Hawk of May (Down the Long Way 1)

by Gillian Bradshaw

  We made camp by the river Wir, keeping it between ourselves and the Saxons, and Arthur called the Family together to tell us what we must do. He was silent for a while, looking at his warriors, lingeringly, and then he spoke calmly and quietly: “Tonight at midnight we will lift camp and attack the army of Fflamddwyn.”

  A murmur like wind in the trees swept the Family, then died down again. The prospect of death was always near us and could not make us afraid.

  Arthur smiled, very gently, very brightly. “We will go through them on horseback, if at all, so we will leave the cattle and the plunder behind. Fflamddwyn is camped upon the other side of the Dubhglas river, less than four hours’ easy riding. He will doubtless know that we are coming, but we still will have the advantage of the dark, and, it is to be hoped, a good amount of confusion. We will ride in a spearhead formation, the best of the cavalry first, the rest about the edges, and those who normally fight on foot and doctors and such in the center. If the point of our spear goes through we will escape, Aldwulf will lose many of his men and most of his credit, while we will be largely unharmed. If not…” again he looked at his warband. “I have no wish to point out that there is no escape, and give you examples and arguments to prove how bad your condition will be. If our spear breaks on their shield-wall, I trust you to kill before you are killed, and to make such a battle that it will be sung of by all Britain, and be a light to hold against the dark. You are my warriors, my hearts, I know that you will not surrender.”

  They did not even cheer; their stillness was an assent more total than any shouting. Arthur smiled again, a light in his eyes. The evening sun fell on him, on the river and its grassy banks, the forest behind, half-bare with autumn; on the ranks of men and horses with their harness and weapons dull with use, and everything was as quiet as a forest pool in the middle of a summer day. Everything seemed to be worked in gold, apart from the world, apart from time and war, one immortal, imperishable creation, and the dream was real. Then, one of our plundered cattle lowed, a horse nickered, bitten by a fly, and the spell was broken.

  “I will ride at the head of the Family,” Arthur continued briskly, “and with me, Bedwyr, Gereint, Cynan, Rhuawn, Maelwys, Llenlleawg, Sinnoch ap Seithfed, Llwydeu, Trachmyr, Gwyn ab Esni, Moren ab Iaen, Morfran ap Tegid, and…” his eyes fell on me and he paused, then continued in the same tone, “Gwalchmai ap Lot.”

  He went on, assigning the rest of the Family their places and giving orders for the breaking of camp and the disposal of the plunder, where to cross the river and where to meet if separated, but I did not really listen. He had given me an order to ride near him with his best men, the spear-point of the warband, the position of greatest danger. He was not a man to command this unless…

  I waited impatiently until the High King had finished, then hurried towards him. Most of the Family hung about, paying close attention. Nearly all of them had taken sides with either Agravain or Cei in the dispute about me, and everyone was interested in the outcome.

  Arthur had been turning towards the fire, where we would roast some of Aldwulf’s cattle for dinner, but he saw me coming and waited. His face was quite still, expressionless. I knew that look, and the beginning of my hope died again.

  “Lord,” I said quietly, “you commanded me to take a place beside you against the Saxons.”

  “I did,” said Arthur coldly. There was a moment of tense silence, and one of the warriors almost spoke, but decided not to. “If you wish, you can refuse. You are not my warrior.”

  I shook my head. “No, Lord Pendragon, I do not care to refuse.” Suddenly the bloody and exhausting summer, and all the bitterness of extinguished hopes rose in me at once, and I said, “You know that I will not refuse. You know that I will fight for you. Haven’t I shown you that a dozen times over? But I wish to know why.”

  “I recognize necessities,” answered Arthur. “If my Family is to live, we must break the shield-wall. You can kill from horseback very expertly, Gwalchmai of Orcade; and yes, I know that you will fight. So I use you, to aid my Family and Britain. I wish I did not have to.”

  “That is not what I meant,” I said, softly and quickly. “Why do you refuse my sword and use it at the same time?”

  “I have said that I do not wish to use it,” Arthur returned, the coldness growing sharper with anger. Agravain’s party among the Family stirred, muttering. The air was thick with tension. “Why have you stayed? Any king in Britain would be overjoyed to have you. Yet, you hang about me, unasked, with your killing and your sorceries and your mother’s curse and Darkness…”

  My hand was somehow on my sword. “You know nothing of that. Why do you insist on believing that I adore her? If I could work sorcery, Arthur Pendragon, I would not hang about you, plodding on and fighting and killing for you—for despite what you believe, I have no love for killing—but I would work such a work that all Britain would demand that you accept me. I swear the oath of my people, I hate witchcraft, more than you because I know more of it. Are you entirely in darkness?”

  “In God’s name, what do you want?” shouted Arthur. “What have you done since you came to me except kill and divide my Family? Indeed, you have won fame, riches, and honor for yourself—shall I make return to you for that? Do you wish me to accept these things as right, good, and noble? Do you think that I will accept this knowledge you speak of, the knowledge of Darkness?”

  “What do you know of my darkness?” I hurled at him.

  “What do you know of mine?” he demanded. “Too much, perhaps.” He drew himself straight, standing taller than me, and his eyes were so bitterly cold that it was more terrifying than any anger. “Now you have divided my Family so that I seem hardly able to heal it, and yet I must ask you to risk your life with me, in a place where no sorcery can help you if the shield-wall holds. Therefore…” he took a deep breath, and I saw with surprise that the sweat came on to his face as though he struggled with his soul within him, “if we break the shield-wall and live, I will accept your sword. That I swear, by the Light and as I hope for salvation. Be glad, son of Morgawse. You have won.”

  And he turned away and walked off, stepping with a quick light stride through the gathering dusk.

  For a while I stood, staring after him, even when he was gone. Agravain came up and caught my shoulder, but I shook him off. The other warriors, nearly as stunned as I, bewildered by the speed of the thing, hung about for a moment, then began to go slowly off to the fires, starting to talk.

  I stood silent, one hand still on my sword, then walked away from the camp to the river and sat by it, laying my spear in the grass. Autumn flowers bloomed raggedly by the stream, and the evening star was appearing, a soft gold light which the dark water reflected. The calmness of the world seemed to make a lie of the deadly speed of the battles of men, and of my own inner confusion. I rested my arms on my knees and stared at the current.

  Arthur would accept me if the shield-wall broke that night. It was what I wanted, wasn’t it? Again and again I asked myself that question, and always I answered myself, “Yes, but not like this. Not because he is honor-bound to do so.” But what, then? Perhaps I would die that night, and then I would not have to decide. But if that was not fated, if I lived, I would have to decide. And even if I should die, I wanted to meet my death with a clean heart.

  The waters in the last dark glow of twilight showed me my face, wavering on the current. A face like Morgawse’s. Always Morgawse. I thrust my fingers in the ground, tore up earth and hurled it to smash that reflection. The water shivered, but stilled again, and the picture returned.

  Not only Morgawse’s face now, I thought, but the face of a warrior. I studied the past months in my mind. Yes, beyond any question. No one would take me for a thrall, a bard, or a druid again. What I had become was written on me for all to read. A warrior, but of what warband, acknowledging what lord?

  It didn’t really matter. A warrior is a warrior, and all war is a sport, a game. All wars but Arthur’s and the Ligh
t’s.

  I turned my thoughts from the brooding over injury and the bitterness I had grown accustomed to, and looked at what had actually happened. And hadn’t it been fine, as Arthur had said, winning fame and honor and riches, taking gold and silk and fine weapons from the hands of kings who wanted my sword, drinking sweet mead and listening to the praises of poets. Yes, and riding into a town on Ceincaled with my mail-coat and weapons shining, red cloaks and gold jewelry, smiling back at the girls who waved at me. War is filled with too much splendor, too much gold and swift horses, scarlet and purple silks. It is beautiful, and one forgets what it is for. I had forgotten.

  I drew my sword. It had been given me for a purpose, and I had forgotten that purpose. It had been given me by a king, and I had ignored the king to whom I had sworn fealty. I tightened my hand about the hilt, feeling the way it fitted, like a part of me.

  I had divided the Family, Arthur had said. I gripped the sword with my other hand and held it up, pressing the cold steel against my forehead. Yes. All the arguments, the tension and anger, the breaking of friendships which I had tried to blame on weariness—all my fault.

  But it had filled a part of me that had been long empty, satisfied desires I had always had and never understood. I had wanted it. I still wanted it.

  Now, wouldn’t Morgawse be pleased with this, I told myself. Son of Morgawse, be glad. You have won. And now, Gwalchmai of Orcade, what will you do? Lugh warned you that you had not conquered your own Darkness, but you, thinking of it in its accustomed form, ignored him. Arthur will accept you because he is too honorable to do otherwise. Arthur. He had acted with some injustice at the first, but that was a small shadow on his brilliance. What did I know of his darkness, of the man within the king, of the forces that drove him, of his reasons? Suddenly I saw him as human, uncertain, and I knew that before I had not fought for him but for myself, done nothing to quell his suspicions and much to justify them. And now I did wish to fight, for him, and atone.

  Light, Lord, I said silently. My lord High King to whom my sword is first pledged, command me. The sword is yours, and the life you saved; you, more even than Arthur, are the one I serve and fight for; you are the one I will obey.

  I already knew the answer to the problem. I stood, slowly, and saluted the evening star with my sword, the decision made. The warm red light I had not seen for months lit again in Caledvwlch’s hilt, glowed brighter and more tenderly, lighting the darkness around me. I would fight for Arthur that night, and, God willing, break the shield-wall; then, if I lived, go to Urien of Rheged and request a place in his warband.

  I walked back to the fires for dinner.

  The meal was eaten quickly. No one was hungry, but everyone knew that they should eat; and moreover, the cattle were Aldwulf’s, and those we did not eat we turned loose and he might recover. After the meal we tried to sleep: a few may have succeeded, I did not. Just before midnight we rose and broke camp, leaving the plunder. I went to the picket lines and saddled and bridled Ceincaled.

  “This will be the last time,” I told him in Irish, as I swung up. “After this, mo chroidh, we go with Urien, if we live.”

  He pricked his ears and stamped, and I felt his eagerness and bright, swift pride more sharply than I had for the past months. I laughed under my breath, running my fingers through his mane. If we died, it was a good night for dying, and it would be a good death.

  I rode to the front of the band, near Arthur, and, when all the Family was ready, we left without a word spoken. We forded the river—it was not deep—and rode through the forest, north-west, spread out for easier riding. The Saxons were camped on the other side of the Dubhglas river, in land that was actually British. We rode towards them for some three hours, then tightened our formation a and rode carefully, making little sound.

  Aldwulf had watchmen posted, but had not needed them. His camp had been awake for at least an hour when we arrived, and was bright with torches tied to spears thrust into the ground. We had gone quietly and without lights so as to avoid giving any additional warning to the Saxons. Our eyes were accustomed to the dark, and the torchlight was bright enough to aim a spear by. Arthur drew rein briefly at the top of the slope that led down to the river, and pointed out to the “spear-point” the route we would take, speaking in an undertone. We all knew what would follow: we would gallop down the slope, through the trees into the torchlight and cross the river to attack the shield-wall which the Saxons would raise on the opposite bank.

  Arthur dropped his hand, spurring his horse to a gallop.

  We followed, in silence but for the pounding of the horses’ hooves and the jingle of harness. My head was light with a different madness and I was at peace.

  At first the Saxons did not realize what was happening. They expected us, but it was dark and they were sleepy, expecting some torches, some war-cry or warning. They heard the sound of hooves and started, picking up their spears and looking about in confusion. They could not see us for the darkness, the forest, and their torch-blinded eyes. I drew loose a throwing spear as we approached the bank, and flung it with all my strength. Confuse them. Get them off balance. Other spears fell among the Saxons doing little damage, but startling and frightening them. Their chiefs began to order them to form the shield-wall, and they obeyed, but slowly. We came out of the forest and plunged into the river—the water splashed high and cold about our legs—the torchlight gleaming and leaping from us, the trees casting long shadows that wavered like a mad dream; and across the river, hurling more spears, some of which found their marks. The horses swam briefly, hard, their eyes rolling and ears laid back, and the Saxon spears were falling all about us, and the horses were running again, coming at the shield-wall. Arthur was grinning, holding his thrusting spear levelled to strike. The shield-wall opposite us was three men deep, and more warriors hurried to support it, shouting, wild-eyed. We approached, charging in silence from nowhere against an army, and suddenly Arthur threw back his head and shouted, “For Britain, my hearts! For me!”

  And we answered, “For Arthur!” with one heart and one voice, a sound more terrible than death; I hurled my thrusting spear and drew my sword, blazing with white light, as we reached the bank.

  My old madness did not fill me, but I did not need it. Ceincaled reared, lashing out with his hooves, and I bent over his neck and slashed down, fighting from love and from a dream, as Arthur fought. It was a few moments, no more: had we paused long enough for our speed to slacken, we could not have done it, but the Saxons were afraid, bewildered and uncertain, and they broke. We killed them on all sides as we went through, tearing the torches from their posts and hurling them into the camp, setting it alight, hacking through tent-ropes and charging on, leaving destruction behind us. We plunged into the safety of the woods, only a few spears falling about us now as we rode down the night.

  “Well done,” said Arthur, softly, then shouted aloud with joy. “Oh beautifully done!”

  We reined in our horses to a canter, thinking of the miles yet to ride. Behind us the sky paled with the first grey of the still hour that leads to morning.

  Sixteen

  I did not have a chance to tell Arthur that I would leave the Family for almost a month. I had received a leg wound in the battle, a bad one which was made worse by my riding twenty miles with it afterwards. It couldn’t be helped. We had no fear that the Saxons would follow us—they did not have the horses, and would be far too preoccupied with their own losses, besides busy trying to recover their plundered cattle—but we needed a place to stay. With a warband the size of the Family, such a place is not easy to find. In the end we rode north and west until we came to a clan holding near the Wall, headed by a man named Ogyrfan. He was a tall, black-bearded man, of some importance in those parts because of his wealth and some Roman title. He feared the Saxons and longed for the restoration of the Empire, and so welcomed Arthur. He gave the Family food and a place to put the wounded. I was glad of it. I was weak from blood-loss, faint, and sick with pain
. Agravain and Bedwyr carried me to the cow-byre—the only building available for a hospital—where I collapsed and stayed that way for over a week. I had the wound-fever the first few days and remember nothing of them, and when I recovered enough to be aware of myself again, was told that Arthur and the Family were gone, off raiding. The warband had been weakened by the summer, but the opportunity offered by the present situation had proved to be irresistible. Aldwulf’s credit with the other Saxons was, as Arthur had predicted, seriously weakened by our victory. They could not see how, when he had had the British High King trapped and outnumbered and had himself been forewarned, Aldwulf could have let us escape. Ossa of Deira blamed him; his own nobles blamed him; and his subjects, who had been raided and now were short of goods and angry, blamed him bitterly and deserted his army. The harvest season was nearly over, and Ossa’s men also wished to return to their farms, and Ossa himself returned to his stronghold after some bitter recriminations with Aldwulf. The king of Bernicia was thus left with only his warband, and that a fractious one, and he too retreated to his fortress for the winter. The countryside was thus left unprotected, and Arthur attacked Bernicia and raided as freely as if there were no king in the land, destroying all the new farms on the border and taking away grain and cattle enough to last the Family a year, with some left over for gifts as well.