relaxed at the same time, and we laughed and joked a great deal while we waited for the Saxons to arrive. I felt very light-headed, and for a time wondered if I would disgrace myself by fainting, and wondered if the heat had anything to do with it. But I did not feel so much faint as full of an exultation which mounted as the distant shadow on the road, the Saxon host, drew nearer. I looked up at the blue sky and wanted to sing. I loved the sky, the warm-smelling earth, the sunlight through the trees: all the sensations which seemed sharper and clearer than they ever had before. I loved my comrades, Bedwyr, Taliesin, and all the others, and I even loved the Saxons as well. I wondered how many of those beside me would die, and if I would be among them. Life was very sweet.
The Saxons marched up the road in good order, in a wide column which overflowed on to the verges, and the sun shone on their spears and helmets. Their scouting had been poor, for they were in a hurry to catch Arthur, and they did not know that we were waiting. They crossed the river; and then it seemed that their vanguard must have heard something or received a message from an outrider, for they began to halt. The rear ranks ran into the vanguard, questioning, and Arthur and the center began to advance.
They saw them and, for an instant, there was silence; then the neat column twisted as the army tried to spread itself out to meet the threat, the leaders shouting orders which were relayed to the rear ranks, the common soldiers milling about trying to obey, trying to avoid panic and to form a shield-wall.
They had no chance to do so. The British army, which had approached slowly at first, swelled, like a wave before it breaks, gathering speed, the lines moving forward and suddenly charging, jogging along with their shields held high before them. There was a scream of war-cries down the line, the glittering of weapons being raised at once, and the air flashed with throwing spears, incongruous in the morning sun. It seemed unreal. The lines were closing; some Saxons were throwing spears back, sporadically, still trying to form a shield-wall, and then…
The lines hit, with a tremendous clash of weapons that made the air tremble. The British went through the front Saxon ranks in no time, and the Saxons were swept back, leaving a line of dead like the high tide line on a beach. The odds, which had been against us, were being evened now. The shouting and screaming of the hosts were carried back to where we waited like the report of Yffern, and there was a robin singing in the trees nearby. Our line of cavalry edged forward a little down its length, longing for the battle. I felt still more dizzy. Ceincaled tossed his head, snorting.
“It will be a hard fight,” said Bedwyr contemplatively, standing in the saddle to have a good view down the valley, then dismounting again. “They are not as confused as they should be; see how the rear ranks still march forward past us. They have not panicked; we had hoped for that. And it is very hot.” He laughed, as though this were very funny, and we all joined him.
Arthur’s dragon standard waved in the center of the battle, and the High King was now visible beneath it as the British line advanced. We caught glimpses of him now and then, recognizing him by his purple cloak. I saw Agravain at one point, too, fighting a Saxon with a gold-crested helmet. My brother thrust the other through the throat with his spear, then lunged past, and I lost sight of him. The standards of Constantius and Eoghan waved, to the right and to the left of Arthur’s, but behind it. The Family fought better than the other warbands.
Now the Saxon rear ranks finally caught even with the leaders, and spread out into the wood, past us to the northwest. They engaged the armies of Dumnonia and Brycheiniog, under the trees. We could not see what was happening, but it seemed that the Saxons were unable to advance, for they did not re-emerge from the wood to encircle the center.
“It is going well!” said Bedwyr, intently watching. “We have them…no! Wait.”
I saw Cerdic, standing in a sudden stillness in the center, standing high, on top of something, so that everyone could see him. He was shouting. I could not hear what he shouted, but I saw the Saxon ranks solidifying around him, and then attacking with fresh purpose, moving sideways off the road.
Someone threw a spear at the Saxon king, but he jumped down again and vanished. The battle dissolved into chaos. I twisted my hands in Ceincaled’s mane, trying to see. The center was now near the edge of the wood on the other side of the road.
“No!” hissed Bedwyr. “We have lost them…no, we still have them…Oh Yffern! Why did Arthur have to fight with the foot today?” His horse danced nervously, and he caught the bridle more firmly. “We cannot attack now. It is far too confused, and the Saxons have their shield-wall formed. But the balance…”
Was swinging. Despite their losses, the Saxons were rallying, forming a strong shield-wall; and they had broken the momentum of the British charge. The forces had locked shields, the high tide line of bodies moved no further forward, but hung for what seemed an eternity, motionless. The British stumbled back a few feet, then pressed forward. The hosts swayed like a tree in the wind, like a huge panting animal struggling to give birth. It was hot, very hot. My leather armor was stifling, and in the center the heat must have been nearly unendurable. I felt even more dizzy as the pressure mounted within my skull. It is undecided, I thought, it may turn either way, and Light, let the victory be with us!
But then, just when it seemed that the outcome would become clear, I saw the south flank, the Dumnonians, whose line had been thinned by the Saxon move northward, begin to collapse. If they broke, and the Saxons came through, they could encircle the center and…I looked towards that center, where the dragon waved above the locked warriors. Arthur should be the one to signal us when to attack, but he was nearly in the forest now: could he see the danger on the flank?
The center jerked forward, suddenly and again I saw the High King. Behind him the standard wavered; Arthur turned, small with distance, and seized the standard as it fell, and swung his arm forward. The war-cry rose to us, and the Family was shouting its lord’s name. They thrust forward…
But the Saxon flank movement broke through the British line, and the British fell back, trying to lock shields again, were forced back, falling, and then the shield-wall was in pieces and the Saxons were coming through, the light making their helmets look like the heads of so many insects. I clutched my spear uselessly. We could not charge them; their line was three deep, and they could brace their thrusting spears against the ground and destroy any horsemen who managed to pass the hail of throwing spears they would throw at us. And yet, if the cavalry did not charge, the Saxons would encircle the now rapidly moving British center, destroy it, kill Arthur…
It was unthinkable. We all knew it. To attack against the shield-wall was almost certain death, but…We wil
l charge,” said Bedwyr quietly, voicing the thoughts of all of us. “Mount!” He vaulted onto his horse, drew up the reins and looped them about the cantle of the saddle; his shield was already strapped to his arm. “For Arthur!” he called, nearly screaming it, and spurred his horse forward into a gallop.
“For Arthur!” we answered as one, and followed.
The light-headedness that had been with me all the morning suddenly transformed itself into a fire in my mind, the same blinding inward illumination, more powerful than ever before. The sun of noon was high, Ceincaled’s pace flowed like music, and I felt light as air, as sunlight. I urged the horse on, no longer thinking of anything at all, past Bedwyr and out of the forest on to the Saxon lines.
They had had time enough to see us coming, and greeted us with spears. I loved them and hurled my own throwing spears in answer, instinctively concentrating on one place in the line and hoping to break it. The world was dissolving about me, leaving only a light and an ecstasy. I threw away my spear and drew Caledvwlch. The Saxons, holding their places, leaning back and bracing their thrusting spears, wavered suddenly as they saw it, their faces distinct, pale and vivid under their helmets now. I was on them, swerving Ceincaled from the tips of two spears and striking, hard and fierce; turning the horse along the lines and striking again. I was vaguely aware of shouts and of screaming, yet the action seemed soundless and detached. The Saxons moved so slowly, recoiling, hesitating, some turning; then the rest of the cavalry also was striking into them and they shattered. We were through their lines and turning back to destroy them. I think I was singing, the same song that burned in my skull. We had the victory within our hands.
The pattern of the rest of that day is lost to me in the fire.
The Saxon army was broken in two places, I was later told, and tried to retreat back the way it had come. But the cavalry had cut off the retreat by the road, over the bridge, and the retreat increasingly became a rout, a desperate run through the forest and across the river as the soldiers dropped their shields to run and most of their arms to swim. Cerdic managed to control his warband and some of his men and retreat in order, but by then most of the British forces had crossed the bridge, and the cavalry cut him off. He surrendered to Arthur late in the afternoon, while the British cavalry still pursued the remnants of the rest of the Saxon forces.
My own memories of the battle, as of most battles, are limited, blurred by too much light, sharp-edged fragments of passion and action. It only becomes clear to me again when, as evening was darkening the east, Bedwyr rode up beside me and caught Ceincaled’s bridle.
I knew that he had been somewhere near for most of the day, and that made me pause; but nonetheless I lifted my sword to strike. He caught my sword hand.
“Softly,” he whispered. “The battle is over, Gwalchmai.” I met his eyes, which were dark and calm, and my mind cleared a little. “Softly,” he repeated. I took a deep breath, lowered my sword, and he released my hand and watched me seriously. I looked about.
There were no Saxons in the immediate area, except for dead ones. I did not recognize the place; it seemed to be on the plain. A little to the west, behind Bedwyr, stood a group of Arthur’s cavalry, on horses whose heads drooped with weariness. They were looking at me with a kind of awe.
I shook my head, tried to sheath my sword and couldn’t fit it in the scabbard. “Where…” I began, and stopped. Exhaustion rolled over me in a great wave, and I caught Ceincaled’s mane to stay in the saddle. My side ached, and I felt drained, like a cleaning cloth with the water wrung out of it. Everything seemed dark, and looked different to what it had been only a few moments ago.
“We are some three miles north and east of where we were this morning,” Bedwyr answered my unfinished question, steadily. “And it has been hard fighting. Cerdic has surrendered, and tomorrow he will ask Arthur for terms for a peace, and that peace he will have to keep, for a year or two. We have succeeded. Now, let us go back to the camp and rest.”
It was dark by the time we reached the camp, but the place seethed with torchlight and activity. The dead and the wounded were being brought in from the battlefield by the servants and camp-followers of the army, the wounded being carried to physicians and the dead guarded from looters. Men and women hurried back and forth, bringing herbs and hot water to the doctors; carrying food, for men and for horses leading horses stumbling to the picket lines and carrying still forms on stretchers to the physicians or to the heap awaiting burial. For many the battle had only begun. I was glad that my part in it was finished and I could go to sleep. Even Ceincaled was tired, though he held his head high; and the horses of the others stumbled, blind with exhaustion.
As we entered the camp the workers—servants, slaves, mistresses and wives and relations of the fighters—looked up, then pointed to us. Someone cheered, and some others took it up. Ceincaled tossed his head and a spring came back into his step. Some of the other warriors drew in the reins and straightened, beginning to smile back. Some of the early lustre of victory surrounded us as we rode to the center of the camp, where the Family was and where we could give our horses to the grooms.
Agravain was in the central hub of the camp, seeing to some prisoners whom he abandoned when he saw me. He ran across, circling the great fire, and reached me as I reined in my horse. He caught my foot. He was unkempt and dirty, there was a smear of someone’s blood on his cheek, and his beard was bedraggled, but his eyes burned.
“By the sun and the wind and the sea, Gwalchmai!” he shouted in Irish, “I have never seen…if Father could have seen you, he would have given you half the Orcades for that charge. Yffern, he would give you all of them! By the sun, you fought like CuChulainn. I swear the oath of my people…”
He was drowned out by a crowd of warriors and servants who thronged about us, shouting congratulations and praise. It was too much for me. I had felt worn and bewildered before, and could only shake my head vaguely.
“I think I must indeed have fought like CuChulainn,” I said to Agravain finally. “He went mad in battle. And I…don’t remember…” Lugh’s blessing, I thought. Yes, this sweet madness was given also to his son, CuChulainn. Again I shook my head to clear it, wishing that all the people would go away. “But I am not a divine hero like CuChulainn, Agravain. I am tired. Can you make them be quiet?”
He let go of my foot, spun on the crowd, and snapped, “By Yffern, let him be now. Can’t you see that he is tired? There is time and plenty for praising tomorrow.”
The crowd did nothing. Agravain’s face darkened and he began to shout. Bedwyr edged his horse away from the crowd a little—they still followed him—and said to Agravain, softly but clearly, “Perhaps if you spoke British they would understand you.”
Agravain glared at him for a moment, then began to laugh. The other warriors began laughing as well, then the servants. The rest of the cavalry slid from their horses, and the crowd began to disperse, everyone embracing and congratulating everyone else.
I dismounted slowly from Ceincaled and caught his bridle. The horse nuzzled my shoulder, snorted in pride and content. I rubbed his sweaty neck, whispering some words of praise and gratitude; then a groom took the bridle from me and led the stallion off. I was about to follow, and care for the horse myself in my usual custom, but Agravain caught my arm and pulled me off to the tent we shared with Rhuawn and Gereint. I remembered what he had been doing and asked, “But your prisoners?”
“The servants will take care of them. I was really only waiting for you.”
My beautiful new spears were gone, and my shield, still strapped to my arm, was hacked so badly as to be useless. I dropped it on the floor and Agravain helped me off with my jerkin. I muttered thanks and collapsed on the sleeping pallet. In the few seconds before I fell asleep it struck me: I had done it. Somehow I, or the fire in my head, had become the hero of the battle and saved the Family. Oh my King, I said silently, you are generous to me beyond measure. The meadow grass under me smelled sweet, of sunligh
t and flowers under blue skies. Arthur would accept me. I had won.
Fourteen
I woke towards noon the following day. I would have slept longer, but I had a raging thirst. I lay still, aching all over, and trying to remember why I felt so glad in spite of this. After a little, the past day returned to me and I sat up abruptly, wondering if I could have dreamt it. But it was real, real. I sat there for a few minutes, wanting to sing and knowing no words to carry my joy. I think that that was one of the best moments of my life.
There was no one else in the tent. I rose, tried to straighten my clothes a little, and left to find some water. I noticed that I had a cut along my ribs, where a spear must have penetrated the jerkin. It did not seem to have bled much, and was a light wound for the kind of fighting I had been in for; I saw that my right arm was covered with blood. Still, I decided it would be best to have it cleaned. Even a small cut can be deadly if it takes the rot. First, though, a drink; and then I would have to see that Ceincaled was properly cared for. And find Agravain, of course. I had been glad of him the previous night and he deserved thanks and attention. Besides which, I admitted to myself, I wanted to hear what he had to say about my fighting.
I found a servant carrying a double yoke of buckets from the river, and asked him if I could have some water. He looked at me suspiciously.
“And who might you be? I was bringing this to the sick tents, where it is needed.”
“Oh,” I said. “In that case…”
He gave me another look, then smiled. “Ach, it is not that badly needed. You are a warrior, plainly, and if you are just now waking after the battle—I could give you some.”
Hawk of May (Down the Long Way 1) Page 25
