Pendragon

TEN

We entered Mor Hafren as soon as it was light and came within sight of the hills surrounding Caer Melyn. For two nights and a day, Barinthus and his crew had wrested speed from contrary and fitful winds to reach the trail to Arthur's southern stronghold as the sun broke the horizon in a blaze of red and flaming gold. Once more in the saddle, we flew through shadowed valleys blue with hanging mist. By the time we reached Caer Melyn, I could feel the heat of the day to come.

And I felt something else: a stab of foreboding, sharp and quick. My senses pricked.

At our approach, the gates of the fortress were thrown open wide and, as the others entered the yard to the acclaim of their sword brothers, I paused before passing the threshold. There was a cloying closeness in the air, a stillness that stifled, and seemed to me more than just the early warmth of a hot summer day. It was as if an enormous, suffocating presence, unseen as yet, though near, was shifting its immense weight towards us, thickening the air around it as it came. I could feel the ominous advance as that of a silent squall line of storm cloud drawing over the land. But there were no clouds; nothing could be seen.

Yet, despite the glad greeting we received from the Cymbrogi, my heart remained troubled by this strange feeling of oppression.

Arthur wasted not a moment. Even while he washed and pulled on clean clothes, he called commands to his battlechiefs. He sent riders to make for the realms round about to summon all the nearest lords to council and ordered ships to take word to the north. Gwalchavad, ever eager to plough the sea fields, led the ship-borne messengers; they departed the caer at once and were gone before the sound of their greeting had faded in the air. Arthur then commanded the Cymbrogi to ready the remaining fleet. There were provisions to load, weapons to assemble, horses to gather in from the grazing lands as, once more, the Dux Bellorum prepared for war.

I had little part in the preparations. My place was with Arthur in council, and I readied myself in the best way I knew to receive the southern noblemen: I prayed. Arthur thought the warbands would rise to his call; but I knew it would take more than a polite request to move British kings to pursue a war on Irish soil.

This, of course, I tried telling Arthur, but he would not hear it. 'And I tell you, Myrddin, it is either fight the Boar on Irish soil, or fight him here. Blood will be spilled either way, I do not deny it; we can at least save the destruction of our lands.'

'I do believe you. However, the Lords of Britain will want a better reason,' I insisted, 'to fight shoulder to shoulder with those who have dealt them so much heartache through the years.'

'That is past and forgotten.'

'We are an unforgiving race, Arthur,' I continued. 'We have long memories. Or have you forgotten?'

He did not smile at my meagre jest. 'They will listen to me,' he maintained. His confidence brooked no opposition.

'They will listen, yes. They will sit down and discuss the matter until the cock crows, but will they act? Will they raise so much as an eyebrow to aid you in what every last one of them will regard as a quarrel between barbarians? Indeed, most of them will think it divine punishment on the Irish for their thieving and warring ways.'

It was clear that Arthur would not hear it, so I stopped telling him. I took my leave and left him to his plans. Stepping from the hall, I nearly collided with Rhys, Arthur's steward, hurrying away on some errand or other. 'Ah, Rhys! There you are. I have been looking for you.'

'I give you good greeting, Emrys,' he replied quickly, and asked: 'Is it true we are joining the Irish in a boar hunt?'

'Yes,' I answered, and told him the boar we were hunting was human. Then I asked, 'Where is Bors?'

'A message came two days ago from Ban,' Rhys explained. 'Bors was summoned home.'

'Trouble?'

'I think so. But Bors did not say what it was. He only said he would return as soon as he had seen to his brother's affairs.'

'Have you told Arthur this?'

'No,' he answered. 'I have been running since you arrived, and-'

'Well, tell him now.' Rhys looked past me into the hall. 'Yes, at once. We will talk again later.'

When he had gone, I slung my harp upon my back and walked out from the caer and down to the little Taff river to find a shady place to sit and think.

In the shaded valley, down among the green rushes, I sat myself upon a moss-covered rock and listened to the water ripple as it slid along the deep-cut banks. Bees and flies droned on the lifeless air and water bugs spun in small circles on the slow-moving water. There with the ancient elements of darkness, earth, and water, I cast my net of thought wide. 'Come to me!' I whispered to the air. 'Come to Myrddin. Illumine me… illumine me.'

I sat bent over the polished curve of my harp as if I might pluck the knowledge I sought from the song-laden strings with my fingertips. But though the harp gave forth its quicksilver melody, I was not enlightened. After a while, I put the harp aside and took up my staff instead.

It was, I reflected, a venerable length of rowan, the stout wood smoothed with use. Bedwyr had made it for me following my ordeal with Morgian. The thought brought a fleeting twinge of fear-like the shadow of a circling crow touching my face.

I pushed the hateful memory from me, however, and gradually felt the peace of the valley, like its deep, still warmth, enfold me. I fell into a waking sleep, a reverie, and I began to dream. I saw the mountains of Celyddon, dark-clothed in their sharp-scented pines, and beyond them the barren, windy heathlands of the Little Dark Ones, the Hill Folk. I saw the members of my adopted family, the Hawk Fhain. I saw Gern-y-fhain, the Wise Woman of tie hills, my second mother, who taught me the use of powers even druids have forgotten – if they ever knew.

Thinking on these things, I let my mind wander where it would. I heard the riversound, the gentle ripple of water lapping, and the dry twitch of grass where a mouse or bird passed. I heard the click of a moorhen, and the sawing buzz of a fly. These sounds faded away slowly, replaced by the rasping hiss of a whisper, broken by time and distance, but gradually growing stronger. Words began to form…

Dead?… Dead…But what do you mean? How can it be?… No! No! The anguished voice faded away in a stifled scream and was replaced by another: I am burning… I cannot see… Lie down, Garr. I will help you. Do not try to stand… I heard a child's voice crying: Wake up, Nanna. Wake up! The small voice dissolved into sobs, and was mingled with other cries which grew into such a wailing and shrieking that I felt their distress as a keening lament. My soul writhed in sympathy; tears came to my eyes. And yet, no hint of what was happening, or where.

Great Light, comforter of all who mourn and are heavy-laden, sustain those who need your strength in the day of their travail. This, for the sake of your Blessed Son. So be it!

I prayed and remained silent for a time. But the voices did not return, and I knew they would not now come again. I had some times heard voices in the past; and now, as then, it did not occur to me to doubt their veracity. That I should hear them did not surprise me; it merely confirmed once again the capricious blessing of the awen.

Thrice blessed is the Emrys of Britain! It is the blessing of my mother's race to make me long-lived, just as it was the blessing of my father, singing the very life into my soul, which awakened the awen. The blessing of Jesu called me forth to serve in this worlds-realm.

Oh, but I am a wickedly slothful servant, dim-sighted and slow of understanding, preferring my warm dark ignorance to wisdom's cold light. When men speak of Myrddin Emrys in years to come – if they should remember me at all – it will be as a blind beggar, the fool in the courts of kings, the simpleton whose ignorance was exceeded only by his pride. I am not worthy of the gifts I have been given, and I am not equal to the tasks those gifts beget.

High King of Heaven, forgive me. There is no truth but it is illumined by you, Great Light. Though I see, I am a blind man still. Lord Christ, have mercy on me.

So the river ran, and so ran my thoughts. The mind of man is a curious thing. Seeking knowledge, I was confronted with my own ignorance; I could but admit my poverty and embrace mercy instead.

The first of the summoned lords had arrived with his warband by the time I returned to the caer. Ulfias, whose lands were nearest, was with Arthur in the hall. They sat at table together, with Cai, Bedwyr and Cador attending. Ulfias, looking grim and uncertain, lifted his head as I entered, but did not rise. Arthur glanced up, grateful for my arrival. 'Ah, Myrddin, good. I thought to send the hounds after you.' He turned to Rhys, hovering nearby. ‘Fill the cup.' As Rhys produced a jar, Arthur continued, 'I have been telling Ulfias about the Vandali invading Ierne.'

Having taken the measure of Ulfias, I looked the wavering lord in the eye and demanded, 'Well then, will you support your king?'

The young lord swallowed hard. 'It is a very difficult thing, to be sure,' he muttered. 'I would like to hear what the other lords say.'

'Cannot you determine your own mind?'

My question shamed him. He actually winced. 'Lord Emrys,' he said in a disconcerted tone, 'is it not to be decided in council? What the council agrees to do, that will I do. You have my pledge.'

'A pledge is but a paltry thing,' I scoffed. 'And if the council decides to bare its bottom and sit on the dung heap? Will you do that as well?'

Cai and Cador laughed.

'Beware,' warned Bedwyr under his breath. 'You go too far.'

But Arthur said, 'Never fear, Ulfias. It may not come to that. But if it does, no doubt you will enjoy the close companionship of your friends.'

Oh, Arthur was astute. Though he made light of my remark, he would allow Ulfias no dignified means of retreat. The Dubuni lord was caught in his own indecision; he must remain unmoved and endure the scorn, or redeem himself.

'Come, Ulfias,' Cador urged amiably, 'let us support our king as we have sworn to do. And who knows? We may grow to love Ierne.'

Ulfias swallowed his pride and said, 'Very well. If the women there are all as fair as Gwenhwyvar, I may even take an Irish wife.'

'I do not wonder that you say so,' Cai told him solemnly. 'I have seen the Dubuni tribe, and you could do worse than choose an Irish maid – if you can find any who would have you.'

Ulfias smiled doubtfully. This gentle taunting was better than my mockery. So, one more lord was added to our number. Cador's loyalty was beyond question. Indeed, he would not allow Arthur to humble himself by asking what he was more than willing to give outright. Cador, holding Caer Melyn in his lord's absence, had sent word to his battlechiefs within moments of Arthur's return.

The others we might have counted on – Idris, Cadwallo, Cunomor, and the lords of the North – would not receive word for many days. Meurig, however, arrived at dusk, and Brastias the following morning. Accompanying Brastias was a kinsman, a young nobleman named Gerontius, whom the elder lord was grooming for command.

Ogryvan of Dolgellau and his neighbour lord, Owain, arrived at midday, bringing with them their sons: Vrandub and Owain Odiaeth, who – in this season of peace following the Saecsens' defeat – had been given charge of their fathers' war bands.

Arthur welcomed the noblemen and gave them food and drink. No sooner were they settled than Urien Rheged arrived with his warband, and suddenly the caer was overflowing with warriors. 'We will begin now,' Arthur decided.

'What about the other lords?' wondered Bedwyr. 'A day or two more and they will arrive. You will need them.'

'I cannot wait any longer. Every day we delay means another day of plunder for Twrch Trwyth.' So saying, Arthur invited the nobles into the hall with their warriors and began the council even as the welcome cups were filled and passed.

'Your swift answer to my summons gladdens me,' Arthur declared, standing before them at the board. 'Be sure that I would not have asked you to attend if the need were not already sharp. I will keep nothing from you; the reason for the summons is this: the barbarian horde of one Twrch Trwyth has invaded Ierne and I fear that island is lost if we do not rally to her aid.'

'A small enough loss, it seems to me,' observed Brastias sourly.

Cador was quick to respond to this impertinence. 'You speak, Brastias, like one who has never had to defend a coast against marauding Sea Wolves.'

'What have the Irish ever given us but the point of a spear if we were foolish enough to turn our backs to them?' Brastias demanded. 'Sooner aid the barbarian, I say, and have done with the Irish for once and all."

'For myself,' put in Ogryvan, laying aside his cup, 'I have lost much to Eiru's thieves.' He looked at Arthur. 'Even so, I give my support to the king if it will secure the safety of my coast.'

'Well said, Lord Ogryvan,' Arthur commended him. 'That is the price I will demand for Britain's aid. From what I have seen of the Black Boar, the kings of Ierne will pay that price and gladly.' He told them then of our encounters with the Vandali, and warned, 'Know this: Amilcar has vowed to destroy Britain as well as Ierne. Unless we stop him there, we will see our own homes burned and our kinsmen slaughtered.'

The lords sat in contemplation. Arthur had put the matter before them plainly. What would they do?

Meurig was the first to speak. 'This is a most distressing report. And I could wish it came at a better time.' He stretched a hand towards Arthur. 'We have only just defeated the Saecsen. Our provisions are depleted and, God knows, our warriors could use a season of rest.'

'Trouble knows no season, brother,' old Ogryvan growled. He raised his head and looked around the gathering. 'I am with you, Arthur," he said. 'My warriors are your own.'

Owain, sitting next to Ogryvan, added his support. 'Our sons must soon rule in our places,' he said. 'Let them fight beside our War Leader as we have done, and learn the true cost of peace.'

'You will not regret your decision,' Arthur told them, and turned again to Meurig. 'You have heard your brother lords. What say you?'

'The Lords of Dyfed have ever stood beside their War Leader in battle.' Meurig glanced sideways at Brastias. 'We will support our High King to the last man.'

Brastias did not like this insinuation; he glared the length of the table. Clearly, the deliberations had taken an unexpected turn. He did not want to appear less willing than his peers, neither did he want to aid Arthur.

'Well, Brastias,' the High King asked. 'What is it to be?'

'If they see fit to lend aid in exchange for peace,' Brastias allowed stiffly, 'then I will not withhold it. But should this venture fail, I will hold you to blame.'

That was Brastias, true to nature: already shedding responsibility, and he had not even mounted horse nor drawn blade. Arthur let the remark pass, and turned to Ulfias. 'You have heard the others,' he said. 'Do you take back your word, or keep it?'

Well done, Arthur, I thought, make the wavering prince declare himself before the others; give him a place to stand, yes, but make certain he stands when the time comes. Ulfias seemed to shrink in upon himself. 'I will keep my word,' he said, glancing up quickly, his voice barely audible.

Of the assembled lords, only Urien Rheged had yet to declare himself. All eyes turned towards him. 'Come, Urien,' Ogryvan urged, 'let us hear your pledge.'

Of all the lords, I knew least about Urien. He was a raw young man, big-boned and brawny, with long hair, wild like a lion's mane, and dark. Watchful eyes and a brooding mouth gave him a shrewd, almost devious appearance. I had heard he was a lord of Rheged, one of Ennion's kinsmen. The estimable Ennion had been wounded at Baedun Hill and died a day or two later. No doubt Urien fought in that battle, too; I do not remember.

But Urien Rheged held his kinsman's place now, and I found myself wondering what kind of man he was. Young, certainly – even, I think, younger than he appeared – he masked his youth with the kind of gravity older men sometimes possess. He was given to few words, which made him appear wise, and took his time answering, which made him seem thoughtful.

When at last he spoke, he said, 'For myself, I am sick of warring. Let the Irish feel the fire now, I say; we have felt it long enough.' This was said with great weariness, as if he himself had borne the brunt of more battles than could be told. 'But since my brothers deem it best to aid this campaign, I am willing.' He paused again and looked around to see if all eyes were on him, then, drawing himself up, he announced, 'Urien of Rheged will do his part.'

His heart was not in it, but honour bound him to pursue a repugnant course – at least that was the impression he meant to impart. And others, I noted, were persuaded by it.

Arthur struck the board with the flat of his hand. 'Good!' he said, his voice filling the hall. 'Then it is settled. We sail for Ierne as soon as men and supplies can be assembled.'

Within moments the peace of the stronghold dissolved in the high-purposed commotion of a battlehost on the move. Rhys, and the small troop under his direction, busied themselves through the day and into the night with the daunting task of loading wagons and moving weapons and supplies down from the caer to the ships. After the third or fourth course of wagons had departed, Bedwyr came to me. 'There is not enough food,' he announced bluntly, 'or anything else, come to that. It is as Meurig said: we need a season of peace to fill our storehouses and granaries. I do not see how we can fight on nothing.'

'Does Arthur know?'

'God love him,' Bedwyr replied, shaking his head, 'as long as there is a drop left in his cup, he thinks there is enough for everyone, evermore.'

That was true. Arthur, who had never owned anything outright for himself, had as little regard for the ebb and flow of wealth as for that of the tide. 'Leave the matter with me,' I told him. 'I will see that Arthur is apprised.'

But it was not until the next day, when the last of the warriors were boarding and the first ships were already poling their way out into deeper water, that I found opportunity to speak to Arthur alone.

'The council went well,' he said, pleased to be moving again.

'Did it? I noticed you did not tell them how many Vandali stood against us. The lords may have second thoughts when they see the size of the barbarian host.' Arthur dismissed my qualms with a toss of his head, so I turned to the concern uppermost in my mind: 'Bedwyr tells me we do not have enough provisions to feed the war host.'

'No?' He glanced at me to assess the gravity of the problem. 'Well, we will raise all we can here and obtain whatever is lacking in Ierne,' he concluded simply. 'The Irish kings will support us.'

That was, on the face of it, a logical solution; and we had no better choice in any event. 'Very well,' I replied, 'but we must inform Conaire as soon as we arrive. He may need time to raise enough tribute.'

The return voyage was maddeningly slow. The winds of summer can be fickle in any event, but these were mere breezes, sighs that billowed the sails one moment and died away to nothing the next. All day long Arthur urged his doughty pilot to make haste, only to be told in the same dry, uncompromising tone that unless the king could wring wind from a calm sea and cloudless sky he must be satisfied with what little speed he got.

In the event, we all took a turn at the oars. Fully three days later we passed through the narrows and rounded the northern tip of Ierne and, half a day after, reached the bay from which the enemy fleet had fled. There were, of course, no ships to be seen there, so we continued south along the coast, searching the innumerable nameless coves for the black ships.

At last, at last, we sighted the Vandali fleet massed in the centre of a sheltered bay high up the west coast. Arthur, almost beside himself with impatience, ordered the ships to make landfall a little to the north, out of sight of the Vandali fleet. No sooner were the men, horses and supplies ashore than the ships put out to sea again – there were too many Britons to cross all at once, so the ships must make a second voyage to bring the rest of the men and whatever additional provisions Rhys had obtained.

As soon as his horse was on dry land, Arthur was in the saddle, leading the war host inland. 'Do you know where you are going, Bear?' asked Bedwyr as we created the sea bluffs and began descending to the wooded lowlands.

Arthur thought the question foolish. 'I am following the Black Boar, of course.'

'Should we not rather be looking for Gwenhwyvar and Fergus?'

Arthur did not bother to turn his head to answer. 'The Black Boar is ashore now, and where he is to be found, there we will find the defenders.'

Find them we did: the Irish war host – his own queen among them – at the end of a long shallow valley with their backs to a rocky escarpment, surrounded on three sides by the screaming barbarian swarm.