Voices of the Stars

by Rowena Whaling

  In actuality, it was Ambrosius Aurelius who led this army. Although Germanus had been sent to command, he stayed back astride his mount upon a Hilltop vantage point with the two highest ranking of Caesar’s Guard and a command Flag Carrier who would signal his orders – thus placing Ambrosius and his brother at the front lines of Cavalry.

  That which Vortigern faced gave the appearance of a multitudinous throng. A fearful sight was it for him I am sure – for he had lost his battle lust because of what I had done to him.

  His own iniquities along with all the Gods and Fates had led him inexorably to this moment and I am sure he realised his doom.

  The first signal was called by Vortigern himself. I heard a blast from one of his mighty curled war-horns and then he shouted, “Archers, loose!”

  Then came through the Air a mass of straight arrows with deadly metal points and perfectly ridged tail feathers. Way up into the Sky went they, into a great arc, then falling into the front lines of Germanus’ army.

  I watched as the peasants, without shielded protection, went down screaming as arrows pierced through their mouths, their necks, into their guts, some into their loins. In the case of one man – I saw an arrow enter through his eye, into his skull, then breaking through to lodge with the pointed end of the shaft protruding from the back of his head. He went down stiff and straight as a board falling from the side of a barn.

  Quizzical, all this... It was a puzzlement. For, although totally real, these things were so horrific that I could not actually process them in my thoughts as such. It was all as a Night-terror to me.

  As I have told, Ambrosius’ Archers were standing in wait near to the Vanguard’s front edge, behind the Long Shield Carriers. Just as Vortigern’s Archers had loosed three rounds, Germanus’ signal was waved. Then, from Ambrosius came the shouted command, “Notch, draw, loose!” At this, his Shield Carriers all as on with impressive precision crouched to a kneeling position so as to give clear shot to the Archers. Their shields gave a deep “whump” as they hit the ground in unison. I thought I felt the impact through the earth beneath my feet… Quick as lightning, the archers returned three rounds of arrows. After the three rounds had been loosed, the Archers, as they had been instructed, fell to one knee behind the Shield Carriers, who stood once again in “Testudo” formation – shoulder to shoulder with shields forming a wall in front and angled above them to deflect enemy arrows – this, to protect themselves and the Archers. Three more rounds did the Archers loose in this same manner. When this had been accomplished, Ambrosius’ Warriors themselves divided their formation – opening an aisle through their midst, one rank at a Time – all the way back past the Cavalrymen – through which all the Archers quit the front. After the last of the Archers had got through, the Warriors again closed their ranks. This Roman precision was as a dance, so fluid in motion were they.

  You see, excellent Archers are far too valuable – and hard to replace – to endanger them any more than is necessary.

  It was after this maneuver that Ambrosius hollered “Charge!”

  The un-slain peasant forces began to run down the Hill toward the deep Valley floor and the men on Vortigern’s side did the same. I watched breathlessly as they came closer and closer.

  Of a sudden with a great and horrific clash, came they face to face, chest to chest – being skewered by javelins and swords. The sheer force of their meeting was unbelievable! I saw arms, legs, and heads flying off in all directions, blood gushing out of them and quickly making the field so slippery with blood and gore that many Warriors could not stand their ground.

  With so many coming down the sides of both Hills to collide in the middle, pretty soon the fighters began to fall into a great spreading mound of slain and wounded bodies. Bodies upon bodies... resembling a great wave upon the Sea was this heap of carnage, growing higher and higher. Yet, because in this arena there was nowhere for the wave to crash and diminish, ever more dense did it become. Soon the bodies were so buried by one another that even those who had been pulled down without wound fell in Death for the lack of Air to breathe – or for the sheer press of weight.

  So high was this wall of bodies becoming that when the Cavalry was flagged to ride into the fray, they were forced to jump the mound of men, but their War Stallions could not jump that far or high. So they landed – or fell – upon the fallen Warriors of friend and foe alike.

  When the riders behind the first few lines of Cavalry saw what was happening, many of them tried to pull up and stop, which caused them and their mounts – and many more behind them – to fall or be pushed into the ever growing mound of agony.

  From the distance I heard a cacophony of sounds – not only the panicked crying and begging of the wounded caught in the lengthening Death mound and the high-pitched screams of their Horses; but yet another nonsensical layer...

  Was that a joyful sound?

  As it so happened, when Germanus of Auxaire got Wind of what was befalling his Warriors, he commanded that a rousing Chant be raised by all waiting to enter the field of combat.

  “Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!”

  I was later told that this was an invocation of his God. Even so, was this a jest? His men were dying from his farcical lack of good strategy! Who could be joyful in this impossible predicament?

  Yet there it was again and again...

  “Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!”

  All of this I saw from where I stood hiding in the Wood. Although I wished with all my heart to turn away, I could not, for I was held in the grip of morbid fascination.

  So, this was war!!! I thought “How can Warriors later jest and boast of their escapades of valor on the battlefield? How can anyone glamourise war?” In all truth and fact I loathed even the Idea of war! I did then and do now. Yet there I was... Watching...

  I began to feel faint, the world around me spun, my gorge rose, and in helplessness, I vomited uncontrollably.

  “But, wait,” thought I... “I have some power over this. Vortigern cannot win this battle for I have removed all possibility of that! The battle lust can no longer exist within him, for I have “Spelled” it from him. The fighting will cease at the moment of his Death. I must move quickly, so that there is less carnage on this field than there will assuredly otherwise be.”

  My resolve was set. In that perfect moment it was Time for this to end.

  Using the intensity and compelling desire for victory that I held within me, and the strength of my directed will, I stirred and awakened the powers of the Element of Fire and of the Beings who work within its Realm of heightened passions.

  I then, from deep within myself, drew up all of my “Grym Hudol” – my Magical Power – and called to all the powers of this Earth. “I stir thee... Awaken and come into my left hand!”

  As I held it out with fingers splayed, all came into me with a jolt and a quake. It swirled around my heart. My hands felt like glowing hot embers. I felt the power of Gods coursing through me!

  There I stood with something akin to a great Tempest roaring in my ears – whilst imagining the Death of Vortigern. When I had completely entered within the Time and place of that which I was Envisioning and “saw” it unfolding before me, I threw up my arms toward the Heavens and shouted, “AS I SEE IT... SO BE IT!”

  No sooner than I had spoken those words the battle turned – and seeing this, the Saxons began to flee the scene.

  Then thought I, “Those being killed now are the men of the Clans. This is not what I wanted! These men and women are my kindred!”

  I cried aloud, “Oh horror, will you never end?”

  But I had pictured the scene and had Cast the Magic. I must now wait... It would prove to happen just as I had “Seen” it.

  My eyes were drawn back to the writhing, screaming wall of carnage in the low of the Valley – which had been heaping ever higher in the absence of my attention. Now it was totally impossible for even the largest and most brilliant of all War Stallions to jump it. It was then I saw i
t... the emblem of Ambrosius... the Pen Dragon banner, rapidly approaching the wall of bodies. “Whatever will they do?” I asked myself. Then, to my amazement I saw a lone Horse and rider burst forth through the midst of his brother-Warriors. I held my breath as I watched him and his steed tromp upon the bodies of the living and the dead – surmounting the mound to reach the other side. Then this daring rider pushed forward amidst the shocked and miraculously dividing army of the Clans toward the person of Vortigern! There came he through the midst of them, with his great sword held on high, swiftly approaching Vortigern, who was caught in the press of his own Warriors’ fumblings. But it was not Ambrosius who galloped so fleetly – it was his younger brother Badraig, riding in his stead.

  “What is this?” – thought I.

  I will never know how it came about – I mean the mechanics of the thing. It was as if the Spirits of the Four Winds had parted the soldiers side to side so that Badraig had a clear running shot.

  Then he reached Vortigern and with his heavy long-sword lopped off his head with one great blow. It fell off his shoulders and rolled away... Just like that! All of Vortigern’s men stopped whatever they were doing and watched as it rolled and rolled along the putrid ground into a pile of dead bodies. They looked back in horror as they saw that his corpse was still sitting astride his Horse.

  Stillness...

  A great fount of blood was gushing from his neck where only a moment before his head had been. A foul of gore, a Spring of red – then his body fell to his left onto the ground.

  The battle was over.

  All the men who had followed Vortigern lay down their weapons; only a few more of them were killed before the Romans realised what had happened.

  When Ambrosius caught up to his brother and saw Vortigern dead he raised his blade high and shouted the command, “Halt! Stop! Lay down your arms! Cease your fighting, my Roman compatriots! My Britons! For that we may mend our quarrels without further violence.”

  The field became quieter. All of the clash, the hitting of metal upon metal, the war cries and the hollering of commands by the men on both sides stopped. They stood still and silent.

  Oh, but then... their faces showed recognition of the Nightmare of this; for all that could be heard now was the moaning and the wailing of the men who had been badly injured. These slain and injured men – and women – were their kindred. Their brothers, their sisters, their Fathers, their sons. Swords had plunged and cut, arrows had pierced and axes had chopped. Arms and legs were gone. Torsos were hacked in twain, with entrails trailing across the ground. Men lay flattened by Horses.

  I looked up to the Sky; it was a clear and sunny Day. “Funny that,” thought I, whilst the Ravens went wheeling above. The great carrion Birds awaited their Feast of Death.

  I fell to my knees and then raised my hands up again, this Time in supplication to the Great Goddess. I prayed, “Great One of all beauty and comforts – and to every God and Spirit watching over me; I beseech Thee, keep my eyes from beholding this abomination ever again!”

  However, my prayer was not to be answered in the affirmative by Them. For, many more battles would I be obliged to observe in my life; but always, I watched from a distance.

  There was a truce agreed upon. There were prisoners taken of the wealthiest ranks on Vortigern’s side. They would be well treated until their houses could raise their ransoms.

  Of course, this was not so for the Saxon Mercenaries that Vortigern had paid to be a major part of his army. For, when the Saxons realised that Vortigern had been slain, the remainder of their hordes fled. But they were recognizable – for they had a look in stature and clothing which was much different from that of the Clans, so they were hunted down and killed... no prisoners taken. They and their brethren were given a great lesson by the Romans upon that Day – too bad that the lesson was not remembered.

  Only one of their leaders had fallen. Their great leader Hengist escaped – not to be heard from again for some Time.

  As for the Clansmen... Ambrosius and the Roman forces allowed all of their men and women to return to their home territories, with their word of honour that this would be the end of their rising up in arms against the Romano-Britons.

  Now, with most armies, it was commonly done that the women would be captured and raped by the triumphant side. But Ambrosius – because most of these people were related to one another and because it was just the kind of man that he was – sent out an order very quickly.

  “No rape or rapine! You will let the women find their dead on the field with no harassment and when the women find their Loved ones and are weeping over their corpses, you will tell them that they may take whatever gold or silver rings or torques and blankets that they wish from their corpses, but then they must go and take no more.”

  For, as it has always been in war, the winners take the bounty of Horses, swords, shields and any other weapons or armour they may find. This is their right.

  Ambrosius ordered his soldiers to mercy-kill all of those who were mortally wounded, which was a gesture of kindness and of honour.

  The Birds continued to circle above, waiting until the soldiers finished stripping what was left of value from the corpses. Then the Ravens’ Feast began.

  When the Roman troops had come back to their camp I sought out Ambrosius and Badraig – of whom the men were already Chanting “Uther, Uther!” I approached them with a gesture of peace. When I had explained to them who I was and what I had done they welcomed me to their company. For as they said, they were “fain to have Vortigern’s illustrious Counselor and Magician in their company.” So, they found a place for me and provided clothing and all else that I would need.

  Thus ended my Time with Vortigern.

  Later on that Day I went to the battlefield to Heal all those that I could.

  I came upon the wounded and slain, perhaps having fought as enemies – perhaps as compatriots – lying all together now upon the bloody field... Who were they? I mean, to me... Were they friend or foe? I suppose it did not matter.

  By evening twilight on the next Day, those corpses not taken away to family graves had been stacked into many great piles and were being burned. The stench was almost unbearable.

  Here and there around the site were other Fires, roasting meat. Hungry Warriors must eat. But from whence came the meat?

  I admit it – I vomited several more times that Day, although I had eaten nothing. Now only yellow bile came from within me. When my body had no more to give, I could only gag and retch, unable to control the impulse.

  Yes, a wretched deal it was! Why could all this not be settled hand-to-hand, sword to sword – or by whatever rules of combat seemed good to the opponents – between the two adversarial leaders themselves – winner take the field? Why was the world of Man so greedy and unreasonable, to have disputes come to this – this Nightmare whilst fully awake? War... Oh, Fool’s endeavour!

  Near the end of the stacking of bodies, I thought I saw sweet Gwendolyn’s lover thrown upon the pile. I could not be sure that it was he, for his face was so mutilated. Had she too fought? Was she lying beneath him ready for the pyre?

  Then I wept. I wept for Gwendolyn and all the grievers left behind. When my weeping was done, I heard the “Voices” – chastising me: “Gwyddion, Gwyddion, how can you be such a hypocrite? Was it not your machinations that orchestrated this ghastly killing of Vortigern? Was his head not lopped off by the Blade of this Uther at your doing – by parting the Warriors on the field? You yourself have done this. His blood is on your hands.”

  I recognized in Them the Voice of Truth. I began to say something back in my own defense... but they were gone... as always.

  Many stories – mostly contradictory – have been told over the years past of how it was upon that Day. I suppose that is the way of things in this world.

  One newly growing rumour is that Germanus of Auxaire – not Uther – had won the battle against the Clan loyalists by his own powerful Incantation of “Alleluia,”
and of course by the rousing, thunderous volume of thousands of Christian Warriors’ Chanting these words all at a Time and of one heart.

  However, as is well known that, in terms of religion, there is no “one heart” amoung the Romans – much less Britons.

  Oddly enough, that story goes on to say that when Germanus’ army Chanted their Alleluia Chant, the entirety of the enemy forces turned, one upon the other in a God-inspired confusion. Then, any left alive fled in cowardly retreat before the Roman Cavalry could reach them, with Vortigern escaping to his fortress and into the arms of his Saxon Princess; where the Magic of Germanus – or the power of God sent by Germanus – descended from the Heavens to completely consume Vortigern by Fire, thereby causing his Death. Funny that.

  When all that I could do for the wounded had been done, I and a small contingent of Cymru men and women brought the tightly wrapped and bound corpse of the mighty tyrant Vortigern home to Princess Rowena, so that she may bury or burn it as she would. She chose a pyre.

  Actually, I had tried to convince Uther and Ambrosius not to display Vortigern’s head on a pike, as this is a nasty and un-healthful thing to do. But they would not let me take the head to Rowena... it was Uther’s prize.

  To go on:

  Princess Rowena asked of me that I make the Fire. I said yes and so I did!

  Now, it is a known fact that when one is an Adept of the Arts Magical, they must always mind their thoughts, words, and will. For, their Grym Hudol can take over when their emotions rise, thence causing things to be, whether consciously intended or not.

  I was thinking only to light a torch from a small Fire designated for that purpose – which stood far across the courtyard – then to touch it to the pyre, thereby igniting the bottom course of logs.

  All I really know is that of a sudden I realised that Vortigern was truly dead and gone from my life – and yes, I suppose it was not until that moment that it had fully dawned upon me – the anger and frustration that I had felt toward him for all of those years churned my gut and turned to rage.