The Eagles' Brood

XII

Few struggles can be more fruitless than the bitter, silent battles that a man in love will fight with his own meagre store of words. The odes that I wrote in praise of Cassandra and the new view of life she brought to me were pitiful, but I struggled on, blind to the truth: there are no adequate words to describe what I was feeling. Cassandra, on the other hand, had no need of words at all. Hers was a world without words, a world of total simplicity in which her feelings shone clearly through her eyes and permeated her whole being.

After that first occasion when she smiled at me, I made myself stay away from the valley for a whole week. I had to be strict with myself, for each day I seemed to find a hundred and one good reasons for going there. For seven days I was haunted by a vision of those great, grey eyes. By the time I did return, the bruising had faded entirely from her face and I again found myself staring unashamedly at her, wondering how I could ever have thought her plain or unattractive. I stayed for three days on that occasion, and the happiest times of the three days were her mealtimes, when I fed her because she was still too weak to sit up on her pile of skins and eat her food unaided. She seldom looked directly at me and seemed unaware of my constant scrutiny of her face, which had now become the most beautiful thing in my world.

When I returned again, a week later, she was able to walk, although still very weak. From that time on she improved daily until soon there was no sign at all of the injuries she had sustained. Nor was there any sign of the extreme melancholy that had marked her when we first

found her crouched by what we could only assume to be the bodies of her parents. She was a complete delight to me. It was obvious that Daffyd had been her saviour. He alone had brought her back, not merely from the abyss of the injuries she had sustained, but from the mourning that had cloaked her when we found her.

And then, riding towards the valley one morning, eight weeks to the day from the time we had found her, I received the surprise of my life. I was always at pains to vary my approach to the valley. This time I had used the longest route available to me, heading out north from Camulod and swinging east and then southward in a long arc once I was safely out of sight of the walls. This roundabout approach required two more hours in transit than the shortest alternative, and I tended to use it only in fine weather, since it followed no path and called for careful passage through several stretches of low, boggy ground that could be well nigh impassable during or after bad weather. Once started on this particular route, however, I never had to worry about being seen, since my way lay far from the borders of our closest farm, and its inhospitable terrain held no attraction for casual visitors. The greater part of the path I took, apart from the low-lying, boggy areas, was heavily wooded and strewn with huge, fragmented rocks. Only as I began to approach the low hills that contained my valley and its precious secret did the swell of the land begin to breast upward through the covering of trees until I finally found myself riding among grassy slopes above shallow, tree-filled vales.

The early morning sun had grown warm on my shoulders and on my horse's back that day, lulling me until I drifted mindlessly along, paying no attention to the scene around me and allowing my mount to pick his way at his own pace. I was jerked back to awareness, however, by a sudden, half-seen flash of whiteness moving quickly in the valley below me to my right.

My reaction was instinctive, in spite of the instant chaos of my thoughts. I reined in immediately, every muscle tensed to hold myself and my mount immobile as I scanned the area in which I had seen, or sensed, the movement. Exposed as I was on the side of the hill, I found myself on the edge of blind panic, unable to decide what I should do next. I could discern no further movement in the valley below and, aware all at once of the rhythm of my heartbeat pounding in my ears, and struggling against an unreasoning terror of discovery, I fought to control my breathing and my fears. Even had I been seen, I reasoned, no harm had been done and I was still more than a mile, almost two miles, from my destination, so that I yet had a choice of three directions ahead of me, any of which would lead me well away from the hidden valley.

And then, as I hung there, agonizing, the movement flashed again and I saw a human form, white clad, in the valley bottom, running away from me, its passage masked by dense foliage. I caught only a glimpse of the runner, and it may have been the speed with which he disappeared from sight that sent me plunging downhill in pursuit, reins loose, allowing my horse to pick his own way across the sloping hillside. We were quickly down, and I pointed him in the direction of the runner, leaving him free thereafter to choose his own route swiftly and easily among the trees while I concentrated on avoiding low-hanging branches. A swing to the left around a thick-boiled oak took us to the lip of a narrow, steep-sided depression that fell away rapidly beneath us as my willing horse launched himself up the sloping edge, his great muscles bunching and thrusting easily until he had driven us upward twenty paces and more above the floor of the depression. There the ground leveled again and I drew rein, searching the cleft below for any sign of my quarry. After the thunderous clatter of my horse's heavy hooves on the rocky, sparsely turfed ground, I could at first hear nothing other than his blowing breath and the creaking of my own saddle and equipment. Gradually I became aware of the deep silence. No bird song disturbed the stillness and nothing moved anywhere. I was on the point of swinging around to ride down again to look elsewhere when I heard a distant, grunting sound that seemed to come from the only large tree in the small gorge, some hundred or so paces to my left. I looked that way and saw the most astonishing sight.

I had read in my uncle's books of creatures he had seen in Africa that lived in trees and had the ability to climb so swiftly that they seemed to fly among the branches. Now one such creature met my sight, dressed in human clothing, a brief tunic of spotless, brilliant white. Of course, as soon as I had recovered from my initial surprise and adjusted to the distance separating us I realized it was a boy, but never had I seen a boy who climbed in such a manner. As I gazed in amazement, he pulled himself up effortlessly to stand on a stout branch far above the ground, then crouched there, gathering himself, gazing upward and balancing on all fours, before launching himself in a flying leap to grasp another bough above him and swing himself nimbly onto it, spreading his legs and scissoring them to grasp the limb, then gliding flu idly, with no sign of effort, to where he sat astride the branch, at a dizzying height above the rock- strewn forest floor. There, without pausing to look around him, he repeated the entire sequence and so continued, seeming indeed to fly upward, until the limbs of the huge tree grew so closely together that he was able to use them simply as a step-ladder, practically running upward to disappear completely among the thick foliage at the apex of the tree.

Although my reason told me that this was simply a boy, when I lost sight of him at last I had to suppress a shiver of superstitious dread, an old and formless fear stirred by remembered tales of dryads and forest sprites. And then as I sat there unmoving, he descended again, dropping from branch to branch and limb to limb as though falling wildly, yet every move and every leap timed and controlled to perfection so that again I felt the stirring of goose-flesh, this time caused by incredulous admiration.

He leaped nimbly to the ground from the lowest fork of the tree and disappeared again among the bushes before I thought to rouse myself and swing my horse around to give chase.

Down and around we thundered, my horse and I, gaining the valley floor and swinging back hard to cover the ground between us and the fleeing boy, and as I rode I wondered who he might be. We emerged at full gallop from the cover of a thick clump of bushes and yet again I hauled my mount to a halt, so that he slid, stiff-legged, his haunches almost on the ground while I stood in my stirrups in amazement. Before us, the far wall of the ravine in which we rode rose sheer for thirty paces and more, and on the flat sward at its feet the boy stood staring upward, his eyes fastened on the cliff above him. Before I could move, he sprang forward and began to swarm up the stony, grass-covered face. No more than thirty paces and a thin screen of leaves parted us, but I knew that he was unaware of me, having neither seen nor heard my approach. I kicked my heels into my horse and then, just as it began to move forward, the boy stopped climbing and looked sideways, allowing me to see his face for the first time.

It was Cassandra! The realization stunned me. Her name sprang to my lips and I kicked my horse harder, urging him forward, but she had already made her choice of direction and now her total concentration was on the cliff face and her climb. I shouted again, knowing as I did so that she could not hear me. I waved wildly, but her concentration was absolute. In almost less time than it takes to describe, she had reached the rim of the cliff and disappeared beyond it without once looking back. But I had had ample time to look at her, and wonder how I could ever, even from a hundred paces, have erred in thinking she could be a boy.

Bitterly disappointed by her disappearance—she had vanished beyond the rim of the cliff so quickly that I knew I had no hope of catching her—yet filled with a glorious elation, I sat there beneath the stony face of that cliff and thought on her: the clear-etched muscles of her long, lithe legs below the shortened, tucked-in skirts of her white tunic, and the shape of her body as she had paused at several points in her ascent, her weight distributed perfectly, her eyes scanning the rock above her for her next handhold, had brought an ache to my throat. What kind of girl was this? I asked myself. How and where had she learned to perform such feats? Where had she come from? And where might she disappear to, once she had fully recovered from her injuries? One thing was frighteningly clear to me. Her body had fully recovered already, and today I had seen little evidence of any other damage, either to mind or spirit.

I made my way eventually to the hidden valley, my thoughts and my heartbeat still in turmoil, and found it strangely difficult to approach the small stone hut. She was there, as was Daffyd. When I entered, she looked up at me and nodded, then continued what she had been doing, scraping and curing what I took to be a rabbit skin. She had discarded the white tunic and now wore the simple homespun shift that was her normal dress. Daffyd mumbled at me, and then he, too, continued working on whatever had demanded his full attention that afternoon.

I felt uncomfortable there, even though the concentration shown by both of them left me free to stare at Cassandra as much as I might wish. Her hair, unbound, fell down before her face, obscuring all but the line of her cheekbone on one side. The fullness of a soft breast was a mere suggestion to interfere with my breathing. The line of her thigh beneath her shift was as clean and pure as the arc of a rainbow. I felt guilty and miserable, although to this day I have no idea why that should be so, and soon I took my leave and rode home in a mood that was half misery and half unbearable excitement. I knew she had recovered. I knew that I loved her. And I knew I had no way of telling her, of wooing her, or of keeping her beside me.

Heading back to my quarters one morning, however, on the way from a dawn parade, I was shocked to see Daffyd coming towards me. I gazed at him, wondering what he was doing here in Camulod, so far away from his ward.

"Daffyd," I said, hearing the incredulity in my voice. "What are you doing here? Where's Cassandra?"

"At home, boyo! In the valley."

"Alone? What are you thinking of?"

"I'm thinking of the work I have to do, and the tasks I have been neglecting."

"What? What d'you mean?"

He winked at me and shook his head in reproof. "Merlyn, I said I'd stay with the girl as long as she needed me. She doesn't need me now and there are others, I hope, who do. Mod and Tumac, for a start. Their education has been sadly neglected these past weeks. They'll be wild as the heather by the time I see them again. Probably have to beat them, I will, to get them back into harness."

I was still gaping at him, aware of the movement of people around me and the clatter of hobnailed sandalled boots on the cobbles as the men dispersed from the parade. The sky was cloudless; the day would be hot. A blackbird was singing somewhere close by, and I was almost whispering in my urgency to chastise Daffyd without anyone hearing what I was saying. "But you left her all alone out there?"

He looked at me as though I had lost my wits, and made no attempt to lower his voice, "Out where, boy? She's not 'out' anywhere. She's safe and snug in a stone hut with a fireplace and a strong roof in a valley that's as secret as this place isn't."

Almost panicked by the loudness of his voice, I grasped him by the arm and pulled him aside, to where we could stand in an angle of the walls of a building without being jostled or overheard. "For the love of Jesus, Daffyd, keep your voice down. Remember the girl's life is at stake!"

He freed his arm from my grasp and adjusted the folds of his long cape, glancing casually at the passers-by as he chastised me for my unthinking use of my aunt's prayer which had, on my lips, become an oath. "For the love of Jesus, is it?" he murmured, out of the corner of his mouth, "I am a Druid, boyo. What would I know about the love of your Jesus? But the girl is safe hidden. Nobody is going to bother her there, except perhaps you." He cleared his throat and continued, "She's a strong girl, your Cassandra, and healthy as a horse now, too. No need to look after that one. Not any more." His expression changed and he smiled at me, stepping close to grip my shoulder with his free hand. "She's happy there in your valley, Merlyn. Perhaps happier than she's been in a long time. Who knows? She has food and a clear pool for fish and for water and she can snare rabbits better than I can. She's happy there. No threats, you see.

"She'll be waiting for you to go and see her. Now the rest is up to you. Remember, though, what she has been through. She trusts you now, but who knows what she thinks of men in her mind? You know what I mean? If you can treat her gently, kindly, you might make a fine, full woman out of her, but run at her like one of your great, rutting stallions, and I won't be responsible for what you'll do to her, or she to you. Remember that, Merlyn. There is a young woman who has been hurt in ways that you and I can't even begin to imagine, let alone understand. Do you hear me?"

"Aye, Daffyd, I hear you. I know what you mean. Are you sure she has enough food?"

"Food? That one? She'd charm honey out of the bees! She will be fine. Next time you pass that way, take her some flour and some salt. That's all she'll need. And don't worry about her. She has a home and it's the perfect place for her. Leave her to enjoy it for a while and then go and see her. But be careful, Merlyn. Don't hurt her, boy."

That hurt me. "Do you think I could?"

"I know you could, without intending any harm at all, so be careful with her. Now I have to go, and so, by the dress of you, do you."

"No, I'm done. I've been on parade. Now I have some free time before I have to meet with my father."

"Then go your way, boyo, and let me go on mine."

I thanked him again and watched him depart, then returned to my quarters, my mind full of one single truth: the woman who had become the centre of my existence was alone in my valley, unknown to anyone else in the world except Daffyd, Mod, Tumac and my father, and she was waiting there for me.

I had loved that tiny, secret valley all my life, and now it had become the home of my love and nothing could have been more appropriate. During the course of that morning, the people I dealt with must have wondered if I was ill, for I was oblivious of where I was and what I was doing. My valley and its precious secret stole the whole of my concentration. It never left my mind for a moment, and a whimsy that I had been toying with for more than a week became a reality. It was my valley, my secret, sacred place, with its silent, sliding waterfall and its deep pool, its moss-covered cliffs, rich grass and stately, screening trees, nestled in the central bowl of the hill there, and I felt that it should have a name that reflected its peaceful solitude and its mystical seclusion. I named it Avalon, after the fabulous place of legend.

That same day, shortly after noon, filled with an almost painful anticipation that left me unable to bear the tedium of my daily duties any longer, I delegated the last of my tasks to a subordinate and left Camulod, riding far south before doubling back and around, away from curious eyes, to the valley and Cassandra.

My intestines seemed to have tied themselves in knots as I approached the entrance to the valley and began to descend between the high banks of bushes that lined the path all the way to the bottom. I had spent the entire journey trying to visualize the expression that would come into her eyes when she saw me. Would they show pleasure or anger—or indifference, Which would be even worse? The doubts that assailed me left me feeling sick. In vain I tried to reassure myself that I was merely being foolish, acting like a callow, lovesick boy. But reason had no place among my hopes and fears. At times I would imagine her face lighting up with pleasure at my approach, and then I felt light-headed and elated, but for the most part, I saw her face within my mind registering an endless range of frowns, bleak looks and glances of displeasure and resentment.

All of my agonizing was as nothing, however, beside the despair that swept over me when I reached the valley bottom, because the vale lay empty and abandoned-looking. No smoke rose from the fireplace to spread out above the water, and the entire scene had that air of emptiness that bespeaks an utter lack of human presence. Stunned with disbelief, I felt a massive emptiness within me that resonated with bereavement. My horse, sensing no guidance from my slackened muscles, moved forward slowly towards the tiny building and came to a halt some paces from the door, where he stooped his head and began to crop while I sat gazing hopelessly at the mossy red roof tiles of the hut. The sound of tearing grass was loud in my ears, amplified by the silence that lay heavily around me.

Stiff-legged, I kicked my feet free of the stirrups and dismounted, resting my full weight against my horse's shoulder before straightening up and moving to the door of the hut. It swung open slowly at my touch and I stepped into the dimly lit, shadow-filled interior, so sure of finding it barren that I almost missed seeing the cloth that lay upon the small table, tented and mounded by the shapes it covered. A half-pace took me within reach of the table and I leaned across it to remove the cloth, uncovering a wooden platter, a small, sharp knife, an earthen cup, a squat, covered jug of wine, a partial loaf of bread and a crescent of dried sausage. Uncomprehending, I asked myself why, having prepared a meal, she would have left the valley without eating it. It took some time for the realization to filter through my confusion that she had not run off, and that this meal was awaiting her return. Instantly my despair turned to elation, so that I startled my poor horse as I burst through the door of the hut again, throwing it back on its hinges with a crash. She was here, somewhere! Giddy with relief, I reeled around like a drunkard, looking upward to the summit of the hills that hemmed me in, as though I could divine her presence from the air that separated us.

Behind me, I heard a fish jump in the lake, a heavy, clean, plopping sound, and I spun to watch the ripples spreading outward from the spot where it had breached. Then as I watched, another splash occurred mere paces from the first, although this time my gaze was close enough to see that nothing had preceded the sudden, singular sound of the splash—no swirl in the water, no flash of colour, nothing but that solitary, unheralded, plummeting impact upon the water. Alert now, I watched and waited, although for what I could not have said. And then I caught a blur of movement and my eye adjusted to it in time to see the water split again, sundered by a falling stone! Someone was hurling pebbles high into the air from the deep brush on the other side of the water. Keen-eyed now, I watched carefully and saw a movement, and another stone arced high into the air and seemed to hover against the sky before beginning its fall.

I was running along the edge of the water before the stone hit the surface, uncaring that I wore breastplate and greaves. She was there, across the lake, and she was making sport of me. As I rounded the far end of the lake, just before I plunged into the dense greenery of the trees and bushes, I caught another glimpse of movement high on the hillside above me and heard what I took to be a whoop of delight and excitement. Grimly, yet wanting to sing aloud in exultation, I charged onward and up, knowing that she would hear the noise and speed of my approach, and then suddenly becoming crushingly aware that she would not. In mere moments, it seemed, I was close to the top of the steep bank, pulling myself at every step by the stems of the saplings that grew thick among the larger trees, aspen and birch. I stopped and listened carefully, but heard nothing. The silence was profound. I began to move forward more cautiously now, feeling the need to be more circumspect. A pheasant exploded almost from beneath my feet, startling me so that I slipped, lost my balance and sat down heavily, rolling legs over shoulders backward until I came to rest against the bole of a birch tree. This time I distinctly heard a feminine giggle from somewhere above and ahead of me.

Again I gave chase, but that was the last I saw or heard of my quarry, save for the impact of one hard-shot, well- aimed stone that clanged against the back of my armour, pulling me back from the edge of the hilltop surrounding the valley and directing me towards the dense bushes on the hillside at my back. An hour later, frustrated and angry, I gave up the search and made my way back to the hut. My horse was still grazing by the door, but his saddle and blanket had been removed, and now a thin haze of smoke drifted upward from the chimney hole in the roof. Mastering my offended pride and dignity, I drew a deep breath and slowly opened the door.

The hut was still empty. A small fire blazed in the brazier in the hearth. Cassandra had eaten. Now the platter, knife, cup and jug were arranged for my use on the side of the table closest to me, along with the remnants of the bread and sausage.

I ate slowly, smothering my resentment, resolved to wait her out in patience. But she did not come. Eventually, as the day began to turn to evening, I gave up and went outside to saddle my horse. A small posy of yellow flowers lay, bound in a sprig of grass, in the centre of my saddle's seat. I picked it up and sniffed at it, breathing deeply of its fragile, sweet aroma, then laid it aside as I resaddled my mount. I picked it up again before climbing into the saddle and then sat there for a short time, rubbing the silken petals against my upper lip. By the time I nudged my horse forward to make my way home, I felt at peace, satisfied on a number of points, though without proof of any of them: Cassandra was nearby, watching me; she was self-sufficient and it would be pointless to make any further attempt to find her; she would appear to me when she was ready to do so, irrespective of my desires; she was not unkindly disposed towards me; and she had no intention of leaving the valley. I whistled all the way home to Camulod.

Nothing I have to say will begin to do justice to the love, the joy or the private splendour of the short years that followed. In the earliest days, Cassandra became my life and all I wanted out of life, and I was hers "and all she seemed to need. Responsibility, however, is an inescapable burden of manhood and I had mine, which my conscience would not let me ignore. Although she and Avalon comprised my secret life and all my private world, there was also the world of Camulod, which I could not neglect. Cassandra knew each time when I must return and she never tried to detain me, but each time I had to leave her in our valley of Avalon, the parting grew more difficult for me.

I tried to take her with me only once. I mounted my horse and lifted her up in front of me and as I placed my arm around her waist to keep her safe, a vision of Uther holding her just so made me cringe. This was the day I had sworn to myself I would find out the truth, for Uther was at home in Camulod and I had come to Avalon to see this confrontation effected. She leaned back into my arms as my mount climbed the narrow, tree-lined path from the valley floor, and there she remained content until we were clear of the bushes and mounting the rim of the hollow that concealed her home. But when she saw the distant towers of Camulod on its hilltop, miles away across the valley, and realized that I was bound that way, she stiffened and grasped the reins, bringing my horse to a stop. Gently, she prised my arm from around her waist, and then slipped smoothly to the ground, where she stood gazing up at me. Surprised, and slightly put out, I gestured to her to climb up again, trying to indicate that this was important to me, but it took only one look into the calm, slightly stubborn resolve of her gaze to convince me of what I should have known. Cassandra had no wish to go to Camulod, or even to see it on a distant hill. My heart was filled with love for her, and shame for what our Camulod had come to mean to her.

I decided then and there that Uther's guilt or innocence was not important. It had happened in another lifetime. If I were to face her with him now, and he were guilty, I might be ripping the scab from a barely healing wound. If, on the other hand, he were not the one, I would only have put her in needless mind of what she had endured, and possibly even have placed her in danger once again from the true culprit. She had no need of any of this. I dismounted and left my horse to graze by the side of the path and I held her close as we walked back down the winding, hidden path to Avalon, where she was content to be alone.

And yet, as we walked back down that sheltered path, another thought squirmed, guilty and fully formed, in my mind. If, as I had now come almost fully to believe, Uther was in fact innocent of any violence upon her, I had no wish to expose her to him, or him to her. When I had thought her ugly, she had been fascinated by my gallant cousin and I had been uncaring. Now that I was lost in her beauty, I could not bear the thought of seeing her look at Uther as she had before.

As was my invariable habit on leaving the valley, I turned my horse to leave by the back of the hill, keeping its bulk between me and die fort, making my way around to the south-east. This added another hour to a one-hour journey, but I was more determined now than ever that no eye should ever follow me to Avalon or mark me coming from it. On that particular day I had completed my detour and was approaching the last copse of trees between me and the open valley when I heard a noise that shocked me and made me kick my horse to a gallop within paces.

My father always knew where I was, whenever I was not in Camulod, and we had devised a signal by which he could summon me immediately, if the need arose. There were three high hills around the plain of Camulod. Both he and I knew that there was only one of them that interested me, but we had no wish to betray the fact that I could always be found close to the same spot, so the plan was that in emergency he would send riders to the tops of all three hills each one carrying one of the shrill screaming stones on a string that Vegetius Sulla had used to silence a noisy Council long before I was born, the singing or screaming stones the barbarians beyond the Rhine used as missiles.

The signal had never been used before, and it was never used again, but when it sounded this time I was already more than two-thirds of the way back to the fort. I put my heels to my horse and was soon galloping up the hillside road, and as I rode up, soldiers came pouring down past me to join the ranks of the army already assembling on the great campus, or training ground, at the foot of the hill. They came in squads and troops, already in formation from the courtyard of the fort, and so I knew that whatever had caused this tumult was momentous. I turned my horse and put it to the hillside, leaving the road to the descending squads, and as I climbed I looked off to my right and saw cavalry approaching from the villa and from the direction of the outlying farms.

My father was already in council with Uther, Titus, Flavius, Popilius the senior infantry centurion, and several others, among whom I recognized Gwynn, the captain of Uric's bowmen from the hills. They all looked up as I strode into the Armoury and I saw that every one of diem was in full battle armour. Even in the tension of the moment, I saw that Uther, who stood with his back to me and turned as I approached, wore a new red cloak with a great dragon in embroidered gold on the back of it, and I knew at once who owned the big new standard I had seen out in the courtyard.

"What's going on?" I asked as I crossed the room.

"Merlyn!" Uther's smile was the one I knew and had always loved. "You return by magic! Where have you been?"

"Riding," I snapped. "Father?"

My father nodded an abrupt greeting. "We're being attacked.. .in double force, it seems. Our breeding stock has been raided. Horses stolen. One attack out of the north, from the river estuary—Gwynn brought news of a fleet coming upstream—and one from the south and west."

"The south and west?" I looked at Uther. "But that's..."

"Aye, Cousin." He finished it off for me. "Our boyhood friend, Lot of Cornwall. It seems Cornwall is no longer big enough for him."

I remembered Daffyd's words of only months earlier. "What's he after?"

"What he is after and what he will find are two very different things."

My father cut both of us short by slapping the flat of his sword blade on the table. "Gentlemen! We have work to do here and no time for idle chatter. Caius, we know from Gwynn here that a fleet of more than a hundred galleys is landed to the north."

"A hundred!" I was stunned. "That's more than three thousand men!"

"Thank you, that had occurred to us." I subsided, and he went on, "Gwynn thinks they are Hibernian. whoever they are, they could not have chosen a worse time to hit us. We have already sustained heavy losses in the south-west. The hostile force there is at least four hundred strong—cavalry strong enough to have overrun our outlying farms and to have stolen the herd of horses that was gathered there."

"How do we know this?" I was hoping not to hear what I heard next.

"Because two of our men got away and brought us the news."

"Two? That's all?"

"That is all. The others are all dead."

I could not believe what I had heard. "Father, we had more than two hundred men stationed there!"

"That was yesterday, Caius. Today we have none. However he did it, Lot managed a complete surprise attack in the darkness before dawn. From what the survivors tell me, our men were slaughtered before they could react."

"How did the two survivors escape?"

"They didn't escape. One of them was on his way to the main camp there with dispatches from me. The other was returning from a visit to his dying mother. They met going west and travelled together. They arrived in sight of the camp just after daybreak and saw what had happened."

"How many of the enemy did they count?"

"Approximately four hundred that they could see, all mounted and preparing to move out again, coming this way."

"Were they seen, our men?"

"They don't think so."

I glanced around at the faces of my companions. "What's our plan?"

"We haven't time to do anything too elaborate. Uther and Flavius are riding to meet them with five hundred horsemen. They'll take Lot's people as and when they meet them. It will be our disciplined horse against their lack of discipline."

I grimaced. "We hope! I would think it required some strongly disciplined manoeuvring to surprise our camp there. Who was in charge?"

"Lucius Sato."

"That's what I thought. He was a good man." My mind was fully occupied in grappling with the logistics of what faced us. Finally I nodded, satisfied that I knew what to do. "So Uther and Flavius will tackle Lot's men to the southwest. What about the others? To the north? How much time do we have there?"

My father answered me by looking to Gwynn.

The big Celt shrugged. "We rode hard to get here, and when we left, the fleet was still on the water. They couldn't have landed before yesterday afternoon. That means they can't get here until tomorrow."

I frowned at him. "You mean you didn't see them land? Then how do we know they are attacking us? They may have landed on the northern coast of the estuary. They may be looking for the gold-mines again."

"No." Gwynn shook his head emphatically. "We thought of that. The beacon fires were to be lit if the Scots were coming this way. The fires passed us on the way this morn- mg.

I turned back to my father. "What, then?"

"We leave immediately. If all three thousand of them come this way, we'll stop them in the valley fifteen miles north of here, the one with the bog. It's a natural trap. We'll let them walk in and then spring it shut on them." He turned to Uther and Flavius. "You two can be on your way. Good luck and may Mithras the god of soldiers ride with you."

"Hold!" I stopped them before they could even salute. Both of them turned to stare at me. "Father, why are you only sending five hundred men?"

"Against four hundred? Because it is enough."

"I disagree. And if Uther thinks about it honestly, he will, too. They have four hundred and they're coming this way quickly. Their morale is high, remember, they've already slaughtered one contingent of our people."

My father frowned at me. "What are you trying to say, Caius?"

"I'm not trying to say anything. I think we should send Titus's two hundred with Uther and Flavius, too. Seven hundred against four. Give Lot's people a taste of numerical weakness. Then let them try to fight against our tactics in the field. Smash them now, while we have an early opportunity. They don't know we know they are coming. Let's teach them not to invade our Colony. Smash them, Father, now!"

Uther intervened, his face clouded. "We can do that with the troops we have. We need no more."

"Be sensible, Uther," I snapped. "Forget about the glory, and see the perils! These people are dangerous. If Gulrhys Lot has made alliance with the Hibernian Scots we can't afford to let a man of his escape. Take the extra two hundred and hammer him flat."

He looked at my father, who was frowning at me and who now spoke for Uther. "I see your point, but what about the north? We'll need those two hundred horsemen there."

"No we won't, Father. Between your men and mine, we will still have four hundred cavalry. If you want to trap the Scots in the valley, we can bring our four hundred horse behind them and chase them into our hidden infantry. The Scots have no horses. We can hide two thousand infantry and more along the sides of the road out of that valley, among the trees, and have another thousand waiting for them when they crest the hill on the far side. We can hit them front, rear and flanks all at the same time. we arrive there soon enough!"

My father's eyes flashed. "You're right, Caius!" The decision made, he swung to Titus. "Titus, take your command with Uther and Flavius. Among you, wipe Lot from your path. We will take the others in the valley to the north. Now let's move, gentlemen, we have no time to waste." The trumpets started blaring immediately in the courtyard outside as the party began to stream from the room. My father had hold of big Gwynn by the arm and was talking urgently to him.

I stopped beside them. "Father, I have to arm myself. I'll join you in the yard." He nodded and I turned on my heel to walk from the room, and then I hesitated and looked down at my feet. I was standing on the shortest floor board, the one that hid Excalibur. I felt a sudden thrill at the thought of carrying that burnished blade into battle.

"What's wrong, Caius?" My father's voice was impatient.

"Nothing, Father." I started walking again. "I just had a thought, that's all. It's not important."

By the time I emerged at the run from my quarters, trying to fasten my war cloak around my neck, my father and our senior officers were all mounted. I ran to my fresh horse, a huge black, and had my foot in the stirrup when my father called my name. I turned to look at him.

"One moment, Caius." He kneed his horse over to where I stood, so he looked directly down on me. "I meant to mention it at the time, but I was distracted and forgot. One day, about a month ago, while we were standing face to face, discussing something, I noticed that I was almost looking up into your eyes..." He smiled, and I saw love and pride in his face. "Almost, I said. Bear that in mind. I don't think I've ever had to look up into anyone's eyes since I was a child, but the fact is, my son, you are now as tall, and every bit as big, as I am." He beckoned to someone, and I turned to see a soldier approaching me with a great black war cloak held across his arms. "We were to have had a ceremony tomorrow," my father continued, "but now is as good a time as any. New standards for yourself and Uther. His is a golden dragon, yours is this." The soldier carrying the cloak swirled it open and presented it to me. The inner lining was white, like my father's own, but across the shoulders of the black exterior a great, rearing bear was depicted in heavy, silver embroidery, its arms flung wide to show its massive claws. It was magnificent. I was speechless, for my father and I had almost quarrelled a short time before over such a creature—he, angry that I had endangered my self rashly by fighting it, and I that he should belittle my single-handed victory over the monster. This was an olive branch.

"Wear it," my father shouted. "Our enemies should grow to fear it as soon as possible." There was a shout of laughter as I unclasped my own plain cloak and the soldier helped me to don my new one. As I fastened it, the soldiers in the courtyard gave a mighty cheer and I felt grand. I stepped up into my saddle and another soldier appeared by my side bearing a shield decorated with a silver bear, and a long, black-shafted spear. I took them and sat very tall and proud on my great, black horse. My father raised his arm again and there was a clatter of hooves as yet another soldier drew near, this one carrying my new standard of black and silver. General Picus dropped his arm, the trumpets blasted, and we rode out through the gates of Camulod, on our way to war again.

From the road outside the gates, we could look down on the plain beneath us, where our three thousand infantry were already moving out in cohorts of five hundred men each. Dust shrouded our view, but we all knew that we were looking at a phenomenon: the largest armed force our Colony had ever assembled for an aggressive strike. We had two hundred men to avenge, and we meant to succeed.