Arthur pc-3

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  'Bedwyr!' he called, wheeling his horse. 'Follow me!'

  'Arthur! Where are you going?'

  'If they leave the valley, we are lost!'

  I called after him but he did not hear. A moment later I was flying down the ranks halting the columns and turning them onto our new course. I rode to the end of the columns and shouted at the men tending the wagons. 'Leave the wagons here! Fetch your weapons!'

  Bedegran and Idris appeared. 'What is happening?' demanded one. 'Why are we turning?' asked the other.

  'The barbarians are moving. Arm your men.'

  'We are not going to attack them!' Bedegran gaped at me, as if I had lost my wits.

  'I do not see why – ' began Idris.

  'Arm your men, and follow!' I shouted, and rode to tell Maglos and Gwalcmai, before racing after Arthur, who was quickly disappearing over the broad hump of the hill. Myrddin was with him.

  I caught up with them as they sat looking over the vale of Yrewyn – a good deal east of where we had been the day before. There were no Irish or Angli to be seen.

  'It is as I hoped,' Arthur was saying. 'They are slower afoot than we are. We have come in time.'

  The vale had narrowed to little more than a glen, and I saw Arthur's plan immediately. If the enemy were moving east along the river, they would come through this pinched-up place where we would be waiting for them. Then their superior numbers would not avail them, for we could not easily be surrounded.

  'Do we establish ourselves down there along the river – or wait in the hills?'

  'Both,' Arthur said. 'Let the footmen be ready down there. We will hold what horse we have here and here -' he pointed to the steep slopes on either sidejof the river, 'and then sweep down upon them when they try to come around us.'

  The Duke turned to Myrddin. 'Will you uphold us?'

  Myrddin nodded, his golden eyes dark. 'You have no need to ask. I will uphold you by the power of the Three.' He sat looking at the sky to the east, and across the hills to the south. 'We will be aided by the weather,' he observed. 'With the ending of the rain the mist will rise. If they be long in coming, we will be well hidden near the river.'

  It was true. The rain from the west was ending but, behind us to the east, a thick damp fog was already winding along the river; low dark clouds were scudding in from the south and the wind was turning cold.

  The first of the horsemen began arriving and I set Idris and Maglos across the valley. Gwalcmai and I held to the near side – fifty horse on either hand. Arthur and Bedegran led the footmen down into the glen and set about hiding them.

  Mist or no, in a few moments, when I looked, I could scarcely make them out. Nine hundred men vanished in the glen in the blink of an eye. And with their going an unnatural calm fell upon the narrow valley as the mist rolled in.

  Well down behind the crest of the hill, I closed my eyes and prayed to the Saviour God – as I do before a battle. It helps to settle the mind and put courage in the heart.

  In a little while, I felt a touch on my arm, and heard Gwalcmai's whisper in my ear. 'They are coming.'

  Flat on my belly, my face so close to the ground I could smell the sedge, I crept forward to peer over the crest of the hill. The first of the enemy was entering the narrow valley from the west. They came on unheeding, a straggling mass, moving in thickened clusters which defined their battlelords. The Irish came first, the Angli after, and slowly. The Picti I did not see, and this caused me to wonder.

  'They are so careless,' remarked Gwalcmai, his voice filled with contempt at their stupidity.

  'But they are so many,' I reminded him.

  He smiled, his teeth showing white in the gloom. 'The more glory for us, friend Bedwyr.'

  'Listen!'

  The blast of a horn echoed in the glen. It was Rhys, with Arthur's hunting horn – the signal to attack. And suddenly there he was, springing up out of the river mist and hurtling into the startled barbarians. All along the river men rose as one. Their shout carried to the hilltops and echoed along the glen.

  The barbarian host was thrown into confusion at once. Those leading were forced back into the mass behind. The Britons thrust ahead, following Arthur at a run. He had taken a white horse, so that he could be more easily seen in the murk, and he flew at the enemy like a harrying hawk.

  The sight of him driving fearlessly into the churning wall of foemen made Gwalcmai gasp. 'Is he always so daring?' he asked in astonishment.

  'It is his way.'

  'I have never seen the like of it. Who can match him?'

  I laughed. 'No one. He is a bear in battle – a great mad bear. No one matches him for strength or valour.'

  Gwalcmai shook his head. 'We heard he was a stout battlechief, but this… ' he fell silent for want of words.

  'Beware,' I warned, 'he expects no less of the men who follow him.'

  7 will follow him if he will have me,' Gwalcmai vowed solemnly.

  I clapped the prince on his shoulder with a gloved hand. 'Well, you are indeed a fortunate man, Gwalcmai ap Lot. For today you have the happy chance to prove yourself worthy.'

  So saying, I rose and drew on my war helm. I walked back to the picket, mounted my horse and took up my long spear, then gave the signal to the others who were already mounted and waiting. We advanced to the crest of the hill and poised there, ready to sweep down into the fray.

  We did not wait long, for the first ranks of Angli had already seen what Arthur was about and were running up the side of the hill to evade the chaos choking the centre of the glen, hoping to surround the Cymry. As yet, no one had crossed the river to come at him from the other side.

  I raised my spear to heaven. 'For God and Britain!' I cried, and my cry was answered in kind. And then I was racing down the hillside, my cloak rippling out behind me, the wind singing from my dark-glinting spearhead.

  So heedless were the Angli that they did not see us until we were right on top of them. The first ranks of warriors went down before us like wheat ripe to the scythe. The speed and force of our charge carried us well into their quickly scattering swarm.

  We reformed the line and galloped up the hillside, turned, and came sweeping down upon them again. The Angli saw what we intended and fled before us, running, stumbling, rolling, picking themselves up and running again. We drove them before us like so many sheep for the slaughter.

  They did not even try to fight.

  I reined up and gathered the horsemen to me. 'Let them go! Let them go! We ride now to support Arthur!' I pointed with my spear down the hillside where the main force laboured. The Irish, by dint of numbers alone, had succeeded hi halting Arthur's advance. By cutting in from the side, we could divide the Irish force and keep the Angli penned behind, where they could do nothing.

  Oh, Arthur had chosen the battle place well. The land worked for us and against the enemy; their greater numbers were no use to them now.

  Setting my spear, I wheeled my horse and charged. I heard a wild war whoop beside me and Gwalcmai galloped past, his face alight with the battle glow. I lashed my horse to match his pace and the ground trembled beneath us. The beat of our steeds' pounding hooves sounded like a throbbing drum.

  Down and down we came, plummeting like eagles, swifter than the wind. The terrified Irish heard the terrible din of our coming and threw their round shields before them – as if this could stop the thunder breaking over their heads.

  The clash of our meeting sounded like a thousand anvils being struck at once. Steel flashed. Men screamed. The air shuddered with the shock. I thrust with my spear again and again, opening a wide path before me.

  Gwalcmai rode at my right hand, matching me thrust for thrust. Together we drove straight into the heart of the battle, where Arthur's white horse reared and plunged. Any who came before us fell – either to our spears or to the swift and deadly hooves of our battle-trained horses.

  I will tell you how it is to fight on horseback, shall I?

  You feel the enormous surge of power beneath y
ou and the rhythmic roll of the beast's flanks as its legs stretch and gather. The strength of the great creature becomes your strength, rising through you and through the shaft of the spear in your hand. With the enormous weight of the animal behind it, that hardened length of ashwood becomes indestructible; the flared iron leaf of the spear head penetrates anything: wood, leather, bone.

  As you begin the charge, the enemy appears as massive and faceless as a wall. As you close, the wall begins to splinter and fall inward upon itself. Then you see individual timbers – men – as they collapse before you. There is a terrible instant when you see their eyes bulge and mouths gape as they go down. And then they are gone and you are free.

  The shock of the clash washes over you like a sea wave, swelling, cresting, rolling, and moving on. The sound of the battle is a roar in your ears and a blur before your eyes. You see the glint of metal. You see the point of your spear like a point of light, like a Beltane firebrand, as it thrusts and thrusts.

  You smell the thick, salty sweetness of blood.

  You are at once greater and more powerful than you can imagine. You expand to fill the whole of this worlds-realm. You are formidable. You are invincible. You are God's own idea of a warrior and his hand is beneath you, upholding you. His peace flows from your heart as from a wellspring.

  All these things and more I knew as I hurtled like a flaming star to Arthur's side. The Irish fell before me and many did not rise again.

  'Arthur!' I cried, scattering the last of the foe before me as I fought to his side.

  'Good work!' he shouted. The press of battle was thicker here and the spear was no help. Arthur's sword was in his hand and I saw his arm rising and falling in deadly rhythm. I shoved my spear into its holder beneath my leg and drew my sword, unslinging my shield at the same time. Then I settled into the grim business at hand.

  All around us the Cymry hacked at the foe, who fell back and back before us. They were giving ground and that was good. Oh, but it was slow going. We pushed on, and it was like wading to shore against an putrushing tide.

  And then, all at once, the tide changed and we found ourselves being pulled along with it. I looked out across the glen to see what the cause might be and I saw Idris and Maglos sweeping down the hillside to meet an Angli counter-attack from the other side of the river. The attack was crushed before it could begin.

  Seeing their hope extinguished so quickly and efficiently, the Irish abandoned the fight.

  'They are retreating!' shouted Arthur. 'Follow me!' He raised his sword and his war cry was lost in the shouts of retreating Irish. I saw his white horse leap ahead and we gave chase.

  We pursued them all the way back to the ford at the Glein. Here the valley widened and flattened, and here the Angli chose to halt their retreat and give battle once more.

  We halted a little distance away to view the battle array, and to catch our breath before attacking. The kings gathered round us to hold council. 'They think to take us here,' observed Arthur.

  'And they may just do it,' remarked Idris. 'Look at the length of that line. We cannot equal it – we will be stretched too thin. They can easily surround us.'

  I, for one, had had enough of his crabbed lack of faith. 'If this be courage, Idris,' I told him, 'you show it in a most peculiar way.'

  Gwalcmai laughed, and Idris subsided, his mouth pressed into a bloodless line.

  'We will strike them in the centre, there,' said Arthur, who had been studying the enemy; he pointed to the thickened mass before us. 'The Angli fight like Saecsens, but they are even more afraid of the horses. Therefore, the ala will force them back across the ford and cut the line in two. When this happens the two ends will be drawn in together to fill the void.'

  'They will circle and surround us, Duke Arthur.' It was Maglos this time.

  'Yes,' replied Arthur coolly, 'and when that happens our footmen will come at them from behind.'

  'But we will be trapped,' Bedegran insisted.

  'There must be some bait in a trap,' Gwalcmai told him, thus saving me the trouble, 'or the rat will not put his nose in.'

  'I do not like it,' sniffed Idris. 'It is needlessly risky.'

  I turned on him. They fear the horses! Have you not seen how they flee the sight of them? By the time they close on us, our own warriors will be at their backs and they will be the ones surrounded!'

  I turned to find Arthur staring at me. 'What? You think yourself the only one who knows the head of a spear from its butt?' I demanded.

  Arthur turned to the others. 'Well? You have heard Bedwyr. He will lead the charge to the centre. Bedegran and I will lead the footmen as before. May God go with us.' And he rode off to join the foot soldiers waiting beside the river.

  Idris was right: Arthur's plan was risky. But it made the best possible use of our few horses. By using them to keep the enemy off balance, so to speak, our fewer numbers were not such a disadvantage.

  The Angli thought to attack while we were still undecided. And with a tremendous roar they came at us on the run. 'Spears ready!' I called, sheathing the sword and retrieving my spear. I threw the reins forward and my horse lumbered into a trot. The a/a formed up in wings on either side of me.

  Gathering pace, the trot became a run and the run a gallop. Gwalcmai's voice rose above the thunder of the hooves, and an instant later we were all waning in that high, eerie war chant of his. I felt the hot blood rising in my veins and the icy calm of the battle frenzy descend over me.

  And it was no longer Bedwyr riding headlong towards the onrushing enemy. I was a flame, a burning brand flung into the wind. My heart soared within me with the song of battle.

  My movements were immaculate, my thoughts bright and sharp as crystal.

  The eyes in my head looked out and noted the battle array before me. We were closing… nearer… nearer…

  CRACK!!

  I was through the line and pulling up hard. A dozen Angli sprawled on the ground around me: some of them dead where they had dropped, others struggling to rise.

  I saw one foeman staring stupidly at his shield which seemed to have become stuck to his chest. He pulled at it and the shield fell away, revealing a slender length of a broken spear, jutting out from between his ribs. My own spear had mysteriously lost half its length. I threw it down.

  Drawing my sword, I wheeled my horse to survey the carnage. The force of our charge had indeed collapsed the centre of the line: the damage fifty horse can do is considerable. What is more, we had not lost a single rider.

  But our assault had carried us further into the centre than I could have believed possible; we were at the ford, almost in the water. The Angli were not slow to react. Instantly, they closed on us and we were surrounded. Yet, even as they filled the rents we had made in their battle line, I heard Arthur's hunting horn sounding high and clear.

  I gathered the ala to me and we formed up to fight towards Arthur. The battle had become close. We were pressed on all sides, but the Cymry kept their heads and we moved forward, slowly, and with difficulty, for the Angli, in their desperation, gave ground grudgingly.

  Then, when all was committed to Arthur's plan, the worst thing possible happened: the Picti, so far absent from the fight, suddenly appeared, streaming down from the hillside, coming in behind Arthur. As soon as they were within striking distance they loosed then* hateful little arrows.

  So there we were, outnumbered and twice surrounded. Of all possible positions for an army, there are not many worse.

  Arthur did what he could, sending Idris' troop to deal with the Picti. Naturally, this weakened his own force. Seeing Idris break away, the Angli and Irish responded with almost hysterical fury.

  Giving forth a tremendous howl, the barbarian rose up like a great sea wave and Arthur was inundated. I saw him at the head of his troops on his white horse rising above them, and then he was gone.

  'Arthur!' I cried, but my voice was lost in the battle roar. The seething waters of the enemy host closed over the place where he had b
een.

  SIX

  The ala drove into the thick of it. On the strength of steel alone we pushed a way clear – over the thrashing bodies of the foeman. May God forgive me, my mount's hooves scarce touched the ground!

  We reached the ford. The water ran red; the river foam blushed crimson. Corpses floated, their limbs drifting. Caught on the rocks, the dead gazed with profound blindness into the darkening sky.

  Once in the water, the going was easier – but only just. The Angli flung themselves at us with the ferocity of wild beasts. Swinging their axes, stabbing with their long knives, bawling, lunging, grappling.

  We hewed at them like standing trees and they fell. But always there were more and more.

  I strained into the welter, searching for Arthur. All was a chaos of flailing limbs and flashing weapons. I did not see him.

  Now we were within range of the Picti arrows – though Idris had succeeded in moving them back somewhat, the wicked missiles still struck with deadly accuracy. The warrior to my left was struck in the shoulder, and one arrow glanced off my shield boss.

  Grimly, we laboured on. The leaden sky deepened to the colour of fire-blackened iron. The wind gusted, driving the mist along the river. Rain began pelting down. The ground beneath our feet grew slippery. Blood and water mingled, flowed away. The battle proceeded.

  Ever and again I cried out, 'Arthur! Arthur!'

  In response I heard only the thunder of the fight, loud and sharp, pierced by hot oaths and agonized cries. And under it, the dull, droning rumble of running feet and horses' hooves…

  Horses' hooves. That could not be what I heard, and yet I know the sound as well as my own heartbeat.

  I raised my eyes. Out of the mist I saw a herd of horses racing into the valley, their shapes made ghostly by the rain. Swift as diving eagles, they thundered headlong into the midst of the fight.

  Could it be? I looked again and saw the reason for this marvel. At the head of the stampede I saw two figures – one obscured by the mist and rain, but the other I knew: no one sits a saddle like Cai.