Hawk of May (Down the Long Way 1)

by Gillian Bradshaw

  “I…have. But what of your dream? You have had other such dreams?”

  He shrugged. “On occasion. Before my clan finished our blood feud, twenty years back, I had a dream. And I had another one before Arthur claimed the purple, and one or two others about smaller things. Nothing as long and accursedly frightening as the one last night, though. Tell me, Gwalchmai, how much of that dream was true?”

  I looked down at the hilt of my sword, where the light had died now. “I did fight a demon last night, and I did kill it, though to me it looked like nothing more than a shadow. And I know the man and the woman you saw watching, as well, though they were not here. The Saxon in the confused part, the one with the scarred face and the black flame—that was Aldwulf, King of Bernicia. But I don’t know who the man that fought him was. I know nothing about the rest.”

  “Aldwulf?” asked Sion. “I have heard of him, but never that he had a scar. In fact, it is always said that he is handsome as the devil, and proud of it.”

  “He has a scar now,” I said. “I put it there. It was for that that he called the demon to send after me.”

  Sion’s eyes widened. “How? Aldwulf of Bernicia is said to be in Din Sarum, with Cerdic and the whole Saxon army.”

  “He was, but I had been captured by the Saxons, and was pretending to be a thrall. Aldwulf had captured a horse as a gift for Cerdic, one of the horses of the…People of the Hills, you call them. I tamed the horse and rode out over Aldwulf before anyone could stop me.”

  Sion shook his head in wonder. “Dear God. As plainly as that: ‘I rode out over Aldwulf.’ So; and who were the man and the woman I saw watching you, then?”

  I hesitated. “The man was Lugh of the Long Hand. I think you call him Llwch in British.”

  He stared, off balance. “A pagan god?”

  “Not a god. Not a human, either. Beyond that, I do not know, except that he serves the Light. It was he who gave me this sword.”

  “And the Light, I take it, is God. Very well, I can make no sense of it. What of the woman? I could see that she was a ruler of Darkness, but what connection has she with you?”

  “She is my mother,” I said unhappily. “Morgawse of Orcade.”

  Sion went very still. “The witch herself,” he said at last. “Your father, then, is King Lot of the Ynysoedd Erch?”

  I nodded.

  “Well,” said Sion, after another long pause, “It is not only dreams that are very strange, these days. You are not what I pictured for the son of a king and an emperor’s daughter, especially not when both of them have such a reputation, and when I had heard that the younger sons of the Queen Morgawse were…” he broke off. He had heard, plainly enough, that the younger sons of the Queen Morgawse were likewise witches. Poor Medraut, if he had acquired that reputation now.

  “And you are not what I pictured for a prophet,” I returned.

  “I? A prophet? Do not talk foolishness!”

  “What else was that dream but prophetic? I think that many of the things you saw must be still to come.”

  “It is only a dream, not to…damn,” said Sion. He had not thought of the light it cast on himself. I laughed. He glared at me for a moment, then grinned. “I am a plain farmer,” he said, “and I do not think that any such thing will happen to me again. I have no part in any of these great and terrible battles, nor want any part: it is trouble enough, more than trouble enough, to run a holding in these days, and see that there is peace and good order in my own house. Still, I am glad that this has happened, for how can one not wish, in times such as these, to preserve civilization and the empire and the light of Britain.” He frowned again, then said, in a very low voice, “Remember me, Gwalchmai—Lord Gwalchmai, I suppose it is. I know that I have not done anything in deed, only told you a dream. But it would make me glad to know, ten or twenty years from now, that one of those in the center of the battle might remember me if I went and spoke to him.”

  “It is not likely that I will forget you or your dream,” I said. “But I doubt that I have any great part in the things that are to come.”

  Sion gave me a look of flat disbelief. “You have. Someday, I will tell my grandchildren how I met you on your way to Camlann and gave you a ride in my cart, and they will not believe a word of it.” He stood, dusting off his knees. “They will say, ‘There is Grandfather, pretending that once he knew all the kings in Britain and making himself foolish.’”

  I shook my head. What fighting I did would surely be in dark places, where there is no fame to be brought back to the sunlit world. “Why don’t you wait until Arthur has accepted my sword before planning what you will tell your grandchildren?” I asked. “You might say, ‘And once I met Gwalchmai mac Lot,’ and they will only reply, ‘Who?’”

  Sion shook his head stubbornly. “That they will not say. Do you wish to leave now for Camlann?”

  We were just leaving the chapel when we heard the sound of shouting and of horses from the abbey yard. We glanced at each other and hurried out into the sunlight, and found the other travellers, most of the monks, and a group of warriors standing about within the gate and shouting. There were about a dozen of the warriors; they were British, mounted on tall war-horses, and their arms gleamed.

  One of the monks was doing most of the shouting. He was the abbot, I guessed, from the quality of his clothing and the jewels on the gold pectoral cross he wore. “What more?” he was demanding. “We have had to ask more from our flock to cover what you have taken already, and we’ve barely enough to last us until the harvest even so…”

  “Do you think you can put us off with plain lies?” answered one of the warriors. He was a very big man, so big that his war-horse looked small. His red hair bristled in all directions, and his light blue eyes glittered dangerously; he wore more jewelry than I had seen on one man before, and brighter colors. “You have enough and more than enough to grow fat on, without taking double tithes of your miserable ‘sheep’ and robbing every traveller who comes by expecting hospitality. If the Saxons came here, they would take all you have, down to the last rush and candlestick. Aren’t you grateful to us for keeping them away?”

  “The Saxons are only an excuse, a pretext put forward by a tyrant!” said the monk fiercely.

  The warriors laughed. “Perhaps now you prefer the Saxons to the emperor,” said another, a lean, dark, one-handed man in plain clothing. “But you would think otherwise if the Pendragon ceased to fight them.”

  The abbot snarled, “It is the duty of Christian kings to protect their people; it is not their duty to rob them. We cannot give…”

  “Oh? Hear him, brothers!” said the red-head. “He cannot give. But we can take.”

  “Robbers!” cried the abbot.

  “Be careful, Cei,” warned the dark warrior. “Arthur said we must not push them to breaking.”

  Cei shrugged. “But if we bend them a little? Perhaps with a little fire? Just a small one, on top of the gate house?”

  The abbot looked at him furiously, decided not to risk seeing whether he was serious. “You godless killers,” he said. “We keep some supplies over there, only a few, but all we have.”

  The dark warrior gave his comrade, Cei, a meaningful look. “Yes, perhaps you keep the tenth part of your goods there. Truly, Theodoruas, it does you no good to lie to us. Last time you said you had no gold, and then came to us wanting us to recover what you’d sent to Sorviodunum for safekeeping. Very well, I suppose that that will have to do for now.” He turned from the abbot to Sion and the other travellers and announced, “The Pendragon has won another victory, for he came across a large Saxon raiding party in Powys, and destroyed it. Praise to God.”

  The farmers cheered. The Saxon raids would probably be eased slightly now, and their lands and herds were safer.

  “It is good that you are pleased,” said Cei. “In token of it, you can lend us any carts and horses you have. You can claim them in Camlann, and you’ll be paid for any goods you’ve brought.”

&nbs
p; The farmers fell abruptly silent.

  “By my name saint!” said Sion angrily. “I’ve a fine load of wheat flour in my cart, and my best horses harnessed to it. I’ll not lend it to any before you pay me.”

  The other farmers muttered angry agreement. The dark warrior shrugged. “You will be repaid. The emperor will not cheat you.”

  “You misheard me,” said Sion. “I said, I will not lend you my cart and cargo without payment.”

  “Yes you will,” said Cei. “You will lend it for payment later, or lose it altogether.”

  “That is not just,” I said, becoming as angry as the farmers. “I do not think that your lord could approve of it.”

  The dark warrior lifted an eyebrow. “We need supplies,” he said, very calm and reasonable. “We need carts and horses to move the supplies, and all of ours are damaged or being used for the wounded. My lord Arthur approves. You will be paid, never fear.” I continued to stare angrily, and suddenly he frowned and gave me a sharper look.

  The other spokesman for the warriors, Cei, ignored the whole exchange and simply asked the farmers, “Where are your carts?”

  Sion spat and crossed his arms. “First pay me.” The other farmers followed his example and remained stubborn.

  “Give them some token now,” I suggested to the dark warrior, “or at least mark down the value of the goods, so that they can be sure of their full payment when they reach the High King.”

  Cei glared at me. “Who, by God, are you? You’re no farmer. What’s your business here?”

  “My name is Gwalchmai, and I was going to Camlann to seek service with the Pendragon.”

  Cei laughed. “Arthur has no need of swineherds. You had better go back to wherever you came from and leave warriors’ matters to warriors.” He said it as a challenge, speaking as Agravain often had.

  The dark one shifted uneasily. “Cei, stop.”

  “What? Bedwyr, you cannot want to defend this base-born meddler?”

  Bedwyr shook his head dubiously. “Let him be. If he speaks the truth, he may be our comrade soon.”

  “Him? A warrior? Look at how he’s dressed! He hasn’t even a horse!”

  “Nonetheless,” said Bedwyr. “Let us take what we need and go, without fighting. We must reach Camlann quickly.”

  “Bedwyr, my brother, do not turn moralist on me again. I swear the oath of my people, you Bretons are worse than Northerners, and almost as bad as the Irish.”

  Bedwyr smiled. “So, it is ‘bad as the Irish’ again? There speaks a true Dumnonian. But I seem to recall that…”

  “Per omnes sanctos! There are exceptions; I admitted that I was wrong about him. God in heaven, how you revel in my mistakes. Why am I cursed with such disloyal friends?”

  At this the warriors began to laugh and Bedwyr smiled again.

  “Truly, Cei,” he continued, “you are over-fond of fighting; and it will hurt us here.”

  Cei sighed. “Very well.” He looked back to me. “I will overlook it, you. Now, men, where are your carts?”

  “Where is your justice?” replied Sion, but uncertainly now.

  “Be quiet, farmer!” snapped Cei. “Or I will teach you when to hold your tongue.”

  My hand dropped to Caledvwlch’s hilt. Cei saw the movement and drew his own sword with a ring of metal, his eyes lighting. The warriors fell silent.

  “What do you mean to do with that, my friend?” asked Cei, soft-voiced now, and courteous.

  “Cei…” Bedwyr began again, then stopped, seeing that it was useless.

  “I do not mean to do anything with this,” I said, my voice also soft. “But I will not have you threatening my friends as well as stealing their goods.”

  Cei dismounted and came closer, grinning fiercely. Abruptly I realized what I had done and wondered what could have come over me. How could I fight a professional warrior, one of Arthur’s men? The most I could hope for was not to be hurt too badly.

  But I could not withdraw now, and something of the same lightness fell on me. I drew Caledvwlch. Cei grinned still more widely and took another step forward.

  “Cei! Who is it now?” came a voice from the back of the group. The warriors glanced round.

  Another of their number had ridden up, carrying some of the monks’ supplies, and Cei’s band made room for him. He was a tall man of about twenty-one, with long gold hair and a neat beard and moustache. He wore a purple-bordered cloak fastened with gold, and radiated energy and strength. His hot blue eyes skipped lightly over me to rest on Cei. “If this man is all, he’s not worth it.”

  “He began it,” said Cei in an injured tone.

  “The day someone else begins a fight with you, rivers will run backwards,” said the newcomer. “By the sun and the wind, for once let us obey Arthur and simply take the supplies and go.”

  Cei paused, glanced back at me. I sheathed Caledvwlch.

  Cei sighed a little, then sheathed his own sword. “Well enough. It is not worth it; and it is too soon after a battle besides.” He swung up on to his horse. The blond man grinned and turned his own horse. The tension was gone: the foraging party would take what it wanted and go.

  “Wait!” I called. The warriors stopped, turned, looking inquisitive. I smiled, feeling a strange emotion, half joy, half an old envy and bitterness—bitterness which dissolved away, leaving only the joy.

  “A thousand welcomes, Agravain,” I said to the blond warrior.

  Ten

  My brother sat motionless for a moment, staring at me with his old hot stare. Then he dismounted hurriedly, ran a few steps towards me; stopped; walked on slowly.

  “It is impossible,” he said, his face growing red. “You…you are dead.”

  “Truly, I am not.” I replied.

  “Gwalchmai?” he asked. “Gwalchmai?”

  “You know him?” demanded Cei in astonishment. Agravain did not even look round.

  “I had not thought to see you so soon,” I said. “I am very glad.”

  He smiled hesitantly, then beamed, caught my shoulders, looked at me, and crushed me in a hug. “Gwalchmai! By the sun and the wind, I thought that you were dead, three years dead! Och, God, God, it is good to see you!”

  I returned the embrace wholeheartedly, laughing, and it seemed that finally all the dark years of our childhood were blotted out for me. We had both endured too many things to feel anything but gladness on meeting one another again.

  “What is happening?” asked Cei, in complete confusion. “Why are you jabbering in Irish?”

  “Cei!” shouted Agravain, releasing me and whirling about to his comrades. “This is my brother, Gwalchmai, the one who died—the one I thought had died! I swear the oath of my people, I do not know how, but this is he.”

  The warriors reacted by staring in astonishment, except for Cei, who gave me a look of first embarrassment, then apology. But the farmers around me drew away a little, and the monks stared with increased suspicion.

  “So he is the famous Agravain ap Lot,” said Sion, looking at my brother—the only one in the crowd who was.

  “Is he famous?” I asked, remembering my old worries for Agravain’s case as a hostage. Clearly, they had been wasted. “Och well, it might have been expected.” Agravain grinned at that.

  “Where have you been when you were considered dead, that you heard nothing of your brother’s fame?” asked Bedwyr quietly. I looked up, met his eyes, and felt respect for him.

  “I have been to a distant place,” I said. “And through strange things, too many to tell quickly.”

  “Indeed,” said Bedwyr, not questioning at all, and shook himself.

  “These are strange matters enough,” said another of the warriors. “Come, let’s finish our business here and go to Camlann. Arthur and the rest will be there soon, and there’s nothing to eat there but pork rinds and cabbage.”

  Most of the foraging party set about loading the monks’ goods into the already loaded carts, and, at my insistence taking down the amount and kin
d of the farmers’ goods. Agravain and I stood looking at each other and trying to decide how to begin. Then the carts rolled out into the yard, and Sion, who had been harnessing his mare, reluctantly jumped from the seat. “You will see that my horse is well treated?” he asked me.

  I nodded, then, realizing that it was intended that he should continue to Camlann on foot and that I might not see him again, I caught his hand. “And I will remember you, Sion ap Rhys, if the thought of that gives you pleasure. If I do not see you at Camlann, remember that. And if ever you need any help, and I can give it, my sword is yours.”

  “I thank you,” he replied, quietly. “And…may God grant you favor with the emperor.”

  “And may you walk in Light.” I climbed into his cart and took the reins. “I will drive this one,” I told Agravain. He nodded, and I shook the reins. The little mare started off, trotting down the hill towards the causeway. Those warriors who had taken the other carts followed, and Agravain rode his horse beside me. We left Ynys Witrin and turned east for the main road and Camlann.

  “Why don’t you let the farmers drive their own carts?” I asked Agravain.

  “They would go too slowly, and when they arrived in Camlann, drive the prices up by their bargaining. As it is we can have the standard price ready for them when they reach the gate, and send them off at once. You seemed friendly with that man; where did you meet him?”

  “On the road, yesterday.”

  Agravain checked his horse. “Yesterday? What did he do for you, that you let him take liberties?”

  “He gave me a ride in his cart, and paid for my night’s stay at Ynys Witrin. I had nothing to pay with.”