Rawn let his horse move forward with the rest, still unable to look away from the heart of the fighting.
Then he was in the midst of it himself.
It was a long, hard fight to victory. When he could risk a moment to look, each time he found her still mounted and directing her men. Then he could go on a few moments more, cleaving Saxon heads so Mair would not have to deal with them.
It was the only thing left to him which he could do for her and it drove his every blow.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Saxons did not break until close to sunset, when the last of the sun dazzled their eyes and tiredness sapped them.
The British host sensed the check in the Saxons’ spirit and renewed their assaults and raids deep into the Saxon lines. Funneled by the powerful Queen’s Cohort wings on either side, unable to spread out and blunt the British attacks, the Saxons could only press forward or fall back.
The Saxons could not break the iron hard wall of resistance at the front of the British lines, even though they attacked repeatedly.
All the Saxons could do was fall back. They turned and ran, scattering into the ancient hills, leaving their camp, their dead and their possessions behind.
As the sun touched the horizon, the British horns and drums proclaimed victory.
Mair slid slowly from Leolin’s back. Every inch of her ached with exhaustion. Even Leolin stood with his head down, breathing hard. She patted his back, then fumbled for the reins. They could walk to where the camp would be raised.
Around her, the Corneus men still standing also dropped to their feet and fell in behind her.
Lye and Dylan came up alongside her.
“You fought well,” Mair told them. “Thank you. All of you.” She glanced over her shoulder and caught their smiles.
“The new way of fighting, Lancelot’s way…it works,” Nye said. Awe sounded in his voice. “I’ve never seen a lass bring down men much larger than herself the way you did today, my Lady. It was an eye-opener, that’s for sure.”
“You brought down large men, too,” she reminded him. “Yes, Lancelot’s way works. We must keep training and figure out new ways to use it.”
“Why?” Dylan asked. He was always the analytical one.
“Because the Saxons would have noted how we were fighting,” Mair said. “They will try to use the same things when they meet us again.”
“This isn’t the last battle? We haven’t defeated them yet?” Nye sounded offended.
“This was a crucial battle, although I suspect it won’t be the last,” Mair said.
Dylan touched her arm. “Prince Arawn Uther,” he breathed and nodded.
Mair looked up. Far across the field where the dead and dying laid, Rawn stood with his horse, watching her and her men circle the field. As she looked, he raised his hand to his chest.
He was unhurt.
Mair let out a shaky breath and raised her hand to her chest, too.
Rawn’s shoulder squared themselves. He turned and walked on.
Mair handed her reins to Nye. “See to Leolin for me.”
“You’re not joining us at the fires?” Nye asked.
“I will,” Mair told him. “First I must check on the Queen’s Cohort. I want to assure myself they managed without me, that my absence did not weaken them.”
She moved ahead of the slow-treading Corneus men, sliding between horses and men, turning her head to spot where the camp would form. It would be the barest of camps, tonight, for they had ridden with little but their arms and food to tide them over. What few wine flasks had come with them would soon be drained.
Arthur’s banner was already planted, far ahead. It would be the center of the camp. The surgery would be right behind it, as usual…and her heart squeezed for it reminded her of Rawn and days gone by.
The Queen’s Cohort would move to the edge of the camp, then go their separate ways. She had to hurry.
Mair broke into a slow, tired jog, and saw, just ahead, the wavering banner of Calleva. Beneath it, Bevan stood with Lowri, who clung to her horse more than she stood on her own. She was still weak and shouldn’t be in the saddle, yet she had made it through the battle.
Mair ran to her and gripped her sleeve. “You fare well?”
Lowri nodded. “Well enough,” she said, her voice strained. Then she smiled It was a beautiful, glowing expression. “What you taught the Cohort, Mair—Lancelot’s way—it saved the day, over and over. Elaine was a mighty warrior, and Brigid…!”
“Brigid fought well, then,” Mair said. Relief touched her. “Good.” The last lingering doubt she had about the pale-headed woman evaporated.
“I said I am fine!” came the raw snap.
Lynette. Mair stepped away from Lowri so she could see around the horses’ rump.
Eogan was trying to put his arm around her, as Lynette moved awkwardly.
“Lynette was injured?”
“A scratch,” Lowri said, and shrugged.
“Which Eogan will consider a death blow,” Mair said, with a sigh.
“What do you mean, you lost your balance?” Eogan demanded, his voice rising. “How can you lose your balance? You shouldn’t be fighting at all, in that case—”
“I lost my balance because I am with child again, you fool!” Lynette raged.
Silence fell. Not just Eogan, but everyone around them paused, to consider the pair.
Eogan’s jaw worked. His face shifted, his expression moving from surprise to concern, then to delight. He stepped closer to Lynette, his arms out. Lynette raised her hand in warning. “Do not touch me! You did this to me!”
Eogan laughed and held her, anyway. After a moment, Lynette sagged and wound her arms around his neck. “Fool,” she breathed again and kissed him.
On the edge of the little circle of people who were watching the pair—for there was no privacy in this rough camp—Bricius turned to Elaine. “And you did this to me.” He went down upon one knee. “Marry me, lady of my heart. Let the world see me be proud and worried about you when you fight, too.”
Elaine pressed her hand to her chest. Her eyes sparkled as she nodded.
Mair met Lowri’s eyes. The older woman smiled.
From the edge of her vision, Mair saw a gleam of white and refocused past Lowri’s shoulder. Claire had turned away from the small circle surrounding Lynette and Eogan. She moved through the lingering, slowly dispersing army.
Mair caught her breath in delight and stepped sideways to keep Claire in her sight, as the woman moved unerringly toward the Pendragon banner. Claire wore armor and a sword on her hip, and trews and boots. There was blood on her tunic and her face. Despite the stains of battle, Claire was still a lovely woman.
Mair could see Bors under the banner with the other officers. Claire moved toward him, her gaze steady.
Others saw her and tapped yet more others on the shoulder and pointed. Lionel, standing beside Bors, spotted Claire, too, and drew his brother’s attention to the woman.
Bors turned. He stiffened and held still as Claire came up before him. They were too far away for Mair to hear anything they might say. It didn’t matter, though. Claire was declaring her heart for the world to see.
Claire lifted herself up on her toes and wound her arms around Bors’ neck and kissed him.
For a moment, Bors remained still, his hands at his sides curling into fists. Then he pulled her to him, his hand in her hair and the other holding her, as he returned the kiss, while everyone around them clapped and nudged each other in the middle and smiled.
“Yo! Riders! Wagons!” came the call from the sentries on the far side of the steadily forming camp.
“I must find my men,” Mair told Lowri.
Lowri rested her hand on Mair’s shoulder. “Thank you for checking on us.”
Mair moved around the Cohort and oriented herself by facing the Pendragon banner and lining it up with the surgery area, where she could already see Merlin and Morgan and Gandar at work on the wounded laid
in long rows on the ground.
Corneus was always placed to the left of those two permanent locations, so Mair headed in that direction. As she drew closer, she could see Nye and Parry and the others setting up a rope line for the horses, unsaddling them and washing them down.
The Corneus camp would settle between the rope line and the command area, where a tent would normally be.
By the time she reached that section of the grassy field, Mair could see the riders and wagons the sentries had warned were approaching the Pendragon banner. Already, the four avenues were forming between the quarter sections of the camp, and the wagons rode along the eastern one.
Mair recognized the woman with bright red hair under a green veil, who sat beside the driver on the front wagon.
“Elen!” Mair breathed, delighted. Elen, daughter of Ilsa, and wife of Cador, had emerged from her fastness in Tintagel.
On the wagon behind the one Elen rode upon, Mair spotted Ula, Caradoc’s wife.
Elen got to her feet, clutching the driver’s shoulder, and waving, as the wagon bounced and jolted toward the cluster of senior officers under the Pendragon banner. “We heard! Victory!”
Cador stepped out from the officers. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“We stopped at Venta Belgarum and Queen Ula said she knew where the army would be. We have been a day behind you all the way.”
As the wagon stopped, Cador plucked his wife from the seat and put her on the ground. “There are Saxons all over these lands!” He gave her a little shake.
“The Saxons flee east,” Queen Ula said in her cool tone as she climbed down from the second wagon.
“Besides, we have brought food,” Elen said. “And wine.”
Cai strode forward. “Kiss your wife, Cador and get out of the way. Where is the wine?”
Everyone laughed, as Cai threw back the cover on the front wagon.
The second wagon, the one which Ula had ridden upon, was a Roman-style covered wagon, with wooden sides and a roof. From the door in the side of the upright vehicle, a small boy with golden hair and brown eyes jumped down to the ground. He could only be Cador’s son, for he was a replica of his father.
Cador gave a muttered oath, let Elen go and strode to scoop the boy up and squeeze him tightly as the boy kicked and laughed.
Behind the boy, a second passenger in the wagon stepped carefully down to the ground. She was hooded and cloaked. As she stepped to the ground, she threw the hood back and looked around.
Mair caught her breath in pleasant surprise. The girl was simply beautiful. She was just coming into womanhood—perhaps fourteen or fifteen years of age. Already her promise was overwhelming. She had the white, creamy skin of a pure native Briton. Pitch black hair tumbled and curled down her back, held only by a single chain about her head, with a gleaming white stone between her brows. Her chin was pointed, her lips full and delicately colored. Her eyes were deep midnight blue, fringed by the blackest of thick lashes.
“Guenivere!” The call, filled with delighted surprise, came from the knot of officers. Leodegrance detached himself and hurried over to the girl. He didn’t quite embrace her. Instead, his eyes creased deeply as he laughed in pleasure and picked up her hand. “Come and meet the High King.”
“I would like that, father. Thank you.” Guenivere’s voice was soft and mellow, and that of a much older woman.
Mair turned to watch Leodegrance walk the girl over to where Arthur was standing with his gauntlets in one hand, waving the other as he discussed something with Merlin and Bedivere, their heads all close together.
Bedivere jogged Arthur’s arm to draw his attention to Leodegrance.
Arthur whirled to face the older lord. His gaze shifted over the girl, then moved back to Leodegrance.
Leodegrance spoke softly. They were too far away for Mair to hear the words. She realized Nye and Iwan and most of the soldiers working at the rope lines had also come to a standstill and were watching Leodegrance and his daughter. Some of them had their mouths hanging open.
“Don’t let the horses get a chill!” Mair growled at them.
That stirred them. They shook themselves off and got back to work, although she saw furtive glances over shoulders and over the backs of horses, as they stole more glimpses of Guenivere.
Now that Claire, who had been the most sought-after woman in the camp, had declared her heart taken, it seemed Guenivere might become the lady men fought for, instead.
Mair hid her smile and found her saddle bags and set about making a bed for herself, for the night. Already, the campfires were leaping up with new flames, lighting the camp, for night had fallen.
Nye and Iwan and the others, without discussion, set up a fire in front of her bed roll, then laid out their own rolls on the other side of the fire from her. While they worked, Mair found a bucket of water and washed the worst of the blood from her flesh and her leather and weapons.
That was where King Mark found her. He came up beside her as Mair bent over the bucket and washed the back of her neck, while wishing she was in her tent and could strip everything from her and bathe properly.
“My lord!” Mair said, startled. She flicked the excess water away with her fingers and patted at her neck.
“You did well today, Mair of Corneus,” Mark said. His voice seemed even rougher than usual.
“Thank you, my lord.” As King of Kernow, Mark was Corneus’ over king, to whom they owed their allegiance. Most of the time, Mair barely remembered the hierarchy, because all of them, including Mark, owed a greater allegiance to Arthur and Britain.
“I confess I thought the idea insanity itself when Bedivere put it to me last night,” Mark added. “I am glad I was wrong.”
Mair held still. She didn’t know what to say.
“Come,” Mark said.
“To where?”
He turned back. “Have you eaten?”
Her stomach growled.
Mark smiled, his scarred eye dancing. “Come,” he repeated.
She hurried to catch up with him, as he moved through and around the campfires to the western avenue, then strode along it. Mair’s steps slowed as she realized Mark was leading her to the tight circle of senior officers around Arthur’s fire.
When Mark moved around the circle and made no attempt to sit in it, she relaxed.
Instead, the man grabbed a bowl from a stack sitting on a cloth spread upon the ground, outside the circle. As Mair moved around the outside of the circle, Mark stepped over Cai’s knee and moved over to the fire itself. A large pot hung on a tripod over the flames. He reached in, picked up the ladle and scooped whatever was in the pot into the bowl.
Then he stepped over Cai’s knee once more and thrust the bowl toward Mair. “Bread and cheese, too,” he told her, pointing to where the stack of bowls sat. A basket beside them held loaves. A wheel of cheese sat between them.
The fragrant scent rising from the bowl made Mair’s mouth water. She moved over to the basket and tore a hunk from a loaf and dipped it into the bowl to eat.
Mark moved a little way around the circle, then pushed the toe of his boot against Lucan’s rump. “Make room,” he growled.
Lucan, who was concentrating on the chat around the fire, barely looked up. He hitched himself sideways. So did a handful of the men beside him. Room opened in the circle.
Mark groaned as he lowered himself to the trampled grass and settled. “I will enjoy my sleep tonight,” he admitted.
The others chuckled. Hector thrust a flask of wine toward Mark, who took it with a nod of thanks and drank deeply.
Mair sopped the soup and ate the whole bowlful, then cut a slice of cheese and more bread, and listened with open interest as the men spoke. Arthur was sitting with the Pendragon banner above him. Everyone had arranged themselves in a circle around the fire built in front of Arthur.
Even Bedivere sat upon the ground, his normally stiff dignity abandoned.
Gaheris shook his head and reached for a wine s
kin. “I can tell you right now what Gawain would say of the matter.”
“‘I don’t have time for love,’” Cai intoned, in a remarkable imitation of Gawain’s accent and voice.
As everyone laughed, Gaheris pointed at Cai, smiling.
“‘tis a pity love exists at all,” Bevan said. “It complicates things. Life would be much simpler and easier to manage without it.”
“And far less sweet,” Bricius said.
There were nods and sighs. Druston, sitting beside Bricius, nudged him with his elbow. Bricius grinned. He cocked his head. “My lord, would you excuse me? I have…business to attend to.”
Arthur smiled. “Go kiss your wife-to-be and thank her for me, for her efforts today.”
Bricius laughed and got up and brushed grass from his legs and moved away.
Mair looked around the circle, astonishment gripping her. This was what Arthur’s great circle of companions spoke about in their council sessions? Love and domestic matters?
“Are you going to stand by the cheese all night, Mair of Corneus?” Mark asked, his voice loud and grating.
Everyone turned to look at her, including Arthur. With a start, Mair realized that the dark-haired man beside Arthur was Merlin, sitting and drinking just like the other men.
She put down her bowl. “I am finished. Thank you for the meal, my lord.” She moved back around the circle.
“Where are you going?” Arthur asked, his tone sharp.
Mair halted and turned back to face him, her heart leaping. Arthur’s tone implied she had done something wrong.
Bedivere’s face, a quarter of the way around the circle, told her nothing. Lucan covered his lower face with his hand, as usual, hiding his thoughts that way.
“My lord?” Mair addressed Arthur, uncertainty making her quiver.
Merlin placed his hand on Cai’s shoulder. Cai shifted sideways, and so did everyone on his left.
Merlin rested his long fingers on the space between him and Cai. “Sit, Mair.”
Horror spilled through her. “I cannot!”
Cai twisted to look up at her. “Did you, or did you not lead the Corneus contingent today?”
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