by N. M. Browne
Chapter Thirty-nine
Dan woke when it was still dark. He’d had the dream again: of death, heaped corpses and the figure with the pale blonde hair, who both was and was not Arturus hewn down by mounted men. His heart was thumping and he was drenched in sweat. The memory of where he was and what he was doing there only returned to him in small fragments. It was several hundred rapid heartbeats before he had the whole picture. He remembered then: Arturus was expecting him to somehow project his consciousness into some imaginary bird in order to view the layout of the battle scene. It still seemed mad to him and, even though he’d done it before, impossible.
He got up and stretched. Ursula lay outside, wrapped in a travelling cloak. In the firelight her hair looked pink. Her mouth was slightly open and she snored lightly. He fought the urge to kiss her, to hold her as if she was some sleeping princess in a fairytale. Perhaps that would break the spell and they could both wake up and find this whole doomed enterprise a dream. It wasn’t, of course. He ached from riding; he itched where insects had bitten him in the night. He was hungry and he needed to find the latrine.
All round, Dan could sense the muted fears of dreaming men and the less muted fears of those who could not sleep. Birds sang. It was almost time.
Arturus was at the defensive trench, sharpening Caliburn on a small piece of whetstone. It was still too dark to see his features clearly but Dan knew he, too, was afraid.
‘Are you ready?’ Arturus did not whisper and his voice sounded too loud and harsh.
Dan nodded. His mouth was dry. ‘I’ll get Taliesin. I’d like him with me.’
They walked towards Taliesin’s tent together.
‘Do you know what you will do?’ Dan asked.
‘I have a plan in mind – I need to be sure that Medraut has done what I expect him to. It isn’t hopeless – far from it. We can win, but, I’ve been thinking – about you and the Lady Ursa. If it’s a rout, go! Try to get home. This is not your place. Even if we win I fear I have failed. I thought I could bring back the stability of Roman rule – but we Combrogi are not Roman, don’t want to be Roman. I know that now.’ Arturus sighed and Dan felt his searing sense of disappointment, the pain that betrayal had caused him. Arturus kicked a loose clod of earth.
‘It was all for nothing. I’ve fought for unity for thirty years and the only time my dearest friends and brother make an alliance, it is against me.’ He shook his bowed head in disbelief. ‘I had such hope after Baddon – Aelle turned his ships back, you knew? I wonder if I had done things differently could I have got rid of the Aenglisc for good?’ Arturus looked directly at Dan, daring him to contradict. ‘I will fight, Gawain, but it is with a very heavy heart.’
‘You are known even in my time as a great king, Arturus. You will be remembered for a thousand years and more for what you did here.’
Dan hated to feel the distress of this man, the real, unheroic, ruthless, pragmatic, High King Arturus. Dan had never respected him more. Truth was more complicated than myth but over the years Arturus had become a man to honour.
Arturus smiled. ‘Taliesin tried to tell me about time, though I’m sure I never grasped it. Tell me, if you know my story – how does it end?’
Dan blanched.
‘As I thought, it’s how they all end isn’t it?’ Arturus sheathed his sword, Dan’s sword. ‘Let’s find Taliesin and Frontalis. If I’m to die I will not die unshriven.’
There was no wind, no sensation at all, just the bird’s-eye view and the vertigo of flight. Taliesin had told him what to look for, flying east into the rising sun. A flash of something metallic caught his eye. He’d found them. Arturus’s enemies. He saw the glint of a gilded helmet straight below where the arrow-straight Roman road crossed the crooked valley. He looked closer and saw more. There were hundreds of them, massed in three separate blocks, hidden by the unusual terrain. He remembered Taliesin’s advice and tried to fix their exact formations in his mind.
The crooked valley was formed by three hills, two to the north of the road, one larger hill to the south. The road, formed with Roman singleness of purpose, ran in a broadly west–east direction. The valley floor, on the other hand, formed a channel that twisted north then widened into a broad, flat, triangular plain before narrowing to a smaller passageway and turning back towards the south. A large band of light cavalry formed a disciplined block in the apex of the triangular plain, where the two northern hills met. That would be Larcius. His men were not heavily armoured and their horses wore no armour at all but they were light, fast, manoeuvrable and well trained, the Roman way. Dan realised that from the ground they would be hidden by the curve of the nearest hill. Opposite them, halfway up the gentle slope of the largest of the three hills, Gwynefa’s Cataphracts were jockeying for position to find shelter under the limited tree cover. Dan could see flashes of their red-lacquered scale armour, like bright birds among the trees. The more he looked the more he saw, like counting stars in the night.
He flew further towards the eastern end of the valley. Medraut’s infantry, two hundred or more Aenglisc in no particular order, waited, hidden from the road, behind the large hill’s eastern side. Dan could see their brightly painted Aenglisc shields, their bronze helms, their axes, their spears and their gleaming swords. He flew back towards Arturus’s waiting men with a heavy sense of doom. Were Arturus to ride along the Icknield Way to where the road crossed the wider plain, he would be attacked on his left by Larcius’s light cavalry, on his right by Gwynefa’s Cataphracts charging down the hillside. Those men who survived the combined onslaught would meet the Aenglisc horde under Medraut’s command as they poured towards them from the eastern side of the valley. It was a classic ambush and Dan could see no way out of it for Arturus or for his men.
Dan woke by the fire outside Taliesin’s tent, the scent of one of Frontalis’s herbal concoctions and the smoke and crackle of flames bringing him back to earth. Arturus listened to his debriefing carefully, nodding. He made Dan sketch his aerial vision with a stick in the earth, and then gave his orders. He was clear and decisive and had obviously worked it all out in his mind. Ursula was to take a small, hand-picked troop of sixty Cataphracts up the blind, steeper eastern side of the largest hill. They would climb to the hill’s highest point to take the higher ground above Gwynefa’s men. The entire western side of the hill was gentle enough for Ursula to charge down Gwynefa’s men and put them into a state of disarray. Thus ambushing the ambushers.
They would deal with Larcius’s light cavalry in the same way. Arturus’s remaining Cataphracts would swing wide around the nearest hill, ride through the narrow valley formed by the two smaller hills and emerge to the rear of Larcius’s force. Meanwhile, Arturus’s own infantry would march in fighting formation so that at the lituus’s signal, they would form a defensive double shield wall, presenting a double level of spears to the enemy on four sides. Any of Gwynefa’s Cataphracts who succeeded in completing the charge in the valley could not attack the infantry so long as the shield wall held.
‘I have good men,’ Arturus said proudly. ‘Trained the old Roman way – they will hold.’
Ursula bit her lip. ‘How steep is that slope?’
‘Steep enough to ensure no one will be expecting you from that direction. You want to take the younger, more agile horses, but you will have to lead them up on foot. The horses might do better without their mail.’ That made sense.
‘We won’t be silent. What if we are seen?’
‘There will be scouts – Medraut’s no fool, but if they are close enough to see what is going on with us – they are a long way from the command group – it will take time to get the message back and by then it will be too late. Gwynefa is inexperienced. She might send her men to charge you down. Believe me, a horse can get up there but a horse cannot get down, not at speed, not with a rider on his back. It would be carnage.’ Dan knew he was thinking of the fine Sarmatian horses and the fine Sarmatian soldiers who were about to die – Sarmatians who just day
s ago were his own, sworn men. Ursula looked grim. It was cold this early in the day and Frontalis had lent her his cloak – Arturus’s cloak. She clutched it to her throat for warmth and Dan saw that her fingers were clenched white. She gave no other evident sign of nerves.
‘Any of our Cataphracts who successfully make it through to the road must form up in front of our infantry – they will be useful against Medraut’s Aenglisc war bands.’
Dan could not tell from Arturus’s tone whether he expected most or any of his Cataphracts to make it that far. Arturus’s emotions were under tight rein and Dan did not wish to probe them.
‘Dan and Taliesin, you will have command of five riders each with golden dracos and horns that can sound the basic commands. If you see some unforeseen disaster looming send out the messengers to divert the troops as you see fit. I trust you to decide.’
Dan did not like the sound of that. He was no military strategist. ‘What about you?’
‘I will lead the Cataphracts against Larcius. We leave at once. Ursula, pick your men!’ Arturus’s tone brooked no opposition. Ursula looked distressed. Had Arturus forgotten that she knew none of these people?
‘I don’t know them. I knew their fathers!’
‘Sons are not always of the same mettle it is true – ask for volunteers. You command – they must follow you!’
Dan could feel Ursula’s battle nerves steady as she concentrated on her task. She glanced back to smile briefly at Dan, before striding off.
‘Lady Ursa!’ Arturus’s voice halted her in mid stride. ‘Take this.’ He handed her the gold face-mask she had worn at Baddon Hill. ‘For luck!’
She took it thoughtfully, more mistrustful of his motives than she had been at Baddon. Did he wish Gwynefa to believe she was Arturus? It hardly mattered. She did not have to be mistaken for Arturus to stand a very good chance of dying.
The camp dissolved around them with a blast from the tuba. They were to eat on the march. Most of the men were glad to be moving – anything was better than waiting. By the time they arrived at Camlann their enemies would have been waiting for three or four hours. Dan could not help thinking that gave their own men a psychological advantage.
Chapter Forty
Ursula mounted her war horse. Arturus had given her a good mount, strong but lighter than the norm, handsomely equipped with silver mail. She fastened Arturus’s mask to her helmet, but did not put it over her face, and trotted towards the waiting Sarmatian troops. She did not know what she was to say to them. They were ready, of course, though not yet mounted as she rode up to them. Strangely, it seemed as if she should know these men, wearing armour handed down from their fathers. She saw the distinctive mail shirt of Cynfach and had to remind herself that he was long dead and that these men, in the same war-worn suits of scale and mail, were strangers. She cleared her throat nervously. She could feel their eyes on her. Most of them were in their late twenties or thirties though she spotted one grizzled veteran and a few younger men whom Gwynefa had not seduced. Ursula dismounted Combrogi fashion. She wanted the earth beneath her feet. She planted herself on the churned grass and stood very straight before them, conscious of her height and her hidden Boar Skull strength but all too aware of how she must appear to them.
‘King Arturus has asked me to lead the bravest of you against your former comrades,’ she began. Her voice was not loud and scarcely carried beyond the first rank.
‘Speak up young ’un – we can’t hear at the back.’ The voice, speaking heavily accented soldier’s Latin, was mocking, and Ursula’s heart sank.
‘You will not remember me,’ she began again, more loudly, ‘but I fought alongside your fathers, led them in the famous charge at Baddon Hill.’
There was a snort of derision from somewhere and Ursula fought to keep her temper under control.
‘That was Arturus – everyone knows that!’ someone called out. Then a voice spoke from the front rank – one of the younger men.
‘No, it wasn’t. It was a woman, my ma told me!’
‘Shut up, Caradoc – your ma tell you where babies come from yet?’
There was more laughter but it was not unfriendly and Caradoc ignored it. He was a strong-looking youth and addressed his mockers in a clear, ringing voice.
‘You all heard of my father, Cynfach, who led us at Baddon, well, he rode with the Lady Ursa. I have told the story before – it was the Lady who led the charge wearing Arturus’s face-mask!’
Ursula took her opportunity. She marched towards the youth and dragged him forward to face the troops. She spoke clearly as Caradoc had done, allowing each word to echo and die before continuing.
‘This man had a father to be proud of. Cynfach was my friend. Cynfach saved my life too, on Baddon field when the charge was over and the worst of the killing began. I carried this mask then and I carry it now.’ She waved Arturus’s golden mask before them.
‘Baddon was tough, but the task I ask of you now is tougher and I need to know if you are worthy heirs of your fathers.’
The silence of the assembled men had deepened as she spoke. She had their attention at last. Then the veteran she had spotted earlier pushed forward to the front and as he approached she recognised him as one of Cynfach’s corps.
‘Lady Ursa, I have not forgotten.’ He was a big man, heavily muscled and scarred. His voice was as powerful as his frame. ‘I have not forgotten those that fell that day and those who have fallen since and I have never forgotten you. I do not know what magic has preserved you unchanged through these long years which have seen my strength fade but, by all the soldier’s gods, it is good to see you again.’
‘Rhys! You’ve gained a few pounds, but I do not believe your arm is any the weaker for it.’ Ursula was relieved that her voice sounded firm as she grasped his arm.
Rhys spoke to the assembled men.
‘Do not be misled by this Lady’s beauty, by her youth or, begging your pardon my Lady, the slenderness of her frame, for this is the Lady Ursa, the she-bear of Baddon Hill, and I promise you – you will never see a better fighter!’
There was an instant’s silence and then the commander of the Cataphracts stepped forward. He was a handsome man in a blue-grey surcoat of much-mended horn scale. He moved with the easy confidence of command and his voice carried effortlessly in the still cool morning.
‘I don’t doubt your sincerity, Rhys, but we need more than that. If you are to lead us, Lady, why has Arturus not sent me orders?’
Ursula could not answer that.
‘Perhaps he hoped that you would gladly follow a hero,’ she said softly, ‘or perhaps he wished me to prove myself to you – again.’ She sighed. ‘There is little time, so let’s get it over with. I will fight any two of you if need be, to establish that I’m fit to lead. Who wants to test my mettle?’
She removed her armour so that she stood in just her tunic, bare-headed and shieldless, her sword in her hand.
Rhys grinned at her and the commander nodded his assent.
‘I am Vitus and I will fight you, Lady.’ He said courteously.
‘Anyone else?’ Ursula knew by the men’s reaction that Vitus was their best. She was not afraid, indeed her earlier nervousness had disappeared. She wanted this.
She did not take long. He was a good swordsman but she had fought the best and she was angry, not wild and out of control angry, but coldly furious that Arturus had deliberately placed her in this situation again, hours before he expected her to die for him and his doomed cause. Vitus could not parry the blows she rained on him fast enough, she was too quick and too strong. She came at him more fiercely than he anticipated, attacking constantly so that he was unable to think of anything but his own defence. He stumbled and she stopped, reining in her temper before she injured him.
‘Anyone else?’ Ursula repeated her earlier question. There was silence. She helped Vitus to his feet – he had overbalanced and lay, panting on the ground.
‘Right! I am the Lady Ursa, veteran of Baddo
n Hill, and I will lead you well if you will follow me.’ No one breathed and she knew that she did not have them yet. She had more to prove. She had made a speech before, in Macsen’s Hall on the brink of another battle, the Battle of Craigwen. She had found the right words then and she needed to find them again. She took a deep breath and began. She spoke more quietly, but the men listened, strained to hear as she began.
‘I know that you are loyal men. I know how it must pain you to lose brothers in arms and I’m sure brothers in blood too, but they are gone, lost to you. They have allied with our enemies. They have allied with the Aenglisc and we have to fight them. We have to fight them, those who were your brothers, because if we don’t the Aenglisc will sweep us away. Once, long ago, before Baddon, I was there when the Aenglisc burned down a village, cut down those that ran to escape and killed a young girl for sport. King Arturus is all that stands between us and that. We have to fight to keep Arturus’s dream of Britannia, our Island of the Mighty, alive. Arturus is Roman and Combrogi both, he carried the hope of all of us at Baddon and after twenty years of peace he carries it still. We walk into an ambush but we can win, must win. We will have victory if you have the heart and guts for a tough fight, more than that, a tough fight against fellow Cataphracts who have betrayed us all.’
She knew when they cheered that she had won them. All of them volunteered to follow her up the steep slope of the nearest hill and down again the other side, follow her through whatever mayhem and carnage lay between. Inwardly, she marvelled at their courage. She did not believe many of them would survive the day.
She allowed Vitus to choose the sixty lightest and strongest for the task ahead and rode with him, at the head of the Sarmatian column, towards Camlann.
When the largest of the three hills came into view Ursula peeled away from the main force, Dan rode over to her side. Her face-mask was up and she looked worried.
