by Simon Lister
‘I take the oath before all here that the council have rule of this land and that I shall abide by their choice of king when they return.’
Gereint drew his sword and approached Arthur.
‘Then until the council determine otherwise, Arthur of Wessex is Warlord of Britain and we place our faith in him to defend us from our foes and keep safe the realm until a king returns.’ Gereint knelt in the snow and offered Arthur the sword of the Mercian war band, hilt first. Arthur accepted the sword.
He turned to his own company and raised the sword, ‘To the Mercian war band!’ he cried.
His warriors drew their weapons and holding them aloft, echoed his cry.
Arthur turned to the Mercians. ‘For the defence of the realm!’
Both war bands held their weapons to the snow laden dark sky and roared the reply.
The people of Caer Sulis crept from their homes and made their way to the square and the horror of losing their king and having the Uathach amongst them was washed away by the relief that civil war had been averted and a strong warlord was agreed upon to lead them in troubled times.
Arthur picked three warriors from each tribe and together with himself and Gereint they collected the ashes from the king’s funeral pyre and carried them down to the frozen river where they spread them on the snow and ice. When they returned they found the warriors had entered the hall and were attacking the wine stores with vigour as Arthur’s warriors told their tales from the East.
‘Better to be slaughtering the king’s wine stores than each other,’ Gereint remarked as they watched from the doorway.
‘We may still have to battle the Uathach clans so we need to keep them sober,’ Arthur replied and told Ceinwen to see to it. Gereint did likewise and when some order had been attained Arthur sought out Elwyn and the three of them left the hall to visit the gathering places in Caer Sulis. He wanted to tell the people of the three tribes what had transpired and that he would govern the land as warlord until the council saw fit to choose a new king.
They went from the eating-places to the smaller halls around the town and the people took heart that Gereint and Elwyn stood by Arthur. It showed them that the three southern tribes stood united and that order had been restored in the face of the nearby Uathach and more distant Adren hordes.
The last place they visited was deserted but for an old couple eating in one corner. They sat near the large fire that blazed in an open hearth against one wall, shook the snow from their cloaks and ordered some ale.
‘Is the Adren threat as bad as you say?’ Gereint asked.
‘Probably worse,’ Elwyn replied and started to recount what they had encountered in the Shadow Lands. Arthur studied Gereint whilst Elwyn spoke. He was a short man, the same height as Balor and just as broad but there the similarities with Balor ended. His short-cropped hair was iron grey as was his trimmed beard and the deep lines radiating out from the corners of his eyes and the creases on his brow spoke of his forty-plus years.
It was customary for the king to act as warlord of the tribe he came from but for many years now Gereint had held that place in the Mercian war band although it had never been officially acknowledged. He brushed his hand through his grey hair as Elwyn finished speaking.
‘Twenty thousand you say?’
‘It’s likely to be more,’ Arthur replied.
‘And how many do you think you can raise in time to battle them?’ Gereint asked in his lilting Mercian accent.
‘There’s about a hundred of the Wessex and Anglian warriors. A hundred of yours here and another hundred in the West,’ Elwyn answered.
‘Three-hundred warriors,’ Gereint said looking at Arthur.
‘We will equip and train another thousand or so from those that return from the West. Plus whatever come from the Uathach and the Cithol.’
‘So at best we’ll have about three-thousand to face them with?’ Gereint asked.
‘And at worst, three-hundred,’ Arthur replied.
‘Gods help us then,’ Gereint said and called out for more ale. ‘Are you going to be collecting the taxes now?’ Gereint added without looking at Arthur.
‘The taxes are collected at Lughnasa, some time away yet, perhaps the council will have chosen a new king by then. What we find of Maldred’s allocation from the last collection we’ll use to pay the craftsmen working through winter,’ Arthur answered.
‘You’ll not find much that he hasn’t already sent to the Uathach clans,’ Gereint answered bitterly.
‘You didn’t approve of his plans?’ Elwyn asked.
‘King Maldred was a fool at the end. He saw you,’ and he nodded to Arthur, ‘as a challenger for the throne. He thought you’d use this Adren threat to snatch it from him. He became convinced you were dealing with the Ghosts from the Winter Wood, those Cithol, and that you’d divide his kingdom up between you. I told him you would never do that, which just shows how wrong I can be. But it was the treaty with the Uathach that did it. That was madness and luckily for you my lads hate the Uathach more than they do you or you’d all have died in the hall. No good ever comes from dealing with the bloody Uathach,’ Gereint replied, pointedly looking at Arthur.
‘Well, like it not, we need them now and if they throw their lot in with us then their families will be travelling west with our own come next Lughnasa,’ Arthur responded.
‘You mean to keep your word about the promise of safe passage to the West?’ Gereint asked, clearly surprised and disapproving.
‘Would you have me hold true to only that which suits me?’ Arthur asked.
Gereint looked down at his ale and said softly, ‘You’re the Warlord of Britain, you can do whatever you bloody want.’
‘Including taking the throne?’ Arthur asked.
‘Of course you’ll take the throne, I would and I fully expect you to – after all, the king has no apparent successors,’ Gereint answered.
‘So what was all that about back in the square about oaths of not wanting to be king?’ Elwyn asked.
‘The king had come from Mercia. Arthur had just hacked his demented head off, and fair enough, someone had to put a stop to him selling off Britain to the Uathach, but it would have looked like Arthur had just killed him to be king instead. A Wessex king instead of a Mercian one. It just gave some credibility to the claim that it was all for Britain’s safety and not for personal gain,’ Gereint replied.
‘Do you think I want the throne?’ Arthur asked.
‘Of course you bloody do.’
‘And the oaths?’ Elwyn asked.
‘No one’s going to be concerned about the bloody oaths if these Adren are all you say they are and Arthur looks like being the only one to stop them. Just you wait and see. The council will be on their knees begging for you to be king. Just as you know they will, Arthur,’ Gereint said.
‘Believe what you will, Gereint, but I only want to see my people and my land safe,’ Arthur replied and stood up to return to the Great Hall to await news from the Uathach clans.
As Arthur left, and the other two got up to follow him, Gereint leant closer to Elwyn and said quietly, ‘See? He already sounds more like a bloody king than Maldred did.’
They returned through the snow and torch lit darkness back to the Great Hall. Arthur set about billeting the warriors in the various houses surrounding the square. They settled down to wait in the winter darkness for Ablach’s reply to Arthur’s proposed treaty. They busied themselves with eating, sleeping and keeping as near as they could to the warmth of the fires. Those that had families who had remained in Caer Sulis, rather than undertake the journey to the West, sought them out while the others scavenged what they could, tended their horses and spent time honing their weapons.
Arthur sent for Laethrig and set him the task of organising the townsfolk of Caer Sulis into groups to help with the work of arming a people for war. Most of those who had remained behind were either part of the king’s entourage or too old to make the journey west and be useful there.
Still, Arthur reasoned, whatever they could accomplish now would mean less to accomplish later and soon time would become critical. Arthur discussed with the others the merits of sending for the peoples in the West. They would have crops to harvest and bring back to Britain but the sooner they returned the sooner the fit and able could be trained for war.
Arthur was under no illusions about how much training could be undertaken in the few months they would have available. He hoped that while the war bands held the Causeway, some of the villagers and farmers could be taught how to shoot the short bows and how to wield a sword and spear. Even so, the land had to tilled and harvested. Seeds had to be sown and the crops garnered. Their supply of food was, Arthur hoped, the one advantage they had over the Adren host. So much depended on Cei stopping the Adren supply lines.
He talked at length with Elwyn about the plausibility of sending a longboat from the Haven across the Western Seas in winter darkness to take a message across. Elwyn sent for Lissa and Aylydd and they debated what the chances of success were. They finally agreed that the risks were acceptable, especially as they could return on one of the larger vessels with those who were leaving the West early. Arthur told Elwyn to select as few a crew as possible for the journey but to wait for the outcome of the Uathach treaty.
With the warriors and the townsfolk occupied, Arthur settled back to wait for the coming of the Uathach.
*
It was not the Uathach who came first to Caer Sulis. Instead it was Berwyn, one of the two Anglians who Arthur had found with Ruraidh’s Uathach raiding party in the Shadow Lands and who had travelled with Gwyna and the supplies to Dalchiaran. He burst into the hall and half ran to where Arthur was stretched out, slumbering in his chair by a fire.
‘Arthur!’
Arthur woke with a start, sending his half-full cup of wine skittering across the floor. The warriors in the hall moved towards the hurrying figure, eager to hear what news he brought from the Uathach encampment. Arthur studied the figure before him. His long sandy hair was whitened with the snow from outside but his face was sheened with sweat. As he stopped in front of Arthur he took a few seconds to control his breathing. Arthur poured another cup of wine and slid it across the table towards him as he studied Berwyn’s face. The man’s eyes held fear and urgency but the face showed nothing of the gauntness it held when Arthur had come across him and Saewulf near the Adren camp. The cracked lips and blistered skin had healed and the colour had returned to his narrow face and crooked nose. As he lifted up the beaker to his lips Arthur noticed he had lost two fingers on his left hand to frostbite.
‘What is it, Berwyn?’ he asked calmly.
‘They’re going to execute Mar’h. Got him chained up, say he raped one of their women!’ Berwyn said quickly.
The gathered warriors swore in outrage as more crowded around to investigate the commotion.
‘Quiet!’ Arthur barked at them, ‘Calm down, Berwyn, and tell me exactly what’s happened. Slowly and from the start. Sit down.’
Berwyn sat and started to explain. The journey to Ablach’s village, Dalchiaran, had gone smoothly and they were welcomed by Ruraidh who had made it safely across the sea in the longboat. The supplies sent by Arthur were well accepted and the village held a feast to celebrate. There were no problems until a woman, one of Ablach’s household was introduced to us by Gwyna and she started to scream at Mar’h, accusing him of raping her years ago during a Wessex raid. They had chained Mar’h and prevented the two Anglians from leaving then word came from Ablach for Ruraidh to join him north of Caer Sulis.
As Berwyn finished, the warriors erupted in uproar, incensed by the accusation against Mar’h. Arthur was silent for a moment then held up his hands for quiet.
‘Did Ablach send you here?’ he asked.
‘He says that he has his answer for you and invites you to witness his justice.’
Without being ordered, Ceinwen left the hall to gather those warriors who had been quartered elsewhere. Minutes later the combined war bands were mounted and ready to ride from the square outside the Great Hall. Arthur raised his hand for silence as his horse half turned beneath him.
‘Only act on my command! Do not draw your weapons unless I do!’ he shouted above the noise of the milling horses and led the hundred and forty mounted warriors to the North. Beside him rode Morgund, bearing the white horse banner of the Wessex, and Elwyn and Gereint with the Anglian and Mercian flags.
Once clear of the town they could see the fires from the Uathach camp in the hills to the North. Arthur led his warriors straight across the snow-covered fields towards the fires. The Uathach had based their camp around a large unused barn and most of them were gathered around the fires that burned in front of it.
The two sets of warriors, enemies for generations, faced each other in the snow before the barn. The horses of Arthur’s warriors sensed the tension and the riders tightened their reins to curb their beasts’ nervous excitement. Outright slaughter was only a drawn sword away.
Ablach was standing before the open doors to the barn. He spread his huge arms and called out to Arthur, ‘Welcome to my Great Hall, Warlord of Britain!’
Arthur dismounted and signalled Elwyn, Gereint, Ceinwen and Morgund to follow him. As he strode towards the waiting Ablach, the Uathach ranks parted and stayed in two groups either side of the barn doors. Arthur’s warriors watched them enter the large wooden building expecting the Uathach to fall on the small group at any moment.
Arthur was not concerned with the possibility of treachery. He knew as well as the Uathach chieftains did that the two sides were evenly numbered and a battle between them now would leave too few alive on the winning side to be counted as any kind of victory. He followed Ablach to the far end of the barn where a group of figures waited by an upturned trough that served for a table. Burning torches were fixed into the floor along the walls and they shed a flickering light on the standing figures, casting their tall shadows on the wall behind them.
Two women sat at the table, Gwyna and someone Arthur did not recognise. Benoc and Ruraidh stood by the bound Mar’h who knelt on the straw covered floor. Hund stood off to one side, his eyes ferreting from Arthur to Ablach and back again.
‘How do you like my feasting hall, warlord?’ Ablach said gesturing around the empty barn.
‘What’s your answer to my offer and why have you bound one of my warriors?’ Arthur asked.
Ablach clapped his shovel-like hands together and barked out a short laugh. ‘Right, no royal airs then, but then you don’t have a king do you?’ Ablach said, directing the last part at Gereint who did not blink or shift his eyes from Ablach’s. ‘Get your kings murdered often do you?’ Ablach asked Gereint directly.
‘I can add northern chieftains to the list,’ Arthur replied.
Ablach shrugged and spat on the floor, ‘No harm in seeing if the pup would bite.’
Gereint’s lip curled in a snarl but he kept his hand away from his sword.
‘Do you accept the treaty? Join forces with us against the Adren in exchange for winter passage to the West?’ Arthur said.
‘And land to farm in the South once they’re defeated!’ Hund added from the side.
‘No harm in seeing if the old man’s memory was addled,’ Arthur replied.
Ablach’s laugh barked out once more, ‘You’ll do as a son-in-law, Arthur of Wessex.’
‘What?’ Arthur asked.
‘We accept your treaty and as a sign of our new found unity the warlord of the southern tribes may marry the daughter of the leader of the northern chieftains. With this tie, neither will forget what is promised to the other.’
Arthur could not keep the surprise from his face and those behind him were clearly shocked by the unexpected proposal. Ablach was delighted and gestured for Gwyna to join them. She walked across to her father’s side with her head held high although whether with defiance or pride was unclear.
‘You met my daughter in the Shadow Lands, saved her rebellious carca
ss it seems. Well, to thank you for that I offer her to you for a wife.’
Arthur fought to keep the image of Fin Seren from his mind as he looked from Ablach to Gwyna.
‘Seems you weren’t lying about the Adren. Ruraidh here paints an even blacker picture than you do. So we’ll fight alongside you for our homes and land while your ships can guarantee the safety of our families.’ Ablach folded his arms as he finished.
‘And Mar’h?’ Ceinwen asked, trying to buy Arthur time to think.
‘If we’re to farm southern lands under southern law, then what does your fabled law say for a man like that?’ Ablach answered.
Arthur’s mind was racing and he made a conscious effort to still his thoughts. Clearly Ablach thought Arthur would never relinquish the leadership of the southern tribes, whether it be as king or warlord, and by marrying his daughter to him he thought to share that power or at least his descendants would. Gwyna came as part of the deal that would see the Uathach standing alongside his own warriors in the coming war. If Arthur turned the offer down he would be spitting in the face of Ablach and the Uathach. He quickly realised he had no choice but to accept the proposal, or damn Britain to the Adren.
That decided he turned his thoughts to Mar’h. By some cursed turn of fate the girl Mar’h had raped all those years ago now turned out to be one of Ablach’s women and retribution was being demanded. He remembered how he had dealt with the warrior from his war band who had raped one of Andala’s villagers. That had been more to set a necessary example to the other warriors rather than to punish the individual but doubtless Ablach would demand the same uncompromising justice.
‘Well, warlord? What does your justice say to that? This godless bastard raped a girl – a girl who I later took as one of my wives!’ Ablach demanded.
‘Bring Mar’h to the table. You and I will sit with your wife and judge him. The rest of you wait at the far end,’ Arthur said, pointing to the other end of the barn.
