Voices of the Stars

by Rowena Whaling

  Chapter 24

  The Battle of Baddon Hill

  Arthur

  In silent form we stood.

  Many of our men of the Clans had shaved the hair from their heads – all but for a narrow band from the front of their scalp straight down to their necks – which hair was kept at a hand’s length long and stiffened with egg whites to stand up like the hackles of Hounds. Many had stained their hair red and painted their faces with black or blue bands or ancient symbols of spirals and other geometric shapes. Yet, there were some of our Warriors who were still more Roman at their heart and practice. These kept their hair cut short and with no beards or other hair at all on their faces.

  Most of the ancient Dark Tribesmen – my Lady Mother’s kin – were tattooed with black Serpents on their ankles or five- six- or seven-pointed Stars on their chests, arms or faces. They wore their black hair long and free, with Bird feathers woven into it. Black as Ravens, free as Hawks, and dangerous as Wild Boars were they! They wore no armour – they were covered only by short, kilt-like loincloths.

  Then were there the “Painted Ones” – the Picti – who had come to join us from the far North. Terrifying beast-men they were; mud matted hair, wild-eyed, completely naked... intimidating and fearless. I knew that at the first war cry, these Picti men and women would scream – blood curdling screams – never ending until Death or triumph. Besides their terrifying demeanor; they played droning reed pipes that were maddening with their shrill tones, and drums which they beat in wild abandon. These were as frightening as the worst of Night-terrors. Some tales later told that the fight was over at the first sight and sounds of the Picti alone.

  So we were ready; many Kingdoms, Tribes, and Clans joined with one purpose – one beating heart.

  Of a sudden I remembered something Morgan had read to me in my youth – of a great rousing battle speech made by an ancient Grecian Commander. Be it truth or legend, so stirring it was as to turn the battle’s outcome by sheer might of will and valor.

  So, pulling the threads of my memory together, I – there on the moment – found my Words of Power to rouse the men to their finest hour. I unsheathed Caledfwlch and rode the front lines.

  “Is this truly the Day we become forged into an alliance of brothers – no longer strangers – held together only by our mutual need of repelling invaders?”

  And then, a rare and wondrous thing happened. I closed my eyes and when I became silent – just as Gwyddion had taught me to do – I heard Voices from deep within. I am not so bold as to think that these were “The Voices of the Stars”, but peradventure, this was the voice of my own deep will? Whichever the truth – I heard “This is the Time of action, Arthur... Say the words.”

  My white mare snorted and by her own volition galloped to the left end of the front line of the Vanguard. I held my sword on high. To my astonishment, Caledfwlch began to glow, first green then into blue Flame.

  From left to right I saluted my Warriors by slapping the broad side of Caledfwlch against their polished bronze Long Shields. Never in my life had I held the reigns of Kingship so firmly in my grasp.

  From the depths of what Well the words came, I will never know...

  “My brothers... we were forged in the Fires of necessity... and moulded as though metals through skill and strength – be it by Gofannon, Vulcan, Weyland, Dark Moon Mother, the Cailleach... or the Seraphim...

  “Out of the Chaos we have grown, into a confederacy of equals of mutual purpose and regard. We have put aside the differences that had separated us for long generations. Together we have created a world of peace, a world of prosperity, but a world that has lived in the shadow of threat.

  “Now, here we stand, at this hour, ready to fight, side by side, for the sovereignty of our Islands. Individually, we are strength. Together, we are power! On this Day, that Power is to be tested once more. I, Arthur, believe with all my might and do swear to you by all the Gods and Ancestors, and by the honour of Caledfwlch, that while we stand united and stand fast, we cannot lose the Day. My brothers, we are invincible!

  “Destiny is not a matter of chance; it is a matter of choice! Our stories will be told from Father to son for generations untold. And those who have not – or could not – come to fight by our sides, will, when they have lived to be old and grey, always remember this Day with regret and say ‘I was not there with Arthur on that Day, when he and his compatriots fought so bravely and made a lasting peace upon the land of our peoples.’

  “So I ask you, would you have rather feasted at your hearth, getting old and fat on the heels of heroes – or would you become the stuff of legend?

  “I have chosen Freedom! I have chosen honour! I have chosen to become a dread and a horror to those who have killed, pillaged, and raped our land...

  “I say – on to victory! What say you?”

  Our combined troops had been ordered to silence – to preserve our stealth. They all, as with one hand, raised their shields and weapons in silent salute of agreement. First did the Vanguard who had heard my words and seen their Long Shields touched by the blue flame of Caledfwlch. And then, as my words were translated into speech comprehendible to our loyal Saxons, Picti, and Tribesmen, so too did they salute their agreement.

  Then we waited…

  As soon as the Sun’s rays hit my eyes, I shouted the call to battle. At that, a deafening cheer went up; a wail and a keening, banging of shields and drums, screeching of pipes, blowing of the calyx and eerie two tonal Humming arose, loud enough to reach the Star Goddess. Then came the jeering insults hurled at the enemy – all of which did not cease until the Day was won.

  I suppose it was as the Weavers had spun events that I was not to take the field upon that momentous Day, for the Battle was won before my eyes, in less Time and with fewer losses on our side than I could ever have imagined. An odd thing it was that, for this of all battles, I was reduced to playing the role of King, astride my Mare, upon a Windy Hill with my Standard Bearers.

  As Bedwyr led the Vanguard, I will have him write of how the field of conflict was.

  Bedwyr

  When the first rank of our enemy’s brave fighters were dead or wounded, their second flank of famous strong-armed and courageous ax-Warriors attacked us. Incredible fighters were they. Their Gods of war were mighty and ruthless. I swear by my honour that I saw and heard their Valkyries screech and fly amoung them – egging them on to feats of valor – perhaps conducting their fallen to the Halls of Paradise. Finally my frontline had broken. But little had they known that the great shield wall and Sol’s blinding light had hidden the fact that just behind our front line was our entire combined cavalry – none on foot to meet them as equals... I was at the very front of this formation. My mighty sword lopped off the heads of many of their famed Warriors. I thought to have found exhilaration and joy in this. Though I remained in the fervor of the battle-lust while it was happening around me, there were a few lucid moments – and moments only were they – in which that part of me that is man and not killer found no joy at all in this.

  Cunningly and brilliantly had this battle been planned by Arthur and then executed precisely. We were vanquishing a vast army of men – only, men such as we. Did I hear the weeping of their women? But then, no Time to think or feel... Women – yes, so fast in the thick of battle did things move, the faces were barely seen – all was skilled action and reaction. Once I noticed the shocked, still expression on the face of a braided Saxon woman whose severed head lay face up on the ground as though looking in eternal challenge at me. ...one of the heads I had lopped off? Then one my officer’s War Stallion stomped its hooves down upon the face and crushed it... Gods! What a horror... His rider never realised... My concentration faltered... Then the most irrational thought flitted through me: “Where did that beautiful face go?” – knowing all the while that I had just seen it smashed like an egg – an explosion of blood and brains... I had been distracted – that was dangerous... “Keep awake, man!” I warned myself.
r />   Yes, the Horses – they were as bloodthirsty as any of our Warriors – their hooves kicking and teeth tearing apart faces, arms and bellies. From the slaughter of the Ax-Warriors on foot, the Earth had turned red and green and brown with pools of stinking slime of Human offal, blood, and brains. So much was there, in fact, that our Horses began to slip and fall, crushing more and more men and women. I suppose that this is always the way of pitched battle. I steadied my mount’s footing. My heart and breaths, which were racing beyond my control, gave rise to an all-encompassing sickness within me, but I could not let myself vomit or fall, so as to show weakness to the men I led. This, then, was the hardest moment of my life.

  Finally, I heard a low and mournful horn giving the Saxon and companion army the signal to retreat. Now, these retreats could be the most fatal part of any battle for those on the losing side... dangerous to turn your backs on your enemy and run. But, Arthur, watching now from his heavily guarded Hilltop command post raised his hand. His royal standard was waved in the signal for ceasing battle. No one was to chase the escaping enemy. All fighting was to stop. The second signal was given to hold prisoner any King or Chieftain, but if they would not be held, then to kill them.

  “Hail to the victors!” – how ironic, how empty those words on that moment... Then I noticed a searing pain in my left calf and looked to see a stream of blood rushing from it. How much blood had I lost? Was that why I had felt ill?

  So, everything has its cost... the evil and the good, but, which was which? I was never to know.

  The next conscious thought I had was in Gwyddion’s tent.

  The Merlin

  I left Arthur’s presence as soon as the first Fire arrow had signaled the ready.

  I awaited the Dawn on an adjacent Hill, heavily guarded by an escort of six men. And a good vantage place from which to observe the battle it was.

  Igraine’s foreboding thickened the Air around me. Never would I ignore her premonitions... So, from whence would my attackers come?

  My guard and I were well hidden in the Glamour I had Cast about us. We could see all on-comers, but no one could see us.

  Of a sudden, Chronos puffed out his feathers and began rocking himself from one foot to another. Something was amiss – but where? My guard instinctively pulled in closer to me. Too close?

  With the ear of my thoughts, I heard the howl – the cry of a Wildcat... Morganna!

  In the blink of an eye, I looked into the faces of my hand-picked guard. And I saw it! Eyes glazed, lips curled in a snarl. Swords and knifes out and at the ready for the kill.

  I waved my hand and used an old Magic: The Magic of the Walkers from Time unknowable. I slowed... Time... down... Not in half, or in a quarter, or an eighth, but by the power of thirty-two – so that one breath or one movement of mine would cover the span of thirty-two of theirs. Such a thing of beauty it was... Such a graceful dance.

  While unsheathing my knife, I watched even as their muscles rippled like undulating waves of slowly building Water. Each one of the six I cut down with a stroke to their throat that was never even seen or felt by them. And down they fell like feathers, slowly gliding on a breeze. I had all the Time I needed to watch their bodies bounce as they hit the ground. Then it was over.

  I looked around at the leaves swaying on the branches of Trees, Birds flying, landing and chirping – all in the true rhythm of the Earth. Everything was back to normal. Everything except that I stood on the bloody ground surrounded by six corpses of men whom I had known and trusted – and slaughtered in the blink of an eye, the sway of a branch or the chirp of a Bird. Nothing was normal...

  I vomited and wept.

  Morganna had not succeeded in killing Arthur’s councilor and protector, but I had been woefully distracted. I must bring myself back to balance – never to falter again. What had I missed of the battle? Was all well? But – oh, yes... it had all happened in the blink of an eye...

  The battle raged...

  I focused my Grym Hudol and placed myself within the moment of the Britons’ victory. I ‘saw’ what was left of our enemy fleeing the battlefield towards the shore, hoping to escape to their ships – most of which were being consumed in Flame... I cried “And so it is!” as I pounded my staff on the rock upon which I stood.

  And so it was...

  Lucian

  I waited upon the ridge of a small Hill just to the North of the Vanguard. The Picti were under my command – if indeed anyone could command them to do anything.

  It was the Time of the Ides of September, as my Roman kindred reckoned it, near the Autumnal Equinox and the Vine and Apple Harvest. In the land of my Forefathers the Elysian Mysteries Festival would have begun. More importantly, the Days and Nights at this Time of year are near an equality of hours, with the Sun rising closest to the East.

  Under usual circumstances, the enemy, coming from the East, would have had the advantage – our being blinded by the rays of Phaeton’s Chariot blazing toward us in the early morning Sky. But Arthur’s brilliant plan placed our Archers at the shore behind the enemy lines – their backs to the Sea and so to the sunrise – turning the advantage to our forces.

  Bedwyr led the Vanguard. The entire front line held highly polished long-shields in front of themselves with pikes protruding between them. All were ready to turn their shields ever so slightly so as to catch the rays of the Sun and reflect them back into the eyes of the enemy forces.

  It was almost Time...

  The Mist that had been so dense just moments before had cleared, the North Wind having carried it away.

  The Sun rose above the horizon...

  Arthur’s battle signal went up and all hailed Chaos.

  At that moment the Sunlight hit the Picti. Their rage and terrifying visage could be clearly seen by all. Fearless, savage, Picti beasts and unstoppable killers were they. Then began their howls and screams along with their pipes’ drones and wailing.

  The enemy hesitated momentarily. I imagined their breath taken by the perceived enormity of the strength they faced. They hesitated just long enough for our blackened Archers – who were positioned behind our opposition’s mounted Nobles and Foot Warriors – to strike them down with their Death-birds. Horses and men alike began screaming in rage, confusion and agony.

  So tightly formed was the line of their mounted Nobles that very few were even able to turn to face their attackers. Those who were able saw to flames spreading amoung their fleet. I wondered if they heard the screams of the men left aboard them.

  Their peasant lines were then shoved forward. Many within their ranks were cut down by their own Archers, who were blinded by the reflected Sunlight coming from our polished shields. Of course, as was inevitable, some hit our men too.

  After their Sword Wielders and Ax Throwers had finally crashed into our Shield-men, our closed front line began to falter and gap. But soon all would be over.

  The Picti and I awaited Arthur’s signal, but it never came. So we watched the brief and beautifully performed massacre begin. As I had expected, when the Picti leaders saw the raging conflict taking place on the field below, they could not contain their men to await my command. So off they ran toward the melee, almost foiling Bedwyr’s Horsemen’s attack upon the Teutonic Warriors – albeit with the best of intentions.

  In the meanwhile, our Archers behind the enemy lines were now almost out of arrows. And so, Arthur’s plan for their escape was carried out; they ran back to the small boats awaiting them and rowed safely back to our ships while the Archers still aboard covered their escape with a mass of Death-birds aimed into the remaining enemy troops. Then they fled Southward.

  All of the enemy’s long boats – including those already burning from our Fire arrows – were securely anchored, with none aboard of sufficient rank to make decisions or to give orders; they did not follow our ships.

  Gwyddion

  The next Day, Arthur was in my tent, hovering over Bedwyr like a Mother Hen.

  “He will be alright!” sai
d I. “I was able to treat the wound well. The cut was deep, but clean – it will mend. It did cut through muscle though, which I sewed together as best I could. I brought some moldy breadcrumbs with me in my Horse’s pouch, for just such a need. I packed the mold against his wound, then covered the stuff with Horseradish leaves, then wrapped clean cloths around the whole, to bind it. There is no sign of potential festering or fever. Although it will take a while before he has good use of that leg.

  “Arthur, I am sorry for the men you have lost. I knew them too. They will be sorrowfully missed by all of us.”

  “Yes. I thank you. I know that you, too, grieve for the six good men who were evilly Enchanted by Morganna.”

  “Yes, I do. They hold no blame in their actions, yet now they are dead. You and I personally picked them out to guard me and then I had to kill them – and all men with families...”

  “But Gwyddion, you are safe and I thank all the Gods for that. I will take care of their wives and children.”

  “Thank you Arthur, but no one can give those men back to their families. What a senseless waste.”

  “Morganna – would that I knew where she hides... But let me not focus on hatred, despair, and gloom. In truth, fewer of our men were killed in this battle than I thought might be.”

  “Yes, Arthur... I see a long Time of peacefulness to come, with joy and prosperity for all – the Summer of our lives. You have achieved it. You have brought all of the peoples of this land together and chased off the invaders and, I am sure, have raised the hopes and dreams of all.”

  “You mean ‘we,’ Gwyddion...

  “Let us speak frankly. You have ever been the driving force behind all of this. Without you, would I even have been born? I wonder... Thank you for everything, my dear teacher... my uncle.

  “We have never spoken of this, you and I, but we both know that you are of the same royal lineage as I, and we were both born bastards. The sword, the Magic, the power, they were all rightfully yours first. Yes, I have always known it. I need not ask the obvious – why you are not King over these Isles in my stead. I know that you have never had a taste for battle. And you hold your privacy and solitude too dear for the demands of diplomacy and politics placed upon a King. Then, there is the duty of marrying and making heirs. No, you have ever preferred to stand in the background – yet you are the true maker and foundation of this alliance and of everything that has come to pass. You are the torch... I am but the carrier who runs before you and in truth am but the reflection of your brilliance, yet you stand in my shadow. If my reign is to be hailed as the ‘Summer King’s,’ it is all of your making. I am but half the being you are. You walk the Earth holding the Wisdom of the Ages, Gwyddion. So many Times I have thought that, if not for your council my Kingship would be a Fool’s endeavour. If left to my own devices, I fear that I would have stumbled through my life being led only by my heart.”