The journey should have been pleasant for me. My performance in the battle had won me the wholehearted approval of most of the men in the Family. The warriors rejected, as Gruffydd the surgeon had, my stories of “otherworlds and magic” as being a mere side-effect of battle-madness. They offered me their comradeship freely, with admiration and without fear. Sorcerous and supernatural events, they decided, were to be expected with the madness, but it reflected nothing unnatural on me. My wound healed cleanly and without trouble; we enjoyed fine weather and, in the lustre of our victory, the friendship of the country we rode through. We set a leisurely pace, stopping at every sizeable fortress along the way and being feasted there. I had money, as well. Although I was not a member of the warband and could claim no share in the considerable amount of plunder the raid had yielded, nor in the sums the Saxons had expended to ransom prisoners, both Eoghan of Brycheiniog and Constantius of Dumnonia had given me gifts, and some of the noble warriors had done the same. Eoghan in particular gave me a large gift and lavish praise, and tried to persuade me to join his warband. My refusal delighted the Family.
I had to refuse two more such offers on the way to Rheged. One was from Rhydderch of Powys, with whom we stayed for two days. The other was from Maelgwn Gwynedd. He sent a messenger to Arthur while we were at Dinas Powys, on the journey north, conveying congratulations on the victory late and in insulting terms. After delivering the message the messenger spoke to me privately, criticizing Arthur’s injustice and pretending sympathy before making his offer. It pleased me to refuse that offer, as it did not to refuse Rhydderch’s.
But these offers in themselves were one reason I did not enjoy the journey. Arthur, still, simply did not want me, and I could not follow him like a stray dog looking for a master for ever. I had become a warrior and I had fought for him, but a warrior must have a lord. That it was so easy to find any lord but Arthur depressed me. All the kings in Britain were hungry for warriors, especially warriors who could rival the Family. Rhydderch of Powys deserved his nickname, “Hael,” “the Generous,” and was, as far as I could tell, a fine king and a good lord. He fought the Saxons, even as Arthur did, though less spectacularly. I did not really want to refuse his offer, which was worthy of his name.
Besides this, I felt lonely. I belonged and did not belong. I wanted someone who could understand, who believed what I said to them. Before I had had Medraut, for whom I now mourned secretly, more so when I tried to explain to Agravain something or other, and he firmly and resolutely did not understand. I wished to speak with Bedwyr about his philosophy and books, but he was forever with either Arthur or Cei, and both of these avoided me as much as possible. Taliesin I could speak to for hours, but we seldom said much, apart from what he said about songs. So I lived, as Taliesin had said, in uncertainties, and brooded over my own thoughts, wondering about the men I had killed and Arthur’s anger, and Morgawse, and the Darkness. It was not a pleasant journey for me.
Towards the end I enjoyed it more, however, when we crossed Hadrian’s Wall at Caer Lugualid and entered Rheged. The road was much worse and the area was heavily forested, making travel difficult, but I liked the land more than I liked southern Britain. Northern Britain was never conquered by the Romans, and southern Britons call northerners barbarian, ignoring the fact the northern poets are generally better than southern poets and northern and Irish metalwork is sought throughout southern Britain whenever Gaulish goods are unavailable. Rheged is probably the strongest nation in Britain. For centuries it has suffered attacks of greater or less intensity by raids from Erin, which lies only a short distance away across the Irish Sea. This continual warfare long ago forced the kings of Rheged to build strong fortresses, and a strong warband; and the clansmen and farmers are hard, slow-spoken men always willing to join with the army and fight. Now, besides the Irish, Rheged defends herself from Saxons, and from the Irish-speaking Dalriada to the north, who gave the land many goods and ways which were familiar to me from my own home. I liked the land. Despite its heavy forests it seemed familiar, and for all their hardness the people were open-handed and open-hearted, and never stopped singing.
We rode up to Urien’s royal fortress, Yrechwydd, on a cold grey day in August in a heavy rain. The bare wood and stone of the walls were sharp against the sky, and the gulls called over the feast Hall, for Yrechwydd overlooks the Irish Sea as Dun Fionn does the North. I listened to the beat of the waves and remembered my father’s fortress, and my kinsmen, and Llyn Gwalch, and my heart leapt as though I were returning home. I looked at Agravain, and he too was grinning. We laughed and began to sing a sea song in Irish:
“A tempest is on the ocean’s plain:
Boldly the winds awaken it,
Winter sweeps the fierce sea again,
By wind and winter are we slain:
Winter’s spear has overtaken it.
When from the east the wind sets
The spirit of the waves is free,
They desire to sweep over all the west
To reach the land where the sun sets,
To the wild, broad green sea.
The deeds of the plain, the ocean’s rush
Have driven alarm upon me,
But what, of all, is as tremendous,
Wonderful and as momentous
As its incomparable story?…”
“Crazy Irishmen,” muttered Rhuawn, drawing his cloak higher about his ears. We laughed, and sang louder.
Arthur had, of course, sent messengers ahead. We were expected. Servants waiting just inside the gates took our horses and a fire roared in the Hall. Urien himself was waiting by the gates, a great brown-haired bear of a man with a loud laugh. He welcomed us warmly, congratulated Arthur on the victory, and thanked him for coming to the aid of Rheged, then hurried us into the Hall, declaring loudly that no one should stay out in such weather. The warriors hung their sodden cloaks by the fire and sat down at the tables while Urien’s servants brought them mead. The Hall was crowded, although Urien had sent some of his own men out to make room for us—but after some of the mead everyone forgot this. After the welcoming cups there was a feast and a great deal more mead. The harp was passed around, and the warriors sang boastful songs of their prowess and made loud talk of how they would destroy the northern Saxons. Taliesin sang a song about the battle of Bassas river, and was loudly cheered. I felt light-hearted for the first time in weeks.
After the song, Urien called for me and gave me a place at the high table on his left, on the grounds that I was his nephew. I thanked him, but pointed out that Agravain was also his nephew.
“Of course!” said Urien, snapping his fingers. “That is the other one’s name: I kept thinking ‘Avairgain,’ and knowing it was wrong.” Urien called Agravain up to the high table as well. “Your Irish kings seem to have all the same names: it’s either Niall or Eoghan or Laeghaire for all the royal clan.” Urien took a deep drink of mead and shook his head sadly. “At least you have a British name, Gwalchmai ap Lot. And a name well-suited to you, if Taliesin’s song is true—and it always was before, so there is no reason to doubt it now. It must have been your mother’s idea.” Urien ignored the way Arthur, Agravain, and I went quiet at this mention of Morgawse, and poured me some more mead. “Sensible father you have, to marry a British woman, and my Morgan’s sister. How did this battle appear to you?”
“I do not remember most of it,” I answered, hesitated, and added, “I go mad in battle, Lord Urien.”
Urien looked momentarily puzzled, then shrugged the subject off. “Indeed? I wish some of my warriors would go mad in battle, then. I think, Dragon,” he said, turning to Arthur, “that you have stolen the finest fighters in Britain, and left the other kings with the dross—and that besides stealing my chief poet, alas for that! I will never find a bard to replace Taliesin—and I am fast becoming a toothless lion. No, don’t laugh. When you meet my war-leader you will see it is no laughing matter, and my son…” the king paused. All Britain had heard of Urien’s son Owain, who, it was said, could not tell the hilt of a sword from the point. “Now, if I had had better warriors or a proper war-leader a month ago when I fought the Scotti at Aber yr Haf…” Urien launched into a description of this fight.
I sighed inwardly and only half listened. Urien sounded as though he wished to offer me a position in his warband. He was certainly no toothless lion, but he needed more warriors.
From what I had seen of him, moreover, I liked him; and I liked Rheged. If I took service with Urien I could win some honor and still fight the Saxons; I could fight Aldwulf, a truly dangerous man and one much more my enemy than was Cerdic. And yet, it was Arthur who was fighting to make real a dream, and, as he himself had said, without the dream the war was pointless. I watched the High King as he began to discuss with Urien what should have been done at Aber yr Haf, using knives and serving dishes to show the land and the forces. The shifting torchlight gleamed on his hair and glittered on the gold of his collar. His face, intent on the rough plan of the battle, seemed to hold steady in the moving shadows of the hall. Beside him, Urien looked as dull and dense as the oak table. I took a long, hard drink of mead and set the empty horn down, still watching Arthur.
We stayed at Yrechwydd for a day before setting out south-eastward, to raid the Saxon kingdom of Deira. Urien came with us, bringing twenty of his men. These were only an honor guard: he came to see how the Family fought. Most of his warband was left to guard the coasts.
We moved swiftly, as always. The Saxons were not aware of us in the north of their land until we were gone, taking with us a few hundred head of cattle and sheep, a good deal of plunder, and leaving one of their chieftain’s fortresses and part of the countryside in ruins. When the news of our raid reached the king of Deira, Ossa Big-knife, he was angry enough to attempt to retaliate immediately. We were in Ebrauc when he marched on us with his warband and the few hundred men he had mustered by the fyrd in the short space of time since he had heard of us.
We gave the Caradoc of Ebrauc the sheep we had driven off, and in exchange received the support of Caradoc’s warband. Arthur did not think we needed Caradoc, but the British king would have been insulted if we had won a victory on his land without him.
The encounter—it could not really be called a battle—was brief and fierce. The infantry engaged the Saxons first, as usual—it was a good downhill charge, led by Cei, and left the enemy reeling—-and, as usual, the cavalry made a flank attack. The fyrd panicked and the shield-wall was gone, as quickly as that. Ossa and his warband, more skilled, managed to regroup and retreat, though with heavy losses, and we pursued them to the borders of Deira but no further. I cut down a Saxon chieftain and won a very fine mail-coat from him, with which I was pleased. The rest of the plunder, including what we had taken on the raid, we sent to Yrechwydd.
Both Caradoc and Urien were surprised with the speed and completeness of the victory. There was a great deal of congratulating and gift-giving and Caradoc gave a feast. It was an especially splendid one, and used a large amount of the Saxon mutton we had given Caradoc, as well as great quantities of mead and wine. Taliesin sang of the recent encounter, singing the praises of the living and of the dead. He gave a stanza to me: “I will sing the praise of Gwalchami,/Whose sword was as lightning, a flash to the Saxon/Shining in the red tide, the ride of battle…” and so on. Urien beat the table at that stanza, and Arthur frowned. Agravain, seeing the frown, tensed angrily, and Cei grinned at him sardonically. The two glared at each other for the rest of the night.
The following morning Caradoc sent a messenger to me and, when I had come to his rooms, offered me a position in his warband. I refused.
He frowned. “I have heard stories which led me to expect this,” he told me in his dry, quiet voice. “Still, I had not thought…what do you hope to gain?”
I leaned against the wall, fingering a gold brooch I had won in the fight. “A place in the Family.”
Caradoc shook his head. He was a small, calculating man who looked more of a monk than a king. “I do not think you will get that. Arthur has something that he holds against you. I discussed it with him last night.”
I dropped my hand and stood up straighter. “Did he say what it was?”
“You do not know? No, he said only that he suspected you of witchcraft. For my own part, I think it absurd to suspect a warrior who has proved himself in battle of so weak and womanish a pursuit as that. I would be willing to give you second place under my war-leader, and the rank of tribune…”
“Thank you, Lord; it is a noble offer and more generous than I deserve, but I will wait for Arthur. He may yet change his mind.” I bowed to Caradoc.
He steepled his fingers, stared at me a moment, then smiled drily and nodded. “You can afford to wait, I suppose. Tell me, is it only the desire for battle and fame which makes men follow Arthur ab Uther? I ask this as a king, and one who needs more men and is uncertain how to get them.”
I shook my head. “It is not only the battle and fame. Bran of Less Britain was willing to risk his life and his followers for Arthur before he was High King, when he was still a usurping bastard. It is because Arthur is Arthur…He says that he wishes to restore the Empire.”
“You are not Roman: what is the Empire to you?”
“Very little,” I admitted, smiling. “But the Empire that Arthur would create is a great deal, and I am willing to wait and hope until Arthur sees that.”
He sighed, a short, sharp sigh of exasperation. “So others also have said, they would rather fight for Arthur and starve than have high advancement with another, and always it is because ‘he is a great emperor,’ or ‘he will restore the Empire’ or ‘preserve the Light.’ Very well, Gwalchmai of Orcade, good fortune attend your waiting!” He rose and saluted me. “But should you change your mind before Arthur changes his, and should you decide that you dislike Urien, the place will still be open. You are a brave man and a fine warrior, and I have said as much to the Pendragon. Now, I believe that your Arthur is preparing to leave again, so you had best go and join him.”
I bowed deeply and left, closing the door behind me.
Since Ossa could not expect a second raid so soon after the first we made a second, south of the first one, and concentrated on the newly settled border region. Ossa refused to make the same mistake twice and waited to gather his army before marching on us. In doing so he made a worse mistake, for he left his royal fortress, Catraeth (or Cataracta, as the Saxons call it) with only a light guard while he marched slowly up to when we had last been reported. But we circled around through Ebrauc as fast as we could press our horses, left the plunder from the raid there, and struck into the heart of Deira. We took Ossa’s fortress, removed all the hoarded plunder, and fired as much of it as we could before retreating again to Caer Ebrauc. We were surprised at the amount of plunder; Ossa’s raids had apparently been successful. Ossa had tried to follow us when he heard that we were again in Deira, but arrived in Catraeth too late, and had to disband his army for the harvest-season and try to repair the damage and appease his warband, who had also lost their goods.
Urien was delighted.
“By the sun and the hosts of Heaven,” he told Arthur when we were again feasting in Caer Ebrauc, “you’ll have them beaten by midwinter!”
Arthur shook his head. “It will be harder from now on. They know how quickly we can move now. And we are still unable to meet their army, and they know that. They have learned, I think, not to raid too deeply into British territory, or to fear retaliation if they do. But they will guard themselves now, and probably try more short raids. Still, at this rate—perhaps by midsummer.”
Urien laughed. “Midsummer. I have been fighting for years, and have felt glad if I can manage to hold my own. Ach well, you have fine warriors, who know how a war should be fought. Your friend Bedwyr seems capable of leading the Family on his own.” (Bedwyr, near Arthur as always, smiled at the compliment but made a disclaiming gesture.) “And Cei ap Cynryr is a man who would be war-leader in any other warband. And Gereint and Goronwy and Cynan and my nephew Agravain have earned their fame as well, that is plain. I cannot hope to match them with any of my own followers. And then, I must guard my coasts, or those thrice-damned Irish would burn my fortress under me.” Urien paused, taking another sip of Caradoc’s wine, and looked at Arthur with a gleam in his eyes. “And Gwalchmai ap Lot, though not a member of your Family, fights in such a way as to make songs for the poets.”
Arthur shrugged and changed the subject.
Agravain glared at Arthur, then hacked savagely at the haunch of venison before him. Cei glared back at Agravain, then stared at Bedwyr, questioningly. Bedwyr was his friend and Arthur’s, and Cei expected the Breton to take their side in the debate which had grown up about Arthur’s continued refusal of my word. Many of the warriors, who admired my fighting and my refusal to serve any other, endlessly discussed Arthur’s reasons and frequently blamed him, which caused others to grow angry with them. Bedwyr alone tried to remain neutral, and Cei resented this neutrality.
“Well, but it is true, Hawk of Battle,” Urien said, refusing to accept Arthur’s change of subject and turning to me. “How was it in that skirmish half a day’s ride southeast of the border? I missed that one.”
Urien regretted it when he missed any good fight. I told him about the skirmish, and wondered when he would offer me a place in his warband. He was obviously awaiting his chance. I think that, like Caradoc, he had asked Arthur some questions in private, but did not believe the answers he had been given. Perhaps he was waiting for me to tire and leave Arthur before he made his offer. He had given me gifts, a cloak of embroidered silk, imported from Italy, and a very fine shield with an enamelled boss, far too fine to be used. He was a generous man, open-handed, courageous in battle, loyal, a lover of mead and music and women, a good man, a man to trust. But not a man I wanted to follow. He was blind to too many things. The only country he knew was his own clan, though he recognized a few vague responsibilities to the clans which owed him allegiance, and a few hazy duties to Arthur. He had nothing of Arthur’s transcendent vision, his brilliance, his habit of giving himself as well as his possessions to the cause, or his gallantry and gaiety. Urien’s warband, too, was not the Family. I knew the Family by then, that it truly was a family, a band of brothers. I thought that it must be like the Red Branch at the time of CuChulainn, a place where courage and honor were taken for granted, filled with glory and laughter: Even though Arthur was no closer to accepting me, I did not wish to leave.
Urien would have stayed with us longer, for he was enjoying the campaign, but while in Ebrauc he received some bad news from Rheged. His war-leader, in a truly spectacular piece of idiocy, allowed himself and most of the warband to be trapped by a group of raiders whom they outnumbered three to one. They lost fifty men in escaping. Beyond this, the sea raids were increasing in frequency as the summer wore on. Urien was needed at Yrechwydd. We sent some of the plunder back with him.
Arthur was very pleased with the plunder. It would support the Family for some time, and that we had been able to give so much to Urien and Caradoc would allow us to ask them for goods in return once our supplies ran out. Besides this, Urien and Caradoc had been enough impressed to promise to raise their armies whenever Arthur should request it, and the kingdoms, it was hoped, had been enough impressed to answer that call to arms. The Family was proud of itself, of its strength and reputation. But we were tired. It had been a hard summer’s fighting, and winter would be welcome for the rest it brought. Our weariness made us tense, and there were arguments, almost fights, between members of the Family. Arthur could always stop them, but they disturbed everyone.
It was perhaps because of this weariness and tension that our next raid was a failure. More likely, though, we failed because we attacked Bernicia.
Bernicia actually lies closer to Rheged than Deira, but Ossa of Deira had been doing most of the raiding, and so Arthur had wished to weaken it first. Now that Ossa was rendered temporarily quiet we turned our attention to Bernicia.
We struck into the southern part of the country after riding at a fast pace along the border of Deira and Ebrauc. We had a good road across the hills, a Roman road, since we were still south of the Wall. All the land which was uncultivated was heavily forested, full of lakes, an easy country to hide in. It is rich country, too: we took over two hundred head of cattle in the two days of raiding which brought us to the Wall. We were confident, certain that Aldwulf would not dare to attack us without first raising the fyrd, and that, at harvest time, even if he was alert to the threat of invasion it would take some time to do so.
Then, on the third day of the raid, one of our scouts rode up to Arthur at a full gallop, reined in his worn horse and gasped out the news: Aldwulf was within half a day’s ride to our west, and had raised the fyrd.
No matter how careful his planning or quiet his movements, we all knew that he should not have been able to do it. We had ridden from Caer Ebrauc too quickly; he could hardly have received even the news of our presence from reports more than a day before. And it took still much time to lead an army, at its slow pace, down from Gefrin in the north. To have done as he had he would have discovered our plans the moment we left Caer Ebrauc and have begun to move southward at once, collecting his army along the way. No messenger can ride so fast. We did not speak of it, but we could guess how Aldwulf Fflamddwyn had found out.
We turned south, hurriedly. Aldwulf did not have all the men he could muster, but his army was still a large one, over five thousand men, and he had his warband as well. There were six hundred and twenty-three in the Family, since some were sick in Caer Ebrauc and some escorting Urien and the plunder to Rheged. We were accustomed to fight against superior numbers, but the Saxons now had the advantage of the land and of allies in the south as well. To the north stood the Wall, to the east was the sea, and to the south was Ossa. We preferred to leave. However, we had not gone far south when we discovered that Ossa was approaching with part of his army and all of his warband. Their numbers were such that we could have defeated them, but that would have left us a prey to Aldwulf, whom our scouts reported as following us southward, keeping to our west. The whole land had risen against us, and sprang ambushes at every turn of the road, so that our speed was cut down. The only way to escape, Arthur decided, was to take the stronger enemy, and pass through the Bernician army.
We made camp by the river Wir, keeping it between ourselves and the Saxons, and Arthur called the Family together to tell us what we must do. He was silent for a while, looking at his warriors, lingeringly, and then he spoke calmly and quietly: “Tonight at midnight we will lift camp and attack the army of Fflamddwyn.”
A murmur like wind in the trees swept the Family, then died down again. The prospect of death was always near us and could not make us afraid.
Arthur smiled, very gently, very brightly. “We will go through them on horseback, if at all, so we will leave the cattle and the plunder behind. Fflamddwyn is camped upon the other side of the Dubhglas river, less than four hours’ easy riding. He will doubtless know that we are coming, but we still will have the advantage of the dark, and, it is to be hoped, a good amount of confusion. We will ride in a spearhead formation, the best of the cavalry first, the rest about the edges, and those who normally fight on foot and doctors and such in the center. If the point of our spear goes through we will escape, Aldwulf will lose many of his men and most of his credit, while we will be largely unharmed. If not…” again he looked at his warband. “I have no wish to point out that there is no escape, and give you examples and arguments to prove how bad your condition will be. If our spear breaks on their shield-wall, I trust you to kill before you are killed, and to make such a battle that it will be sung of by all Britain, and be a light to hold against the dark. You are my warriors, my hearts, I know that you will not surrender.”
They did not even cheer; their stillness was an assent more total than any shouting. Arthur smiled again, a light in his eyes. The evening sun fell on him, on the river and its grassy banks, the forest behind, half-bare with autumn; on the ranks of men and horses with their harness and weapons dull with use, and everything was as quiet as a forest pool in the middle of a summer day. Everything seemed to be worked in gold, apart from the world, apart from time and war, one immortal, imperishable creation, and the dream was real. Then, one of our plundered cattle lowed, a horse nickered, bitten by a fly, and the spell was broken.
“I will ride at the head of the Family,” Arthur continued briskly, “and with me, Bedwyr, Gereint, Cynan, Rhuawn, Maelwys, Llenlleawg, Sinnoch ap Seithfed, Llwydeu, Trachmyr, Gwyn ab Esni, Moren ab Iaen, Morfran ap Tegid, and…” his eyes fell on me and he paused, then continued in the same tone, “Gwalchmai ap Lot.”
He went on, assigning the rest of the Family their places and giving orders for the breaking of camp and the disposal of the plunder, where to cross the river and where to meet if separated, but I did not really listen. He had given me an order to ride near him with his best men, the spear-point of the warband, the position of greatest danger. He was not a man to command this unless…
I waited impatiently until the High King had finished, then hurried towards him. Most of the Family hung about, paying close attention. Nearly all of them had taken sides with either Agravain or Cei in the dispute about me, and everyone was interested in the outcome.
Arthur had been turning towards the fire, where we would roast some of Aldwulf’s cattle for dinner, but he saw me coming and waited. His face was quite still, expressionless. I knew that look, and the beginning of my hope died again.
“Lord,” I said quietly, “you commanded me to take a place beside you against the Saxons.”
“I did,” said Arthur coldly. There was a moment of tense silence, and one of the warriors almost spoke, but decided not to. “If you wish, you can refuse. You are not my warrior.”
I shook my head. “No, Lord Pendragon, I do not care to refuse.” Suddenly the bloody and exhausting summer, and all the bitterness of extinguished hopes rose in me at once, and I said, “You know that I will not refuse. You know that I will fight for you. Haven’t I shown you that a dozen times over? But I wish to know why.”
“I recognize necessities,” answered Arthur. “If my Family is to live, we must break the shield-wall. You can kill from horseback very expertly, Gwalchmai of Orcade; and yes, I know that you will fight. So I use you, to aid my Family and Britain. I wish I did not have to.”
“That is not what I meant,” I said, softly and quickly. “Why do you refuse my sword and use it at the same time?”
“I have said that I do not wish to use it,” Arthur returned, the coldness growing sharper with anger. Agravain’s party among the Family stirred, muttering. The air was thick with tension. “Why have you stayed? Any king in Britain would be overjoyed to have you. Yet, you hang about me, unasked, with your killing and your sorceries and your mother’s curse and Darkness…”
My hand was somehow on my sword. “You know nothing of that. Why do you insist on believing that I adore her? If I could work sorcery, Arthur Pendragon, I would not hang about you, plodding on and fighting and killing for you—for despite what you believe, I have no love for killing—but I would work such a work that all Britain would demand that you accept me. I swear the oath of my people, I hate witchcraft, more than you because I know more of it. Are you entirely in darkness?”
“In God’s name, what do you want?” shouted Arthur. “What have you done since you came to me except kill and divide my Family? Indeed, you have won fame, riches, and honor for yourself—shall I make return to you for that? Do you wish me to accept these things as right, good, and noble? Do you think that I will accept this knowledge you speak of, the knowledge of Darkness?”
“What do you know of my darkness?” I hurled at him.
“What do you know of mine?” he demanded. “Too much, perhaps.” He drew himself straight, standing taller than me, and his eyes were so bitterly cold that it was more terrifying than any anger. “Now you have divided my Family so that I seem hardly able to heal it, and yet I must ask you to risk your life with me, in a place where no sorcery can help you if the shield-wall holds. Therefore…” he took a deep breath, and I saw with surprise that the sweat came on to his face as though he struggled with his soul within him, “if we break the shield-wall and live, I will accept your sword. That I swear, by the Light and as I hope for salvation. Be glad, son of Morgawse. You have won.”
And he turned away and walked off, stepping with a quick light stride through the gathering dusk.
For a while I stood, staring after him, even when he was gone. Agravain came up and caught my shoulder, but I shook him off. The other warriors, nearly as stunned as I, bewildered by the speed of the thing, hung about for a moment, then began to go slowly off to the fires, starting to talk.
I stood silent, one hand still on my sword, then walked away from the camp to the river and sat by it, laying my spear in the grass. Autumn flowers bloomed raggedly by the stream, and the evening star was appearing, a soft gold light which the dark water reflected. The calmness of the world seemed to make a lie of the deadly speed of the battles of men, and of my own inner confusion. I rested my arms on my knees and stared at the current.
Arthur would accept me if the shield-wall broke that night. It was what I wanted, wasn’t it? Again and again I asked myself that question, and always I answered myself, “Yes, but not like this. Not because he is honor-bound to do so.” But what, then? Perhaps I would die that night, and then I would not have to decide. But if that was not fated, if I lived, I would have to decide. And even if I should die, I wanted to meet my death with a clean heart.
The waters in the last dark glow of twilight showed me my face, wavering on the current. A face like Morgawse’s. Always Morgawse. I thrust my fingers in the ground, tore up earth and hurled it to smash that reflection. The water shivered, but stilled again, and the picture returned.
Not only Morgawse’s face now, I thought, but the face of a warrior. I studied the past months in my mind. Yes, beyond any question. No one would take me for a thrall, a bard, or a druid again. What I had become was written on me for all to read. A warrior, but of what warband, acknowledging what lord?
It didn’t really matter. A warrior is a warrior, and all war is a sport, a game. All wars but Arthur’s and the Light’s.
I turned my thoughts from the brooding over injury and the bitterness I had grown accustomed to, and looked at what had actually happened. And hadn’t it been fine, as Arthur had said, winning fame and honor and riches, taking gold and silk and fine weapons from the hands of kings who wanted my sword, drinking sweet mead and listening to the praises of poets. Yes, and riding into a town on Ceincaled with my mail-coat and weapons shining, red cloaks and gold jewelry, smiling back at the girls who waved at me. War is filled with too much splendor, too much gold and swift horses, scarlet and purple silks. It is beautiful, and one forgets what it is for. I had forgotten.
I drew my sword. It had been given me for a purpose, and I had forgotten that purpose. It had been given me by a king, and I had ignored the king to whom I had sworn fealty. I tightened my hand about the hilt, feeling the way it fitted, like a part of me.
I had divided the Family, Arthur had said. I gripped the sword with my other hand and held it up, pressing the cold steel against my forehead. Yes. All the arguments, the tension and anger, the breaking of friendships which I had tried to blame on weariness—all my fault.
But it had filled a part of me that had been long empty, satisfied desires I had always had and never understood. I had wanted it. I still wanted it.
Now, wouldn’t Morgawse be pleased with this, I told myself. Son of Morgawse, be glad. You have won. And now, Gwalchmai of Orcade, what will you do? Lugh warned you that you had not conquered your own Darkness, but you, thinking of it in its accustomed form, ignored him. Arthur will accept you because he is too honorable to do otherwise. Arthur. He had acted with some injustice at the first, but that was a small shadow on his brilliance. What did I know of his darkness, of the man within the king, of the forces that drove him, of his reasons? Suddenly I saw him as human, uncertain, and I knew that before I had not fought for him but for myself, done nothing to quell his suspicions and much to justify them. And now I did wish to fight, for him, and atone.
Light, Lord, I said silently. My lord High King to whom my sword is first pledged, command me. The sword is yours, and the life you saved; you, more even than Arthur, are the one I serve and fight for; you are the one I will obey.
I already knew the answer to the problem. I stood, slowly, and saluted the evening star with my sword, the decision made. The warm red light I had not seen for months lit again in Caledvwlch’s hilt, glowed brighter and more tenderly, lighting the darkness around me. I would fight for Arthur that night, and, God willing, break the shield-wall; then, if I lived, go to Urien of Rheged and request a place in his warband.
I walked back to the fires for dinner.
The meal was eaten quickly. No one was hungry, but everyone knew that they should eat; and moreover, the cattle were Aldwulf’s, and those we did not eat we turned loose and he might recover. After the meal we tried to sleep: a few may have succeeded, I did not. Just before midnight we rose and broke camp, leaving the plunder. I went to the picket lines and saddled and bridled Ceincaled.
“This will be the last time,” I told him in Irish, as I swung up. “After this, mo chroidh, we go with Urien, if we live.”
He pricked his ears and stamped, and I felt his eagerness and bright, swift pride more sharply than I had for the past months. I laughed under my breath, running my fingers through his mane. If we died, it was a good night for dying, and it would be a good death.
I rode to the front of the band, near Arthur, and, when all the Family was ready, we left without a word spoken. We forded the river—it was not deep—and rode through the forest, northwest, spread out for easier riding. The Saxons were camped on the other side of the Dubhglas river, in land that was actually British. We rode towards them for some three hours, then tightened our formation a and rode carefully, making little sound.
Aldwulf had watchmen posted, but had not needed them. His camp had been awake for at least an hour when we arrived, and was bright with torches tied to spears thrust into the ground. We had gone quietly and without lights so as to avoid giving any additional warning to the Saxons. Our eyes were accustomed to the dark, and the torchlight was bright enough to aim a spear by. Arthur drew rein briefly at the top of the slope that led down to the river, and pointed out to the “spear-point” the route we would take, speaking in an undertone. We all knew what would follow: we would gallop down the slope, through the trees into the torchlight and cross the river to attack the shield-wall which the Saxons would raise on the opposite bank.
Arthur dropped his hand, spurring his horse to a gallop.
We followed, in silence but for the pounding of the horses’ hooves and the jingle of harness. My head was light with a different madness and I was at peace.
At first the Saxons did not realize what was happening. They expected us, but it was dark and they were sleepy, expecting some torches, some war-cry or warning. They heard the sound of hooves and started, picking up their spears and looking about in confusion. They could not see us for the darkness, the forest, and their torch-blinded eyes. I drew loose a throwing spear as we approached the bank, and flung it with all my strength. Confuse them. Get them off balance. Other spears fell among the Saxons doing little damage, but startling and frightening them. Their chiefs began to order them to form the shield-wall, and they obeyed, but slowly. We came out of the forest and plunged into the river—the water splashed high and cold about our legs—the torchlight gleaming and leaping from us, the trees casting long shadows that wavered like a mad dream; and across the river, hurling more spears, some of which found their marks. The horses swam briefly, hard, their eyes rolling and ears laid back, and the Saxon spears were falling all about us, and the horses were running again, coming at the shield-wall. Arthur was grinning, holding his thrusting spear levelled to strike. The shield-wall opposite us was three men deep, and more warriors hurried to support it, shouting, wild-eyed. We approached, charging in silence from nowhere against an army, and suddenly Arthur threw back his head and shouted, “For Britain, my hearts! For me!”
And we answered, “For Arthur!” with one heart and one voice, a sound more terrible than death; I hurled my thrusting spear and drew my sword, blazing with white light, as we reached the bank.
My old madness did not fill me, but I did not need it. Ceincaled reared, lashing out with his hooves, and I bent over his neck and slashed down, fighting from love and from a dream, as Arthur fought. It was a few moments, no more: had we paused long enough for our speed to slacken, we could not have done it, but the Saxons were afraid, bewildered and uncertain, and they broke. We killed them on all sides as we went through, tearing the torches from their posts and hurling them into the camp, setting it alight, hacking through tent-ropes and charging on, leaving destruction behind us. We plunged into the safety of the woods, only a few spears falling about us now as we rode down the night.
“Well done,” said Arthur, softly, then shouted aloud with joy. “Oh beautifully done!”
We reined in our horses to a canter, thinking of the miles yet to ride. Behind us the sky paled with the first grey of the still hour that leads to morning.