by Simon Lister
The Breton chieftain sat back and studied him as they waited for the food and hot drinks to be brought. He was extremely curious about where they had come from and how they had arrived here at his stronghold. He wanted to know why they travelled with the sorcerer, Merdynn. He wanted to know what was happening beyond his own lands and who this new enemy was that had swept out of the Shadow Lands with such fury. But he was a patient man. A lifetime spent on fishing boats at the unpredictable mercy of the masterless seas had taught him to be patient. The patient fisher always caught the fish. It was only a matter of time.
Cei finally raised his tired eyes from the table to meet the gaze of the Breton. Bran was about a head shorter than Cei and had a smaller frame too but something about the deeply lined, sea-worn face and hard, dark eyes marked this man out as tough and uncompromising. Cei had seen men like this before on the Anglian coast. Men who had spent their lives on cruelly capricious seas, fighting the elements every time they left their harbours and cheating death every time they were caught by a storm and made it safely home. They invariably made good warriors but were hard men to lead. Bran looked just such a man as he sat there absently stroking his drooping moustache and levelly gazing back at Cei.
The food and drinks arrived and were placed on the table. Bran poured a hot drink for the warriors and handed a cup to each in turn. The strong smell of mint suffused the room and mingled with the unwashed odour from the warriors.
‘The sorcerer we know. A friend from the old days,’ Bran finally said as he sat back down opposite Cei, inviting him to tell the rest of the tale.
So between mouthfuls of the scalding drink Cei told Bran the tale that had taken his warriors to this stronghold. Bran listened carefully, occasionally looking at the warriors sprawled about his roundhouse as they ate. He raised his eyebrows when Cei told him that they had been separated from Arthur’s war band during a raid on the Adren, he mentioned nothing about the quest east. Bran did not believe that the sorcerer would have been unable to find his way back but he kept his peace as Cei continued. He nodded in acknowledgement of the service done to his people when Cei got towards the end and mentioned the young goat herders and their village. Cei brought the tale to a conclusion with a gesture around him as if to say ‘and these are those that remain and this is where we are’.
‘When we saw the whirlwind on the headland we knew the sorcerer was with you and that you were in trouble. So we ventured out on the sea ice to help, had the Dea Arduinna, or Adren as you name them, been half-awake they would have rushed from before the walls and caught us all. But the last while has been reasonably quiet.
‘They swept upon us after the sun had set and the slaughter was merciless. Hundreds of my people died in the surrounding area here. Only half of us made it to the safety of the stronghold with only a half of our winter supplies before we closed the gate. For a time they attacked the wall and tried to scale the cliffs around us but recently they seem content with the occasional assault, preferring to wait until we run out of food. Perhaps your arrival here will spark them to renewed attacks?’ Bran looked to Cei for an answer.
‘Your sanctuary may cost you dear. I doubt that they have hunted us over so many leagues to leave us in peace now,’ Cei said, regretting the extra danger they brought with them.
‘I don’t know of these Belgae tribes that you speak of but you say these Adren were there and slaughtered them. I haven’t heard of Eald or Branque or such distant villages yet they too were hacked to death you say. They came here for the same reason and would stay to see it done whether or not you and the sorcerer were here. If Merdynn recovers perhaps he can advise us what is best to be done. You say that Arthur of Wessex defends the land across the sea?’
‘You know of Arthur?’ Cei asked surprised, and Trevenna looked across with interest.
‘Dark haired lad, gray eyes? Though I suppose he would be about your age by now.’
‘Yes. Warlord of Wessex. How do you know of him?’
‘Merdynn brought such a boy with him on some of his journeys here many years ago. Introduced him to my father, the chieftain in those days. Didn’t like him. He reminded me of the sea under a winter moon.’
‘How do you mean?’ Trevenna asked.
‘Only the surface is lit. Everything underneath is dark. And the sea is wild and will do whatever it chooses with no regard for any man. He’s a warlord now, eh? Can’t say I’m surprised.’
‘Trevenna, my wife, is Arthur’s sister and I count Arthur as a friend,’ Cei told him.
Bran looked at them both without any trace of contrition. ‘It was many years ago,’ Bran said by way of concession and then shrugged, giving the impression that he did not think Arthur would have changed much in the intervening years. ‘Eat. Rest. The Dea Arduinna will soon be at the walls again and we’ll need every warrior,’ Bran said and left the roundhouse.
The others renewed their attack on the thick vegetable broth with Trevenna voicing her appreciation of the food and her distaste for the Breton leader. No one contradicted her but the Anglians silently agreed with the Breton. Cei left the roundhouse but did not follow Bran towards the wall. Instead he made for the end of the peninsula and stared out over the sea ice. He had noticed fishing boats that had been hauled up beyond the storm line at the base of the cliff but they would not float again until the sun returned to Middangeard. He and those that remained with him were not leaving this stronghold, not during the winter.
He stood and stared out across the sea towards the unseen lands of Britain. The cold wind blasted over the ice and buffeted around the cliff face and Cei lowered his head and ran a hand over his face. Four more of his warriors had died on the peninsula to the East. There were only seven of them left now and they would have to spend the rest of the dark winter helping to defend this fortress from the Adren.
He had failed in his quest east into the Shadow Lands, and now he was caught between the frozen sea and the Adren army.
Chapter Four
Arthur arrived at Caer Sulis to find that Cael had all the arrangements for the wedding feast in hand. The square before the Great Hall was cleared and cleaned and the hall itself had been scrubbed down and thoroughly swept out. Even the fire pits, that probably held decades’ worth of ashes and embers, had been emptied and fresh cut cedar wood had been laid aside for the fires. As they passed through the streets of the town it seemed that the cleaning had spread like a fever and everywhere people were busy clearing away the debris of winter. A pre-dawn light glowed in the West and everyone was preparing for the coming of the sun.
Arthur sent Mar’h to Caer Cadarn on the pretext of organising further supplies for the Gates and to arrange for several more wains to be dispatched to the Veiled City to collect the food and weapons. Although there were more supplies to send on to the garrison at the Causeway the real reason was to make sure he was nowhere near Caer Sulis when the Uathach arrived, and word had reached him that they were only a day’s march away. He had left Gereint and Elwyn to bring the Mercian warriors and the tribes’ counsellors from the Haven. They were due to arrive at about the same time as the Uathach.
He settled himself in the Great Hall and idly watched the activity as newly cleaned tables and benches were brought back into the hall. Beasts had already been butchered and the smell of roasting meat filled the air as the lengthy process of cooking for the feast began. New torches were fixed into the walls and tall candles were brought in and lined along the trestle tables. The shutters on the windows were propped open and Arthur’s thoughts inevitably turned to Branque and the slaughter that he could not stop. He had been unable stop it then and neither could he stop reliving it now. The memory was like a thief sneaking through his thoughts and dreams, returning unexpectedly at quiet moments to once again steal the lives of those he had sought to protect. The dreams and memories fed his hatred for the Adren and he longed for the battle ahead when he could begin again the slaughter of those who threatened his kingdom.
Ceinwen b
rought him some food but she stopped and stood to one side of the table and watched his face warily. She felt a chill go through her as she saw the hatred in his gray eyes. She placed the food quietly on the table deciding she would leave him to be alone but Arthur looked up at her and for a moment she felt that terrible hatred directed towards herself. He blinked and the intensity in his stare switched off immediately. He smiled at her and indicated to a chair for her to sit. She suppressed a shudder, suddenly scared that his mood could change so quickly and so easily.
‘Everything appears to be ready,’ she said for the want of something to say.
‘Indeed it does. I hadn’t realised that Cael had such a talent for organising.’
They both watched Cael as he effortlessly hauled another table into the hall. He was a big man both in height and in girth and the heavy table he carried pressed against his barrel of a stomach looked to be made of nothing heavier than wicker. His close-cut hair gave his head a slightly pointed look and his constantly flushed cheeks and wide-open eyes gave him a perpetually surprised and slightly embarrassed look. Even among the other warriors, whose minds were always turned to the next meal, his appetite was legendary and he eagerly awaited the feast.
‘How did it go with the counsellors?’ Ceinwen ventured turning her gaze away from the busy Cael. She still felt nervous despite Arthur’s easy manner.
‘They’ve accepted me as Warlord of Britain. I shall rule in the absence of a king and for as long as the Adren continue to threaten us. Once we have defeated them a new king will be elected and I shall return to being the Wessex Warlord.’ Arthur spoke in a matter of fact manner as he toyed absently with his drinking cup but Ceinwen guessed there was far more behind his bland statement and wished she had been at the council meeting at the Haven.
‘The Mercian warriors?’
‘They too will follow me, under the command of Gereint who has been formally recognised as their warlord.’
‘And they’re happy about the treaty with the Uathach?’
Arthur stopped twirling the cup on the table and looked at her, ‘They’re happier with my proposal than they were with King Maldred’s.’
Ceinwen nodded, hearing the edge in Arthur’s voice and guessing that the council were not at all happy that Arthur had promised to give the Uathach lands to clear and farm in the South and safe passage to the Western Lands in return for support in the coming war. It was, however, far better than the king’s proposal whereby the Wessex and Anglian lands would be forfeit entirely, to the king and the Uathach respectively.
‘I’ve told the Anglians that they cannot return to their lands yet.’
Ceinwen shot Arthur a quick glance. This was a surprise. Arthur continued, ‘It’s too dangerous. If the Adren break through the Causeway Gates then Anglia would be quickly cut off. We wouldn’t be able to defend them. So I’ve asked all the peoples to stay west of Caer Sulis for the summer months. It’ll mean that much less of the land will be harvested but the Cithol supplies should more than make up for the shortfall. The first transport should arrive soon along with the first of the new crossbows.’
‘And the Anglian chieftain has accepted this?’ Ceinwen asked, still surprised by Arthur’s decision.
‘With Cei in the Shadow Lands, Aelle looked to Elwyn for advice and he’s already agreed to move the families of the Anglian warriors to Whitehorse Hill for their safety.’
‘Gods, they can’t be happy about not returning to their homes.’
‘They weren’t but these aren’t times to be happy in and I will not see any village in Britain destroyed like Branque or Eald or the Belgae villages.’
Arthur’s voice had taken on a tone to match the look in his eyes when Ceinwen had approached the table. She stayed silent for a few minutes as the activity carried on in the hall below them.
‘Every man, woman and child will be trained for some aspect of the war ahead, whether it be as warriors, messengers, riders, healers or cooks for the army. This will be done at Caer Sulis and Whitehorse Hill. I thought to put Mar’h in charge of the training whilst we go east with our band and the Mercians. Do you think he’s capable of it?’
Ceinwen thought for a moment, remembering how much more like his old self Mar’h had seemed back at the Haven. He would be disappointed not to be at the Causeway when the Adren came but with his left hand now useless perhaps it was for the best. He would certainly make an excellent fighting instructor.
She nodded her agreement. ‘How many do you hope to train as warriors?’
‘Mar’h will decide that as he trains them. As many as possible and as quickly as possible for we’ll have less than three hundred at the Causeway to meet the Adren invasion.’
‘What about the Uathach and the Cithol? At least the Uathach will be there with us surely?’
‘Perhaps. We shall see. If Ablach honours the agreement then we may have six or seven hundred with which to face the Adren.’
‘He must do, why else would he present his daughter to marry you?’ Ceinwen asked, suddenly afraid that they would have to stand against the Adren host alone.
‘We shall see,’ Arthur repeated, once more toying with the empty cup.
‘What will you do if he doesn’t?’
‘As I said. Burn their lands and kill them all.’
Ceinwen watched Arthur as he spun the wine cup on the surface of the table and she knew by the way he had spoken so implacably that he meant it in absolute earnest. She recalled the tales she had heard about the campaign in the Green Isle and had no doubt Arthur would do as he said. She had no idea how he would carry out his retribution whilst still having to defeat the Adren and she had no intention of asking him either. She had approached him with the food thinking she would ask him how he felt about marrying the Uathach girl but she decided against it now and in an oblique way he had already answered her question.
*
The chieftains and counsellors of the southern tribes arrived with the Mercian warriors some time before Ablach led his Uathach band into Caer Sulis. When the arrival of the Uathach was announced in the Great Hall Arthur felt an immediate and acute sense of loss. In some deep recess within himself he had blindly hoped that Ablach would not come to Caer Sulis with his daughter, Gwyna. Even though that meant the Uathach would not stand with them against the Adren still some part of him had hoped for it, for that would mean he was free to be with Fin Seren. When their arrival was called out from the doors of the Great Hall he experienced a sudden assault of vertigo as if the whole world had abruptly fallen away from beneath his feet leaving him drifting, his true desires no longer able to anchor himself to the world.
Deep inside a voice cried out with the desperation of a plea from a grave being coldly filled by the events he could do nothing to stop. Except there was one last chance to do as he wanted; he could leave the hall and ride to the Veiled City, to Fin Seren. Once again he felt as if he were suddenly at a great height, not because he had climbed upwards but because the ground he stood on had plummeted away from him. He physically felt the onslaught of the vertigo and his stomach lurched and his chest constricted around his heart. He put a hand on the table to steady himself as he watched Ablach enter the hall. The voice from the tomb within, where he had interred his love for Fin Seren, was already half buried but all the more desperate for it and it frantically screamed one word at him: no. He could feel the sweat on the palms of his hands, all he had to do was walk away from the hall. Walk away from Gwyna and the treaty with the Uathach. Walk away from Britain.
He slammed shut the door of the tomb and the voice inside died. He felt the firm wood of the floor beneath his feet and the Great Hall come back into focus again. He would not turn his back on Britain.
Ablach was walking up the hall towards him. He was flanked and followed by ten of his warriors who strode through the hall of their enemy with a swagger and arrogance born of a nervousness that their pride sought to conceal. Ablach looked unchanged from the last time that Arthur had seen him. His s
mall black eyes shifted from side to side as if he was seeking someone but apart from those preparing the feast the hall was mostly empty. Morgund lounged in one corner with his feet propped up on a table as he chatted to Morveren but Ablach could see no others from Arthur’s war band. He had indeed been searching for one face, Mar’h, the true father of Gwyna.
Ablach’s warriors formed a protective ring about their chieftain as he stopped in front of the raised platform where Arthur was standing. Arthur noted that they all had their hands on their weapons as if expecting some kind of treachery. They had the look of hardened warriors, veterans from years of raiding the southern lands. They were tall men, strong and scarred from dozens of skirmishes and battles. They had a wild, barely restrained violence about them and they reminded Arthur of the warriors that had been in the Wessex war band when he had become the warlord; violent, brutal men constantly looking for the next fight and taking whatever they wanted whenever they wanted it and from whomever they chose.
Since becoming warlord almost twenty years ago Arthur had changed all that and he knew with certainty that the men and women in his war band could defeat these wild warriors whether it was in individual combat or on a battlefield. The Uathach warriors may well have looked more fearsome but their wildness was their weakness. The training, discipline and cohesive fighting ability of his warriors had transformed the Wessex war band into a formidable fighting force that was feared by its enemies and respected by those it sought to protect.
Under the leadership of Cei the Anglians had gone through a similar transformation and Gereint had remodelled the king’s company, the Mercians, along the same lines although, curiously, there were no women in the Mercian war band.
Ablach stood looking up at Arthur. Like his warriors, he too was thinking of treachery but his thoughts were of perpetrating it. Arthur stood alone while he had ten of his bravest warriors behind him.
