“Let them do what they can,” humphed Cuall.
“We might as well sleep,” Taliesin suggested. “The clouds are moving slowly; the ships will not come to shore.”
Elphin posted a watch at the outcrop and slept, to be awakened while it was still dark by a harsh whisper in his ear. “A light, Lord Elphin. I think it was a signal. The ships might be moving.”
The king was already on his feet before the message was fully delivered. “Alert the commanders. Tell them to meet me here.”
They met: Cuall, Heridd, Toringad, Redynvar, Nerth, Ma-bon-all of Elphin’s commanders, each with charge of a contingent of fifty men, a system they had adopted from the Romans. “The boats are coming in,” he told them. “It will be difficult to see at first, but let the raiders come ashore and move a little inland. Then burn the boats. There is to be no escape. I will not have them run from this fight only to land somewhere else with the dawn.” He glanced around at his men, each one a battle-seasoned champion, proven many times over. “Lieu make your blade quick and your spear true,” he said.
“Death to our enemies!” they answered and hurried away to gather their companies.
Twelve of the raiding ships landed on the beach; ten others made for the estuary of the Tremadawc River a little further north. “Cuall!” shouted Elphin when he saw what had developed. His second-in-command came running, face set, eyes blazing. “Ten have gone upriver. You, Redynvar, and Heridd go after them.”
Cuall slapped his breastplate with the flat of his hand and whirled away. A moment later a hundred and fifty men rode silently from the dunes above the beach.
Elphin waited until the raiders had dragged their boats well above the tide line and allowed them to penetrate inland a short way. He struck before they could assemble into their main contingents. One moment the dunes were dark, quiet shapes against the night-dark sky; the next they echoed with blood-chilling screams as burning arrows streaked through the darkness. When the invaders dispersed along the beach, invisible horsemen thundered down from either side. And when they fled to their boats, they found the sails burning and the hulls aflame.
It was a short, ugly fight. Elphin dispatched the enemy with cold efficiency and when he was certain all had been accounted for-either wounded or dead-he mounted his troops and rode to the river to help his commanders deal with the rest.
They reached the river as dawn lightened the sky in the east. Smoke drifted in gray snakes through the trees, and they heard urgent shouts and the clash of arms as they plunged through the thick underbrush toward the battle. But by the time they reached the site all was strangely quiet. The weak morning light revealed a neat row of Irish ships burning quietly down to the waterline; bodies of half-naked invaders bobbed silently in the blood-red river. So many, a man might have walked from one bank to the other without wetting his feet. On the shore the dead lay sprawled everywhere, some pierced by arrows, others by spears. Few of the dead wore Cymric battlegear.
“Where have they gone?” wondered Elphin.
“Listen!” hissed Taliesin.
A moment later Elphin heard the sound of men pushing their way toward them through the wood. Elphin gave a quick, silent signal and his troops disappeared. They waited. Suddenly Cuall’s mea appeared, their leader stalking angrily ahead, a black scowl twisting his face.
“What happened?” asked Elphin, stepping out to meet him.
“The dogs got away,” Cuall said, as if the words burned his mouth.
The king tallied the bodies around him. “Not many got away, from the look of it.”
“Oh, indeed! But there were more than we expected. Each boat had fifty at least! We took them as they put to shore.”
Taliesin marveled at the casual ferocity of the warriors. He knew well their skill and courage; he had occasion enough to laud it in song. All the same, it awed him to see it in action: a hundred and fifty against three times their number, and they fretted that some had escaped-never mind that they had been seriously outnumbered from the start.
“We gave chase,” continued Cuall, “but lost them in the woods.”
“Let them go. We ride to Caer Seiont.”
On they rode, approaching the Roman fortress by midday. Elphin sent scouts ahead to view the situation. “I like this not at all,” muttered Cuall as they waited, using the time to eat a few bites of food and water the horses at the ford. The hill on which the fort was built was not far from the river, and they could see the black smoke rising above the trees ahead and hear the frantic sounds of battle sharp in the still autumn air.
“Maximus is in trouble,” replied Elphin. “But it will not help him for us to rush in without a good account of how things stand.”
When the scouts returned, the king called his commanders together and all listened to what the scouts had to report. “The fort is well surrounded, but the main fighting is taking place before the gates, which are afire. There are small fires inside the fort,” said one of the scouts.
“How many of the enemy?” asked Elphin.
“A thousand,” replied the second scout cautiously. “Maybe more. But they are holding none back.”
“A thousand men,” wondered Redynvar. “Where did they come from?”
“That matters but little,” Cuall reminded him. “They are here, and that is the meal that is on our plate!”
“We will take the main force at the gate,” Elphin said. “One column will go in first with support from either side. Heridd and Nerth, stay behind and guard our backs. We may need fresh reserves later.” Battle plans laid, they remounted their men and continued to the fort.
It was as the scouts had said: at least five hundred invaders massed before the main gate, and another five or six hundred deployed around the square’s stone-and-timber walls, busily keeping those inside the fort occupied with the defense of those walls. Stones and arrows flashed through the air, clattering against the long, narrow shields of the raiders.
“Look at them,” muttered Elphin in amazement. He had never seen a Roman fort under attack, Irish Scotti dodged to and fro, loosing their long spears upon those on the ramparts; around them naked Picti and Cruithne, their skins bright blue from the woad, darted and danced, filling the air with their short, sharp arrows; Attacotti, slim dark bodies gleaming in the sunlight, threw themselves at the gates armed only with iron axes.
“Those big ones” Cuall said, pointing to a rear echelon made up of large-limbed, beefy men dressed in skins and leather, their fair hair hanging in long braids.
“Saecsen,” said Taliesin. “They are all here.”
“And will soon wish they were not!” The king turned in his saddle. “Column ready!” he bawled. There was a rustling along the ranks as spears were readied for the charge.
“Speak a victory for us, Taliesin,” said Elphin, gathering his reins.
“I will uphold you,” Taliesin replied.
The column charged up the hill as a straight line, flaring out at the last instant to form a sharp-pointed wedge. They rode straight for the gate where the battle was thickest. Too late the enemy heard the thunder of their horses as death swooped over them. They turned to meet the charge only to be swept backward before it and pinned against the burning gates and wall of the fort they were trying to destroy.
The spears of the Cymry thrust and thrust again, blade-tips running red as they scythed through the melee. Here and there men were hauled from horseback to disappear under a swell of flashing blades and clubs. Those in the forefront of the attack feinted back, moving to the side to allow their comrades who had regrouped to charge into the mass again.
Taliesin, along with Heridd, Nerth, and their squads, watched the fight, and waited for Elphin’s signal. The horses charged and charged again. Spears thrust and hooves flashed and the enemy fell by the score, but for every one that fell, three more took his place. Eventually exhaustion forced Elphin’s company to retreat and let fresh troops take the field.
“Ride in twos!” the king cried as his
mount came pounding in. “Keep your horses! Each man protect his neighbor!” Panting and sweating, he motioned the replacements into the fray.
“It is worse than I expected,” Elphin told Taliesin when they had gone, wiping blood and grime from his brow. All around them men gasped from their deadly exertion. The king spoke low so those close by would not overhear. “They mean to die this day, and it fills them with desperate courage. They fight like men gone mad.” He shook his head. “And there are so many of them.”
Without a word Taliesin turned his horse aside and rode through the sheltering trees, back across the stream to the hill opposite the one on which the fortress was built. He rode to the crest of the hill and stopped on the barren height overlooking the scene of battle. He dropped his reins and, slipping from the saddle, drew out his oak staff and his blue robe. He threw the robe over his shoulders, walked a few paces from the horse, and planted the staff firmly in the ground.
Then he set about gathering good-sized stones, which he heaped into a small pile at the place where he had driven in his staff. Taking up more stones, he proceeded to pace off the dimensions of a large circle, placing a stone every third step. Then he plucked his staff from the ground and, raising it, closed his eyes, his lips forming the words of the incantation.
As he stood murmuring, the sun, already dim with smoke, shrank away as the smoke thickened and spread its darkness over the sky. The sound of battle-harsh clash of arms, terrified whinnying of horses, curses and cries of wounded and dying-came to him across the small valley.
Taliesin opened his eyes and saw his father’s warband surrounded by the enemy and halted as they tried to force a way through to the burning gates, Elphin himself at their head, hacking away with his short sword.
Twice more Taliesin repeated the conjure and when he looked again, the foe was pressed tight around Elphin’s forces six deep, and more were streaming around the walls, their angry axes flashing dull red above their horn-helmeted heads.
The barbarians, by diot of superior numbers, had stopped the king’s onslaught and were forcing the warband back. Frustration growing, Taliesin turned and stared wildly around, eyes lighting on his black horse. He ran and grabbed the reins and pulled the horse into the center of the crude stone circle he had constructed. He climbed into the saddle and stood on the horse’s back.
Then, raising the oak staff over his head, he repeated the incantation. This time he felt his awen descend like a radiant cloak; the air around him shimmered. He spoke and felt the power of his words take shape on the wind. They were not mere words anymore-they were the wind and the power behind the wind. Words flew from his lips, snatched from his tongue by the force of their own volition. An icy blast whirled around him in a spiraling vortex that gathered and raced by, flying down the hill. This strange and sudden chill blew across the valley to where the fighting raged most hotly.
King Elphin’s men felt the cold wind sting their faces and looked up. There on the opposite hill they saw the lean, tall figure of a man standing on a black horse, a long staff raised over his head. “Taliesin!” someone cried. “Our druid’s sent a wind to save us!”
The enemy too felt the cold wind and saw the dark sky. They turned wide, astonished eyes upon the mysterious hill-figure and faltered in their attack.
That was all the warband needed. Refreshed by the sight of the long-haired Saecsen and their minions falling back, Elphin’s troops wheeled and charged into the reeling mass. The cold wind howled high above the bloody battleground, and within moments the enemy was fleeing down the slope to the shelter of the woods. A tremendous shout went up from the legionaries on the walls. The gates opened and the soldiers came flooding out to give chase.
Not long after, Elphin stood in the compound facing an exhausted Magnus Maximus, his face smeared with soot and sweat. “I never thought I would see the day when a Roman legion would require the aid of an ala to stave off defeat.” He paused and added, “But, as ever, I am grateful for your help, King Elphin.”
“We sent twenty-odd boatloads to their doom this morning or we might have been here sooner.”
A servant came running with a carafe of wine and a cup for the tribune. Maximus handed the cup to Elphin and poured out the wine, saying, “A bad day all around, and it is far from over yet. Still, you must have the first drink; you have worked the harder.”
Elphin gulped down some of the raw red wine. “Where did they all come from?” he wondered, handing the cup back to Maximus. “I have never seen so many in one place, and never all of them together.”
“Whores’ whelps, the lot of them!” Maximus washed his mouth with wine and spat it on the ground. “Taking on a fort! They must be bewitched!”
They were still talking when a rider appeared on a stumbling horse; the beast was lathered and nearly lame. “What in” began Maximus, who took one look at the device on the horse’s harness and cried, “By Caesar! Luguvallium!”
The exhausted rider pitched forward in the saddle and toppled to the ground, to be caught by two grooms. Maximus and Elphin hurried to the man, and Maximus dashed the rest of the wine into the cup and pressed it to the man’s lips. “ Drink this,” he ordered.
The man drank and coughed, spewing wine over himself. “Tribune,” he wheezed and raised a hand in a slack salute. “I come from… from”
“From Fullofaudes,” said Maximus impatiently. “Yes. Out with it, man.”
“The Wall,” gasped the rider. “The Wall is overrun. Luguvallium has fallen.”
Maximus stood slowly. “Luguvaliium fallen.”
“We will go with you,” said Elphin, rising with him. “With rest and food, we can soon be ready to ride again.”
The tribune looked at Elphin and shook his head. “You have fought two battles already this day.”
“You will need us,” insisted Elphin.
“Your kinsmen will need you more. Go back, friend; defend your own.”
Elphin was about to object once more when Taliesin arrived. He slipped from the saddle and walked toward them, his step light and quick, although he appeared drained. Taking in the collapsed rider and the grave faces of Maxirnus and Elphin in one glance, he said, “Bad news from the north, is it?”
“It is,” replied Elphin. “Luguvallium has fallen and the Wall is overrun.”
“Then we must go back to Caer Dyvi,” Taliesin said simply. “While there is still time.”
“Just what I was saying,” said Maximus.
Taliesin turned and walked back to his horse. Elphin started after him, turned back, offered Maximus a sharp Roman salute and then remounted. With three shrill blasts on his hunting horn, the king gathered his warband at the bottom of the hill. When all had been accounted for and wounds bound, they gathered their dead and headed home.
CHAPTER THREE
The pilgrims stayed with klng avallach for several days and then returned to the nearby hill and the ruined shrine. A few days later, when he saw that they were serious about restoring the shrine, Avallach sent provisions, for over the course of their stay he had grown quite intrigued by the good brothers and their unusual god.
This suited Charis well. She liked Collen, who regarded her with a befuddled but reverential awe and who labored doggedly with the Briton tongue. And she was fond of Dafyd, a gentle man of keen intelligence and ready wit, whose wholehearted enthusiasm for the God of love and light spilled over into everything he did. She was glad to have them nearby, and if restoring the shrine meant that they would stay that much longer, so be it.
Wet winter intervened and halted the building for a season. But when spring came, the work resumed and Charis rode often to visit the priests and oversee the rebuilding progress. Sometimes she brought them food and drink, and then they would sit and eat together while Dafyd told stories about the life of Jesu, the Great God’s Son-who, if what Dafyd said about him was even remotely true, must surely have been the most remarkable man who ever lived.
Charis did not care one way or the other if
what Dafyd said was true; he Believed enough for any three people. She simply enjoyed the kindly man’s company and, more importantly, she valued the healing effect he had on her father. She had noticed from the first night that Avallach seemed more at ease in Dafyd’s presence. A day or two later, the king himself remarked that his pain bothered him less when the holy man was near. This, if nothing else, was more than enough to endear them to Charis.
Thus, she was not all surprised when Avallach requested Dafyd to begin instructing him in the religion of the new god. Charis thought it a harmless enough occupation, but Lile- always hovering, always unseen, and always nearby-resented the pilgrims and warned that nothing good could come from chasing after alien gods.
“What will happen when they leave?” Lile asked Charis one day. Dafyd had just arrived for one of his sessions with the king, and Charis was on her way to join them. She met Lile lurking outside the king’s reception hall.
“When who leaves?”
“The holy men, the priests or pilgrims or whatever they are-what happens when they go away?”
“Have they said they are going away?” wondered Charis.
“No, but it is plain enough. When they have taken enough money from Avallach and their shrine is finished, they will leave.”
“That should make you happy. Why do you care?”
“I do not care-not for myself. I was only thinking of Avallach.”
“Of course.”
“You think I have not noticed? I know Avallach is better when the priest is with him.” Lile clutched at Charis’ sleeve in a clumsy, desperate motion.
Charis observed her more closely. Certainly something was upsetting Lile; the woman’s expression wavered between helplessness and anger. Her tone was at once fierce and pleading. “What is wrong, Lile?”
“Nothing is wrong with me. I do not want to see my husband hurt.”
“You think Dafyd’s leaving would hurt him, is that it?”
Lile hesitated. “It might.”
Charis smiled. “Then we must ask Dafyd to stay.”
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