by M. K. Hume
Given the steadily falling snow, Calleva put on her shiniest face to welcome her benefactors. Citizens huddled in bright woollen blankets and knitted gloves pressed fresh bread, dried fruit, sticky honey sweetmeats and garlands of ivy, green foliage and holly on the relieving warriors. One woman passed a silver ring into Arthur’s hand. The large fish adorning it had a single eye, a freshwater pearl. He tried to return this bounty but the woman was swept away by the crowd.
Many of the celebrating citizens recognised Arthur as the tall lad in the red cloak in the centre of the line at the front of the ditch. Somehow, they had discovered his name and he heard it shouted adoringly by a hundred voices. The experience was very odd, but pleasant. The young man basked for a few minutes in the praise of the common folk as he rode with his friends among the foot soldiers who had held the line at the mound, until he realised how few they were. Eanraig looked up with a cheerful, twisted grin for Arthur, which the young warrior returned with a gaiety he didn’t feel.
‘Old men and boys – that’s what we were. A ragtag of an army!’
‘But the ragtag showed Bran how men can fight and die when they are committed to an ideal,’ Germanus whispered to his pupil. Only then did Arthur realise that he had spoken aloud.
‘Wave to them, Arthur,’ Gareth suggested from his right side. ‘The girls love it – and they love you as well.’
So Arthur waved and the girls did indeed love him, if only for that cold, pure afternoon. Their eyes shone and their rosy cheeks were glossy with youth and pride. They ran, skirts swirling to reveal knitted stockings and sensible boots, as they followed the young warriors to the forum. Arthur was ecstatic to discover that the heroes of the hour had been billeted in the public baths, which courtesy of the hypocaust were warm even in the midst of winter. With a crow of pure enjoyment, Lorcan claimed a space for their possessions in one of the dressing rooms, while Germanus took their horses to an area close to the inn at the southern gate where picket lines had been set up. There was insufficient stable room to house the cavalry mounts, but the hardy beasts would survive happily within the city walls, as long as blankets covered their withers and a plentiful supply of hay and water was available.
Arthur and his fellow warriors enjoyed the pleasures of the baths and of the glossy red-cheeked girls in the quiet of the more private places within the confines of that public building. But they were also forced to endure the questions of the townsfolk, who suddenly found that the need for cleanliness overrode their dislike of bathing in public. They had seen the explosions of Marine Fire and the after-effects, and they were eager to know what it was, where it had come from and the likelihood of its being used again in future battles. Arthur tried to be frank, but he judged any detailed description to be unnecessary. After all, why should he do Bran’s work for him?
So the days turned into several weeks, until the citizens of Calleva Atrebatum began to wish the hungry army would take itself elsewhere. Winter was never a good time for an army to be eating its way through a town’s supplies, even a wealthy place like Calleva. Long ago, the Romans had set up potteries, iron workshops and sawmills here, and a large sector of the current population still worked at these skilled employments. Four- and five-storey insulae had been built close to the business centre, and now the lives of the inhabitants were affected by the squads of swaggering and drunken warriors who clogged the heart of the town.
Meanwhile, on the outskirts, where the villas of the richer citizens were surrounded by fruit trees, the populace also felt the onerous effects of supporting an army, for these richer citizens had the excess food and space to quarter the kings and their retinues, all at no cost to their guests. Hospitality becomes grudging when an occupying army makes no move to leave its comfortable billet and return to its home. Gratitude wears thin. In a spirit that was far less charitable than Bran expected, the citizens began to duck their heads so the warriors couldn’t see the active dislike that darkened their expressions.
Arthur would have left in the first week, but Bedwyr asked him to stay with the remnants of the army. ‘I’m not sure why Bran chooses to remain here in Calleva. To all intents and purposes, we’re waiting for Cerdic and his son to reappear, probably somewhere near Noviomagus.’ Bedwyr grimaced in disgust. ‘I refuse to call it by that Cissa name, even if it’s only old men like me who still call it by its Roman title. Anyway, Bran expects reprisals from Cerdic and Cynric once they have made good their escape. When Cerdic departed he took only six hundred warriors with him, but that is still the basis of an army, especially if he can find reinforcements in the south and the east, so Bran is becoming increasingly nervous. And we won’t have Marine Fire to back us up in any future battles.’
Arthur grinned and Bedwyr wondered when his son’s smile had become so cynical and world-weary. ‘It serves Bran right to be worried. Cerdic’s single most important aim will be to destroy the army of the Britons, and Bran in particular. I’d still prefer to leave this gilded cesspit and go back to Arden, because I can only enjoy so many Roman bathhouses. Besides, the riff-raff is fouling the pools.’ Bedwyr laughed, exactly as his stepson intended. ‘The people of Calleva want us gone even more than I want to leave, Father. And I can’t really blame them.’
‘I agree. They’re being eaten out of house and home and none of their women are safe. I’d like to think you haven’t contributed to the disgrace of some of Calleva’s daughters. I’ve seen the way they look at you, my boy.’
‘Father, one advantage of reaching manhood is that I’ve discovered how to take advantage of willing and generous ladies. Don’t worry – I have no intention of seducing any innocent young girls. I have too much to learn, and there are lovely matrons and widows enough to keep me more than happy.’
Bedwyr covered his ears, but Arthur saw his lips twitching. Then the Arden Knife began to laugh, the first honest mirth the old man had shown since before the battle. The two men ended up rolling on the tessellated floor of the baths, where Lorcan was guarding their possessions while Germanus and Gareth were off on some nameless business. The priest watched with avuncular amusement while father and son wrestled like overgrown children.
Given Bedwyr’s reservations, Arthur wasn’t surprised when a courier rode up to the south gate of Calleva Atrebatum shortly after the town gates had been closed for the night. The evening was perfect, clear and bright, with deep snow and no breeze to burn the eyes, although the heavy cloud cover had been blown away by gale force winds in the upper air. Stars shone whitely on a velvety black background, while from the top of the wall the scars of Marine Fire were covered by deep blankets of soft, unblemished snow. Into this peaceful scene the courier’s frantic knocking with the hilt of his knife was an intrusion, and its sound was only drowned out by his bellowing demand to be allowed to enter the compound.
Eventually, the gatekeeper emerged from his small lodge and opened a door set into the large, latched gate. Swearing vilely, the courier was forced to dismount, lead his horse through the entry, and then remount before insisting on being taken directly to King Bran.
Arthur observed the courier’s arrival from the walls. He had taken to going to the south gate for a few hours every night to relax and watch the tracks that met at this ancient crossroads. He had a feeling that circumstances were rushing together, as if their actions at Calleva had finally been judged in some higher court and punishment was about to be meted out by the gods. He chose the south gate because that direction seemed the most likely to deliver news of the Saxons. When he saw the courier approaching, he immediately tasted something metallic in his mouth, as if he had bitten his tongue. He sensed the promise of difficult times ahead.
In the grand villa that had been taken over by Bran and Ector, lamps were soon lit and warriors were despatched to the adjoining villas where the other kings were billeted. Arthur saw Bedwyr coming at a shambling run, and decided to join him. He might not trust Bran, but he might as well find out what was going on.
‘Where did the cour
ier come from, Father? I saw him approaching from the south.’
Bedwyr put his forefinger over Arthur’s mouth to silence him. ‘Keep your tongue between your teeth, boy. Listen if you must, but this courier comes from Venta Belgarum and there’s no likelihood of good news from that quarter.’
The villa’s atrium had been selected for the meeting, for the open space was large and possessed a number of stone bench seats and an area of dry, brittle grass where other men could sit on cushions. Bran had already ensconced himself on a marble seat beside the pool, over which a melancholy, immature willow tree was drooping as if in mourning for the loss of the old ways. When the leaders of the tribes had been seated, including the younger generation such as Mareddyd and Eamonn, Bran rose to his feet.
‘I have just received distressing news from Venta Belgarum.’
The room buzzed with sudden consternation, as if a hive of bees had been disturbed.
‘Cerdic reached Vectis over a week ago, and although he was sick with a lung infection he ordered his sons to crush all opposition at Magnus Portus, Portus Adurni and Venta Belgarum itself. Reinforcements from Noviomagus and Anderida had been summoned in readiness even before he besieged Calleva Atrebatum. We fell into a well-conceived trap when we threw our weight against the forces surrounding this town, because the whole Saxon plan was a feint to bring us into the field here. Venta Belgarum had been the real goal all along.’
A bubble of unholy laughter began to form at the base of Arthur’s throat as he sensed Bran’s embarrassment. Knowing his boy, Bedwyr elbowed him hard in the ribs.
‘So, do we attack the Saxons who have besieged Venta Belgarum? If we imagine a large city surrounded by even more enemy warriors than there were here, the situation will immediately become clear.’ Bran’s voice was sardonic, as if the honest part of his nature was belatedly admitting the potential problems that the Britons faced. ‘We shall hold a council of war tomorrow morning, after we have slept on this new information. We will consider our options before I issue my orders. Taliesin! Rhys! You will remain here, for I need to speak to you in private.’
Arthur and Bedwyr waited outside in the shadows of the trees surrounding the villa to discover how the sons of Myrddion would fare with Bran. They had to wait for some time.
The night was freezing, as if the absence of cloud cover permitted the god of winter to place his long, blue fingers on the earth to chill it. Every surface was burning to the touch and the snow was a crisp, stark blanket over all. The stillness seemed to enclose all of Calleva in a glass globe, invisible but ultimately fatal as the soft air was sucked out of the wintry town. Arthur felt the familiar itch settle into his head.
Eventually, just when Bedwyr was becoming seriously concerned about Taliesin and Rhys, the brothers stormed out of the mansion with their cloaks swirling around their shoulders in their haste and rage. Arthur and Bedwyr fell into step beside them and all four men returned to Taliesin’s spartan billet in the forum.
‘What did Bran want?’ Bedwyr demanded without preamble. ‘He’s obviously made you very angry. So tell us, master harper, in case Bran tries to enforce his decrees on you.’
Taliesin lowered himself onto a stone bench. Although he was still only thirty-six and at the peak of his powers, he moved like a much older man. This weariness was echoed in his powerfully built brother, who was near to three years younger than his sibling. Both men had obviously been dealt a vicious blow, and were now mentally licking their wounds until they could bring themselves to consider Bran’s ultimatum.
‘I look at Bran and I see traces of Artor in him – and my heart is sickened by the likeness,’ Taliesin began hesitantly.
‘Oh, spit it out, brother! Neither of us ever expected Bran to treat us like traitors. Nor did we believe he would threaten us – and Mother – if he doesn’t get his hands on more Marine Fire,’ Rhys snapped, his rage burning white-hot behind his dark eyes.
‘Are you going to obey him?’ Arthur asked carefully. He was appalled at the thought of such a monstrous weapon in Bran’s hands once again, not because Arthur believed the king was evil, but because Bran imagined that its use would save the Celtic people. Bran would do as he threatened, and burn every Saxon settlement to the ground.
‘No, we will not comply with his wishes,’ Taliesin replied for both men. ‘We will need to flee to Caer Gai, fast and hard, so that Mother can be warned and the hill people mustered to protect her. We don’t wish to go to war with Bran, but we will if he threatens Nimue again.’
Bedwyr nodded. ‘Without the use of Marine Fire, the south will fall and our people will be forced to abandon their lands, so I’m glad I don’t have to make your choices. As for now, do you need assistance to escape from Calleva? If you do, we can help. In fact, I’ve already had an excellent idea about how to mask your departure, but you’ll have to begin your preparations now.’
Wisely, Bedwyr was ignoring the underlying problem. As the possessors of the secret of Marine Fire, the sons of Myrddion were the only ones who could determine the fate of the Britons in the south-west. On them lay the harsh weight of thousands of lives, which must be weighed against the moral and ethical cost of utilising such a fearsome weapon.
And they decided to ensure that the key to the liquid was lost for ever.
The brothers packed speedily and moved down into one of the cellar rooms in the foundations below the baths. Tonight, Bedwyr reasoned, Bran would leave the brothers to stew over his demands. Tomorrow would see them quietly arrested, and the terrified kings would raise no objections. It was vital that Taliesin and Rhys should have made their escape before Bran came searching for them.
‘Stay here, regardless of the dangers, and ignore everything you hear unless it comes from us,’ Bedwyr warned them.
Above ground, the master of Arden began to make his preparations. ‘Arthur, Lorcan . . . all of you, let the populace know what lies in wait for them in the immediate future. Bran plans to leave Calleva to its fate, now that the south has fallen to the Saxons. Make sure they understand that Cerdic is angry beyond reason with Calleva because of his burned warriors, and he intends that the entire population will feel the lash of his rage. Believe me, within hours the citizens of Calleva will have made a decision to abandon their town and run. It will start as soon as the gates open, and quickly become a flood as people try to escape to the west with all the possessions they can carry.’
‘How does that help Taliesin and Rhys?’ Arthur asked, and then his intelligence showed him the answer. ‘Ah, the roads will become clogged as the wealthier citizens try to take as much with them as they can, and they’ll be able to escape in the resulting chaos at the gates.’
Bedwyr nodded. ‘It’s time to spread some rumours. Are you up for it? Can I depend on your garrulousness?’
‘Give me a couple of mugs of ale and I’ll be as indiscreet as you want,’ Father Lorcan answered with a wicked laugh.
‘And I,’ Germanus replied more seriously. ‘I’ve become heartily sick of King Bran over the last ten years. I never liked his attitude towards our boy and now he’s proved what kind of man he really is.’
‘I will enjoy elaborating on the Saxons’ probable thirst for blood,’ Gareth said with a twist to his thin upper lip. ‘I detest the destruction of British decency that we have experienced here. After the battle was over, I watched one of our peasants cut the fingers from a dead Saxon’s hand to steal his rings. Not one of our warriors tried to stop him, and I began to wonder where their pride had gone. Peasants will be good or bad, as will all men, but we warriors have a code. The Dragon King once decimated a cavalry troop to find the murderer of Nimue’s mother, because the slaughter of a pregnant woman was against all the rules of humanity. What of the destruction of the Severini gens in Aquae Sulis for the murder of children? Artor wouldn’t close his eyes to the affair because the Severini were of noble blood, as others had. When did we Celts begin to shirk the rules of honour that all warriors are instructed to follow? King Bran has pr
esided over the collapse of the entire warrior code.’
Arthur felt they were being harsh in their assessment of Bran. Through their dislike for the king, they were damning the citizens of Calleva to either homelessness or death, but Arthur could see that the choices available to his kinsman were so hard that the tribulations of his fellow Britons were no longer of prime importance.
‘Good!’ Bedwyr purred. ‘Then we must get to work. After the arrival of the courier a number of rumours will already be spreading through the town. If your stories are added to the mish-mash, the population will soon be making their decisions to leave. I’d like to smuggle Taliesin and Rhys out among the evacuees as early as possible, for I smell trouble on the winds!’
As the five men rose to their feet, Arthur called his stepfather to one side. As soon as his companions were out of earshot, he whispered, ‘Where will you go if Arden should fall to the Saxons, as it eventually must? I shall worry if you have no plans, for we need a place the children can run to when the Saxons come for them.’
‘There’s a forest to the south of Deva. Caer Gai lies high above it in the mountains, and tributaries of the river that nourishes Deva flow through it. The forest has sufficient river-bottom land in the flatter areas for sheep and light agriculture. I have already taken the precaution of speaking to Deinol ap Delwyn and Causus Gallio. Neither the Deceangli tribe nor the people of Deva will object to our presence on that land. When I return to Arden, I will send a troop of warriors there under the command of Lasair, who will be fully grown by then. He will establish our settlement and begin the process of building a fortress within the new Arden. Don’t worry, Arthur. I won’t permit any of our honourable traditions to die. Gareth was right when he spoke of a moral decline in our people. We’re not what we were even ten years ago. I can only hope that God will help us in the trials that lie before us.’
