by Simon Lister
‘And for standing by me when these bastards were running away!’ Leah added to quiet laughter and put a hand on Ethain’s shoulder, ‘Thank you, Ethain.’
Ethain could not stand it any longer and shrugged off Leah’s hand and jumped to his feet staring at the faces around the fire.
‘We’re all going to bloody die out here! You treat it like a child’s game!’ He was going to add more but stopped in exasperation and stormed off into the darkness between the trees.
The others were silent, astonished by Ethain’s words.
‘He’s a serious warrior. Brave to madness yet he feels the loss of his friends as if it were his fault,’ Cerdic said and shook his head in quiet admiration. Others grunted their agreement and raised their steaming drinks once more. Leah stood up and pulling her thick cloak around her, walked off after Ethain.
‘Give a dog a good name...’ Merdynn muttered into his soup. Only Cuthwin heard him and he frowned at his words.
Conversations started again around the fire and Cei drew Merdynn and Aelfhelm to one side to discuss their situation. They quickly agreed it was not good.
‘And there’s only twelve of us now,’ Aelfhelm added unhelpfully, his brow furrowing even more deeply than was usual.
‘And only ten horses. The lighter ones can share - Roswitha, Leofrun, Trevenna and Ethain - but still, it’ll slow us down,’ Cei said.
‘I don’t believe the Adren or, more accurately, their Adren Captain will give up the chase,’ Merdynn added.
‘They want you, don’t they?’ Cei asked.
‘Yes. Unfortunate that.’
‘How’s our food lasting?’ Cei asked Aelfhelm who just grunted.
‘And the horse feed?’
‘Almost as bad but we’ll be eating them before we run out of food for them,’ he said, his close-set eyes looking levelly at Cei.
Cei sighed heavily.
‘How much further do we have to go?’ Aelfhelm asked.
Merdynn shifted uneasily, unwilling to let him know the bad news.
‘That bad, eh? Well, what choice do we have?’ Aelfhelm shrugged, resigned to their situation and still shocked by the death of Herewulf.
‘What choices do we have, Merdynn?’ Cei asked. He was torn between the reality of their situation and the faith Arthur had put in him.
‘Well, we can’t go back to the Causeway. Too many Adren there. No longboats on the Belgae coast. Arthur would have taken them by the time we can get there – if the Adren haven’t already destroyed them.’
‘Perhaps not all of them?’ Aelfhelm asked with hope.
‘He’d burn those he didn’t take,’ Merdynn continued, ‘So. We can carry on, though admittedly the going will become harder the further we travel into the Shadow Lands,’ Merdynn paused and then voiced what he had been thinking since their encounter with the Adren Captain, ‘or we can abandon our quest and make for the Breton lands.’
‘And where are they?’ Cei asked.
‘They’re across the sea from Wessex. Good people.’
‘Would they have boats to take us to Wessex?’ Aelfhelm asked, his hope flitting from one option to another.
‘The main village is on the coast, and yes, they fish the seas so they’ll have boats,’ Merdynn answered.
Aelfhelm studied Cei who still wrestled with the opposing responsibilities of keeping his warriors alive and trying to carry out Arthur’s plan.
‘Let me think about it,’ he finally said.
‘We can’t stay here long. I fear the Adren will be nose-down to our tracks,’ Merdynn said standing.
Aelfhelm wanted to stay to help Cei decide but Merdynn gently led him back to the fire. In truth, Cei knew the quest east was all but finished, especially now that the Adren knew Merdynn was with them. Merdynn had come to the same bitter conclusion. Cei did not see how they could continue in worsening conditions with the provisions they had while being hunted down. Still he remained undecided. He knew how much depended on Arthur’s plan. Everything did.
*
Leah found Ethain leaning with his back against a cold tree trunk and his head hung down resting on his chest. She was not quiet approaching him but he jumped nonetheless when she rested a hand on his shoulder, which still felt thin even under the thick layers of winter cloaks.
‘Are you angry?’
He turned slowly to face her, his eyes red and watery. Her hand was still on his shoulder and she felt him shaking. He realised that she had noticed and looked away wretchedly.
‘You’re cold, shivering. It’s always the same after the heat of battle,’ she said, lying to comfort him a little. She led him to a clump of fallen trees where the upturned broad tangle of roots offered more protection from the searching wind. They sat down side by side.
‘It’s not the cold. I’m scared. And I’m scared of showing that I’m scared,’ he said with his chin once again resting on his chest.
Leah looked sideways at him, surprised by his honesty and surprised by the warmth she felt for him. She saw a tear form on his long eyelashes and track down his nose where it hung for a moment before a second swelled it and began a steady drip onto his cloak. He made no attempt to hide his silent crying and she admired him for it. She put an arm around him and drew him closer to her.
‘At your age I was scared too. Still am. We all are. We’ve just learnt to hide it,’ Leah said, wondering briefly why she was lying to this boy.
She loved battle and like most of the warriors she lived for fighting and the sheer joy it brought. But something about this young man’s honesty and vulnerability made her feel suddenly very attracted to him. Unlike most of the men she knew there was no sense of having to compete with him and no need to prove anything to him either.
He certainly was not trying to prove anything to her or impress her yet she felt impressed by his self-abasing truthfulness and he had already proved himself when he stood by her in the city. She realised it must have taken an awful effort for him to have tried to help her when he could have just bolted without anyone judging him the worse for it.
He took his sheepskin cap off and wiped it across his nose and scruffy, sparse beard. He glanced at Leah, ‘I only wish I had your courage. And strength,’ he muttered in his soft voice.
‘Perhaps you can have both,’ Leah said and leant across and kissed his lips. She could taste the salt of his tears. She changed her position so that she was facing him.
‘Are you recovered now?’ she said smiling.
He nodded uncertainly and wiped his finger back and forth under his nose, sniffing back his tears.
Leah stroked the side of his face and laughed softly, ‘I see you have recovered.’ She kissed him again, brushing her tongue across his lips.
He shook his head.
‘Why not? We could be dead by the time the moon next wanes! And there’s nothing better after cheating death – trust me!’ she said grinning at him.
Ethain could not speak but his eyes were wide and he shook his head slightly again.
‘Have you not done this before?’ Leah asked quietly and judged she was right by his embarrassed look.
‘Don’t worry. I have,’ she smiled again, her pale blue eyes keen with anticipation.
Chapter Two
The wind was from the southwest and it brought rain. It was the first heavy rain in Britain since the sun had set in autumn. Arthur sat on the steps of the Great Hall and watched as it swept through the darkness of Caer Sulis in dense, torrential curtains. It clattered on the roofs of the buildings and washed away the accumulated snow of winter. The roads and pathways about the town ran like streams as the water quickly pooled on the frozen ground.
Morgund stood leaning against a pillar behind Arthur and he too watched the deluge, mesmerised by the sight after months of snowfall. All around the town people leant out of windows or stood in doorways and watched the driving rain. They stared in silence as the white mask of winter was slowly stripped from the land.
Sunrise was still
a month away and the rains were unusual for this time of year. Normally winter would die fiercely, hurling snowstorms and blizzards blown on gales from the East. Throughout the town those who wanted to read evil signs into the sudden rains did so and those who wanted to take encouragement from the early retreat of winter argued the point with them but they all shared the same sense of foreboding. No one felt the jubilation usually associated with the coming of spring, for with the spring would come the Adren.
Morgund shifted against the post, ‘Never thought I’d be unhappy to see the end of winter.’
Arthur looked up at him and saw anxiety in the pale eyes that contrasted so starkly with his dark face. He grunted in reply and with his hands on his knees levered himself to his feet. His leg was still stiff from the arrow wound he had received at Branque and he wondered absently how long it would be before he was free from the nagging pain. He was about to go back into the hall when Morgund started to chuckle. He looked around to see what had made him laugh and smiled too.
Ceinwen was splashing her way across the courtyard in front of the hall. The water already stood two-feet deep in places and it swirled around her thighs as she waded towards them. With her wavy hair bedraggled and her sodden clothes hanging on her slight frame, she looked more like a lost child than a warrior. She was swearing with each laborious step and when she finally climbed the steps and saw Morgund grinning at her she slapped him wetly across the side of the face and stamped on into the hall leaving a trail of water behind her. Morgund just laughed and he and Arthur followed her in.
The hall had served as Arthur’s main base during the last two months although he had made frequent trips to Caer Cadarn to coordinate all the necessary preparations for war being undertaken by Laethrig, the war band’s blacksmith. At any one time there were usually fifty or so warriors in the hall, a mix of Gereint’s Mercians and Arthur’s company. The tension between the two groups had been high at first but over the weeks they had become more accustomed to each other and gradually mutual respect and friendships had developed.
The warriors spent most of their time preparing themselves for what lay ahead and despite their experience they nonetheless practised and trained incessantly, always eager to learn and perfect a new feint, ploy or tactic that they might use in the months ahead. The half-empty town was usually quiet during the long winter darkness but in recent weeks it had rang to the clash of steel and the endless hammering from the forges as new swords, spears and arrowheads were added to the growing stockpiles of war.
Yet despite the increased activity a subdued atmosphere had settled on Caer Sulis. It was as if the whole town passed the darkness under a veil of grief, as if everyone had lost someone close to them and in the middle of a conversation or a shared laugh they would suddenly remember their loss and a heavy quietness would fall upon them. Each day took them nearer to a future filled with uncertainty and fear. The warriors had become anxious to start the journey to the Causeway and to face the Adren that waited on the far shores. The townsfolk fretted and worried about their own safety. Both the warriors and the people of Caer Sulis watched the swaying curtains of rain knowing that the uncertain future would soon be upon them.
Arthur gazed around and saw Ceinwen standing by one of the fires furiously rubbing her hair dry. He strode towards her forcing his stiff leg to work.
‘How are the preparations going at the camp?’
Ceinwen had just returned from their base at Whitehorse Hill where Laethrig had the families of the Wessex and Anglian warriors working on the provisions for war.
‘Going well,’ she answered as she first tipped her head one way then the other, twisting a finger in her ears to clear out the water.
‘Arrows?’
‘Thousands. Wrapped, dry and ready for transport. Unlike me.’ She self-consciously peeled off her soaked trousers and jacket and draped them near the fire where they immediately began to steam. She hunted around for some dry clothes among her few possessions. Modesty and privacy were luxuries that all the warriors had learnt to live without but she was still unused to living so closely with relative strangers, and those nearby, appreciating how she felt, either ignored her nakedness or made a point of turning away. Arthur watched her impatiently.
‘Supplies? Meat, corn?’
‘Yes, all ready to be loaded onto the wains.’ She finally found the long woollen shift she was searching for and quickly pulled it over her head, belting it at the waist.
‘Everything’s ready, Arthur. Everything. They’re just waiting for your word to begin taking it to the Causeway.’
Morveren walked across to them, ‘You look like a drowned dog,’ she said, smiling as she handed Ceinwen a hot drink. Ceinwen shook her still wet hair in Morveren’s face by way of a reply.
As Arthur turned to leave them he heard his name being called out from the front of the hall. Several warriors were gathered around a cloaked figure by the doorway and Morgund was waving him over. Arthur looked to see if anyone else had arrived with the newcomer for he knew who it was even before he threw back the hood of his cloak. Terrill, Captain of the Cithol, had come from the Veiled City to Caer Sulis but he had come alone.
Arthur sat with him at the top table and beckoned Gereint and Elwyn to join them. He introduced them to Terrill as representatives for the Mercians and Anglians. Gereint had seen Lord Venning at the King’s Council but Elwyn had not seen a Cithol before and struggled to keep the amazement from his face as he stared at the black eyes and the strange washed-out pigment of his skin that looked that it should be as dark as Morgund’s but actually seemed more grey than black.
The Cithol Captain in turn looked at the thickset, pale-skinned Anglian with his short-cropped sandy hair that stood up in wet spikes. They each found the other strange and alien and when Terrill turned his black eyes to study Gereint it took all the Mercian’s self-control to keep his expression neutral.
‘Have you travelled alone?’ Arthur asked and Terrill looked to him and nodded slowly as if answering the real question behind the enquiry; Fin Seren remained in the Veiled City.
Arthur breathed in deeply, unsure whether he was disappointed at not being able to see her yet or relieved that at least one complication was delayed until later. His formal marriage to Gwyna, the daughter of Ablach the Uathach chieftain, was only a matter of weeks away now. He would have to decide whether to send this news back to Seren via Terrill or wait until he had the chance to tell her himself. Both Elwyn and Gereint realised that more was being said in the silence than was actually being spoken.
‘Has there been any news of Merdynn?’ Terrill asked.
Arthur shook his head. Only a few knew of the real purpose behind Merdynn and Cei’s quest in the Shadow Lands and the pivotal role it played in the defence of Britain. Those who were not aware of the true intent were becoming increasingly concerned over their continued absence.
Once again the other two were aware that the question asked more than was apparent to them and they were relieved when Ceinwen interrupted the uncomfortable silence by bringing a pitcher of hot drink and plates of food to the table. She had met Terrill previously at the Veiled City and he nodded to her in recognition. Arthur waved her to take a chair and she sat next to the Cithol Captain. Although she did not share the mix of amazement, fear and curiosity that the other warriors in the hall clearly felt, she still did not entirely trust the Cithol or their motives and she welcomed the chance to join in the meeting with Terrill.
Arthur was asking about Lord Venning’s preparations for war and for the first time Terrill looked uncomfortable. His calm face became troubled and a brief frown creased his forehead as he looked away. Ceinwen watched with interest as he hesitated, clearly struggling to find the right words. She sensed that there was a serious disagreement among the Cithol regarding the part they had to play in the inevitable war and that the compromise they had settled for did not please Terrill. Finally he met Arthur’s eyes and answered.
‘Lord Venning does not
yet feel the need to commit us to war.’ He quickly raised a hand to stop Arthur’s retort, ‘It’s not a view that I, or some others, share. Many of us feel that the numbers of the Adren host make it plain we must help you, and help you now before it is too late. But even among those who feel this, it is unclear how best we can aid you. We are not warriors. We have no experience of battle. Many are reluctant to even leave the Winter Wood and few are ready to stand by you in war. I am doing what can be done to convince the council and my people that it is not a matter of choice for war is coming and we either stand and fight for everything we have, or we flee and leave behind everything that is dear to us. We cannot do the latter and many won’t accept the former; they hope that the Adren will not cross the Causeway or that you will hold them there for long enough.’
‘We’d stand more chance of that if the Cithol stood with us at the Causeway Gates,’ Ceinwen blurted out.
‘I know this. It is hard to convince my people that they must stand by you for they’ve seen you and know you are warriors while they are not. It shames me that many think only to defend the Winter Wood, they cannot see that the Causeway is the gate to both your home and theirs. I have not given up the attempt to convince them otherwise and the matter is debated everywhere you turn in the Veiled City. There is still time, perhaps only a little, but some time nonetheless.
‘The council has agreed on two things at least. We can provide your peoples with food from the crops grown in the caverns of the Veiled City. If you are to arm and train your people for war then at least in this way you will not have to concern yourselves with the summer harvest.’ He sensed that Ceinwen was about to launch a protest at the suggestion and once again he held up his hand and hurriedly continued, ‘I realise that this seems only to serve our ends, that we are willing for all your people to go to war while we merely send you food and stores but whether we stood by you in battle or not, you would need your farmers armed and trained and not tending fields.’
