Arthur pc-3

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  Ectorius was proud of his accomplishment. And Arthur was at pains to praise him highly enough. 'You have worked a marvel here, Ector,' Arthur said. 'I will send you a fourth part of the tribute.'

  Ector held up his hands in mild protest. 'Please, Duke Arthur, save what you have for your men. You will need it.'

  'No.' The Duke was adamant. 'You cannot support this work alone. It is not right. From now on you will receive a portion of the year's tribute, and even then I will not think to repay the service you have done me.'

  'What I have done,' said Ector, 'I have done for you, it is true. And for the saving of Britain. You are the only hope we have, Arthur.' The Bear of Britain put his arm on Ector's shoulder, and the lord of Caer Edyn embraced his one-time fosterling.

  'Give me but twelve men of your like,' said Arthur, 'and I will restore the empire.' 'I care not for empires,' replied Ector, solemn and low.

  'But I will live to see the High Kingship in your hand. That is my pledge and bond.'

  'Then let us see these ships you are so proud of,' said Arthur lightly. 'Perhaps they will speed the day.' The ships rode low in the water. Five tight new vessels: clean-lined and ready rigged to sail. They were of Saecsen design for the most part, but their masts were sturdier and their prows sharper. Saints and angels, but Ector had braced those sharp prows with iron! I could see each one slicing the waves like the blade of a sword.

  'They are made for fighting,' explained Ector. 'They will carry neither cargo nor horses, but try to outrace them and you will sooner catch the wind.'

  Arthur scrambled down onto the dock and aboard the nearest ship. He stood on the planking, feet apart, fists on hips. 'I like it!' he called. 'You have done well, Ector, Ship Builder. I cannot wait to swing sword and heft spear from this sturdy sea fort!'

  The Duke's words must have been carried across the sea on a swift wind, for they were heard as a challenge in the land of the barbarians, who rose up to answer in force.

  Not five days later our feet were pounding onto the planking, and our hands slipping the mooring ropes, loosing those swift ships like hounds eager to meet the charging boar.

  We had never fought aboard ship. And the sight of those blue-tinted sails and dark hulls slicing towards us did little to embolden us. But Arthur had taken the lead ship, and he ranged the other ships – commanded by Bors, Cai, Gwalchavad and myself – around him like the divisions of his Cymbrogi. We were a seaborne a/a!

  The five new ships formed the sharp spearhead in the centre, moving out like gulls skimming the wavetops. The other ships – thirty in all, with thirty men each – followed in a solid wall behind us.

  The Angli had fifty ships. At our sudden appearance, they turned to the south and made for the nearest shore – a wooded headland at the entrance to the Fiorth called Basas for the shallows surrounding it. Basas, an interesting name… it also means death.

  The five foremost British ships drove straightway into the exposed flank of the enemy. If the Angli had known how fast were Arthur's ships, I think they would have retreated instead. But they had no way of knowing.

  Each of Arthur's five struck an enemy vessel amidships. Bone-shattering, teeth-rattling collision! Screams of men! Deadly lurching and shuddering shock! Our iron-prowed warsteeds splintered the thin hulls of the Angli, crushing them like eggshells. The first five we engaged sank like stones.

  We pushed away from the wreckage with our spears while fending off barbarians struggling in the water. The closer ships turned on us and we ducked behind our shields as the cruel axes of the Angli clattered against the hulls. Grappling-hooks of iron snaked through the air, caught, tightened, and drew those same ships to their ruin. With staves and swords and spears, we battled the Angli. Their narrow timbers were soon sluiced with blood.

  Hefting spear and swinging sword on the heaving deck of a ship is, as Arthur suggested, not so very different from the back of a plunging horse. The Angli, as abashed at our sudden appearance as by our forceful challenge – the sea was theirs, they were used to running free rein along the coasts – shrank from the attack.

  Enemy ships further off made for the shelter of a great rock standing by the towering headland, or law. Din-y-bas, it is called: Fortress of Death. And we immediately saw why it deserved its name.

  For the Angli ships, heedless of the danger, drove into the shallows. The rocks waiting just below the surface of the water did their remorseless work. Pierced hulls cracked and men pitched into the water. Great the turmoil, loud the tumult!

  Oaths to the hideous, one-eyed devourer, Woden, mingled with screams of anguish. The Angli abandoned their crippled ships and began swimming to shore. Several British ships broke formation and swept towards the pebbled shingle, intent on pursuing the landed invaders. The rest drove steadily on, surrounding the wallowing enemy fleet.

  The rearmost Angli – caught between the rocks of Din-y-bas and the seaborne fury of Arthur – dropped sail and, with oars churning, began moving off the rocks. They swung and met Arthur head on. Alas, there were only five British vessels, or we might have made an end of it.

  But it was twenty against five. And while we engaged the first five to reach us – sinking two of these outright – the others escaped. They did not even try to help their own, but made for the open sea. Perhaps the closing net of British ships behind Arthur discouraged them, pr perhaps the disaster of their ruined attack had unnerved them. Whatever it was, the barbarians fled.

  In all, twelve enemy vessels were sunk and eleven more foundered on the rocks. We counted it a victory, although twenty-eight ships escaped. Arthur did not give chase, because the only British vessels with a hope of catching them were the new ones and out in the open sea those five would easily be out manned. Prudently, the Duke settled for a defensive victory and let the barbarians limp home to lick their wounds.

  Ector and Myrddin had watched the battle from the ramparts of Caer Edyn. I say watched, for although Myrddin did not actually see it, Ectorius described what was happening in such detail that Myrddin well knew everything that had taken place.

  The two of them were waiting on the new dock when we returned to the shipyard. 'Well done!' shouted Myrddin, thumping his rowan staff on the oak planking of the dock. 'Well done, Pride of Prydein! Long has it been since the warriors of Britain ruled the water marge, but that is changed from this day. Henceforth and to the Day of Doom will Britain reign over Manawyddan's bright realm. Welcome, glorious heroes! Praise and welcome!'

  Myrddin's salute was heartening, but his praise was over-eager. For, though we had dealt the foe a staggering blow, they did not return to their home-shore. We learned later that, once out of sight, they simply turned south and sailed down the eastern coast where they were accustomed to finding unprotected bays and estuaries. And where also small barbarian settlements waited to welcome and aid them.

  This they did, coming into the mouth of the Twide and running to ground in the dense forests that cover the Celyddon Hills. They hid there and waited while their messengers called forth weapons and warriors from their heathen homeland across the sea.

  They waited, nursed then: wounds, and grew strong with the passing months. By midsummer we began receiving reports from Custennin, Lord of Celyddon, of their presence and activity. Arthur listened to the reports and concluded that they had were moving slowly inland up the Dale of Twide to circle in behind us at Caer Edyn.

  Arthur increased our forces through the summer. Custennin of Goddeu, my kinsman Ennion of Rheged, Owain of Powys, and Ectorius. Out of kinship and unity of purpose, these had begun calling themselves the Men of the North. There were also several kings from the south: Cador ap Owen Vinddu of Cerniw, Ogryvan of Dolgellau, and Ceredig of Gwynedd with his son Maelgwn, as well as Maglos, Meurig, and Idris. Other nobles and chieftains joined us, too, so our ranks grew as the grain in the fields.

  When the last of all these had assembled with us in Caer Edyn, we strapped sharp iron to our hips and helmed ourselves for battle. Cai, Ector, Bors, Gw
alchavad and Cador boarded the ships, and we needed every one. As the sails dwindled on Muir Guidan, we mounted our horses and turned our faces towards die Eildon Hills and the dark forests of Celyddon beyond. Then did we ride out, fifteen thousand Britons, to face an enemy sixty thousand strong.

  The way the bards have it, the glory was ours for the taking. Well I, Bedwyr, fought in every bloody battle and it is a far different song that I will sing.

  TEN

  Deep in the twisted pathways of black Celyddon the barbarians waited. They had not been idle. Merciful Jesu, they were more than ready for us! Baldulf had once again taken command of the combined foe, and had forced his horde to labour long in preparation for the battle.

  They thought to have the dark treacheries of the forest on their side. And they did. But we had Myrddin Emrys on ours.

  Myrddin had lived in Celyddon for many and many years, before ever Arthur came. And he knew the hidden trails and byways of that dark wood. Every mound and stream, every valley and overgrown glen, every rock and tree and weed-grown pool was known to him. And, even in his blindness, he could describe those familiar features as closely as the lines of his own face.

  Nor was Arthur ignorant of the great forest. He had hunted there often. The hills of Eildon he knew as well as the hills of Dyfed in the south. The ruins of old Trimontium, the Roman fortress on the Twide, and the nearby monastery at Mailros were as much a home to him as Caer Edyn and Caer Melyn.

  So, as we advanced along the Megget, Arthur and the Emrys riding at the head of our great army, we sang the songs of the Cymry – the ancient songs of battle and victory; the songs of honour and valour and courage. And our hearts soared within us, as the eagles riding the high winds above the steep-sided green glens around us.

  Three days we marched, giving time for the ships to come round and for Cai's contingent to secure the eastern coast before striking inland to join us. On the fourth, the day before the battle would commence, we camped on the banks of a silvered lake.

  We ate well and slept in the afternoon. Many bathed and sported in the cold, clear water of the lake. Some fished, and others looked to their weapons and armour.

  From the hillside above, I gazed down upon our thousands ringing the long crescent lake and pride rose within me. Myrddin and Arthur were nearby, playing a game of gwyddbwyll on the grass. 'Has ever such an army of Britons been raised in the Island of the Mighty?' I asked aloud. 'Look at them! Southerners and Men of the North fighting together, side by side, under the command of one war leader. Angels and archangels, it is a stirring sight!'

  'There was a time, once,' answered Myrddin presently, guiding sightless eyes to the sound of my voice. 'Aurelius united the kings to fight the Saecsen Hengist and his brood.'

  'Were there as many?'

  'No,' admitted the Emrys, 'but then, there were fewer Saecsen, too.'

  Arthur raised his head from the board and scanned the hillside. Everywhere were tents scattered on the slopes, and behind them long pickets of horses. Supply wagons formed a wall along the water's edge, where the cooking fires were lit and whole oxen roasted day and night to keep the bellies of our warriors filled. Oh, it was indeed a marvellous sight.

  'What dp you feel, Artos, to look upon such a thing?' I asked, sitting down beside him on the grass.

  'I feel – ' he paused, his blue eyes drinking in the vista before him, 'I feel humble and afraid.'

  'Afraid!' I hooted. 'Why afraid? There are ten thousand down there and not a man among them who would not gladly give his life to protect yours. You are the safest man in all Britain.'

  'I do not fear death,' Arthur said. 'I fear displeasing God. I fear losing his favour.'

  'How so, Bear?'

  'When much is given a man, much is required in return. I fear giving less than I have been given,' he explained, and I began to see it. He raised his hand and spread his fingers out across the lake. 'And look you, Bedwyr, my brother, I have been given more than any man in Britain. What will be required of me, do you think?'

  'Any man as desperate to please God as you are, Bear, cannot fail.'

  The Emrys sang that night beside the lake, his voice echoing in the empty hills, the moon high and fair to look upon, the wavelets shining silver at his feet. The harp nestled against his shoulder poured forth its matchless gift of song, and our hearts soared high in the star-flecked sky. Myrddin sang of battles fierce and hot, of courage, valour, and honour. He sang us the victory and the glory. He sang the old songs, and some I have never heard.

  He sang of the Kingdom of Summer and its excellent king. His clear, strong voice conjured images hi our minds and the images lived. His song took life and grew until it became more real to us than the dull earth beneath our feet. To hear the Emrys was to see, and to see was to believe.

  The Summer Realm lived in our midst; the yearning of our hearts gave it shape and substance. We tasted the sweetness of its fragrance on our lips, and heard the gentle music of its fair winds rising within us. The gleam of its unfailing light filled our eyes.

  We were made for this, I thought. We were made for the Kingdom of Summer, and it was made for us. Sweet Jesu, let it be.

  We awakened to a blood-red dawn and a white mist upon the lake. We ate the food that had been prepared for us through the night: fresh barley bread and brose, and good roast meat. Fare to fill a warrior's stomach with warmth, and his spirit with courage.

  Arthur walked among the men, talking to them, laughing with them, stirring their mettle with bold words, praising their valour, encouraging them, exhorting them.

  The other kings saw how he was with his men – and how the Cymbrogi repaid his respect – and they began to follow the Duke's example. When the time came to don battle dress and mount horse, the battle flame had already begun to burn in our hearts.

  I do not think a more gallant army will ever be seen in the Island of the Mighty than the one that rode along the lake that brilliant, sunlit morning. We moved like a great silence through the empty hills. The forest lay directly ahead of us to the east. We marched swiftly along the Yarow river towards where the Yarow water met the Etric and the forest together – a good flat place of wide shallow water surrounded by thick-wooded hills behind, and Celyddon before.

  Upon leaving the glen we came upon something very strange and little seen any more: a band of Hill Folk. We saw them on the ridgeway above us and, as we passed by, three of their number rode down to meet us on their shaggy, thick-legged little ponies. Arthur, Myrddin and I turned aside to receive them while the army continued on.

  Although I was there and heard every word, I will not pretend to know what they said. I heard only the words kentigem and tyrfa drwg gelyn ffymig. I would not have understood those but for the fact that they were repeated several times with great emphasis. Still, the airy ripple that passes for speech among those quaint folk was meaningless to me.

  'What do they want?' I asked Arthur. 'And who are they?'

  Arthur turned to Myrddin at his right hand, who did not answer but held conversation for some moments with the Hill Folk leader. This gave me the opportunity to observe them carefully, which I did with great fascination. They were small men, yet fair of form; straight of limb, fine featured, and fully grown – yet none of them above the height of a boy of twelve summers. They were dressed in scraped skins and wore gold liberally about them: gold ear-rings and neck rings, armbands and bracelets. Each had a small blue mark on his right cheek: four tiny slashes.

  When they finished speaking, Myrddin turned to Arthur. 'They are of the Wolf Clan,' he explained, 'and have come looking for the leader of Bear fhain. That is you, Arthur. They want to fight the beast-men who have been destroying their crannogs and killing their children.'

  'But how do they know me?'

  'They heard that the Ken-ti-gern, the Wise One of the Tallfolk – that is me – had raised a mighty son who is to drive the beast-men into the sea. They have come to see this miracle, and to lend their aid.'

  Their aid?' I
wondered in amusement, regarding the slender bows and short, fragile-looking reed arrows the Hill Folk carried. 'What can they do?'

  'Do not dismiss them lightly,' Myrddin warned. 'The flint arrowheads carry a poison that kills with the slightest scratch. And their accuracy with the bow is astonishing.'

  'But can they fight?' asked Arthur.

  'Oh, yes. In their own fashion. Their ways are different, but most effective. They mean to join the battle whether you will or no, so you need not question their courage.'

  Arthur laughed. 'If that is the way of it, then I give them full freedom to join us.'

  Myrddin inclined his head, as if in deference to Arthur's judgement, and loosed a long string of wispy sounds. Whereupon the Hill Folk turned their ponies and galloped off without a blink. They disappeared over the ridge with their tiny warband and we did not see them again.

  When we regained the head of the army, the dark, bristled mass of Celyddon lay directly ahead. And across a flat meadow and the dull-glinting Etric water, stood the barbarian host in the accustomed wedge-shape. Baldulf, with his kinsmen Ebbisa, Boerl and Oesc, and the Irish king Fergus, had drawn up before the forest at a wide ford on the river.

  Arthur gazed on this sight for a long moment, and then turned to the waiting troops behind us. 'The enemy is before us, brothers!' he cried. There is glory to be won! For Holy Jesu and Britain!'

  Lofting his spear in the air, Arthur signalled Rhys, who raised the hunting horn to his lips and gave forth a rousing blast. Arthur turned his horse and began trotting towards the ford. He had no need of ordering the warbands. We all knew what to do. The armies of Britain arrayed themselves even as we flew to join the enemy – the a/a in a strong double line going before; the foot soldiers, seven thousand in all, advancing behind.