The Irish king nodded glumly, but said nothing.
'Go now,' Arthur commanded. 'This matter is ended.'
Conaire rose and, looking neither right nor left, walked slowly from the ruined hall.
'You crushed him, Bear,' Bedwyr said when Conaire had departed.
'He will recover,' Arthur grumbled. 'Which is more than can be said for many of the men who trusted him with their lives.'
'Better the slap of a friend,' observed Fergus, 'than the stab of an enemy.'
Arthur turned cold eyes on Fergus. 'And you,' he said in a tone of tight restraint, 'will ride to the settlements round about – if any are left intact – to raise tribute for us. We have had to come away with only what we could carry, and there is not enough food or drink to sustain us.'
'It will be done.' Fergus rose and walked out, pausing at the threshold for a moment to say, 'I never was so glad to see a man with a sword in his hand as when I saw you today, Arthur ap Aurelius. I thank you.' He ducked his head through the door and disappeared.
'My father is right,' Gwenhwyvar murmured. 'If not for you, we would all be dead now.'
'It is God you must thank,' Arthur told her. 'If the winds had been contrary, or a storm had raised the waves – or if I had chosen to spend the night in my bed rather than in the bottom of a boat…' He looked at his wife, considering the implications. 'I thank God you are alive,' he said. 'We are fortunate indeed.'
Gwenhwyvar leaned close, took up his sword hand and pressed it to her lips. 'Well I know it, husband,' she whispered. 'Well I know it.'
The British lords, having settled their men, began arriving in the hall just then. Gwenhwyvar kissed Arthur quickly, rose, and departed. Her fingers lingered along the line of his shoulders as she passed behind him.
Cador sat down beside Arthur. 'You did not tell us that there were so many barbarians,' he chided.
'If I had told you,' Arthur replied easily, 'you might have found it more agreeable to stay home.'
'At least I would have had a bed.' Cador drew a hand through his hair and rubbed his face. 'These Vandali are certainly strange-looking creatures.'
One of Fergus' men appeared with more cups and jars of ale. He proceeded to fill and distribute the cups among the lords as they sat down. 'Where is their homeland?' wondered Meurig.
Arthur invited me to answer. 'They have come from Carthage, where they have lived for many years,' I replied. 'The Emperor of the East has driven them from that place, and so now they search for new lands, and plunder as they go.'
'You know this truly?' mused Owain.
'They have with them a slave – a priest named Hergest, who speaks our tongue,' Arthur answered. 'He has told us the little we know.'
'But who are they?' demanded Ogryvan. 'And who is their king?'
'They are a northern race,' I answered, 'led by one Amilcar, who styles himself Twrch Trwyth, the Black Boar of Hussa, Rogat, and Vandalia. He is a rapacious lord whose greed is exceeded only by his vanity.'
We talked of this for a time, and then the conversation turned to the lack of any worthwhile Irish presence. The British kings were sharply critical of the circumstance, and allowed their opinions free rein. They decried the catastrophe on the battlefield.
'I would have welcomed a little more support from the Irish,' Ogryvan suggested delicately.
'Support?' sneered Brastias. 'Even my cowherds are better able to defend themselves. Can they not be bothered to protect their own lands?'
'Hold, Brastias,' Bedwyr warned. 'They know their mistake. Arthur has dealt with them. The matter is ended.'
The lords stared uneasily into their cups, and it was only when the haunches of venison appeared and men began to eat that tempers eased. Still, it was not a good beginning; the lords trusted Arthur, yes, and for now were content to extend that trust to include the Irish. But for how long?
That was the question concerning me. Taking the matter into my own hands, I left the lords to their repast and went in search of Conaire. I found him sitting with three of his chieftains beside a small fire; I did not wait to be greeted. 'May I join you?" I asked.
Conaire raised his eyes and I glimpsed genuine surprise in his expression. 'Sit,' he said. 'You are welcome here, bard.'
He returned his gaze to the fire. I decided a clean cut was best. 'Arthur holds no ill will for you, Conaire,' I told him. 'But we cannot drive the invader from the land without the aid of the southern Irish. You must see that now.'
Conaire nodded glumly.
'I know what happened,' I continued, drawing him out. 'You saw how easily Arthur repelled the first attack, and you thought it would be the same with you.'
'That I did,' replied Conaire, staring into the fire.
'Well, there is no shame in it,' I said. 'Some of the best warriors the world has ever seen have tried their hand.'
'Truly?' wondered Conaire, glancing up hopefully.
'Truly,' I answered solemnly. 'The grave mounds are full of Saecsen war leaders who thought they knew how to best Arthur.'
Caught, the Irish king squirmed. 'Is he a god then, that he never puts a foot wrong in battle?'
'No, Arthur is a man,' I assured him. 'But he is not like other men when it comes to a fight. The ways of war are meat and drink to him, Conaire. His skill is like to the genius of a bard, and -'
'A bard of battle.' Conaire sniffed in mild derision.
I paused, checking my anger. 'Mock me, Conaire, I do not mind. But the men who died under your command today deserved better.'
'Do I not know that?' His voice was anguished. 'I sit here with my head in my hands and it is all I am thinking.'
'Then while you sit there, add this thought to your thinking. You may not like the Britons -'
'A true word there,' muttered one of the Irish chieftains.
'Even so,' I allowed, 'Arthur has risked much to bring those Britons here. I do not say you should like it, but you should be grateful at least.'
Conaire shrugged, but said nothing. His insolent silence angered me. 'Think!' I demanded. 'Which is easier: raising a warband and sailing to a foreign land to engage a fearsome enemy, or remaining secure in your own realm and enjoying the fruit of your reign?' The four of them stared dully at me. 'Tell me, if you know.' Contempt dripped from my words.
'You make it more than it is,' Conaire insisted weakly.
'So?' I challenged. 'If it is a matter of such small consequence, then tell me this: which of you would do the same for him?'
Conaire's eyes shifted to one and another of his chieftains and then back to the fire. None of them made bold to reply.
Suddenly sickened by the Irish king's misplaced pride and selfishness, I wanted nothing more to do with him. Rising at once, I bade him consider well my words. Then I removed myself from that miserable company.
Great Light, they are but children! Breathe on them the breath of wisdom, strengthen their hearts and souls, for in the heat-rage of battle we need not children, but men!
TWELVE
We met Amilcar and his horde the next day in a narrow valley beside a lake. The foe displayed a guile not seen before. Instead of simply overwhelming us with their numbers, they split the main body of their force into three divisions and attempted to draw and separate the British defence. It was clumsily done, however, and Arthur easily avoided the trap. The attack, confined and constricted by the steep sides of the glen, quickly collapsed and the invaders withdrew in all haste. In this they showed freshly acquired wisdom.
'The Black Boar is growing canny,' Cai observed, watching the Vandal host streaming from the valley.
'They are learning respect,' Bedwyr suggested.
Llenlleawg, overhearing the remark, said, 'They are learning cunning. It will not be long before they overcome their fear of our horses.'
'Pray that does not happen,' Arthur replied. 'Our ships will arrive soon, and if Conaire succeeds in rallying the south Irish we may have a large enough force to defeat the Boar and his piglets, or drive them bac
k to the sea.'
Our ships did arrive later that day, bringing the remaining men and horses, but only a fraction of the provisions we required. 'I am sorry, Lord,' Rhys apologized as we stood looking at the scant heap of provisions stacked on the shingle. Men slogged ashore through the shallows, leading horses, or carrying weapons. 'I swear it is all I could raise. If I had had more time to range farther…" he paused. 'I am sorry.'
'Where is the blame?' Arthur asked. 'I find no fault with you. Fret not, Rhys.'
'But it is a shameful portion for men who must fight.'
'True,' the king agreed, but added optimistically, 'Still, it may be enough – if the campaign is short.'
'Oh, aye,' Rhys said, eyeing the meagre heap doubtfully, 'if we conclude the conflict tomorrow or the day after. The supplies will last that long at least.'
We did not fight Twrch the next day, nor the day after – although we did keep close watch on the enemy. Arthur set scouts in a wide ring around the Vandal encampment, and charged them with reporting even the smallest movement, day or night – requiring them also to bring back any game for the pot. When, for the third day, the Black Boar again refused to take the field, Arthur grew suspicious.
'Why does he wait?' Arthur wondered. 'What can he be thinking? He must know that the longer he delays the stronger our forces grow.'
And indeed, Conaire arrived the following day with five Irish kings and their warbands-over nine hundred men in all, though less than half were mounted. This brought the number of defenders to nearly two thousand in all. Arthur was well pleased with the southern lords' support. Unfortunately, they seemed to have come empty-handed, expecting food and supplies to be provided by the Britons.
'I commend you, Conaire,' Arthur said, hailing him loudly and with praise in the hearing of his brother kings. 'You have richly increased our numbers. I do not doubt that with such support as you have won, we will soon drive the foe from your lands.'
'And it had best be soon indeed," Gwenhwyvar added. 'We have but one day's feeding for our own warriors, and not even that if we must share it with all.'
Conaire's smooth brow creased in concern, and the gratified smile faded from his lips. 'Is this so?' He swung accusingly towards Arthur. 'I thought you would bring food supplies with you.'
'I brought all I could raise,' Arthur answered. 'The peace of Ynys Prydein is but new-won; the war was long and our storehouses and granaries are empty still.'
'Besides,' continued Gwenhwyvar severely, 'this is not Britain's fight. Do you expect the British-folk to feed us as well as fight for us?' She cast him a withering glance. 'See here, Conaire Tight Fist, you must open that worm-eaten trove of yours and part with some of your treasure.'
Conaire rolled his eyes and puffed out his cheeks. 'The wealth of the Uladh is no concern of yours, woman!' he sputtered. 'Why, are there no deer on the hills, nor fish in the lakes?'
'If we are fishing,' Gwenhwyvar replied, arching a pretty eyebrow dangerously, 'we cannot be fighting. Or is it in your mind to frighten the Vandali away by waving fishnets at them?' She whirled away imperiously, denying Conaire any rebuttal.
'Ach! But she is a sharp-tongued terror,' the Irishman muttered. 'If she were not also a queen – ' He glanced at Arthur and left the thought unfinished. The southern lords drew near just then, and Conaire squared himself and straightened.
'It is simple truth,' I suggested, 'and plain as our need: we lack food. As this is your realm, Conaire, we must look to you to supply it.'
Conaire, still smarting under the lash of Gwenhwyvar's rebuke, did not wish to appear niggardly under the watchful gaze of noblemen from Connacht and Meath. He drew himself up full height. 'Never fear,' he said expansively, 'stand back and watch what I will do. There is no lack when Conaire Red Hand is near.'
'I leave the matter with you,' Arthur said. He turned to the southern lords and greeted them, then presented himself saying, 'I am Arthur, King of the Britons, and the man with me is Myrddin Emrys, Chief Bard of Lloegres, Prydein and Celyddon.'
'To be sure, the names of Arthur and the Emrys are not unknown among us,' one of the kings replied. 'I am Aedd of clan Ui Neill. Kinsman to Fergus I am, and it is my good pleasure to greet you, Arthur, King of the Britons. My men and I are at your service and yours to command.' Then he inclined his head in a slight bow of respect.
Turning to me, he said, 'But there is surely some error here: you cannot be that Emrys renowned in story. I had thought you full of years, yet here I see but a shaveling youth.'
Aedd spoke with such simple grace and goodwill that both Arthur and I found ourselves warming to him at once. 'Do not let appearances deceive, Lord Aedd. The old man of the stories and myself are one.'
Aedd expressed his astonishment. 'Then it is true! You are a very Prince of the Otherworld.'
'My people wear our years more lightly than most, I cannot deny it; but while we live we walk this world and not another,' I told him. 'So, in the name of the One who made us all, I am pleased to greet you.'
The remaining four now pressed in, eager to be recognized by us. Aedd, to Conaire's vexation, took it upon himself to introduce his fellow kings: Diarmait, Eogan of the Ui Maine, Ulan, and Laigin – all four young men and strong, at ease with themselves and with their men, confident in their abilities. Each displayed an easy wealth: they wore bright-coloured cloaks – red-and-blue striped, broom yellow, and emerald green; their torcs were huge gold bands of twisted coils which, together with their rings and bracelets, could have kept a governor's household; their boots and belts were good leather, and the swords on their hips fine steel, long and sharp-edged.
The five displayed an easy assurance to match their wealth. I did not begrudge it them. Yet I was mindful that Conaire, for all his confidence, was woefully ineffectual. Still, I thought, if swagger alone could prevail against the Vandal horde, we would not have to put hand to sword.
Each of the Irish chieftains deferred to Arthur, acknowledging his renown and placing themselves under his command. Aedd and Laigin, dark-haired handsome men, seemed particularly earnest in securing Arthur's good favour. This pleased and gratified Arthur, nor did it pass Conaire unnoticed. As this natural warmth began to flow between Arthur and his Irish brothers, Conaire grew increasingly tight-lipped and aloof.
We dined together that night, British and Irish together, noblemen all. And though the meal was far from sumptuous, it became a feast in the glow of new-kindled friendship. The Irish kings ceaselessly plied the British with questions about hunting and riding, battles won and lost, matters of kingcraft and kinship. They professed themselves delighted with all they learned. For their part, the British were pleasantly surprised by their Irish companions.
Most of the Britons had come harbouring long-standing resentment, if not hostility, towards the Irish. As I have said, they or their fathers had fought Irish raiders too many times to think well of them; and Conaire's poor showing and worse manners had not altered opinion for the better. For Arthur's sake alone they had come, not from any goodwill towards the inhabitants of Ierne. Now, however, seated side-by-side along the weathered board with a hole in the roof and the summer stars looking down, the British lords, like Arthur before them, found genuine affection springing up between them and the Irish chieftains.
Nor was it drink making them feel that way: we had only enough to wet our tongues with a welcome cup and the supply of ale was exhausted. Rather was it the inborn charm of DeDannan's children: their graceful flattery beguiled and enchanted. Like their music – which, along with nearly all else, they stole from Ynys Prydein years ago-their words spin and dance in beautifully intricate patterns, delighting both ear and soul.
'How they talk. It is like the angels, surely,' Cai chuckled, entranced by the lightness of their speech.
'They spin fine wool,' Bedwyr agreed, 'only you must not let it droop over your eyes, Cai.' He was reluctant to give himself to them wholeheartedly; having grown to manhood on Britain's western coast, Bedwyr had bloodshed to balan
ce his opinion.
Laigin, sitting across from Bedwyr, overheard the remark. 'For shame,' he said, his smile wide and comfortable, 'is it to bruise my heart that you speak so?'
'I fear for you, friend,' Bedwyr answered readily, 'if your heart is so easily bruised. Life must be a perpetual injury to you.'
Laigin laughed. 'I like you, Bedwyr. And had I a drop left in this cup of mine, I would drink the health of Britain's Bright Avenger.' He raised his empty cup, cradling it in both hands: 'To the most noble warrior who ever drew sword or lofted spear.'
Bedwyr, resting his elbows on the board, allowed himself to be cozened by Laigin's flattery. 'It seems to me you need nothing in your cup,' Bedwyr replied, 'for words alone suffice to cheer you.'
'He is drunk indeed,' Cai observed dryly, 'if he thinks you the most noble warrior under this roof.'
'Again, I am wounded,' Laigin declared, placing his hand over his heart.
'Well,' Bedwyr allowed, 'I suppose we must offer some remedy for this injury.'
Laigin leaned forward eagerly at that. I saw that we had come to the kernel of the young lord's concern – and also how adroitly he had directed the conversation to his own ends.
'Allow me the honour of riding beside you in battle tomorrow,' Laigin said, eager as a boy for his father's approval.
'If that would console you,' Bedwyr began.
'It would encourage me wonderfully well,' Laigin put in quickly.
'Then so be it.' Bedwyr raised his hand in assent. 'If you ply the blade half as well as you employ your wit, we shall be the most feared warriors on the field of battle.'
Cai gave a little snort to show what he thought of the notion. Up spoke Aedd from two places away, and I realized he had been following the conversation closely, overhearing every word. 'Let them console themselves with their pitiful belief if they can, brother Cai,' he said. 'Take no heed. Only allow me to ride beside you and we will show one and all what can be accomplished by men who know the sharp end of a spear.'
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