The other lords did likewise, and I saw the clustered masses of our troops spread out along the river and across the meadow. Fewer, Dear God, than had marched out this morning – an age ago that was. I felt old and weak.
Arthur and I dragged ourselves to the place where Arthur's tent had been set up. Myrddin waited there before the fire, and rose when we came near. 'Sit you down,' he commanded. 'I will bring food.'
Without a word, Arthur collapsed into Uther's camp chair. He sat there too exhausted to move. We had washed in the river, but the blood stains on our clothing shone black in the firelight and we were speckled with dark, crusted blotches.
'It is a filthy business,' Arthur murmured, staring at his hands.
I nodded. ‘That it is, Bear, that it is.'
Myrddin returned with two stewards carrying meat and bread on a wooden tray, and beer in a huge jar. He quickly dismissed the stewards to other duties and began serving us with his own hand. Blind though he was, the Emrys moved quickly and without hesitation. When I asked him how he knew where to find us, he laughed and answered, 'By the smell of you, Most Fragrant Bedwyr! How else?'
It was meant to cheer us, and did not fall far short of the mark. But I was too tired to laugh, and could not even manage a suitable smile. I drank my beer in silence, and ate some bread, forcing my jaws to chew. I think I have never eaten bread so tough; although it came apart in my hands easily enough, it was all I could do to choke it down. The venison was no better.
While we ate, some of the other lords, having settled their men, joined us. Maelgwn and Maglos were first, and they were followed by Owain, Ogryvan, Idris and Ceredig. These were eager for the division of the spoils, which they thought should take place at once as they saw no reason to delay.
Arthur was not inclined to disappoint them, although I could see that his heart was not in it. 'Bring the plunder here before me, and I will divide it out.'
That is what they wanted to hear. Indeed, they were only waiting on Arthur's word, for all at once men bearing armloads of treasure appeared. They came before the Duke and placed their burdens before his feet. Others came with mealbags full of objects collected from the barbarian camp and corpses – gold and silver, brass, bronze and pewter, bright coloured, with gems and with clever inlay: cups, bowls, trays, tores, arm rings, bracelets, brooches, mead jars, pins, knives, swords, belts, finger rings and rings for the ear, necklaces, cauldrons, pots, fine furs, combs, hair ornaments, collars for dogs and for valued slaves, coins, mirrors, statues and idols of Woden, Thor and Freya, razors, discs and plaques, spoons, circlet crowns, ingots large and small in the shape of axe-heads… and on and on.
At first the gathered throng cheered to see the rich hoarding. Bag after bag and load upon load was brought forward and the pile rose higher and still higher – the heap was fully as tall as Arthur himself! But as the trove swelled the laughter and the cheering became less. The last trinket was placed upon the stack in total silence.
Awed and abashed, we gazed upon the wealth we had won. Then the shame of it stole over us and the sweet taste of victory turned bitter in our mouths.
The treasure was ours by right, but it was covered in blood – much of it British blood, since the barbarians had stolen it from those they had marauded all summer. We took back only our own, and there was little cheer in the taking.
It was slow going through the forest. And though we left at first light – as soon as we could read the trails through the tangled wood – our pursuit did not raise any of the escaping enemy, who by now must have reformed into warbands. But we kept at it, and by midday began making eerie and unusual discoveries: barbarian corpses drained white and hanging from the branches of trees.
At first only a few, and then more… by the scores…
I called off the pursuit and ordered the Cymbrogi to return to the Twide valley. 'Leave be,' I told the men, 'we will find none left alive. We ride for Mailros.'
It was early in the afternoon when we rejoined the main force. Arthur was surprised to see us return so soon. 'What is it, Bedwyr? Poor hunting?"
'Oh, aye,' I told him, swinging down from my horse. 'Spoiled, more like. Someone has poached the game from your hunting runs, Lord of the Hunt.'
The Duke regarded me with a quizzical look. 'What happened?'
'The Hill Folk have collected the blood debt that was owed them, I expect. We came upon the bodies along the pathways – each one pierced by a Hill Folk arrow and hung up to bleed like carcasses of beef. The bhean sidhe slew hundreds, Bear, but we neither saw nor heard anything of them.'
'You were right to come back,' agreed Arthur. 'Leave the Hill Folk to fight their battle in their own way.'
Of Baldulf we had no sign. For, despite the ghastly grove of corpses I had seen, I did not for a moment consider that he might be dead. Too many had escaped into Celyddon – thousands in all. At least half the barbarian host was still alive to fight again.
A short while later the scouts which the Duke had sent out before dawn returned with the report that Baldulf had fled east to his ships waiting on the coast. As confirmation of this fact they brought with them the Irish king, Fergus, and the tattered remains of his war band. Fergus and his men had been captured making for Abertwide.
British lords and warriors hastened to Arthur's tent to see what the Duke would do. They pressed close about in a tight ring around Arthur. Some shouted and jeered at the Irish, but most remained quiet.
Fergus, his hands bound with leather straps, was hauled forward and made to kneel before Arthur. But the Duke took one look at the pathetic sight and raised the king to his feet. He took the knife from his belt and cut the thongs that bound him. Then, staring him full in the eye, Arthur said, 'If I were in your place I know you would kill me. Do you deny it?'
Fergus knew the northern tongue and answered, 'I do not deny it, lord. I would kill you.'
Then why have you allowed yourself to be brought here like this?'
The Irish king raised his head and with eyes full of defeat and humiliation replied, 'Because I heard that you were a just and merciful man, Duke Arthur.'
'You call me just and merciful, O King. And yet you made war against me. How can this be?'
'I am not lying when I tell you that I am far from wealthy. Once the name Fergus mac Guillomar meant something in the world. But the tribute we must pay to the Bretwalda has bled us dry. Now my lands are poor; my crops fail and my cattle die, and the crops and herds of my people do no better.
'This, and the tribute is never decreased by so much as a kernel of wheat. We starve, lord, for want of grain and meat. Baldulf said he would waive the tribute if I joined him in raiding. He promised much plunder.' Fergus lowered his head in misery. 'Please, lord, if you will not grant mercy to me, grant mercy at least to my warriors, who have done nothing but follow their king.'
Arthur pulled on his chin for a moment and then motioned for me to come near. 'What do you think, Bedwyr?'
'An unlikely tale, it seems to me.'
'But might there be some truth in it?'
I thought for a moment. 'Well,' I said slowly, 'the Irish need little enough encouragement to raid. Even in the best of times they seldom prosper.'
'That is so. What else?'
'The part about paying tribute to Baldulf rings true. It would explain much.'
'I agree. So what do we do with Aim?' the Duke jerked his head towards where Fergus waited.
'Ask Myrddin. He is your Wise Counsellor.'
'I am asking you. What would you do, Bedwyr?'
'I do not know, Artos. Kill him, I suppose. These greedy heathen must know that they cannot make war on Britain and hope to escape without swift and severe punishment. Strength is the only thing they respect.'
Arthur put his hand on my shoulder. 'Your answer is the Soul of Wisdom, brother. A man would be a fool to go against it. And yet that is what I shall do.'
'You mean to let him go?'
'Yes.'
'Then why ask what I think? W
hat difference does it make what I say?'
'I needed to hear it, Bedwyr. That is all. You speak the hard law of war. But there is a higher law we may invoke.'
'Which is?'
'When a man asks for his life, you must give it – even if it were better in your eyes for that man to die.'
He turned away quickly and bade Fergus kneel down before him. The Cymry gathered close around murmured to themselves, speculating on Arthur's decision.
'Do you swear, O King, on pain of death, never to practise war upon Britain again? And will you with whatever oaths you deem binding swear fealty to me, and promise to uphold me and pay me tribute as long as your life endures?'
Fergus glanced up into Arthur's face, and I saw a rare sight – one that is not often seen in this world. I saw hope kindled in a man who knew himself doomed, who had no right to hope at all. This hope was born of mercy. And I could see by looking at the Irish king that Arthur had won a loyal friend for life. Fergus swore his oaths, bound his life to Arthur's, and rose a happy man.
Against all reason, Arthur fed the captives and sent them home – without an escort. There was nothing to prevent them from breaking faith and turning back to raiding the moment they moved from our sight. This caused many in our camp to grumble against Arthur, but when did the complaints of others ever sway the Bear of Britain?
We rested on the wide, grassy lee of the sparkling Twide, taking time, to refresh ourselves and heal our wounds. It remained sunny and warm, and the long northern day stretched soft and golden before us. Arthur spent it with the Cymbrogi, eating and drinking and singing with them. He gifted them with gold rings and armbands, and silver cups for their valour. He gave liberally of his share of the plunder, keeping nothing for himself.
So, after a supper of stewed leeks, roast venison, the coarse camp bread, and cheese, Myrddin Emrys took up his harp. The entire camp gathered on the riverbank, crowding one against another to the edge of the water so that no one could move. None seemed to mind the cramp, so intent were they on the Emrys' song.
Myrddin stood before them on a flat-topped rock, the waters of the Twide swirling below him. Straight and tall he stood before the battle host of Britain, idly strumming the harp, dead eyes downcast, searching among the tales in his vast store for the one he would share tonight. It was ever the same with him; Myrddin would try to fit the song to his listeners, so that it would speak to them a word they could treasure in their souls.
His long fingers played over the harp strings, drawing a melody from the singing heart of the harp as lightly as a maid coaxing a smile from her lover. Then, raising his head, he began the tale. And this is what he sang…
In the First Days of Men, when the dew of creation was still fresh on the earth, Bran the Blessed, son of Llyr, was Icing of Gwynedd and Lloegres and all Ynys Prydein besides. He was as just and fair as the sunlight that falls from heaven, and a better king was not known since kingship began in the Island of the Mighty, and this is the way of it…
One day, as Bran sat on the rock of Harddlech overlooking the sea, accompanied by his kinsmen and such men of rank as ought to surround a very great king, he spied thirteen Irish ships coming to him from over the sea and making for the coast, running before the wind with all the grace and ease of gulls.
Seeing this, Bran bestirred himself and said, 'Friends and kinsmen, I see ships out there boldly approaching our lands. Go you down to meet them and discover what these visitors intend by coming here like this.'
The men of Bran's company equipped themselves and went down to await the Irish ships. 'Lieu smite me,' exclaimed one of the men as the ships came closer, 'if I have ever seen ships as fine as these.' And all agreed that they were handsome ships indeed.
The foremost ship drew ahead of the others and they saw a shield raised on the deck as a sign of peace. The ships then stood off from shore and put out boats filled with strangers who proceeded to land.
'Lieu be good to you,' called Bran in greeting from his rock as the foremost stranger strode up out of the water, 'if you seek peace, you are welcome. Whose ships are these, and who is your leader?'
'Lord Sechlainn, King of the Ierne,' came the reply. 'It is he who owns these ships – and many more like them, since you ask.'
'What does he seek by coming here?' demanded Bran. He had learned through bitter experience not to trust strangers from across the sea. 'Will he come ashore?'
'No, lord,' the emissary answered. 'My king has a request of you and will not set foot upon these lands unless you grant it.'
'Well, am I to know this request?'
'Great lord,' the emissary said courteously, 'King Sechlainn seeks to make an alliance with you. As proof of your friendship, he has come to ask for Bronwen, daughter of Llyr, to be his wife, that your houses be for ever bound by ties of blood and honour. In this way will Ierne and the Island of the Mighty be made stronger.'
'Tell your lord that he had better come to my dun where we can discuss the matter properly.'
King Sechlainn heard this and came ashore at once, his counsellors and men of rank with him. And great was the host in Bran's hall that night.
First light next day, the men of the Island of the Mighty met in council. They decided that the incessant warring with the Irish must cease, and the sooner the better for all. If the alliance with Sechlainn could accomplish this, it should be sought. Still, they were greatly sorrowed to let Bronwen go from them, for she was one of the Three Great Queens of the island, and widely known as the most beautiful woman then alive.
Nevertheless, it was decided that she should become Sechlainn's queen for the good of all. And so a feast was declared to celebrate the joining of the two most powerful houses in all this worlds-realm.
For his pan, King Sechlainn brought seven of his ships near to land and began unloading them. 'What is swimming to shore?' wondered the British men. 'Please tell us, for we have never seen creatures of their like before.'
'These noble animals are called horses,' replied the Irish men. 'Well you might wonder to look upon them, for they are a gift to us from Lugh of the Sure Hand himself; they come to you straightway from the Otherworld.'
The British men were amazed to see such beautiful creatures climbing out of the waves and foam, glistening in the sunlight as if gilt with the gold of heaven. The horses and their grooms were received with all honour and respect and put at once in the finest fields and glens that Bran possessed.
And Bronwen, his sister, was married to Sechlainn the Irish king that very day. As proof of their marriage, the couple slept together that same night and thus joined the noble kingdoms of Ierne and Ynys Prydein.
During the wedding celebration – which lasted so many days that men lost count – Lord Evnissyen, Bran's quarrelsome cousin, arrived from his travels and saw some of the horses. 'What are these ugly beasts?' he demanded. 'And who has brought them here to waste our land with their upkeep?'
They are the bride price paid for Bronwen, who is now become the wife of King Sechlainn of Ireland,' answered one of the grooms.
Evnissyen, the Bent One, frowned, which he was ever known to do, and growled at the groom. 'What! Have they given away that excellent woman without my consent? Indeed, my cousin could not have hit upon a greater insult to me if that had been his sole ambition. Very likely it was.'
So saying, the ill-tempered Evnissyen began smiting the horses with his fists, striking first their jaws and heads, then their flanks and backs, and finally their hocks and tails. This he did with such vengeance and malice that the once-proud creatures were disfigured beyond all value.
News of this outrage took wings to King Sechlainn, who wondered at the atrocity of it. 'This insult to my gift is no less insult to me. More, if this is how they respect my highest treasure, I fear I will fare no better,' he said, shaking his head. 'My path is clear: there is nothing to do but make for the ships.'
King Sechlainn took his wife and men and hastened to his realm across the sea. The ships became specks on th
e sea and disappeared altogether before Bran learned of his leaving. But he did learn, and he said, 'It is not fitting that he should leave in such unseemly haste. Therefore, we will not let him go.'
Bran sent messengers out in his fastest ships to plead with Sechlainn to return and favour Bran's court with his presence.
'That I will not do,' replied King Sechlainn from the deck of his handsome ship, 'until I know who has cast this slander on my name by destroying my good gift.' And he told them about the injury done to the horses.
When Bran heard the messengers' report, he was heard to remark, 'I smell the evil of Evnissyen at work here. Lieu knows he was ever a trouble maker.' So once again he sent out the messengers – Manawyddan ap Llyr, Heveydd the Tall, and Unig Strong Shoulder – to offer his apology for his kinsman's bad manners, saying, Tell the king of Ierne that if he will overlook Evnissyen's insult I will give him a staff of silver as tall as he is, and a platter of gold as broad as his own face. Or, if he will not accept that, let Sechlainn come to me and name what he will accept and we shall make peace on whatever terms he deems best.'
These swift messengers sailed with all speed to Sechlainn and offered Bran's words in a friendly way. The king listened and his fair wife pleaded with him, 'My brother is an honourable man, my husband. Allow him to prove himself in this matter and you will not be disappointed.'
The Irish king pulled on his chin, puffed out his cheeks, and cast an eye upon his beautiful wife. In her he found favour and so replied, 'As this is a strange thing from the beginning, it pleases me to have an end to it. Very well, I will return to Bran and hear him out.'
The Irish flew once more to the Island of the Mighty, but they were cautious and anxious lest any further insult befall them. Bran saw that they were listless at their food and conversation. 'My friend, you are not so light-hearted as you were before. Is it because you consider your compensation too small? If so, I will add as much as you like to make you happy.'
'Lugh reward you, lord, I believe you mean what you say.'
'I do. And as pledge of my word, I will give you my chief treasure, a great cauldron of gold wherein resides this peculiar property: if a slain warrior is put into the pot today, he will fight as well as ever on the morrow. Only, he will not be able to speak a word.'
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