“That is exactly what I am,” I said. “That, and very thirsty.”
He slid the yoke off his neck and handed me one of the buckets. “Drink some, and I think you had better use the rest to wash in. You are a sight. If you don’t mind my asking, who are you? You look as though you were in the thick of it.”
I took a long drink before answering. The water was delicious. “My name is Gwalchmai, son of Lot.”
He actually gasped. “Sweet Jesu! Annwn, but you were in the thick of it indeed! My lord, I can tell my children of this, to be sure!” The man caught my hand and clasped it eagerly. “Indeed, my lord, you are the hero of the camp!”
“Am I? I don’t remember it. I was not even sure what I was doing.”
He gave me a puzzled look. “That is not the talk of a warrior.”
“Well, I suppose I am not yet used to being a warrior.” I felt very pleased, though. Extravagant praises are given to the finest fighters in any battle, and, though it seemed unreal, I had earned that position. My father would hear of this, and be proud. Arthur would accept me. I felt as though some inner wound had finally healed.
I took the bucket of water back to our tent, which was still empty, and there washed and put on a clean tunic. When first I saw my reflection in the water of the bucket I understood the servant’s initial suspicious look. I was covered with grime and dried blood. I felt grateful to Lugh for the gift of madness that hid the memory of how that blood had got there. I vaguely remembered rubbing the worst of the blood off my sword the night before, but I took it out and cleaned and oiled it again now. Then, feeling still happier, I set out again to find Ceincaled.
He had been picketed in the best place in the line, well-groomed and watered and fed with grain, but he was very pleased to see me. While I checked him to see if he had been at all hurt, listening to the grooms congratulating me on the way I had fought, Agravain came up.
He shouted my name when he saw me, ran over to give me one of his bear hugs, then stepped back, grinning. “I thought you would be here,” he stated cheerfully. “By the sun, Gwalchmai, the thing appears no less splendid in the morning than on the night.”
I shook my had. “I don’t remember it. And what else could I have done? Bedwyr ordered the charge, not I.”
“But the charge would have failed without you. Don’t disagree with me, brother—accept the credit. You deserve it!”
I grinned back. “By the Light, it is a miracle. Arthur will accept me now.”
“He’d be an idiot if he didn’t, and he is certainly not that. By the sun and the wind, though! There we were at the centers, slogging away, thrust and cut and push and getting nowhere, until around noon Arthur caught the standard himself and shouted for us to charge, and we thought we had them. And then we hear a sound like the sky falling, and look up, and there is the cavalry charging down. By the sun, Arthur was angry—he thought you had decided you could not wait—only then he saw what was happening. We all thought it couldn’t be done, and the Saxons were even laughing, falling back a little to watch. But then you charged ahead of the rest, looking like CuChulainn, and drew that sword of yours—I swear the oath, it cast shadows all the way over to where I was—and you did it! You broke through their shield-wall, and the rest came in behind you and chopped them to bits.”
“That…yes, I remember that. But you; what happened in the center?”
“We started to yell our lungs out, and ran at the Saxons and carried them back until they were falling over themselves to get away from us. And then I and some others had to run down to the bridge, because your lot took it and left it again, and Arthur didn’t want the Saxons to escape by the road. Hard fighting there, for a time. But it was the cavalry charge that won the battle, and you were the one who won the charge. There will be songs about this, brother!”
“And I am glad,” I said, because to say more made the understatement even worse.
“What did you mean, then, that you don’t remember it?”
I explained, and he listened carefully. “Like CuChulainn,” he said, nodding. “I wondered what you meant last night. Well indeed; there are plenty who become at least a little mad in battle.”
I nodded back and asked, “Where is Arthur?”
He paused, considering. “Probably, he is talking with emissaries from Cerdic and the other Saxons. That, or asleep. He was up until dawn.”
“Till dawn?” It seemed incredible, when I remembered the army’s exhaustion, that anyone could have stayed on his feet until dawn. “What was he doing?”
“Och, he was trying to find out what had happened to everyone. But we can go to see if he is free.” Agravain gave Ceincaled a wary pat on the neck, which the horse tolerantly accepted, and we set off. “He always tries to account for each member of the Family before resting,” Agravain went on. “He meets with Cei and Bedwyr and hears who was hurt, and tries to learn whether they are dying or dead or only wounded or missing. He goes to the sick tents and talks to the wounded, especially those that are dying. And he sees that the physicians have all they need and that the wounded are being properly cared for.”
“He is a great king.”
“The greatest in the West,” Agravain agreed, smiling widely. “Which makes him the only fit lord for a warrior such as yourself.”
Arthur was indeed in consultation with emissaries from the Saxons when we arrived at his tent. We joined the crowd of men bringing matters for his decision, and waited.
Soon, I told myself, I would have a place. Morgawse would be proved wrong for ever and I could stop questioning and doubting. Whatever might come next, I would have something I could rely upon. I would be a part of the Family, a servant of the greatest king in Britain, the man who was the center of the struggle raging on Earth. In my imagination I saw it: Arthur would come out of the tent with the Saxons, see Agravain and me and hurry over to us. He would smile, as he had not smiled at me before, and he would take my hand…
The tent-flap opened and Arthur came out, followed by four Saxon noblemen and then by Bedwyr, who had been holding the flap of the tent open.
“It is agreed, then?” Arthur said.
“The terms are harsh,” one of the Saxons said. I recognized him as one of Cerdic’s men. His British was excellent.
“A matter of opinion; I think them mild. You have said this before, however. Is it agreed?”
The Saxon nodded glumly. “Tomorrow, mid-morning, on the road by the bridge. We will bring the arm-ring of Thunor and swear the oath on it.” He paused again. “My Lord will be displeased.”
“Tell him that I do him great honor by giving him another form of oath than that I use for the rest of my subjects. It is plain enough that to swear the Threefold Oath in the name of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit means nothing to you.”
“The terms are fair,” said another of the Saxons.
“For you, perhaps,” snapped the first. “You are not asked to surrender lands…” and he added something in Saxon.
“If the lord refuses to accept the terms,” Arthur said, “he must propose others as good, or fight again. You have safe-conduct from my camp, noble lords.”
The Saxons took the hint, bowed politely, and left, escorted by some British warriors. Arthur sighed, watching them leave, and began to turn to Bedwyr with some comment. Then he saw Agravain and me.
Again, his eyes widened slightly, and the shadow fell over him. Again I could feel the Darkness between us, and his horror. For a moment we both stood as though frozen, and my hopes collapsed for a second time, crumbling into dust and leaving me dazed and bitter in their ruin.
Bedwyr followed his lord’s gaze, saw us, and frowned. He touched Arthur’s arm, and the High King nodded and started over to us.
“Agravain,” he said, clapping my brother on the shoulder. “For holding the bridge yesterday, many thanks; it was well done.”
Agravain’s eyes lit and he grinned. “I think we managed to set them back a bit, my lord.”
“A little,
” returned Arthur, smiling in return. “By Heaven, you fought like a lion, like a wolf setting a herd of deer to flight.”
Agravain grinned still more widely. “Perhaps it was so, indeed. And my brother also will be praised, for he fought like a falcon, stooping upon a flock of doves, and broke the shield-wall.” Arthur said nothing, dropping his hand, and Agravain only then noticed that anything was wrong. “Gwalchmai, of any of us, deserves your praise,” he said, more hesitantly now.
“He has my thanks,” Arthur said, after a long silence. “For his part in the battle yesterday.”
I bowed slightly, not trusting myself to speak. What with confusion and hurt I did not know what I might say.
“What kind of thanks is that?” asked Agravain, still confused as to what was happening. “My lord, Gwalchmai saved the battle for us.”
“And he has my thanks for it. I expect that now he will find it easy to serve any lord in Britain.”
“Any but yourself,” I finished for him.
The High King looked at me again, at last, and his eyes were like the north sea in midwinter. “I would rather any man but yourself had broken the shield-wall,” he said, in a very quiet, level voice. “A defeat at arms I could have mended, but a victory by the wrong means is worse than a defeat. Without the dream, the war is pointless.”
“I agree, Lord Pendragon,” I said. “And I fought for your dream, though I do not say I understand it entirely. Do you truly believe that I broke the shield-wall by the use of sorcery?”
He did not need to answer. His stare was enough.
Agravain seized his arm. “What do you mean? Didn’t Gwalchmai prove anything yesterday? He has earned the thanks of every man in the Family, and of all Britain, all that fear the Saxons!”
“I have given him my thanks,” Arthur said, still quietly, but with a sharper edge to the coldness. “That alone is more than I wish; do not ask me to do more.”
“You have done nothing! By the gods of my people, where is your famous justice? Gwalchmai has proved…”
“Nothing; except that he can kill Saxons. The which we knew already,” snapped Arthur. “It is not your place to speak to me so, Agravain ap Lot.”
Agravain flushed. “By the sun! I’ve half a mind to seek another lord, with my brother, one who will…”
“You cannot leave. You are a hostage, whom I keep so that your father will remain faithful to his oath.”
Agravain went white, then red with anger. He seized his sword, and I caught his arm. Arthur merely looked at him, not moving, and Agravain slowly loosened his hand, dropped it from the hilt. He stared at Arthur.
“Why?” I asked.
The High King knew what I meant by it. “You already know that, son of Lot. You know it very well, too well, and would God that it were otherwise!” He turned on his heel and left, striding back into the tent; and those who had business for him stood aside, not daring to speak to him.
But I did not know, nor did Agravain. My brother stood, staring after his king, clenching and unclenching his fist.
“By the sun,” he whispered at last, in a choked voice. “That he should, he…” he turned away abruptly. “Oh God. Why?”
“I do not know,” said Bedwyr, tiredly. He had remained behind.
“Hush,” I told Agravain. “He meant nothing against you. He was only angry with me.”
“But why?” Agravain asked angrily. “You helped to give him this victory; you fought for him, risking your own life. What reason did he have to think that you did it by sorcery? And yet, he distrusted you from the start. Gwalchmai, he had much more reason to hate me. I bore arms against him when I fought beside Father. But when I became his hostage, he was generous to me, and never himself mentioned or allowed others to mention in his hearing that I was a prisoner and the son of his enemy. Before I joined the Family, even, he provided me with a servant to help me learn British, and treated me with all courtesy and nobility. But when you came, never having fought against him, seeking his service, and giving him a great victory, he wishes to drive you off like a stray dog. I do not understand it. I cannot understand it.”
“Nor can I,” said Bedwyr. “I saw him last night, when he came to ask me about my men, who was wounded and who was safe. He could not wait to praise me for commanding the charge. I have known him now for years, and think…No. It is not unknown, it is something that has always troubled him. Sometimes I have found him sitting silently and looking at nothing, not as he does when he plans something, but with the look he had just now; and then I do not dare to speak to him. Gwalchmai, are you certain you have not met him before?”
“Never.”
“I mentioned your name to him last night, praising you, and he stopped me. ‘I cannot,’ he told me. ‘The man is a sorcerer and the son of a sorceress. He has given me a victory, but by sorcery, madness, and darkness. I cannot take him into my Family and trust him.’ He was so tired, so unhappy, and so certain. Agravain, he will apologize to you later.”
I stood looking at the other two and thinking hard. In a way, the High King was right. I had done nothing but kill Saxons, and the madness and the fire in the sword could easily appear sorcerous; indeed, appeared that rather than anything else. No one fights with the sword alone…Bedwyr had said that. In the end, the reasons are as important, and Arthur had no evidence of my reasons for fighting for him. But what could I do to show him? I thought of all I had seen of the Family, of Arthur. It was not an ordinary warband, and not only because the warriors were so skilled. There was a bond of pride among them, a common love, and a common, half-understood vision. How could I think to enter into a thing like that through strength of arms? I had been a fool to think that I could solve everything with the sword’s edge.
I remembered the dream I had had in Camlann, and again saw Arthur in the Queen’s shadow. Everywhere I turned, she always appeared, as though all shadows were her shadow. She still held a part of me, locked in bonds forged with blood, past commitment, and present desire. I would not be free until I met her again, face to face, and either severed the bond or became snared in it for ever. How could I say to Arthur, “I am free of the Darkness”? Darkness had formed me. I had defeated it in the past, but by no strength of my own. Arthur had reason to feel as he did, and I had no way to change his mind.
I ached with the knowledge that I had lost again, now, perhaps for ever. Perhaps I should leave. As Arthur had said, I could easily find a place with any king in Britain. If I went to Urien of Rheged…
No. Here I had been led, here I had set my hopes. To leave would be to accept defeat and surrender. I struggled with the pain for a moment, then ignored it.
“What will you do?” asked Bedwyr, gently.
“I will go on,” I told the two, looking back to them.
I might have hung about and brooded futilely for the rest of that day, but I had to visit the sick-tents. I still wanted to have my cut treated.
As I approached the tents, I heard a strange sound, a kind of low drone like a hive of bees. I stopped and looked questioningly at Agravain, who was still with me. Bedwyr had left with Cei.
“The wounded,” my brother answered casually. “They have settled down somewhat now. God, but the physicians must be tired!”
“What? Do you mean that they are still working, from last night?”
“Oh, they’ve done the worst. They work in shifts. Now, I think, they are checking the walking wounded and getting down to work on some of the men they were unsure of last night. You know, men who come in with a bad arm and they can’t decide whether or not to amputate, so they leave them a while; or men who were uncertain to live, even if they were treated, who the doctors left in favor of someone their skill wouldn’t be wasted on.” Agravain hesitated. “To tell the truth, I’ve no love for such places, especially at this stage of the work. Do you mind if…?”
“No. I will join you later.”
I didn’t, though.
There was not enough room for all the wounded inside the
tents, and those who had already been treated had been brought outside. These lay on the grass, like fish on a beach after a storm. Their faces were chalk-grey, eyes glazed in resignation or abnormally bright. Some wore bandages, some did not. No one who has hunted, let alone fought, is shocked at blood, but it is different when it is a man who lies before you with his stomach open and entrails tied in, rather than a deer, and when you see him in the cool light of rationality. The badly injured lay still, moaning or mumbling every now and then—an awful sound. It was this moaning and mumbling joined together that caused the droning I had heard. Some men lay still, asleep or dead; others, less badly injured, sat apart from the others, talking in undertones. The place smelled, too, of dirt, sweat, vomit, excrement, and the beginnings of rot, a smell of pain. I picked my way through the lines of men slowly, now uncertain why I had come. One of the men saw me as I passed, and waved his hand heavily. I recognized him as one of Cei’s band of thirty, and went over to him.
“Water,” he muttered. “Do you have water?”
“I…I will try and get you some.” Several of the men around him also began to ask for water. I nodded. I wanted to run from that place. When I remembered how lightly I had claimed some of their water that morning, I felt sick.
I went into the tent and stood for a while, staring. One of the doctors, finishing off an amputation, noticed me. “Well, what do you want?” he demanded harshly.
“I…have just a scratch. I will see to it myself.”
“Thank you. Well, now that you have decided that, what are you waiting for?”
“There are some men outside who need water.”
“There are lots of men outside who need water, but there are more in here who need surgery, and not enough to help with it; and the servants need sleep.”
“Would you like me to help?”
He stared at me, taking in the rich clothes and the gold-hilted sword. Then he smiled slowly. “As a matter of fact, warrior, I would—if you’ve any notion of how to use a knife to heal instead of to harm.”
Hawk of May (Down the Long Way 1) Page 26