by Simon Lister
Ceinwen smiled as he returned, ‘You and Balor ought to get together for a drink.’
Elwyn ignored her and walked up to Terrill to give him the same ultimatum.
*
Balor was drinking with Morgund. They were toasting the dead; one mug of ale for every name they could recall. They were hopelessly drunk and were having difficulty remembering who they had already remembered. Not for the first time Morgund raised his beer to Morveren’s memory and Balor once again cursed him for tempting fate and reminded him that they had agreed to drink to only those they had seen fall or who they knew for certain were dead.
It was supposed to have been a celebration for the bravery of dead warriors but too many of their friends were missing; Ceinwen was still out there somewhere escorting Seren back to Caer Cadarn, Mar’h was now at the Haven, Morveren had not been seen since the ambush and the rest, well, the rest were dead. To make matters worse the rumoured death of Cei and his warriors, together with Trevenna and Merdynn, had spread throughout Caer Cadarn and with it the hope that the Adren would have to turn back had begun to fade. The invading army that had broken through on the Causeway and swept them from the Winter Wood would soon be coming west. In fact, after their fifth drink they had come to the realisation that there really wasn’t much to celebrate at all and the drinking had become morose and soon they were drinking to forget the dead rather than to remember them.
Gereint recognised some serious drinking when he saw it and strolled across the grass and mud of the compound to join them. He had met up with Ruraidh’s band of Uathach on the Westway and together they had arrived back at Caer Cadarn a day ahead of Arthur. Ruraidh had lost almost half his warriors to the Cithol inspired ambushes but Gereint’s band had fared much better thanks mainly to his inherent distrust of anything and anyone not Mercian. He had never trusted the Cithol and his wariness had kept most of his war band alive.
Of the fourth band, Gwyna’s, there had been no news and Gereint cast his eyes towards the wall where Arthur stood looking out to the East. His attitude towards Arthur had changed over the last few days. After the immediate grief of losing his brother, Glore, he had been able to look back on the defence of the Causeway more objectively and he acknowledged to himself what he had always known; that Arthur had defended the Causeway better and longer than anyone else could have done. The Adren had paid in their thousands for their first foothold in Britain and according to what he heard they had paid in their thousands for taking the Veiled City too. Arthur’s response to being betrayed by the Cithol had gone a long way to restoring his leadership in Gereint’s eyes. The Cithol had lost their entire city and Arthur had managed to engineer it so that its fall took a hefty toll on the Adren too.
The last reason he had for believing once more in Arthur was a more personal one, and one that gave him no pride. According to the rumours circulating through Caer Cadarn, Trevenna had died in the Shadow Lands on a mission that Arthur had sent her on. If Arthur was responsible for Glore’s death then by the same token he was responsible for his own sister’s and that responsibility was no more and no less than any other leader who took his warriors into battle.
He drained his beer and remembered a line from one of the irritating Wessex drinking songs about how fishermen fished, farmers farmed and warriors died and if he needed any more evidence of the latter then the two he was drinking with were certainly providing it. To his annoyance he found himself singing the tune in his head but he smiled despite himself when he came to the line about what Cornish girls did.
Balor swore at him. He had been grinning as Balor was reciting the heroic eating feats of Cael and clearly he had taken exception to what he drunkenly thought was an inappropriate response. Balor was trying to stand up to make the point more physically but just as he found his balance Morgund pushed him back down again. He seemed to instantly forget what had upset him and the three of them raised their beers to Cael’s memory.
Arthur watched them briefly from the wall thinking that the drinking might spill into a brawl. He could ill afford to lose any of his warriors through some drunken argument and he watched them until they were sat down once more.
Aelfric, the young Anglian, was passing just below him with a clutch of swords to be sharpened and he called down to him. ‘Aelfric! Take some food to Balor and Morgund and tell them they’ll be on the next patrol.’
Aelfric looked across to the warriors and back to Arthur with some trepidation.
‘Just tell them it comes from me.’
The boy nodded but remained standing where he was looking up at Arthur plainly weighing up the dangers of asking a question. Arthur studied him for a moment then put him out of his misery, ‘I don’t know about Cei and the others. If you believe in the gods then pray they are still alive. And if you don’t trust in them then trust in those swords and make them as sharp as you can.’
Arthur turned away without waiting for any reaction from him and scanned the land for any returning patrols. His hopes that Gwyna’s Uathach would still make it to Whitehorse Hill were diminishing with every passing hour. Without them he would have less than one hundred and eighty warriors. He scanned the wooden palisade that encircled the hill fort and came to the same conclusion that he had already reached a dozen times; he did not have enough warriors to defend Caer Cadarn. The same conclusion prompted the same question; if he could not defend Caer Cadarn how could he hope to defend Britain?
He began pacing the wooden terracing that ran around the inside of the walls and, although he did not know it, many eyes followed his progress and those eyes also held the same question. He tried to keep away the encroaching thoughts about his sister’s fate and about Fin Seren who he now knew carried his child. Both deserved serious consideration but he could afford to give them no more time other than how they bore upon the immediate situation.
The first thing he had done when he reached Whitehorse Hill was to send out several patrols. Two were sent eastwards back towards the Winter Wood to look for any surviving members of the war band and to go further on and report back on the Adren movements. Others were sent to make sure Caer Sulis and the surrounding countryside had been evacuated. His orders had been quite clear; take everything that could be carried to the Haven and to burn whatever was left behind. Over the last day or two the country to the West of their base had sprouted smoking pyres in an ever-widening semi-circle as the word passed from village to village.
Some thought that if the Veiled City had been the Adren’s main reason for invading Britain then perhaps, now that it was destroyed, they might turn back to where they had come from, but Arthur’s orders to burn the land clearly showed he did not hold the same view. Those who had delayed their departure for the Haven had watched with increasing anxiety as others packed up what they could and left, and when the Uathach villagers started arriving from the North their anxiety grew to fear.
Those who had stayed up to this point greeted the warriors as heroes even though they had come to tell them to leave their homes. As the news reached them that first the Causeway had fallen and then the Winter Wood so too had the news of the overwhelming Adren numbers and they were proud of the warriors who had fought the enemy and killed so many. For most of the villagers the evacuation of their homes was not a harrowing experience as they had done so every year with the onset of winter for the journey to the Western Lands; they had absolute faith in their warlord, Arthur, and felt the hurried departure for the Haven was only a temporary one. The fear they felt and expressed to one another was always quelled by the same argument; Arthur had kept Wessex safe and in peace for over twenty years and he would defeat these Adren from the Shadow Lands. But few stopped to tally up the numbers and those that had were the first to leave for the Haven.
Chapter Four
Arthur paced along the walls of Caer Cadarn. He watched as stragglers from the battle in the Winter Wood made their way up the winding road that climbed the slopes of Whitehorse Hill. They arrived in one’s and two’s hav
ing been separated from their main groups during the ambushes and Arthur questioned each of them as they entered the gates. None reported having seen any Adren during their journey from the woods and none could say they had seen anything of Gwyna’s Uathach.
Arthur waited impatiently for the returning patrols, desperate to know what the enemy position was. Almost a third of his warriors were now out on various reconnaissance missions and he had to fight the impulse not to ride out eastwards to see for himself. He knew he had to stay in the one place where all the patrols would report to but he despised the waiting while the enemy was free to roam his land.
During those first few days those that knew him tried to avoid igniting his simmering anger knowing that while he was at his best when in the thick of things his temper was equally at its worst when events were unfolding without his influence. It was too soon to reasonably expect any of the patrols to be returning yet but every day that passed without any certain news ratcheted everyone’s anxiety one notch further.
In one ill-advised moment Laethrig, the war band’s blacksmith, pointed out that the lack of any news could only mean that the Adren were not yet coming this way. His well-meant efforts were rewarded by a scathing condemnation of the meagre amount of arrows and new weapons that he had been able to produce. Laethrig had been ready to justifiably point out that he had little in the way of raw materials and only children to help him but he knew the danger signals in his warlord as well as any of the other warriors did and he quickly made himself scarce. He took some satisfaction from the exchange when many of the warriors still at the camp turned up to see if they could help him.
Everyone was relieved when Ceinwen arrived later that same day and not just because she and Elwyn had made it safely out of the Veiled City; she was one of the few who seemed to have any success in communicating with Arthur during times like these. They were less pleased that she arrived at the head of three wains filled with Cithol refugees from the underground tunnels of the city.
Despite Elwyn’s scepticism they had found their picketed horses with relative ease. Arthur had left three warriors there to guard the spare horses for those yet to escape the woods and much to Ceinwen’s surprise there had been a number of carts and wains there too. Whether they had been used to ferry the wounded from the Causeway or whether they were the surplus from the Cithol supply line to Caer Sulis she neither cared nor asked. She had told the Cithol that there would be transport and she quietly thanked the gods that she was not proved a liar so early in the journey. She had a lot less confidence in how the Cithol would be received at Caer Cadarn.
They were received in stony silence. The warriors throughout Caer Cadarn stopped what they were doing and stared at the Cithol in the wains. Ceinwen released the reins and clambered down from her seat ignoring the staring warriors around her, many of whom now had their hands on their weapons. Some of them were casting glances at Arthur as if awaiting his reaction before acting themselves.
Arthur was at his customary place on the wall. He had watched the progress of the approaching wains and now he too stared at the newcomers. The Cithol could sense the surrounding hostility and one by one they followed the glances of the warriors and turned to face Arthur. Only Seren kept her eyes on the wooden floor of the cart.
The warriors stirred as Arthur finally made his way down the steps and crossed the short distance to the Cithol. Ceinwen stopped her unnecessary fiddling with the harnesses and took a tentative step to intercept Arthur but he strode straight to the wain carrying Seren.
No one was sure what would happen next; all of them thought of the Cithol as their enemy because of the betrayal in the Winter Wood but these were unarmed men, women and children who were clearly no more than refugees seeking shelter. The warriors tensed as Arthur slapped the pins free that held the tailgate in place.
‘Are any of you members of Venning’s council?’
Unsurprisingly the Cithol shook their heads in denial.
‘Did any of you have any part to play in the ambushes in the Winter Wood?’
The shaking of heads was more vehement but still none of them dared to speak. Arthur searched their faces and returned his gaze to Seren.
‘Fin Seren?’
She finally brought her eyes up to meet the man who was both the father of her child and the killer of her own father. He was standing there with his hand held out to help her down from the wain. With an appalling and sickening realisation she knew she still loved him.
She lurched to her feet and picked her way through those around her before lowering herself to the tailgate. Arthur lifted her down to the ground.
‘See they get food and shelter,’ he said to Ceinwen as he led Seren towards the main hall.
She allowed herself to be guided into the hall. Conflicting emotions were sweeping through her; blind rage at the death of her father, bitter anger at the destruction of her city, guilt for the betrayal of the Britons, relief to be safe at last and overlying all of these the accountable pleasure at the touch of Arthur’s hand as he guided her down the length of the hall.
Arthur led her to a room that was set off to one side near the top of the hall. It was his private quarters and he indicated a low chair padded by furs for her to sit in as he crossed to the open window and closed the wooden shutters. The bright sunlight from outside was closed off immediately and in the semi-darkness she watched him as he lit two long tallow candles and placed them on a simple table. In the soft mix of filtered sunshine and candlelight she surveyed the room and her eyes strayed to the corner where a large bed dominated the small chamber. Her thoughts flicked involuntarily to the red haired girl on the cliffs above the Causeway and she looked at Arthur with uncertainty. He saw the reproach and fear in her eyes but he said nothing as he poured her a beaker of clear, cold water. He handed it to her and their fingers brushed as she took it.
Arthur sat on the floor opposite her with the low table between them. They held each other's gaze through the flickering light but neither said a word. Seren wanted to say so much; so many questions, so many recriminations. Long hours had been spent preparing for this moment but now that it had come she realised there was just too much to say and she had no idea where to even start. Nine months ago she had only known the man opposite her as the warrior who had accompanied Merdynn on rare visits to her city. And now, now she was overwhelmed with the magnitude of all that had happened in those few months; her love for Arthur, her child, Arthur’s marriage to one of his own kind, her father’s betrayal of the Britons, the Adren invasion of her city, the killing of her father, Arthur’s destruction of the Veiled City and all of this while Britain shuddered under the shadow of the unstoppable Adren armies. Even Merdynn was said to be dead. Nothing was as it had been and nothing was as it should be. She had gained and lost everything. Arthur poured himself some water and finally broke the heavy silence.
‘There was a time when I considered turning my back on everything just to be in the Winter Garden once again.’
‘With me.’
‘Yes, with you,’ Arthur replied, holding her gaze.
‘But not now?’
‘No.’
Seren looked away and lowered her head, ‘No. Now there is no Winter Garden, no Veiled City, nowhere for my people, nowhere for me and nowhere for us.’
‘You can stay here.’
‘For how long? You saw how your warriors looked at us. We betrayed you all.’
‘You didn’t, Terrill didn’t.’
‘Only because we thought you were going to protect us. We thought you would defend the Veiled City,’ Seren replied, anger now edging her voice.
‘I had no other choice.’
‘And murdering my father?’
Arthur’s expression hardened, ‘He’s the reason why I had no other choice. He would have murdered Britain. He betrayed Britain.’
‘And marrying Gwyna?’
‘Without that marriage there would have been no Uathach and without the Uathach Britain would have
died on the Causeway.’
‘Your Britain, not necessarily ours!’
‘It’s one and the same.’
‘Tell that to the dead!’
‘It’s the living that concern me.’
‘You betrayed us!’
‘I betrayed no one.’
‘You betrayed me!’
‘I loved you.’
Seren stared at him as his words permeated through her anger.
‘What did you say?’
‘I loved you, Fin Seren.’
‘And now?’ she asked, unable to keep her voice steady.
‘Now is not the time for love.’
She grasped at the implication that once the war was over there would be time for them to be together but her hope quickly drained as the reality of the war overwhelmed her. Somewhere in the hall, or perhaps outside in the village, she heard the hour bell being rang and its dull clanging sounded ominously to her.
‘You’re going to fight on?’
‘Of course.’
‘How can you hope to win against so many?’
‘Even without hope we would fight on.’
‘Your people will die like mine have.’
‘No, if necessary then they’ll sail for the West.’
‘Then why not go to the West now? We could all escape the enemy.’ Seren leaned forward as she implored him.
‘And how long would we be safe in the West? How long before we have to flee again? No. This is our land. This is our home. It’s your home and it’s our child’s home. This is where we stand against the Adren.’
As Arthur spoke Seren could almost believe that it was possible for the Britons to defeat the Adren but then the horrifying images of the last hours of the Veiled City flooded back to her and she recalled the sight from the cliffs above the Causeway and knew that Britain was doomed.
‘It would be safer for you and the child to go to the Haven and wait there.’
