by J. M. Hofer
“Come out, damn it!” Camulos yelled, startling her from her thoughts.
She took shallow sips of air, willing her heart to slow down. He was now standing directly beneath her.
“You’re still my wife, Lucia, whether you like it or not, no matter how many years have passed. Come out, and I’ll give you your place again. This is your chance to remain the respectable wife of a Roman citizen rather than become a slave—and, make no mistake, before the sun sets, you’ll be one or the other.”
She did not move.
“You know we found that poorly hidden passage into your mountain, don’t you? The one you thought you covered so securely? Quite impressive how much gold that mountain holds. That, too, will belong to us.”
Hot fear flushed through Lucia, nearly causing her to fall from her tree.
He said nothing for awhile, looking around for any sign of upturned earth or disturbed leaves. Jolts of adrenaline whipped her heart every time he looked her way.
“So be it. We’ll slaughter these pagans and their whelps like cattle before sundown, and their deaths will be on your head.”
He stormed off, but Lucia stayed where she was, not daring to move. She listened to every sound and watched every leaf around her, waiting for her opportunity. Everything in her was now focused on one goal—find Seren and get to the mountain.
Once she felt certain he was gone, she crept down from the tree and ran with everything left in her back toward the village.
***
Lucia and Seren scrambled up the back of the mountain, breathing so hard from the effort they could not speak to one another. They reached the tunnel and found the brush around the entry burned to ashes, and the stone around it charred black. Camulos had not lied.
Seren’s expression darkened. “Oh, no.”
Rage gripped every muscle in Lucia’s body as she thought of the children inside the mountain. “I swear, if they’ve hurt any of them, I’ll rip their throats out with my bare hands…”
They ventured into the tunnel, hands along the wall, making their way toward the main chamber. Deeper and deeper they went, listening with dread for the sounds of wailing children, but none came. Camulos’ words haunted her. “You know we found that poorly hidden passage into your mountain, don’t you?”
On and on they pushed, until they spied a faint light in the distance. Still, they heard nothing. Nothing at all.
Despair pulled at Lucia’s heart, dragging her into a dark pool of hopelessness. Even here, at home, we’ve failed. Her heart sank. Dead. They’re all dead.
***
Bran gave the signal for the riders, and fifty men on horseback surged through the village, wielding prized Oak steel. They drove the enemy against the walls or out the gates toward the edge of the forest within bowshot of the archers. Slowly, they reclaimed their advantage.
He had been scanning the battle continually for Camulos and Aelhaearn, but had seen neither of them for some time. One of the Saxon men had taken over the command, and it was he who finally called out for a retreat.
It was critical they not be given the chance to regroup. Bran rallied his men behind him. “Drive them into the forest!”
He and his riders hemmed the enemy in, forcing them into the woods where the archers could help them seize victory.
One by one, they tracked and killed the older warriors and captured the younger. Some managed to elude them, but Bran knew they stood no chance against their trackers. Separated, they were no longer a threat.
Those who had been spared were bound and taken back to the village. Many could not have been more than fourteen or fifteen. Gareth’s age, Bran thought, with a lump in his throat.
***
Lucia summoned her courage, bracing herself for the scene she and Seren would encounter. It was dark in the main hall except for the faint light coming through smoke holes in the ceiling, and the glow of coals left in the fire pit.
Seren moved in first. She took a torch down from its sconce, set it ablaze, and held it high.
“Seren?” a voice said. “Oh, thank the gods it’s you! We heard sounds coming from the corridor, so we’ve been hiding!”
Lucia realized she was gripping her dagger so tightly, her arm ached. She relaxed and let out a sigh of relief. “You’re not safe here anymore,” she said. “They know about the passage. Take everything you can find and block it up. Seren will stay here with you. I’ll go up to the Hawk’s Nest. When the battle is over, I’ll come back down.”
Lucia watched the battle unfold from above. For the first time all day, she smiled. From there, it was clear the Saxons had no chance. They were surrounded on all sides, and, like a noose being cinched tighter and tighter, the Oaks closed in on them and strangled their efforts.
Within the hour, the battle was over.
She went back down to the fortress with news of their victory. The women and children cheered, eager to rejoin their families. The fortress doors were so heavy, it took twenty of them to unbar them. Grunting with effort and squinting against the sunlight, they pushed against the doors until they stood open once more. They descended the mountain in good spirits, but as they drew closer to the village, everyone’s mood grew somber. Although the Oaks had won the battle, glory’s face in war was still brutal and ugly. The women shielded their children’s eyes from the more gory sights as they led them through the village, anxiously wondering if their sons and husbands were among the dead.
They soon found out. Within the hour, every Oak, dead or alive, was accounted for, and the wailing for those who had fought their final battle spiraled into the sky on the sour, smoke-filled wind.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Across the Sea
Due to their hard work and subsequent prosperity over the past fifteen years, Mynyth Aur had grown into a considerably large village with a healthy population. Bran now had nearly four hundred warriors at his command. He chose a hundred to leave behind, and told the rest to prepare to march immediately. He dared not miss the opportunity to take the Saxon ships.
He called a quick council meeting to lay out their plans. He would have sent for Islwyn, but there was no time. “The Saxons surely left men behind to guard their ships,” he began. “Aelhaearn and Camulos both fled during the battle. They’re on horseback, and I’d swear to Arawn, they’re on their way to warn them.” He looked everyone in the eyes to make his next point. “We need to take those ships—at any cost—they’re the key to our success. We can sail them back to our enemy’s homeland and row them right up onto their shores before they suspect a thing.”
Idris nodded at Bran’s strategy. “Like the Trojans.” He smiled and glanced over at Lucia, who had just arrived.
Idris loved stories of epic battles, as they all did. Lucia had told the clan countless stories of Greek and Roman victories she had read from her husband’s library. The favorites among the clan were the Battle of Thermopylae, a tale of three hundred Spartans who had stood alone against Xerxes of Persia, the battles between Vercingetorix and Julius Caesar in Gaul, and the story of Achilles and the Trojan War.
“Yes.” Bran nodded. “Like the Trojans. Neirin and I will ride ahead to track down Aelhaearn and Camulos. We have to stop them before they warn the others. I need you, Idris, to follow with the rest of the warriors and the captives. It’s forty miles to the mouth of the river, so if you leave within the hour, the march will take until nightfall. Gods willing, we’ll have succeeded in thwarting the warning by the time you reach us. We’ll camp somewhere near the ships tonight and attack them together at dawn tomorrow.”
Idris nodded. “Understood, Pennaeth.”
Bran was about to speak again, but Lucia put her hand on his arm. “There’s something else—Aelhaearn and Camulos know about the tunnel through Mynyth Aur.”
“What?” Bran knit his brow, stunned by this new development.
Lucia proceeded to tell them how Camulos had pursued her and revealed that he and Aelhaearn had discovered the tunnel. She gestured t
oward Seren. “I went and got your sister, and we climbed up to the tunnel. All the brush in front of it was burned away. We took it all the way to the main chamber, expecting the worst, but everyone was fine. They were hiding—said they’d heard sounds coming from inside the tunnel. It could have been Aelhaearn, but it might have just been us.”
“Gods, he could still be in there!” Maur exclaimed. “Camulos, too, for all we know.”
Seren shook her head. “I don’t think so. They weren’t in the tunnel, and no one saw them come into the main hall. The point is, they know about the gold, and they know where it is. And another thing—“ She paused to look over at her brother. “I don’t think they rode to warn the others. They were counting on the Saxons taking the village. That didn’t happen. What advantage would they have now by returning to the ships? They were the ones who led the Saxons here. This was their plan, and it failed. They won’t want anything to do with them now. We know from the past they hold loyalty in no high regard. My guess is they’ve cut their losses and fled, and won’t return until they’ve managed to find someone else to lead to our doorstep.”
Bran paced for a moment, considering what Lucia and his sister had said. “Well, either they’ve ridden west to warn the Saxons, or they’ve fled. Are we all agreed? Does anyone have any other ideas about where they are, or where they might have gone?”
Everyone looked at one another, shaking their heads.
“Then we need a plan for both possibilities.”
Maur spoke up. “The two of ‘em alone are no match for a hundred of our warriors and your sister. If they’re still here in the area, we’ll deal with ‘em. Besides, we know all the surrounding villages and clan chieftains well. None of ‘em will help the bastards. Leave Mynyth Aur to me and Seren. We’ll keep it safe. You ride west and make sure they’ve not done as you first suspected.”
Bran was glad Maur was there. He had arrived some hours after Lucia, eager to avenge his son’s death, and it gave him comfort to know he would be there to help Seren. “Agreed.”
“We’ll be watchin’ day and night,” Maur swore, putting his hand on Seren’s shoulder.
Bran patted him on the back. “That I believe, old friend. You were a terror today.”
Maur’s rage for revenge had completely overcome his age and bulk in the battle that morning. He had fought like a man possessed, taking as many heads as the warriors who were half his age.
“Thank you, Pennaeth.” Maur shot Bran a sad glance. “For a few hours, at least I could do somethin’. It’s the helplessness that eats at me most. The damned helplessness. It near suffocates me at night, stranglin’ me in the dark.”
Bran knew exactly how he felt. He, too, grappled with that same feeling, anguishing over what might be happening to his own children. “I know, my friend. Stay strong. I’m glad you’re here.”
“Be off with you, then,” Maur said. “Find those bastards, and get those ships!”
Bran embraced him and gave him a few strong pats on the back. “We will.” He went and embraced his sister as well. She smiled at him. “Bring them all back. We’ll be waiting.”
Bran kissed her on the cheek. “We will.”
Bran and Neirin then chose twenty warriors to ride west with them, and they headed for the stables. They found Lucia already there, astride her mount. She had saddled both of their horses as well. “Ready when you are.”
The warriors quickly chose their horses, and soon they were on their way. If they rode at a trot, they would make it to the mouth of the river by early afternoon. The other three hundred would arrive by nightfall.
Lucia rode up beside Bran and smiled. He shot her a look and shook his head.
Her smile disappeared. “What?”
“What if Aelhaearn or Camulos had run off with you?”
“But they didn’t.”
They rode in silence for a while, until Lucia reached over and took his hand. In truth, Bran knew Lucia was more capable than he gave her credit for. His anger came from the thought of losing her.
He squeezed her hand and looked over at her. “Please be more careful. I couldn’t bear to lose you, too.”
***
As planned, by early afternoon they had found the enemy ships shored along the Mawddach River, as Lucia had suspected they would be. Bran and Neirin immediately went down to investigate.
Bran counted five ships easily, but the number of men was a bit trickier. “How many do you think there are?”
Neirin squinted, peering down through the trees, trying to get a better look. “About fifty, give or take. I’m going to get a closer look. I’ll be back shortly.”
Bran prayed Neirin’s guess was correct. If so, they would outnumber them nearly four to one, as well as having the advantage of surprise. They would need it, too. His men would be tired. They had fought hard that morning, and were now on a forty-mile march. They would get only a few hours sleep that night and then need to fight again in the morning.
Neirin returned within the hour. “There are five ships, and about twenty men per ship. They seem to know nothing at all. They’re sitting around their fires, talking and laughing.”
Bran looked up at the sky in relief. Seren had been right, after all. “Good. Let’s get back to camp.”
They dared not camp too close, so chose a location in a field a mile or so from where the Saxons were. Neirin sent scouts down to watch the camp. If the Saxons were warned, or began acting strangely for any reason, they were to ride back and tell them.
Idris and the rest of the men arrived a few hours after dark, escorted by the men Bran had sent to meet them.
Together, Bran, Idris and Neirin planned their strategy of attack. They appointed five captains for the ships below, and divided the captives between them. Each captain and his men would attack a different ship at the same time, and then seize it. Once it was his, he was to load his captives and men aboard, and start sailing downriver and out to sea. There, he would wait for the others.
They all agreed it was a good plan, and got what sleep they could before dawn.
The next morning, it was as if Arawn himself had orchestrated their attack. They swarmed the Saxons, like ants around bits of cake, easily overcoming them with their large numbers. It was obvious they had sent their fiercest warriors to Mynyth Aur. A few more young captives were taken in the fight, and the rest were left to rot on the riverbanks.
The Oaks seized the ships, and one by one, sailed down the river. Bran and Neirin remained on shore until the fifth ship disappeared.
“Well-done, Pennaeth,” Neirin said. “Now, you have something to bargain with.”
They rode back to camp, where Lucia was waiting. She saw them approach and ran out to meet them. “Did it work? Do we have the ships?”
Bran beamed down at her, dismounting. “All five of them.”
“Oh, thank the gods!” She threw her arms around him and then thanked Neirin.
“You’re welcome, my queen.” Neirin signaled to his party, who were ready to go within moments. “Our hopes ride with you, Pennaeth. We’ll be counting the days until your return.”
Bran nodded. “We’ll bring everyone home.”
***
Bran and Lucia arrived in Gwythno to find things in a better state, but, like Mynyth Aur, it would take Elffin and his people many years to recover.
Elffin came out to greet them, relief on his face. Bran dismounted and embraced his friend. “We have at least fifty Saxon captives and five of their ships,” he announced with satisfaction. “Nearly three hundred of my men are on their way, and should be here shortly. We’ve also brought you ten horses.”
Elffin offered a hand to Lucia, helping her dismount. “I appreciate that. We’ve needed to drive wagons to several of the surrounding villages for food. The horses we have are exhausted. Now, come with me, I have something to show you both.” He led them down to the harbor and pointed with a smile to the Ceffyl Dŵr.
“Gods bless you, Tegid!” Bran cried, his f
ace erupting into a grin. He grabbed Lucia and kissed her on the forehead.
Tegid saw them coming and waved from the deck.
They nearly ran down to the dock. “Thank the gods you’re here,” Bran called up to him, and the three of them climbed aboard. Bran was just about to embrace Tegid when an old friend peeked out from behind the giant’s bulk.
Bran scarcely dared to believe it. “Ula?”
Tegid moved out of the way to reveal her. “The Sea’s answered our call and sent ‘er to us—she wants to help.”
“Ula! I can’t believe it!” Bran gathered her up in his arms and squeezed her until she squeaked. He chuckled and set her back down.
She looked up at him with her round, brown eyes. “They took Seachild?” she managed to ask, though it was obviously challenging for her to form the words. Bran wondered how long it had been since she had taken human form.
“Yes,” Lucia said. Bran turned around, worried he might have triggered his wife’s jealousy, but it was nowhere to be seen today. She came over and embraced Ula as well. “Seachild and our children, too. We must find them.”
Ula nodded.
“So it’s settled,” Tegid announced, breaking the somber mood with his enthusiasm. “When the Lonely Sister’s ready—an’ that’ll be soon—we sail after the bastards. We must rescue her twin as well. ‘Tis a shame such pretty sisters should be apart. I’ll no’ have it!”
“That it is.” Bran nodded, looking with near disbelief at Tegid and Ula, side by side. All that effort to free her from him—and now, they stand next to each another like lifelong friends. He shook his head and glanced over at Elffin, wondering how he was handling Ula’s return. The misty, nostalgic look on his face answered his question.
