Pendragon

EIGHT

'Why are you here?' Arthur asked, his voice calm and steady as his gaze.

The slave Hergest spoke Arthur's words to the Vandal king, who replied impassively. 'Twrch would have you know,' related the slave, 'that he has heard of the deeds of the British Bear and has given command that your realm should not be destroyed at this time. For the Black Boar is also a mighty war leader and it is a sorrowful waste of wealth when two such champions fight.'

Amilcar spoke some more, and Hergest continued. 'Twrch asks you to consider his elation when he learned the Bear of Britain was here.'

'It is difficult to imagine,' Arthur replied amiably. 'Tell Twrch Trwyth that I am waiting to hear why he has seized land belonging to another.'

'He has taken land for his camps – nothing more.'

'Does he intend to stay?'

Hergest consulted the barbarian warlord and answered, 'Twrch says he intends to plunder the land until he has enough wealth to continue his journey.'

'Does his journey have a destination?' I asked the learned slave.

'We have come from Carthage,' Hergest explained. 'The Emperor of Great Constantine's city sent soldiers to banish the Boar and his people from the land they have held for many generations. So now they search for another home. However, their departure was made in haste and they came away with nothing; thus they require wealth to continue the search.'

'I see,' replied Arthur. 'And does he expect this wealth to be given to him?'

The Boar King and his slave conversed a moment, whereupon Hergest answered, 'Twrch says that in honour of your renown and the great esteem in which he holds you, he will not kill you and ravage this weakly defended island – a deed he could easily perform since the vast number of warriors you see before you are but the smallest part of his war host, and more are coming here even now. Twrch says it is a very great gift he offers you. In return for this kindness, he expects you to make a gift of equal value. For he has vowed to destroy both Eiru and the Isle of Britons unless you grant his desire.'

Arthur stared implacably at the massive battlechief. 'What is his desire?'

Hergest turned to Amilcar and conveyed Arthur's question. The barbarian replied with a grunt.

'Everything,' Hergest reported. 'He says you must give him all.'

To his everlasting credit, Arthur allowed the Vandal chief no support for his greed, nor any hope that it would be rewarded. Neither did he provoke the barbarian with an outright refusal. He turned his eyes to the sky as if pondering the inconstant clouds.

'As you know, these lands are not under my authority,' replied Arthur at last. 'I could not give you a grain of sand or blade of grass, much less anything else. I know a man of your rank will understand this.'

He paused to allow his words to be translated for the Boar King. When Hergest turned back to him, Arthur said, 'Therefore, I will take your demand to those who hold authority over this realm – though I do not believe they will grant it.'

Arthur's reply was delivered with such confidence and dignity, the Boar King could not but agree. 'Take my demand to the rulers of this realm,' Amilcar conceded through Hergest. 'If, when the sun stands over the battleground, I have not heard their reply, then I will attack and you will all be killed like dogs.'

'Well,' I observed, as we rode slowly back to the waiting battle host together, 'we have gained a span of time at least. Let us use it wisely.'

'Was he telling the truth, do you suppose?' wondered Arthur. 'Does he really have more warriors on the way?"

'Difficult to say,' I replied. 'No doubt we shall see.'

I expected Conaire and the Irish lords to greet the Vandal's demand with the contempt it deserved, and I was not disappointed.

'Everything?' Conaire hooted. 'I say they will have not so much as the breath in their nostrils when we have finished. Let the battle begin at once. They will get nothing from my hand but the sharp end of a spear.'

'It is not what you will give them,' Arthur said. 'It is what the enemy has given us.'

'He has given us nothing but the outrage of his assault! Must we also endure the insult of his absurd demands?' Conaire glared at Arthur and at me.

'Why, the Vandal battlechief has given us the victory this day,' Arthur replied. 'For he has allowed us to determine how the battle will proceed. And I tell you, that is worth the small insult.'

We began discussing how best to make use of the boon we had been granted. Conaire grew impatient with the talk. 'This makes no sense,' he complained. 'We have horses and they do not. I say we attack them and ride them down when they flee. We all know they will not stand before our horses.'

Bedwyr put him straight. 'With all respect, Lord Conaire, there are too many of them. While we attacked one warband, the others would quickly surround us. It is four of them to every one of us, mind. We would soon find ourselves unable to move at all – horses or no.'

'Then let us form the line,' Conaire suggested. 'We will charge them and drive them back to the sea with the points of our spears.'

'Nay, lord,' Cai replied. 'Our force would be spread too thin; we could not sustain the line. They would have only to sever it in one or two places to separate us. Once divided, they would easily overwhelm us.'

'What, then?' demanded the Irish king, his brittle patience shattering at last.

'As you rightly say, they fear nothing more than our horses,' Arthur told him. 'If we hold to the course I will devise, that fear will become a weapon we can wield against them.'

At once, Arthur began ordering the fight. In full view of the enemy, we laid our battle plan while the Black Boar stood looking on, waiting, the sun rising higher and hotter all the while. When he had finished, Arthur said, 'I will speak with Twrch Trwyth now. While we are together you will lead your warbands into position.'

'But they will see us,' Fergus suggested. 'Would it not be best to surprise them?'

'Another day, perhaps,' replied Arthur. 'This day I would have them ponder their predicament and let foreboding grow within them.'

Arthur and I returned to where the Vandal battlechiefs waited. Amilcar, not at all happy to be made to stand idle while we talked at length, scowled at us. Arthur did not dismount, but spoke to him from the saddle, making the Boar King squint into the sun.

He growled something at us, and Hergest said, 'Amilcar demands to know your answer.'

'The lords of Ierne say that you shall have nothing from them but the sharp end of the spear,' Arthur replied.

Hergest smiled at this, and relayed Arthur's words to his master, who glowered even more fiercely. 'Then you will all be killed," the Vandal said through his slave. 'Your settlements and strongholds will be burned and your women and children slaughtered; your treasure will be carried off, and your grain and cattle also. When we have finished, not even your name will remain.'

When Hergest finished, the Vandal lord added, 'I know these are not your people. And though you have refused my gift, I will yet extend my hand to you, Bear of Britain. Join with me, you and your men. Two such mighty war leaders in alliance could win much plunder.'

'I care little for war, and less for plunder. Thus, I cannot accept your offer,' Arthur answered. 'Yet, for the sake of those who own you lord, I will make you an offer in return: take your men and go back to your ships. Leave this island as you found it, taking nothing with you but the sand that clings to the soles of your feet.'

'If I do this, what will I receive?'

'If you do as I say, you will receive the Bear of Britain's blessing. Further, I will bid the priests of my realm to make heartfelt prayer to the High King of Heaven, who is my lord, to forgive any crimes you have committed in coming here.'

Amilcar recoiled at the suggestion. 'Can I fill my treasure house with these prayers?' he sneered. 'Who is this lord of yours that I should heed him? Your offer is a mockery, and worthy only of contempt.'

'So you say,' Arthur replied equably. 'Even so, I do not withdrawn.'

Just then, one of the Vandal chiefs attending Twrch grunted at him, calling his attention to the movement of our warriors. The Boar King turned to see our force divide itself in three-a main body with two smaller wings to the right and left; these advanced, and the central body withdrew so that it was well behind the protecting wings.

Amilcar barked a stream of commands and questions to his chieftains. They answered with shrugs and worried looks, whereupon he turned to Arthur. 'What is this?' he demanded, speaking through Hergest. 'Why do you array yourselves for battle in this way?'

'This is to help you understand,' Arthur replied, 'that we mean to defend our land and people. If you would steal from us, you must be ready to die.' These last words were spoken with the cold certainty of the tomb.

The Vandal king's face darkened. His eyes narrowed. He looked again at the odd battle formation. He spoke a few words to Hergest, then turned and walked back to his waiting horde. 'Lord Twrch says that he has talked enough. From this day, he is deaf to all entreaties. Expect no mercy – none will be granted.'

We sat our horses and watched the Vandal chiefs withdraw. Arthur waited until they had almost reached the stream and rejoined their warbands, and then: 'Yah!' He slapped his mount and raced towards them. They turned to the sound of hooves, saw the horse thundering down upon them, and scattered. Arthur swerved at the last moment and snatched away the boar's head standard from the grasp of the astonished Vandal holding it.

None of the enemy knew what had happened until Arthur was already galloping away again. He rode out of spear-throw, stopped and lofted the standard. 'Here is your god!' he shouted at them. Then, slowly, so that every eye would see and there could be no question of his intent, he lowered the standard and drove it head first into the ground.

The Vandali did not take this desecration calmly. As the boar's head touched the earth, an enraged cry went up. But Arthur ignored them and, turning serenely away, rode back to where our warriors waited, leaving the boar's head standard in the dirt behind him. The enemy roared the louder.

'That was well done!' cried Fergus as we rejoined them.

'Hoo!' cheered Conaire. 'By Lugh's right hand, you are a rascal, Lord Arthur!" He gestured with his spear towards the Vandal host. 'Listen to them! Oh, they are angry with you!'

'But do you think it wise to provoke them so?' wondered Gwenhwyvar.

'It is worth the risk, I think,' answered Arthur. 'How else could I be certain they would be drawn to the centre?'

'It is a good ploy,' I told him. 'Let us hope it works.'

The infuriated enemy did not wait to be further disgraced. They loosed a resounding shout and rushed forward, splashing across the stream. They came in a reckless, heedless swarm, running into battle.

It had been a long time since I sat a horse in battle. I had vowed never to fight again, but I felt the sword hilt in my hand, and the old familiar thrill quivered through my spine. Well, it would do no harm to fight today, I reckoned; besides, every blade was desperately needed. Thus, without considering the consequences, I found myself in the forerank of the battle host.

I watched them draw nearer, my heart quickening. I heard the enemy's feet pounding a dull drumbeat on the earth, and saw the sun hard on spear shaft and shield rim. I looked along the line of our own warriors, our swift ala. The horses hoofed the ground and tossed their heads, the sundering shout of the enemy making them skittish.

To the right, Cai sat at the head of his wing of fifty. Opposite him to the left, Bedwyr waited with his fifty. Both wings angled inward to force the enemy in towards the centre. They ran over the rough ground, screaming as they came.

Gwenhwyvar at my right hand looked across to me. 'I have never fought beside Arthur,' she mused. 'Is he as canny as they say?'

'They do not tell the half of it, lady,' I replied. 'I have fought beside Uther and Aurelius, and they were warriors to make others pale with envy. But Arthur far outshines his fathers on the unfriendly field.'

She smiled with admiration. 'Yes, this is what I have heard.’

‘The Lord of Hosts formed Arthur for himself alone,' I told her. 'When he rides into battle, it is a prayer.'

'And when he fights?' asked Gwenhwyvar, delighted with my acclaim of her husband.

'Lady, when Arthur fights it is a song of praise to the God that made him. Watch him now. You will see a rare and holy sight.'

Conaire, sitting opposite me on the other side of Gwenhwyvar, heard our talk, and turned his face to me. 'If he is such a fierce warrior,' he scoffed, 'why do we sit here waiting for the foemen to overwhelm us? A true warrior would meet their attack.'

'If you doubt him,' I said, 'then by all means join the host of vanquished Saecsen who thought they knew something of war. Join the Angli and Jutes, and Frisians and Picti who belittled the Bear of Britain. Speak to them of your superior wisdom – if you can find any who will hear you.'

Closer and closer the enemy came. Only a few hundred paces separated us from them now. I could see their faces, black hair streaming, mouths agape in savage howls.

'How long must we wait?' demanded Conaire loudly. Some of the Irishmen muttered agreement with their lord. 'Let us strike!'

'Hold!' countered Arthur. 'Hold, men! Let them come. Let them come.'

Llenlleawg, sitting at Arthur's right hand in the front rank, turned in the saddle to face Conaire. 'Shut your mouth!' he hissed. 'You are scaring the horses.'

Fergus, at Arthur's left hand, laughed, and the Irish king subsided with an angry splutter.

The enemy fully expected us to charge them. They were prepared for that. But they were not prepared for us to stand waiting. The nearer they came, the more time they had to think what was to happen to them, and the more their fear mounted within them.

'Hold!' Arthur called. 'Stand your ground.' The Vandali reached our outflung wings. As Arthur anticipated, they did not know what to make of the wings and so ignored them in their drive to take the centre.

I could almost see what they were thinking – it showed in their faces. Surely now, they were thinking, the Bear of Britain will make his attack – and then we will swarm him and pull him down. But no. He waits. Why does he delay? Does he fear us?

They rushed past the wings and surged on in a wave. Closer, and yet closer. I could see the sweat on their shoulders and arms; I could see the sun-glint in their black eyes.

I felt a thin trail of fear snake through my inward parts. Had Arthur misjudged the moment? Great Light, there were so many!

And then Arthur raises his sword. Caledvwlch shimmers in his upraised hand. He leans forward in the saddle.

Still, he hesitates.

The Vandal enemy is wary. Even in their greedy rush they are watching. They know he must charge. They brace themselves for the command, but it does not come. They are drawing swiftly closer, but the command does not come.

Why does he delay? Why does he hesitate?

I can see the doubt in their eyes. They are almost upon us, but Arthur has made no move. The sword hovers in the air, but it does not fall. Why does he delay?

The enemy falters. All eyes are on Arthur now.

It is a slight alteration of gait, a small misgiving. Their step is now uncertain. Doubt has seized them in its coils. They waver.

This is what Arthur has been waiting for.

Caledvwlch falls. Like fire from heaven it falls.

Hesitation ripples through the enemy forerank, passing backward through the floodtide.

The signal is given and the enemy braces for the impact. Still, we do not charge. We make no move towards them. Confusion. Bewilderment. The signal has been given, but no attack comes. What is happening? What does it mean?

Oh, but the trap is sprung. They do not see it. Their doom has come upon them and they do not know it.

Cai slashes in from the right. Bedwyr on the left thrusts forward. The two wings are now jaws with teeth of steel snapping shut. The outwitted barbarians turn to meet the unexpected attack and are instantly divided. Half turn one way and half another.

The centre is exposed.

This time there is no hesitation. Caledvwlch flashes up and down in the same swift instant. And then we are racing forward, flying into the soft belly the enemy host has revealed.

The hooves of the horses bite deep, flinging turf into the air. We shout. The Vandal host hears the cry of our warriors. It is the ancient war cry of the Celt: a shout of defiance and scorn. It is a strong weapon.

And we are flying towards them. I feel the wind on my face. I can smell the fear coming off the enemy warriors. I can see the blood throbbing in their necks as they stumble backwards.

The centre collapses. The onrushing Vandal tide is turning. Those in the rear force their way forward even as the forerank folds inward upon itself.

The horse glides beneath me. It undulates slowly and I am pan of its rolling rhythm. I see a barbarian turn to meet me. A black spear rises. The sword in my hand sweeps down and I feel the fleeting resistance as the body before me falls away.

Another enemy appears. He leaps forward, jabbing upward with the spear. My blade slashes and the man spins away, clutching his head. I hear his scream and suddenly the clash of frenzied chaos around me slows, dwindling down and down to the barest movement, languid and listless and slow. My vision grows hard-edged and keen as the battle awen seizes me.

I look and see the battlefield spread before me, the enemy upon it moving as if in a torpor. Their hands swing in lazy, languid strokes; the spearblades edge cautiously through the air. The Vandal faces are rigid, their eyes fixed, unblinking; their mouths hang open, teeth bared, tongues lolling.

The battle sound throbs in my head. It is the roar of blood pulsing in my ears. I move into the crush and feel the heat of striving bodies; my arm strokes out its easy cadence; my dazzling blade sings out an unearthly melody. I smell the sick-sweet smell of blood. After long absence, I am Myrddin the Warrior King once more.