Pendragon

SIX

The Irish king grinned broadly and, lifting the reins, urged his horse forward. We raced to Rath Mor, and had almost reached the shelter of the wood when, with a sudden cry, an enemy warband burst out from among the trees.

Within two heartbeats we were confronted by fifty warriors – large men, fierce, pitiless eyes glittering like chips of jet in their sallow faces. They advanced on foot, warily, and carried no swords, only the thick black spear and heavy wooden shield we had seen on the ships. They hesitated only a moment, then the enemy battlechief gave a shout and they rushed upon us, black spears levelled, screaming as they ran.

Arthur lashed his mount to speed and raced to meet the charge head-on. 'Follow me!' he called, setting his shield as he flew towards the enemy.

Llenlleawg was first to react to Arthur's lead. He blew past me and took up position to the left and just behind Arthur so that the barbarians could not come at the king from his blind side.

Conaire was suddenly beside me, holding out his spear. 'You have no spear,' he said. 'Take mine.'

'Keep it,' I told him. 'I prefer the sword.'

Gwenhwyvar lashed her mount to speed, unslinging her shield and drawing her sword at full gallop. 'Oh, heart of my heart,' said Conaire, watching her go, 'is that not a sweet sight?'

'Come, Irishman,' I called. 'They are leaving us behind!'

Arthur reached the enemy line and hurtled through, scattering foemen in all directions. Llenlleawg, right behind, did not give them a chance to regroup. He ran down three or four as they fled and slashed two more. The line gaped wide, allowing Gwenhwyvar to ride through unopposed. She gained the edge of the wood and then turned back, charging again into the re-forming rank.

I saw where she intended to strike and swerved to join her attack. Conaire, on my right, loosed a wild, joyous whoop and rode straight to the centre of the line – spear high, shield outflung, and reins flying loose. One glimpse of the three of us sweeping down upon them and – mouths gaping in unintelligible shouts, shields thrown high – the strangers scrambled for the cover of the wood.

Arthur and Llenlleawg met them, however, swinging up from behind. The Vandal warband was neatly sliced in two – those closest to the trees made good their escape, but the rest found themselves the centre of an attack by five swiftly converging horsemen. The disordered rank folded inward upon itself to become a confused knot. Gwenhwyvar and I reached this knot first and stabbed into it. Conaire slashed in from the side, and Arthur and Llenlleawg charged in from the rear.

They fell before us. Confused, crying out in panic and rage, lunging desperately with their short, clumsy spears, they threw themselves at us, and we trampled them down. The soft green turf blushed bright crimson in the lowering sun and the shadows stretched long.

The enemy warriors fled the fight, leaving their dead and wounded on the ground as they disappeared into the shelter of the wood. Llenlleawg would have pursued them, but Arthur called him back.

'Warriors!' Conaire hooted in derision. 'I have never seen such hopeless warriors. If that is the best they can do, give me a gang of boys with sharp sticks and I will conquer the world!'

'They were a scouting party only," replied Arthur. 'Our horses scared them.'

'But they attacked us!' argued Conaire. 'They wanted to fight. Fifty against five! And we routed them without breaking a sweat.'

'Arthur is right,' I remarked. 'They were only searching out the land and we surprised them. And now that we have shown them what manner of men inhabit this place, we should not expect them to make the same mistake again.'

'Bah!' Conaire growled. 'What do I care what you call it? We beat the thieving barbarians. Let them try again and we will give them the same.'

Arthur shook his head gravely. 'Speed and courage saved us today, Conaire. We should count ourselves fortunate to have escaped with our lives.' He swung himself from the saddle and walked to where the enemy warriors lay on the ground. He stooped briefly over two or three of them, and then called, 'This one is still alive.'

'I will soon put that right,' Conaire answered, quickly jumping down from his horse.

'No,' Arthur said, halting the Irish lord. 'Let us take him back to the caer and see what we can learn from him.'

Conaire frowned. 'We will get nothing from him. Let us kill him now and save ourselves the trouble of carrying him back.'

However much I agreed with Arthur, I strongly suspected Conaire was right. One look at the strange features – high cheekbones and narrow, almost slanted eyes above a long thin nose, and skin the colour of old ivory, he seemed to have come from another world – and I concluded that we would learn nothing of value from the injured man. Nevertheless, we picked him up and slung his unconscious body across Llenlleawg's saddle. The Irish champion shared Gwenhwyvar's horse and we made our way quickly back to Rath Mor, where Conaire summoned his druids, informed them of the danger, and then dispatched messengers to rally his lords and chieftains. The barbarian was taken to one of the nearby round houses to be guarded until he awakened.

'I have sent word to Fergus to join us here,' Conaire explained. 'He and his folk will be safer in this stronghold than wandering around in the forest where the barbarians can get at them.'

'I do thank you, Conaire,' Gwenhwyvar said. 'Your consideration will not be forgotten.'

'I do it for you, lady,' he answered. 'And for this husband of yours. I tell you I like him well, and mean to account myself worthy in his eyes.'

'That you have done already,' Arthur told him, which pleased Conaire immensely.

'Then come into my hall,' the Irishman said. 'We will lift cups together and drink our fill. My alemakers are champions of their craft, and tonight may be the last chance we have to savour their subtle art. Come, Arthur! Come, Gwenhwyvar! Come, Myrddin Emrys and Llenlleawg! Let us drink to the health of our enemy's enemies!'

Arthur took two steps towards the hall and stopped. 'I would enjoy nothing more than to drink with you, Conaire,' he said. 'But I think the enemy will not be celebrating tonight. Therefore, I suggest we look rather to the defence of the people.'

The Irish king's face clouded. 'We have done all we can,' Conaire said stiffly. 'What more would you have us do?'

'The enemy have yet to assemble their war host. We will never have a better opportunity to attack.'

'But it will be dark before we can assemble our own battle host,' Conaire pointed out.

'Better still,' replied Arthur with a grin. 'Let darkness hide our numbers, and let us strike them before they strike us! Come, Conaire, we will carry the battle to them on the shore even while their ships are making landfall.'

Conaire hesitated; he was not inclined to such tactics and distrusted them. Arthur understood his reluctance. Conaire's experience of warfare was that of an elder time, when kings met to wage combat in the morning and then rested and refreshed themselves to fight again in the evening, breaking off at dusk to return to their strongholds.

Arthur, nurtured on ruthless necessity and desperate cunning, had learned a keen and lethal shrewdness. He never considered the battle without also assessing the shape of the war. I never knew him to take the field without a thought to the next day's battle. And that was what lay behind his thinking now: anything we could do to harry the enemy on this night would be to our advantage next time. And, as Arthur knew, we would need every benefit we could command.

I believe Conaire sensed the wisdom of acting on Arthur's counsel, even if he did not fully perceive its source. Even so, Arthur did not coerce the Irish king – he coaxed; he cajoled.

'Ah, the sky is clear, and the moon will shine bright. It is a good night for a ride along the sea. Gwenhwyvar has told me of the beauty of the Eireann coast. I think I would like to see it by moonlight. What say you, Conaire?' asked Arthur. 'Will you ride with us?'

'By my father's head, Lord Arthur,' Conaire replied, 'you are a very man. Well then, since we are going, let us at least lift a cup while we wait for our companions to join us.'

Gwenhwyvar stepped between the two men and, taking each by the arm, turned them towards the hall. 'Well said, Conaire, we will drink to the friendship of kings. And then we will show this Briton the delights of these favoured shores by moonlight.'

By the time the sun set, the first of Conaire's warbands had arrived. The chieftains strode noisily into the hall to Conaire's acclaim. He pressed cups into their hands, drank with them, and made much over our first skirmish with the Vandal foe.

Fergus and his people arrived last, and Cai and Bedwyr with him. Arthur quickly explained what he had seen, and described the encounter with the enemy.

'Where is this captured foeman?' asked Bedwyr when he had heard the tale. 'Perhaps we should see if he is of a temper to speak to us.'

As Conaire was occupied with his lords, Arthur and I, Cai and Bedwyr, left the hall and went to the round house where the barbarian had been taken. He lay on his side on the dirt floor of the house; his hands and feet had been bound with a rope of braided leather. He sat up and scowled defiantly at us as we entered. The warrior guarding him acknowledged us, and said, 'He has made no sound since waking. He just sits and glares like a sun-sick lizard.'

'We will watch him now,' said Arthur. 'You may join your kinsmen in the hall.'

The warrior departed eagerly, and we stood for a moment looking at the captive. Tall – nearly as tall as Arthur – he was thick-limbed and brawny. His arms and legs were covered with small, even-spaced scars. His hair and eyes were black, and he wore no beard or moustache – indeed, save for his head, all the hair had been scraped from his body. His thin, faintly slanted eyes watched us sourly, without interest. Arthur nodded to Bedwyr, who stepped before him, questioning, 'Who are you, Vandal? What is your name?'

The captive merely curled his lip.

'Answer me, and it will go well with you,' Bedwyr said, speaking slowly. 'Do you hear me?'

The barbarian offered no reply; neither did he give the slightest indication that he understood Bedwyr's speech.

'That is not the way to do it,' grumbled Cai. He stepped before the captive and, thumping himself on the chest, said, 'Cai. I am… Cai.' He pointed a finger at the barbarian's chest. 'You?' He made the word a question, and to my surprise the barbarian answered.

'Hussa!' he growled in a low voice. 'Hussa the groz.'

'You see?' said Cai, turning his head. 'That is how-' But at that moment the barbarian pitched forward and rolled into Cai's legs, knocking him to the ground. Bedwyr, who was nearest, leaped to Cai's aid, pulling the captive off as Cai kicked himself free.

Bedwyr helped Cai to his feet and the barbarian lunged away. "That was foolish,' Cai said. 'I will not make that mistake again.'

'What is he doing?' Arthur said, pushing past them. He rushed to the captive and rolled him onto his back. The barbarian clutched Cai's dagger in his bound hands. He grinned viciously and spat in Arthur's face.

'You filthy -' cried Cai, diving towards him.

Before Cai could lay hand to him, the barbarian turned the knife and plunged the blade into his own gut. His eyes bulged with the sudden shock. And then, hands and arms shaking with the effort, he forced the blade up under his own ribs and into his heart.

The savage smile became a rictus. A tremor shook the body and the barbarian slumped back, blood bubbling suddenly from his mouth. His legs twitched and he lay still.

'So,' observed Bedwyr, 'we will get no more from him now.'

'We learned his name at least,' Cai said, feeling the place at his belt. 'Why did he have to use my knife?'

'Was it his name?' I mused, looking at the stranger's corpse. 'I wonder.'

We returned to the hall and told Conaire what had happened. 'It is for the best,' the Irishman reflected. 'He would no doubt have been unhappy to remain here any longer.'

The first stars were shining in a skybowl of deep blue as we rode out from Rath Mor to meet the enemy host encamped on the shore.

We lay on our stomachs and gazed down upon the night-dark shore by the light of a bright half moon. The easy roll of the sea upon the strand sounded like the breathing of an enormous beast, and the campfires strung along the coast glinted and glimmered in a shimmering line into the sea-misted distance. Other lights shone across the water where enemy ships rode at anchor.

'Still but forty ships, and only half have come ashore,' observed Bedwyr. 'That is good.'

'Oh, that is very good,' muttered Conaire.

'I make it between four and six hundred warriors,' Bedwyr continued. 'Less than a thousand, anyway.'

'With as many more to follow,' said Arthur.

'Why have they come here?' wondered Cai.

'Be grateful that they are here,' I said.

'Grateful!' Bedwyr scoffed.

'Would you rather they were in Britain?' I asked.

Bedwyr looked at me for a moment. 'I did not think of that.'

Conaire rose to his feet. 'I have seen enough. Let us begin.'

'We will strike the first camp,' said Arthur, pointing to the nearest of the campfires. 'And you, Conaire, will strike to the south – there.' He pointed to the next cluster of fires up the coast. 'Create as much havoc as possible and retreat,' Arthur said. 'Then we will assemble once more and strike again – moving south down the coast."

Fergus sat his horse at the head of his warband and waited, holding the reins of our horses. 'It is a good night for a battle,' he said, drawing the air deep into his lungs. 'I wish I were riding with you.'

'There will be opportunity enough for that in the days to come,' Arthur told him.

The men of Uladh numbered three hundred and thirty, along with their five lords, and all were mounted; one hundred and fifty horsemen were placed under Arthur's command, and the same number under Conaire's. It had been decided that a smaller warband of thirty would remain behind to maintain a rear guard and prevent an enemy force from circling round behind us; that task had fallen to Fergus, Gwenhwyvar and me.

The two warbands departed, leading their horses silently down the cliff track to the strand below; there, they would remount and take up their attack positions. Once they had reached the strand and moved off, we were to follow and guard our retreat. Arthur was determined that there should be no chance for the enemy to sound the alarm, so he and Conaire would attack at will, and without warning.

When the last of the warriors had descended the cliff track, we started down. Although the trail was steep and rough, the moonlit path was easy to see and we had no difficulty making our way down. The others had already vanished by the time we reached the strand. I wondered that so many warriors could melt so quickly and quietly into the darkness. We remounted and established a guard on the cliff trail, and another a short distance along the shore.

Then we settled ourselves to watch and wait, our weapons in our hands. I could see the enemy campfires stretching into the distance. The nearest lay only a few thousand paces from where we waited, and although I could not see any of the Vandali in the darkness, I could hear their voices – the sound carried inland on the sea breeze – a coarse, broken speech, harshly uttered. And with this, the clink and clatter of men making rough camp.

All at once, there came a shout from up the beach, brutally truncated in mid-cry. A heartbeat later, the invader camp was in turmoil. Shouts echoed along the cliffside. I glimpsed the forms of horses moving against the firelight, and the swift, flashing glint of weapons as they rose and fell. The darkness itself seemed to swirl and swarm.

As abruptly as it had begun, the attack was over. Almost before the enemy could arm themselves, the defenders had struck and vanished. And before the alarm could spread to the next camp, that camp, too, was under attack. In this way, the assault travelled up the coast away from us, and we gradually lost sight of our warriors – although the sound of the havoc they created continued long after they had gone.

Still we watched and waited. The night passed in a tense but idle vigil. Gwenhwyvar dismounted and walked a little way along the strand. I joined her. We walked a short while in silence, eyes and ears straining into the darkness. 'Do not fret for him,' I told her. 'He will be well.'

'Fret for Arthur? I wish I were with him.'

The sky was growing grey in the east when a call came from the clifftop above. We turned to see a dark figure making its way down the cliff track. 'Lord Fergus,' said the man, running to meet us. 'Conaire has returned. He is waiting for you.'

'And Arthur?' asked Gwenhwyvar, betraying a shred of concern after all.

'He has not yet returned,' the messenger replied.

'You go, Myrddin,' Fergus said. 'I will wait here a little longer for Arthur.'

Gwenhwyvar and I left Fergus and ascended to the clifftop where Conaire and his warriors were waiting, exhausted and bruised from their night's work, but jubilant.

'I regret you were not there to see us,' the king said. 'When you hear the tale, you will rue your misfortune that you missed it. Oh, it was a beautiful fight, I tell you.'

His battlechiefs agreed loudly. 'The enemy runs away at the first sight of a horse!' some said. 'And their leaders cannot command them.' Others offered, 'They hardly know how to use their own weapons!'

The Irish were ecstatic at their easy mastery of a much more numerous foe. In this, I saw Arthur's genius at work: he had designed this exercise not only to harass the enemy, but to inspire the Irish at the same time. They had gained confidence in their ability to attack and rout the invader with small risk to themselves. Thus, when next the two forces met, the Irish would hold themselves superior no matter how many foemen faced them across the line.

A pale white sun was showing above the eastern rim when Arthur finally returned. Like Conaire, he had suffered no loss greater than his night's sleep. Unlike Conaire, he was far from jubilant. He kept his distress to himself, however, until we were alone at Rath Mor.

'What is troubling you, Arthur?' I asked. As he had seemed ill-disposed to talk on the way back, I waited until Gwenhwyvar had gone to bed before challenging him outright.

'I do not like these Vandali,' he said darkly.

'Conaire is very well pleased with them,' I remarked. We sat at the far end of the hut the Irish king had provided for their quarters; Gwenhwyvar slept in the bedplace behind the wattle wall.

'Yes,' granted Arthur, 'but the Irish have little experience dealing with barbarians. They think that because the enemy fears our horses, he can be easily beaten.'

'What do you think?'

'I think they are waiting for their lord. He has yet to come ashore; when he does, it will begin.'

'Indeed. But why would he wait?'

Arthur shrugged heavily. 'Who knows why the barbarians do anything? Their ways are past reckoning.'

'That is true.' I paused, then asked the question foremost in my mind. 'Can the Irish defeat them?'

The High King of Britain considered this for a long time before answering. 'No,' he said at last, shaking his head. 'They are skilled horsemen and warriors," he allowed, 'but their courage is brittle and they are easily given to despair. Also they are wayward and contrary, Myrddin, I swear it. Tell them one thing and they do another.' He paused. 'But that is not what disturbs me most.'

'What then?'

'We cannot drive these invaders away without the aid of the British kings,' he said gloomily.

I finished his thought: 'And British kings will never risk their lives and kingdoms to aid the Irish.'

'They will sooner cut off their own arms than lift sword to defend Ierne,' he muttered. 'Even so, how long do you think the barbarian will content himself with this scrag of turf and rock when Britain stands ripe for the plucking? Even the Irish do not content themselves with raiding one another, but ever and always leap across the sea to our fair shores when seeking easy plunder.'

He had read the situation aright, and I told him so.

'Aye,' he agreed grimly, 'when the barbarian has plundered here, he will turn greedy eyes towards Ynys Prydein. Pray that does not happen, Myrddin. We have just put down the Saecsens – Britain cannot survive another war.'