by Whyte, Jack
I spurred forward and kicked my horse to a canter, breathing deeply and wondering at the calm that filled me. When the three men saw me approaching, they stopped as one, leaning forward, hands on their knees, to catch their breath. As I rode up to them, Guidog, the spokesman of the three, called out their news.
"Dead men, Commander. Thirty of em. flanging from trees down there in the next vale. An' horse tracks everywhere. Shod tracks and horse shit. Looks like they been keepin' 'em there all winter long."
I drew rein, looking back over my shoulder to where my men were coming down the long slope behind me in five columns of two hundred men each, ten wide by twenty long. Already they had spread out to form a five-front advance, and they looked impressive.
"Where is Huw?" I asked Guidog.
"He stayed there, Commander. Sent us back for you. Sent the others on ahead to follow the tracks."
"Very well, let's go." I stood in my stirrups and circled my hand above my head, signing the others to follow me, and then I moved forward again at the canter. Wordlessly Guidog and Gwern placed themselves on either side of me, each grasping a stirrup leather. Menester ran ahead, loping easily, as though he had not already run for several miles uphill. We came soon to a place where the ground began to dip more steeply, swinging west, and we followed the natural fall of the land into a narrow pass that opened out soon afterwards into a wide, gently contoured valley floored with deep, rich grass. Below us, more than half a mile ahead, a copse of massive trees stood alone in the midst of the green bowl.
"Oak trees," Gwern grunted from beside my left knee. "That's where they're all hanging, some of 'em nine to a limb. There's Huw."
I saw Huw Strongarm emerge from the trees and stand awaiting us, but as we approached I paid more attention to the macabre fruit hanging from the oak branches than I did to my chief scout. Guidog had not exaggerated. I counted thirty swinging corpses. Huw stood watching us approach, and appeared to be leaning on his unstrung bow stave. I knew that was not so, however, since no Pendragon would endanger his own bow, his most prized possession, by treating it so carelessly. He said nothing until I spoke.
"Who are they, Huw?"
"Two Pendragon renegades. The others are landless."
"Landless? You mean Outlanders?"
"No, they're locals, but they're not of our folk. I recognize none of them. They're dirty, though. Long-time dirt, too. They stink from afar. That's what tells me they're landless. Folk who belong—anywhere—keep themselves clean."
I made no attempt to pursue that thought. "How long have they been hanging, and who would have done this?"
Huw hawked and spat. "Yesterday, I'd guess. They've been up there overnight. Soaked with dew, all of 'em. But who did it? Your guess is as good as mine there. But whoever it was, they took your horses. These people wintered here. You'll see that when you go around these trees. There's a stream there, a couple of huts and some well-used firepits. And they kept the horses there, strung from lines most of the time, it looks like." He broke off to gaze up at the man hanging closest to him. "Reckon that's where they got the rope to hang these from."
I could hear the noise of my men approaching behind me. "You sent the others on ahead to follow the horse tracks?"
"Aye. There's no trick to following them now, Merlyn. They'll leave a track like one of your Roman roads. They can't be far ahead."
"Good. Wait here."
I swung my horse around and rode back to join the others, who were in the process of forming their parade ranks while they waited for my next instructions. I waved the ten commanders forward and told them what had transpired here, and that we would ride on immediately. Rufio looked at Dedalus and raised one eyebrow, not knowing I was watching him do it.
"What does that mean, Rufio, that look? Have you something on your mind?"
"No, Commander!" The look he threw me was one of wide-eyed innocence. It was Dedalus who answered my question properly.
"We were talking on the way down here, Merlyn. About the lie of the land. It makes me itchy."
"Why, in God's name? It's perfect cavalry country, firm and dry."
"Aye, except up there." He gestured to the north and west, where the hillside sloped up above us on our right. I looked where he pointed and saw nothing but open grassland stretching to the horizon for more than a mile.
"What do you mean? There's nothing up there."
"Perhaps not, Merlyn, but we haven't looked, have we?"
"No, we have not." I was almost laughing at him, surprised by his unease. "You think there might be cavalry up there? Hidden beyond the crest?"
"No, I don't, since we have the only cavalry in the country, and there's a mile of open hillside there. But if we continue down this valley, beyond the trees there, for another half mile, the hillside on the right there grows steeper and shorter. That's where the cavalry could be behind the hilltop . . . Or the Celts and their longbows."
That wiped the smile from my face, as it was meant to. I had an instant vision of massed Pendragon bowmen shooting at us from a height as we rode uphill towards them and it was not a pleasant image. As few as a hundred bowmen, shooting from high ground, in massed volleys, could create havoc among a thousand horsemen.
"Aye . . . Foolish of me. You're right, Ded. We haven't looked yet. But now we will. As soon as we move out, send a squadron up to ride along the crest. Do it now. Any other questions?"
Benedict coughed and spoke. "How do you want us to proceed, Merlyn? The valley's wide here, but what if it narrows farther down? Two columns abreast?"
"Aye, perhaps. We're going downhill, so we'll be able to see once we're free of these trees. Be ready to deploy on my signal. Let's go."
We rode on for half an hour longer, following the clear sign left by our missing forty horses, and the track led us down and down to our left, ever southward, away from the hill crest that had so concerned Dedalus, until all threat of danger from that direction died away and I had him signal his men down from the heights to join us again.
And then, as we swung left once again, still advancing in five columns across open ground, a horn sounded from ahead of us, slightly to our right, where a low rise too small to be called a hill broke the smoothness of the valley floor. I stopped immediately, as did everyone behind me, our heads swivelling as one to the point from where the sound had come. A small knot of mounted men emerged from behind the rise, riding in single file, and sat there, facing us. I counted nine of them, too distant to identify, but clearly Celts mounted on the shaggy hill ponies on which I had learned to ride as a boy.
"Dergyll." The word came from Huw Strongarm who stood by my right knee.
"Who?"
"Dergyll ap Griffyd." He turned and looked up at me. "You know him. First cousin to Uther. Their fathers were brothers."
"Hmm. Friendly?"
"Friendly?" Big Huw grinned and made a harrumphing noise deep in his throat. "Perhaps, perhaps not. I sought to join him first, when we returned from Cornwall, but he was engaged elsewhere and did not return throughout our stay. Friend or foe, this I'll say for him, he's the best real warrior Pendragon has, now that Uther's dead."
"What's he doing here, think you?"
Huw swung his head around to look again towards the distant group. "Protecting his own, I should think. This is Pendragon ground."
"Aye. Of course." I held up my arm, fingers spread and palm twisted backward to still the sounds behind me, where some of the men and their mounts were growing restive. "Well," I asked, feeling peculiarly indecisive. "What should we do, think you?"
Huw kept his back to me, speaking over his shoulder. "Right now? Talk to the man, Merlyn. Thank him for hanging your thieves and saving you the trouble."
"Aye, indeed. It must have been he."
Now Huw turned again and glanced up at me, his face unreadable. "Who else? They tell me he commands two thousand men."
That made me think deeply, although only in terms of numbers, not of odds. I would have backed five hundre
d Camulodian troopers against two thousand unmounted Celts without thought a short time before. Now, however, Ded's strictures against the folly of pitting mounted men against massed bowmen gave me pause.
"I will ride forward alone and speak with him." I glanced at Huw for confirmation. "You think that is foolish?"
The big Celt shrugged. "No, not if he's the same man he was five years ago, but he might have changed since then."
"Changed in what way?"
"In any way. Perhaps he lost a wife or a son. He certainly lost a crown, for he should have been next in line for the kingship after Uther's death. You won't know until you approach him, Merlyn, and the only alternative is to attack him now. You want to risk that?"
"I have no wish to do that, Huw, risk or no, so I'll parley." I stood in my stirrups and signalled my commanders forward to me again. Dedalus, as usual, was first to reach me.
"What's up? Who are those people?"
"Pendragon chiefs. Huw recognizes the leader, a war chief called Dergyll, cousin to Uther. I'm going forward to talk with him."
"Then I'm coming with you."
I looked at Dedalus and decided not to remonstrate with him. "As you wish," I said. "But the others will hold their position here. Bring forward my standard to advance with us. The rest of you await our signal here. If we are attacked or molested in any way, you will attack immediately in a pincer move. Columns one and five under Philip and Benedict to take the right and left flanks, bypassing the rise before engaging; two and four under Rufio and Falvo will mount the frontal attack, and column three, yours, Quintus, to hold in reserve behind Rufio and Falvo."
Quintus had the only question. "What if they have bowmen?"
"Where would they have them? There's no place to conceal them, Quint."
He nodded. "Fine. Then why are those leaders exposing themselves like that, without protection? We could ride them down and kill all of them."
I shrugged my shoulders. "Perhaps they know we won't do that. . . Or they might have another thousand men hidden behind their little hill." I paused, remembering Uther's experience in Cornwall, when the enemy had concealed themselves in covered pits. "Still," I added. "Best to take no chances. You're right, Quint. If trouble does develop, warn your men to be on the alert for a trap. The same goes for all of you. At the first sight of bowmen in any numbers, spread your people out, but keep them moving. Don't let them group tightly against volleys of arrows or they will be slaughtered. But—" I broke off, eyeing the distant Celts again. "I have a feeling we will have no trouble, so let's find out if I am right or not."
Benedict leaned forward in his saddle and spat on the ground. "Well, we all know your feelings, Merlyn. Let's hope you're right again this time." He swung his horse around without further comment and made his way back to his men, followed by the others. My standardbearer passed them on his way towards us. When he had arrived, I nodded at him and spoke to Huw Strong- arm, who had stood listening to all of this in silence. "Huw, I think you should stay here, too, since I don't know what kind of reception we will receive from these people. I see no point in endangering you."
Big Huw glowered up at me. "flow would you endanger me?"
"By simply having you among us. If these warriors decide to fight, they might well decide your presence here with us is worth your death before any of ours. Humour me, my friend. Remain here with the others."
Huw shrugged, sniffed and turned to walk back to where the troopers were drawn up. I looked at Dedalus.
"Well. Shall we go?"
He sank his spurs into his horse's flanks, and the three of us cantered together towards the distant Celts on their low hilltop. They sat motionless and watched us approach until we were within a hundred paces of them, at which point their leader kicked his own horse into motion and came towards us, followed by two of his people. We stopped and awaited them now, and when less than twenty paces separated our two groups the Celtic leader stopped and dismounted by swinging his right leg completely over his horse's head and sliding to the ground. His two companions remained mounted.
"Very well, wait for me." I dismounted and walked towards this man, searching my mind for memories of him and examining him as closely as he was examining me. He was not a large man, but was strongly built, bareheaded, compact and wiry with broad, straight shoulders and a thick neck supporting a high-held, proud head. His long, black hair and long, flowing moustaches in the Celtic fashion on an otherwise clean-shaven face gave him an air of severity. His clothing was simple, yet strikingly barbaric to my Romanized eyes. An almost-knee-length, kilted tunic of dark green wool, with an embroidered border of yellow leaves around the hem and across the yoke of his chest provided the only strong colours. His legs were covered by sheepskin leggings, worn fleece inward, onto which had been sewn small, overlapping, rectangular metal plates that gave a metallic ring to his walk and he wore a heavy breastplate of thickened bull hide, covered with the same plates, two larger, thicker pieces covering his breasts. A heavy cloak, fastened with a broad, silver clasp of interwoven snakes, had been thrown back over his shoulders so that it hung behind him, leaving his arms free. The arms were strong, heavily muscled and protected from wrist to elbow by thick leather armlets. A broad belt, slung across his chest from right to left, supported a heavy, much-used-looking sword, bare-bladed and slung simply through a ring of metal, and a second belt, of plain leather, girdled his waist and held an ornately hilted dagger in a jewelled leather sheath.
We stopped together, facing each other from a distance of a couple of paces. He spoke first.
"Merlyn," he said, nodding in greeting, his face otherwise expressionless. "It's been many years. What brings you to Pendragon lands? And with so many followers?"
I still could not remember him, although I knew we must have met, since he so evidently knew me. I returned his nod. "Dergyll, is it not?"
"Aye, that's right. Dergyll, son of Griffyd. My father was brother to Uric Pendragon."
"So we are kin?"
He shrugged. "Aye, of some kind, but not close. You have not answered me. What brings you here?"
"Horses."
He raised an eyebrow, looking beyond me to where my thousand men sat ranked in their five divisions.
"Aye," he said. "I can see that. Many horses, and large." He looked back at me and his mouth quirked slightly into what might have been a grin, although I could not know for sure beneath the fullness of his moustache. "There is one grand and tragic thing about horses, Merlyn. Do you know what it is?"
I was unsure how to respond, unable to define his attitude as either hostile or placatory. I decided to assume arrogance. "Aye," I said. "They are invincible, particularly against men on foot, or on smaller horses."
He was definitely smiling now, but his smile had a hard edge. "That's grand enough, I grant, but where is the tragedy in that?"
"Among the men on foot."
"Ah! I see. But no, you are wrong, Merlyn, and there's the right of it. Against most men on foot, you may be right, but against Pendragon? No. There you are sadly ill-advised. The tragedy of horses such as yours is that they make such grand targets." He raised his left hand straight into the air, holding it, with fingers spread, above his head, then turned his head slowly to his left. I swung my head with his and felt my skin chill with gooseflesh as the entire hillside above us, empty and bare until this moment, came to life. Everywhere, men threw back the covers over pits dug in the ground and came pouring into view, forming ranks rapidly, deploying into massed formations of bowmen, each nocking an arrow to his long bow and taking aim at the packed mass of my formations on the slope below. A full two hundred paces separated the closest of the bowmen from my men, but I knew that distance was as nothing to the great longbows. Close on four hundred men, I gauged, and likely more. Certainly more than sufficient, firing in massed volleys, to wipe out my cavalry before we could ever reach them. I fought to keep my own face expressionless, masking my dismay.
Now it was my turn to raise my arm, bid
ding my own men stand fast. I turned around to see Dedalus repeating my gesture. Behind him, my men remained immobile. I drew a deep breath, determined to allow my voice to show no tremor, and turned back to Dergyll.
"Very impressive," I told him. "But we expected no less. Uther used the same tactic frequently. I knew you would not expose yourself as you have done without good reason. I think, however, that you misunderstood what I said. I meant we came in search of horses, not mounted on them."
Again he raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
"One of our border outposts was attacked, before the winter set in. All our men there were killed and forty horses stolen. We found Pendragon arrows in our men. The horses we could live without, but we could not ignore the slaughter. Before the snow came on we followed the trail of the horses. It led here. Before we could mount a proper expedition to find them, the winter came."
"I see. And as soon as the snow melted, you set out again."
I nodded.
"So you bring war against us?"
"No, I think not." He eyed me in silence, waiting for me to continue. "I think we rode against the men whose bodies hang from the oak grove back there."
"Hmm." It was neither question nor comment. I hurried on.
"I think whoever hanged them did our work for us, and I think it was you. If I am correct, and it was you, then I believe there is no quarrel between Camulod and your people. The hanged men back there were not Pendragon, at least most of them were not."
"How do you know that?"
"Huw Strongarm told me. He said there were only two Pendragon faces among the corpses. The others were landless."
"Aye. Renegades all, human filth. They slaughtered as many of our people, probably more of them, than they did yours. How many did you lose?"
"Close to fifty."
"We count ours in hundreds, thanks to your contribution to our wars."
That confused me, as he saw by my immediate frown. "What do you mean, my contribution? Your wars are no concern of mine."
