by Simon Lister
Morveren rode up beside Ceinwen. She was a dark haired, pretty girl from the far West of Wessex and she regularly won any horse race among the warriors just as she more often than not won any foot race or swimming contest. She was only nineteen and had come to the war band two years ago to be closely followed by the persistent rumours that she was a bastard child of Arthur’s. Her mother had died giving birth a year after Morveren was born and her father had died at sea some years prior to that, his small fishing boat caught in a storm off the coast of Wessex. Her older brothers had insisted that she forsake the fishing boats of her family and marry a local farmer but she could not face a life devoid of excitement so she had traded the unpredictable nature of the sea for the danger and exhilaration of a warrior’s life. Some of the others had been surprised that Arthur accepted her so quickly and took it as confirmation of the rumours, but with both her parents now dead and no one willing to enquire of Arthur, they resigned themselves to never knowing the truth of the matter.
‘I hear you used to be fast on horseback, reckon we can still beat them both?’ Morveren said and slapped Ceinwen’s horse on the rump. Ceinwen reacted automatically and dug her heels into her horse’s flanks and they both sped off after Elowen and Tomas while wagers started amongst the other warriors. Ceinwen knew there would be many such challenges before the war band accepted her as one of them. She had already noted how Arthur’s captains had watched her closely when she had been discerning the tracks on the far side of the Causeway and when she had been tending to Arthur’s wounded leg. She didn’t resent it either, she knew it was the natural way of things and she concentrated on closing the gap to Elowen and Tomas. Morveren had already caught up with them.
‘She’s a fine lass that one,’ Llud said watching the riders galloping away and doing a bit of fishing himself.
‘She is indeed,’ Arthur replied but they were not talking about the same woman.
*
Those that had backed the long odds on Elowen, Tomas or the largely unknown Ceinwen all lost although Ceinwen ran Morveren a reasonably close second. There was much good-natured cursing as wagers were settled. Arthur watched them bicker amongst each other and smiled briefly. He noticed Ethain leading his horse off to the stables and wondered again why he had not raced his young friends. He talked again with Llud who turned and picked out Talan and his sister, Tamsyn, to help him start preparing the various winter supplies. Each of the warriors would be expected to gather their own winter gear but some provisions were more general and Llud would make sure everything needed was taken and that each warrior knew what they were expected to take.
Most of the war band’s families were at Caer Sulis, having expected to celebrate Lughnasa together there, so the camp at Whitehorse Hill was as deserted as it ever got. Arthur crossed to the main hall. The ground was already hardening in the colder air and the tracks of the pigs and goats that freely wandered the camp were already beginning to set into rigid casts. One of the camp’s dogs trotted alongside sniffing around the group heading for the hall and Elowen, still smarting from coming last in the race, kicked out at it.
The company gathered in the main hall and Arthur told them they had eight hours to ready their gear, eat, drink and sleep. There were groans that they were missing Lughnasa and they would need more than eight hours for drinking let alone for anything else. Arthur pointed out that how they divided the time was their choice, which was greeted with cheers, then added that anyone leaving behind vital winter provisions would be sent back to spend the dark months with the king’s men at Caer Sulis and the theatrical groans returned. He hoisted a tall urn of beer onto a nearby table and poured himself a jar full.
He raised it to the gathered warriors and cried out, ‘We go across the Causeway to the Shadow Lands in winter to face the Adren armies. If those in Caer Sulis knew of this they would have lined the Westway and saluted you. But they know nothing of this, so I salute you! The Wessex!’ and he drained his drink.
Cheers and speeches erupted from the company as each sought to find and fill their own mugs. Arthur strode through them towards the top of the hall where he had his quarters. Various cries of ‘Arthur!’ ‘Warlord!’ ‘The Wessex!’ and one of ‘Miserable bastard!’ rang out around him.
He grinned at them and stopped by Morgund and Ceinwen, ‘Talk to Ethain, something’s not right – probably nothing but have a talk to him and see what’s bothering him. And find the bastard who called me ‘miserable’ and hang him from the gate.’
They grinned and Arthur strode on up the hall. Ceinwen watched him leave while Morgund sought out Ethain.
Arthur opened the door to his room off the hall and stooped slightly to enter. It smelt dank and unlived in. He lit the two oil lamps hanging from the wall, unhooked his cloak and threw it on the low bed to one side. He opened the shutters on his window and started a large fire in the hearth before sinking into a chair as the room warmed up and wood smoke permeated the dankness. He picked up his sword and unsheathed it. He sat there staring at it lost in thought as the fire flickered and occasionally cracked, spitting out an ember unnoticed. The muffled sounds of the war band celebrating Lughnasa and making the most of being at home for the last time before going east suddenly became louder as the door to his room opened. He looked up and Ceinwen was standing there. She put a plate of food and two goblets of wine down on the floor by the fire.
‘Thought you might want some food, I presume you’re not joining the others in the hall?’ she said, not looking at him and kneeling by the fire.
‘No. Better they celebrate tonight without me being there,’ Arthur replied and Ceinwen turned to stare into the fire as he continued, ‘Let them let lose their cares for tonight.’
‘You’re not concerned things will get out of hand?’ Ceinwen asked still gazing at the flickering flames.
‘No. If they did you or Llud would calm things down.’
‘They’re talking about the rumour of the stranger with Merdynn.’ News of the appearance of the Cithol Lord at the council had spread quicker than fire throughout Caer Sulis to be met equally with disbelief, anxiety and curiosity.
‘And did you tell them it was the Cithol Lord from the Veiled City?’
‘No, but someone has. Others were guessing that he or Merdynn gave that sword to you.’
‘I don’t think Merdynn gave me the sword, he only led me to it. Others judged if I should take it,’ Arthur replied, thinking once more of the indistinct voices in the Halls of the Dead.
Ceinwen looked to Arthur for an explanation but when none was forthcoming she resumed watching the fire. Arthur watched her face in the firelight. Her almost delicate features had not changed much over the years. There were streaks of grey in her shoulder-length, wavy brown hair and deepening lines radiating from the corners of her small, dark, lively eyes, but she somehow seemed younger, more alive, than when Arthur first saw her in the hall in Branque. She was by no means a striking woman but her eyes still held the merriment and mischief of her youth. Despite her recent bereavement she had a natural energy and love for life that defied both her sorrow and her years, and those qualities leant a strength to her character that made her undeniably attractive. It suddenly struck Arthur that the young Morveren shared the same kind of love for life and he wondered why he hadn’t seen the similarity before.
She looked up at Arthur and held his eyes. Her thin lips parted to speak but Arthur spoke first, ‘Did Morgund speak to Ethain?’
She drew a breath, clasped her hands in her lap and returned her gaze to the fire putting aside what she had been about to speak of.
‘Yes, we talked about it briefly, before I collected this together,’ Ceinwen said, gesturing to the food on the table before lapsing into silence, unsure how to continue.
‘And?’
‘He’s young, Arthur.’
‘He is. So too are Elowen and Tomas to name but two.’
‘And he was at Eald - and Morgund said it was as bad there as anything he’s seen. I
t wasn’t good.’
‘Battle never is - and Elowen and Tomas were there too. What is it, Ceinwen?’
‘Well, he didn’t say as much but I got the impression he thought Ethain was scared, scared to go East.’
‘Any sensible person would be, especially if they’d already met a Shadow Land army.’
‘I think he was more than scared, Arthur, he was almost panicked.’
‘I saw that in him when we met on the road between Eald and Branque. I’d hoped it would pass. He’ll need to steel himself. That or he’ll die in the Shadow Lands.’
‘Arthur! He’s only a boy!’
‘He’s a member of the Wessex war band. That makes him a warrior. He can’t suddenly choose to be a farmer once battle comes. Before we’re finished I’ll be asking farmers and craftsmen to be warriors. This is not the time for warriors to decide to be farmers. He goes east.’
‘Well, will you at least talk to him?’
‘Of course.’
Ceinwen reached for a goblet of wine and Arthur did the same. They drank in a silence punctuated only by the crackling fire.
At length Ceinwen said, ‘But you’re not worried about going east are you, you’re not afraid?’
Arthur looked at her directly, ‘No, I’m not. Nor are you. We’ve seen what the Adren can do and I won’t wait to see it happen here too. Nor would you.’
‘But it’s more than that isn’t it? You want to go east, you want to face them don’t you?’
‘I’d rather they weren’t there, Ceinwen. I’d rather they had never come west. I’d rather your village still lived in peace and I’d rather it wasn’t necessary to defend this Isle against them.’
‘Yet they are there, and they are coming and you want to face them don’t you?’
Arthur once again looked directly at her and his face changed and his voice quietened, becoming harder and edged with hatred. Ceinwen felt her flesh crawl as she sensed the danger.
‘Yes. I want every one of them dead. I want to burn their lands and homes. I want to kill their families and young. I want to slaughter their very race and leave no trace of them. They have no place in this world and I’ll do what I can to rid them from it. I’ll do whatever I have to, to protect my people and my land.’
Despite his quiet tone, or perhaps because of it, the force behind what he said stunned Ceinwen and she suddenly felt unsafe sitting in front of him.
She summoned her courage and replied quietly and without looking at Arthur, ‘Your people. Your land.’
Arthur sat back in his chair, the moment passed and he said, ‘They’re your people and land too. Isn’t that why you’ve joined us again? Isn’t that why you’ll go east?’
Ceinwen’s gaze remained fixed on the fire as she replied, ‘No Arthur. My people are dead and what had become my home, my land, is now gone. I go east because that’s what the Wessex Warlord decides is the best course to take.’
‘And would you disagree?’
‘No, perhaps not,’ Ceinwen paused, wondering what made Arthur’s implacable stance different from that of the Adren.
‘Andala didn’t form an army. He didn’t march it into the Shadow Lands. He didn’t slay everything in his path. That’s the difference.’
Ceinwen sat back, stung by Arthur’s words and cursing herself for not being more guarded. She hurriedly sought to placate and divert his obvious anger, ‘I don’t disagree with you, Arthur, or think you’re wrong but why did the king agree to it? What happened at the council after I left?’
Arthur took a drink of his wine, ‘The king wants me dead and he counts all the Wessex and Anglian warriors as expendable to have it so.’
Ceinwen looked aghast, ‘What? Dead? All of us? Why?’
‘No, he just wants me dead, perhaps the warriors too but I don’t know that yet.’
‘But why? He needs us now more than ever.’
‘I’m not sure why yet, I haven’t seen his design, only his intent.’
‘But how can you know this?’
Arthur held her gaze for a few seconds and Ceinwen looked away.
‘I’ll know the rest the next time we meet.’
‘And what then?’ Ceinwen asked, dreading the answer.
‘Then I’ll judge him. But it’s a long road from now to then and who knows when or if we’ll see King Maldred again?’
Ceinwen finished her wine and stood up, ‘You already know, Arthur, and you’ve already passed judgement.’ Ceinwen looked at him a moment longer and then left.
*
Llud was the first to raise himself from the ale-induced slumber in the hall. He was the oldest active warrior in the Wessex war band, those of his companions who had survived to his fifty-plus years had retired to help run the camp and arm the younger warriors. Some had even sought out a more sedate life in the villages of their choice along the coast or deep in the Wessex countryside. He had been fifteen when Merdynn had walked into the camp on Whitehorse Hill with the boy who called himself Arthur and who carried his baby sister in his young arms. He remembered the day well, the day that two orphans had joined the community on Whitehorse Hill. Even then he, and others, had suspected there was something different about the boy. At first they had put it down to the trauma of the raid on his home village but when they heard how he had lowered his sister in a bucket down the well and then shinned down the rope himself just as the Uathach had struck they realised that perhaps this was not a four-year old child like others of his age. He had watched the child grow and was proud that he now held a position of responsibility under the boy that he had regarded as his younger brother and who had become his warlord.
Llud roused the company an hour later and they set about collecting and stowing their winter gear. Thick undergarments where donned under hide and leather trousers and sheepskin jerkins. Fur-lined boots were pulled on and heavy fur cloaks were bundled onto their horses together with sheepskin caps and gloves. Snowshoes, designed to both spread weight and to enable the wearer to slide across hard snow or ice were strapped to their burdened horses. Each rider carried several weeks’ worth of dried foods, feed for their horse and a leather water bottle. An oiled cape was tied over these bundles to keep rain and snow off them.
This was the first time in six years that the entire war band would stay for the winter. Normally lots would be drawn and half would take the journey west, though much swapping of lots and deals were struck so that various groups could stay together or indeed be apart. Only a few had gone across the Causeway before in winter. Some were wary of leaving their lands in the hands of the king’s men, others were anxious about the journey ahead but all were keen to learn more of why they were going east.
They eventually set off, filing out through the gate of their camp and onto the Ridgeway to head south for the Westway. Llud brought up the rear leading several cartloads of their winter supplies. They left in a more serious and quieter mood than when they had arrived and each was conscious of it. The breeze had stiffened from the West and clouds covered the setting sun. Only a handful watched the war band depart into the twilight. The only sound left behind them was the barking of dogs and the slapping of the ropes on the flagpoles where the two flags of the white horse and the red dragon snapped in the wind. It was the last winter that both flags would fly side by side.
*
When they reached the Westway they found it deserted. All the villagers had already passed on to Caer Sulis and all that remained to tell of their passing were the ruts of the wain wheels, rain-filled parallel lines stretching both west and east. They followed the wheel tracks heading east and Arthur dropped back to Llud and those leading the wains. He explained to him that he would be going on ahead to the Gates to talk to Ruadan and Hengest about the defences they had prepared. The rest of the company would travel with the provisions and he expected they would have to stop twice before reaching the Causeway. He hoped to only stop the once, at Dunraven on the hill above the Winter Wood. Arthur reminded him that Mar’h should be followin
g close behind and left it to his discretion whether or not to send back a party to help escort any extra supplies he may have acquired. He unnecessarily told him to post flanking riders in case any Uathach had ventured this far south hoping to raid any late trains heading for Caer Sulis. Llud bore it patiently knowing Arthur was only thinking aloud to make sure everything was covered. It was usually a sign that he had other things on his mind.
Arthur then moved slowly up the line explaining to various groups of riders what had transpired at the council and why they were going east, how long he expected to be across the Causeway and what he planned to achieve. As he moved up the line the change in those he had already spoken to was immediately noticeable. The seriousness was still there but now they had substance rather than speculation to debate and talk through. They were warriors and they were going to war. It was what they lived for and they could not have been in better spirits. The news that there was a Cithol Lord present at the council, that he had arrived with Merdynn and that Arthur himself had once been to the Veiled City amazed them greatly and was a completely new source for debate.
Llud watched the transformation from his position at the back of the line and he snorted and smiled. He had seen three warlords lead the Wessex war band and he was glad it was Arthur who was now leading them into the Shadow Lands. If that was where they had to go, then there was no one better to go with, he thought to himself. The usual pre-campaign apprehension evaporated and his natural confidence reasserted itself. By the time Arthur rode ahead of the column with Ceinwen, Morgund and Ethain the previous journey’s banter was back again. Llud started chatting and laughing with Talan and Tamsyn on one of the other wains and forgot to post the flanking riders.
