by Sean Poage
The second day brought yet more troubles. A messenger brought word that Gwyddawg and his men had held the ford until the last man perished, terrifying the Vesi in their ferocity and buying time for their comrades. Arthur wept and fell to his knees, praying for God’s forgiveness. The Guard encircled Arthur to prevent others from seeing the king in this moment of weakness. The Britons’ nerves were already frayed by the unrelenting pressure of Euric’s pursuit.
Later that day, Euric’s cavalry appeared, straining Arthur’s ability to defend the flanks and ward off attacks on his infantry. The Britons were becoming spread out and separated. It was becoming difficult to get messages to the commanders of the smaller units. In some cases, groups of Britons became lost, stumbled into Euric’s forces and were destroyed.
Near the end of the day, a large force of Euric’s men caught up with the main contingent of the Britons at a river crossing. Arthur had been trying to consolidate the cavalry not far away and rushed to aid the infantry. He managed to scatter the enemy and allow the Britons to get across the river but was not able to pin down the Vesi forces and inflict a decisive blow.
It was a costly day. Of Arthur’s guard, Hunabwy was killed, and Hirerwm lost his arm, contracting a fever that Morcant struggled to ease. That evening, Henwyneb found that Arthur had been wounded to the ribs by a spear thrust that had slipped through a gap in his armour. All the soldiers were filthy, covered in the blood of the enemy and sometimes their brothers’, or their own, and Arthur made no mention of it. He could not even recall when it had happened.
The next day, the Britons trudged wearily and warily on. Vesi scouts still stalked them, but there were few attacks, and it raised the spirits of the men who dared to hope that the Vesi had given up. By the end of the day, they were still not within sight of Biturigas. The Britons were barely holding on. Few were uninjured, and there were no spare horses left. Many of the cavalrymen who had lost their mounts were obliged to join the ranks of the infantry.
A cold rain fell that night as Arthur, Bedwyr, Cyndelic, Menw and the other elder warriors met beneath a thick copse to discuss options.
“I do not trust this quiet,” Bedwyr said.
“We haven’t met with Gwynn’s legion,” Cyndelic pointed out. “Perhaps he has drawn Euric off?”
“Are we close enough to Biturigas that our paths may intersect?” Arthur asked.
“It’s hard to say,” Cyndelic looked down uneasily. “Surely no more than a long day’s march further, if our luck holds and the Vesi continue to keep their distance.”
“If our luck holds!” Arthur burst out laughing, immediately clutching his side and grimacing as he choked amid his laughter. “Luck has abandoned us, if not outright thwarting us.”
The downcast eyes of the men around the circle betrayed the failing hope they struggled to maintain, so dependent on the poise of their king. Arthur, noting this, was chagrined and recovered his composure.
“We must make our own luck,” Arthur declared, pausing to stroke his beard. “We may be working against ourselves by trying to keep our army together and hold off the Vesi.”
“It’s said that an army may travel divided but must fight united,” Menw spoke up. “Do you propose to break the army up while still under threat of attack?”
“We can scarcely account for many of our units,” Bedwyr’s chief of staff, Guin Godybrion, spoke up. “Those who’ve been separated and found by Euric are lost.”
“We cannot split into groups that are small enough to hide their tracks,” Cyndelic added. “And Euric knows where we are heading.”
“I don’t intend to split into many small groups, only two,” Arthur replied. “If Euric wants me and can be made to think that he can catch me, then I may be able to lead his cavalry away from our infantry and allow them to reach Biturigas.”
“You cannot do this!” Menw protested. “What does the army do without you?”
Arthur sighed, nodding, staring at the ground.
“I have asked much of you. All of you,” Arthur said, looking up. “If this is to work, we must rely on the speed of our horses to draw their horsemen away and still have a hope of escape.” He paused to gauge the reaction of the men around him, pleased with what he saw.
“Who should lead the infantry?” Arthur asked Bedwyr.
“Gallcoyt Govynynat,” Bedwyr answered immediately. “A steady leader, he’s been a captain in all but name to this point.”
“We shall remedy that tonight,” Arthur said, then looked around the circle. “Any other questions?”
“Where will we go?” Menw asked. “To Aurelianis? Can we even trust Syagrius now?”
“I… do not know if Syagrius failed us by design,” Arthur said. “But we should make for Blesum. It’s closer and was founded by Briton soldiers of Constantine. We should find aid there.”
“Blesum is under Syagrius’s control and along the path that Euric will expect us to take,” Bedwyr said. “There’s another option. Among the Burgundii, east of Biturigas, we’re certain to find aid, allies,” he paused, looking intently at Arthur. “Even kin.”
“That path is closed,” Arthur said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Bedwyr pursed his lips, nodded and leant back in his seat.
“How do we draw Euric after us?” asked Dywel ap Erbin, another of Arthur’s counsellors. “He’s been quite unwilling to act as expected.”
“We know where some of his forward units are,” Cyndelic said. “He won’t be far behind if he still pursues us.”
“We will counter-attack at dawn,” Arthur said. “We destroy those we find, and when his main body is located, we feign a retreat. But while the infantry continues east, we will head north.”
The next day, as daylight spread across the eastern sky, the Britons suddenly fell upon the camps of Euric’s forward units. Arrogance in their victory led the Vesi to carelessness, and they were slaughtered by Arthur’s warriors.
The sun was above the horizon as Arthur began consolidating his cavalry, less than a thousand still mounted. Arthur made no effort to hide his position while he waited for news of the location of Euric’s main force.
It soon came. Euric was on the march towards them, from the south-west, and not far off. Arthur prepared the men, praising their courage, impressing that the goal was not to fight a pitched battle but to bait a chase northward. He arranged them in such a way that when the Vesi arrived, it would appear that the Britons were preparing to flee.
When the Vesi appeared, Arthur had his forces begin riding away, north through a gap between a pair of small, tree-covered ridges. The Artoriani, reinforced by a few turmae of the regular cavalry, set up a blocking position. Arthur, with his standard, stood prominently in the centre.
The Vesi cavalry raced ahead, led by a brash chieftain obviously intent on claiming Arthur’s head. He must have been a noble of Euric’s household, as his standard included a stylised gold eagle, much like the Vesi king’s.
Arthur began singing the Dirge of Albanus, and it was taken up by his Guard and then by the rest of the Artoriani. When Arthur called for the counter-charge, the onrush of the Britons combined with the sound of the singing must have been unsettling. The Artoriani cut through the Vesi horsemen like a sword through water.
But while many of the Vesi panicked and fled, the chieftain leading their charge did not, and Arthur made straight for him. The clash was horrific, intense, a whirlwind of steel, blood and colliding horses and bodies. Despite Arthur’s strategy, the battle lust was upon him, and he fought his way towards the Vesi chieftain.
Gawain felled his first target by aiming his spear over his opponent’s shield and into the man’s throat, driving it through and on into the armpit of the man behind him. He managed to yank it free again, but a third Vesi grabbed the shaft, and while Gawain parried attacks from the left with his shield, he fought for control of his spear. During the struggle,
Gawain glanced to his right to find Arthur, and his blood went cold.
An enemy spear had found a way through a gap in the armour of Arthur’s horse, and as the unfortunate beast reared, Arthur parried another spear with his shield, but the shifting weight caused him to be thrown to his right. He disappeared in the crush, and instantly Gawain and the men near Arthur called out, “To Arthur!” to alert the rest of the guard.
Gawain released the spear with a shove that sent the other man over, drew his sword and began a frenzied hacking to push the Vesi back from Arthur, while the enemy tried even harder to crowd in. Gawain got a glimpse of Arthur, his helmet missing, but standing in the throng with his sword and shield, driving forwards towards the Vesi chieftain.
When next Gawain could see him, Arthur was pulling the enemy leader from his saddle, swinging his sword in vicious arcs. The red blade cleaved through the chieftain’s collarbone, just as one of the enemy leapt from his mount at Arthur, the edge of his shield smashing across Arthur’s head. Arthur reeled, but did not fall, and thrust his sword through his assailant’s open mouth. Blood streaming from his head, Arthur staggered back, members of his guard closing in around him, striving to push back the Vesi attack that faltered with the death of their chief.
The field began to clear, and as Arthur stumbled, falling to his knees, Bedwyr rode into the press. A pair of soldiers helped push Arthur up across Bedwyr’s knees, whereupon he wheeled about and sped away from the battle. Dalldav called for the retreat, which is when Gawain learnt that old Henwyneb had fallen, shielding Arthur from attack.
Gawain took up the position of rearguard with Gwittart and was about to turn around to follow the others when the glint of gold on the ground caught his eye. It was the gold dragon crest on Arthur’s helm, lying miraculously untouched on the trampled, bloody ground. Gawain dismounted long enough to grab the helmet and then joined the retreat.
Behind them, the main Vesi army continued its approach, while their cavalry recovered from their rout and reorganised. It bought time for the Artoriani to pass through the gap and out of sight of the enemy. A hasty base was established to allow the Britons to regroup.
Gawain and the rest of the rearguard arrived to find hushed turmoil. Besides Henwyneb, the fallen included Nerth, Gwrdinal and Cradawc, Arthur’s cousin. Since Argentomo, the Artoriani had been whittled down to a mere two hundred and thirty-some warriors, and Arthur’s Guard numbered twenty-four.
Arthur was alive, but passing in and out of consciousness. Bedwyr was now the de-facto leader, and after speaking quietly to Morcant, stood scowling in thought for several minutes before calling a meeting.
“This enterprise is falling apart,” he said. “We’ve had no contact with Gwynn’s legion, and the infantry are in God’s hands now. The cavalry are moving north, and Euric’s men will be following them. But Arthur is gravely injured, and if we’re to save him, we must turn aside from this war.
“There is one place within reach, where we will find allies and the best hope of recovery for Arthur. Among the Burgundii, to the east, there is an ancient sanctuary of healing. It’s only two days’ hard riding from here but will take us longer, as we must ride with care for Arthur’s sake.”
“Arthur declared that road closed,” Menw spoke up. “You would defy his wishes?”
“Menw, you’ve been a valued counsellor to Arthur for many years,” Bedwyr said patiently. “But do you think you know his mind better than I? The only man who knew it better lies buried behind us. I will take responsibility for this decision. Once he is recovered, I will gladly submit to whatever sentence he deems fit.”
Menw acceded grudgingly, as there was little time to debate. He was less pleased to learn he and Dywel would ride north to catch up with the rest of the cavalry and lead them on to Blesum, but they needed leadership. The Artoriani, led by Bedwyr, would turn east and make their way to the sanctuary, taking turns riding with Arthur on the softest-gaited horses available.
After the meeting, Gawain approached Bedwyr and held out Arthur’s helmet. Bedwyr smiled for the first time since his link up with Arthur, which seemed like weeks before.
“It’s a good omen that you recovered this,” Bedwyr’s bear-like hand squeezed Gawain’s shoulder. “Arthur would mourn the loss of his father’s helm as if it were his own child.” Bedwyr looked over the helmet and handed it back to Gawain. “Until he’s ready to reclaim it, you are its caretaker.”
Gawain gave a short bow, honoured, but unable to find words. He turned and went back to his horse, securing the helmet in a sack tied to the saddle. Around him, the soldiers worked busily, but Gawain felt like a ghost among them.
He had managed to compartmentalise and stave off the impact of the sudden change in the fortunes of the army and the loss of so many friends. But at this moment, he felt more alone than ever, despair gnawing at the edge of his sanity. Checking Keincaled’s hooves, he paused, kneeling, and leant his head against the horse’s leg. He tried to pray but could form no thoughts other than a vague plea for strength.
“Gawain!”
He looked up, startled, to see Peredur standing before him, his arms full of water skins.
“Peredur!” Gawain exclaimed, leaping up and embracing him, causing Peredur to drop the skins. “What are you doing here?”
“Our turma was assigned to the rear guard,” Peredur replied. “We fought on the far right wing of the line.” His eyes lowered, “Is it true? Is Arthur dead?”
“No, he is not,” Gawain answered firmly. “You must ensure that everyone knows this. He is injured but will recover.”
“I will let them know…” Peredur trailed off.
“Who remains of our turma?” Gawain closed his eyes.
“Illtud, Padern, Deiniol, Ynyr, Kilcoed, Adeon, Ider, Gwydion,” Peredur said, emotion threatening to break his voice. “Keir, Cadwal, Llwyd and Fidach are badly wounded.”
Gawain was stunned. Less than half the original turma remained, and only himself, Peredur and Keir remained of the Pollag cavalry contingent.
“I’m sorry, but I must return,” Peredur said, gathering the water skins. “But I will look for you when we camp tonight.”
“I’m afraid we’re not going north,” Gawain said. “But you must tell no one!”
“I know that,” Peredur grinned. “We’ve been assigned to the Artoriani, to transport the wounded. We’ll be riding east with you.” His water bottles were scattered again as Gawain threw his arms around him in joy.
“We’re past due for good news,” Gawain grinned, helping him to collect the bottles again.
It took nearly four days to reach their destination. They did not see any Vesi during that time, but the needs of the wounded, especially of Arthur, required frequent stops and slower riding. Several died along the way, including Hirerwm, who succumbed to the fever.
When it was Gawain’s turn to transport the king, they removed his saddle and added extra blankets. Arthur’s head was held in place with rolled up cloaks, and he rode in front of Gawain, a rope tied around both to support him. It was challenging to ride in such a manner, with such a large man as Arthur, but they managed, and Keincaled seemed to sense the king’s plight and took extra care to walk smoothly. Arthur for his part, slept often, murmuring and occasionally calling out to Gwenhwyfar or Cei, but when awake he was dazed and spoke little.
It became warmer, despite the higher and rougher terrain to the east, and they were spared rain. As they approached their goal, they entered thick, ancient forests and were obliged to follow the established roads and major paths. The fourth day’s ride passed through a region of rugged, densely forested hills. At midday, they exited a shallow ravine near a clear river flowing through a shallow valley. Tall trees sprouting young leaves dotted a meadow of new green grass sprinkled with yellow, pink and white wildflowers. Bees went busily about their work and birds twittered. Almost as if on cue, the sun broke free o
f the clouds, flooding the vale with warmth and imparting a sense of peace, almost joy.
Bedwyr stopped the column to rest, leaving Guin in command. He had a quiet conversation with Morcant that appeared to become heated. After a few minutes, the physician grudgingly nodded and set to fussing over the wounded.
Bedwyr and Arthur’s Guard continued on about a mile to the north-east to a small forest that backed up to the river. Here, Bedwyr had the men dismount and stay with the horses while he directed Gawain, Sandef, Moren and his son, Amren, to prepare a litter for Arthur and follow him into the wood.
A broad, arrow-straight path passed through an arch formed by an ancient pair of oaks. After a short distance, the track sloped down, opening into a large, rectangular field walled in by thick oaks. Clusters of apple trees and wicker beehives were scattered about, and to the right were several wells and long fire pits used for salt production. A small, stone chapel stood nearby in the left-hand corner, while a few small, wooden huts nestled beneath the trees in the distant right-hand corner. The remains of a large stone building protruded from the grass near the centre-left of the field.
The eye, however, was drawn to the centre of the meadow, where a shallow depression held a large, circular stacked-stone wall, about knee-high, enclosing a garden of small trees, shrubs and flowers. In the centre stood a four-posted framework covered in flowering vines. In front of the garden was a small building made from stones recovered from the ruin.
As they stood taking in the idyllic view, a chime sounded, and three women in white mantles approached from the building in front of the garden. Two appeared to have passed thirty summers, while the one leading may have seen fifty. All were lovely, though the elder woman was particularly striking in her regal bearing and very long, white-streaked black hair.
“Welcome are all who come in peace to the sacred springs of Avalon,” she called out. Bedwyr took a few steps towards them and bowed. The woman, squinting in apparent short-sightedness, showed pleased surprise.
