The Cymbrogi returned from harrying the enemy. Pelleas and Meurig greeted us with the report that the barbarians appeared to be regrouping and moving north.
“What are we to do about the dead?” asked Maglos. “We would wear ourselves out digging graves for all of them.”
In the fluttering torchlight Arthur cast an eye to the sky. The clouds were breaking up, and in the east the moon was rising fair. “We will have light soon,” he said. “Shallow graves would not tire us overmuch.”
Bedegran grumbled, mild Maglos sighed, and Idris snorted. For once I agreed with them. “You may be able to toil both day and night like Welan’s Smithy, but we have fought most of the day, and tomorrow we must pursue the enemy. We are fainting with hunger. We need food and rest.”
It went against him to leave the dead unburied, even enemy dead. But there was nothing for it. “Let it go, Bear,” I told him. “There is no dishonor in it.”
Still, he hesitated. Myrddin came forward and put his hand on the Duke’s shoulder. “They are right,” Myrddin said. “Come, let us leave this place to God and his servants. Let the Cymbrogi go ahead of us and make camp, so that it is ready when we come.”
Arthur agreed. “I yield to your counsel,” he said. “Give the order, Meurig.” Then he turned and moved off in the darkness.
It was late when we arrived at the camp a short distance to the east along the river. But there was hot food for us and a dry place to lay our heads. We slept the sleep of Bran the Blessed that night. The next morning we moved north in pursuit of the enemy.
This region is well-known to me, for it borders on Rheged, the realm of my fathers. Now that Cai and the Cymbrogi were with us, we had horses for four hundred, and we moved much more swiftly, marching back along the Yrewyn the way we had come. At Yrewyn Bay we met King Lot and Gwalchavad, who had come in time to see the Angli passing north in retreat, and had stayed to guard the ships lest they be tempted to steal or destroy them in their flight.
“They took no notice of the ships,” Lot told us upon joining us on the strand, “but hastened themselves north.”
“It is as we thought,” remarked Cai. “But in the dark we could not be sure.”
“They are following the Glen of Garnoch,” said Gwalchavad. “We may yet catch them if we hurry.”
I had to look at him twice to be certain it was not Gwalcmai dressed in different clothing. Lot’s sons were twins, each no more different from the other than a man and his reflection. Gwalchavad—his name means “Hawk of Summer”—seemed to me more cautious or more deliberate than his brother. But that is the only difference I ever noticed between them.
“I would have you stay with the ships,” Arthur told Lot. “If we cut them off, they will try to reach the shore.”
“Let us move the ships then,” advised Gwalchavad.
“Can you move so many?” wondered Arthur. For there were more than fifty ships in all now, not counting the Irish ships we had taken.
Lot laughed. “You have much to learn of ships, Duke Arthur. Yes, we can move them with no more than the men I have with me.”
“Then take them to the shipyards at Caer Edyn,” Arthur ordered. “We will come to you there when this is finished.”
With no more parley than that, we turned at once to the north-branching Garnoch, and followed Garnoch Glen in the direction the barbarians had fled. The trail was easy—a blind man could have followed it. All the way I kept pondering why they had turned north. Why not take the ships and flee?
The only reason I could think of was that they did not consider themselves conquered, merely discouraged. In this, I was not far wrong. We had surprised them the first time. They had been waiting—I remembered talking to Arthur about this, and he said it had worried him. Now it worried me. What had they been waiting for?
Two days later when we came to the great River Clyd, I looked out across the plain toward Caer Alclyd and I knew the answer.
The Clyd Valley forms a passage which cuts the northern wilderness east to west from Caer Alclyd at the Clyd estuary all the way to Caer Edyn. This vale also separates the hills of the south from the mountains of the north at the island’s narrowest place. Anyone wishing to pass from one side of Britain to the other quickly must travel the Clyd Valley.
Or, put another way: control the Clyd Valley, and the whole of the north is yours. It is that simple. The barbarians knew this, and they had been waiting for the spring flood of the Aberclyd to ebb so that they could lay siege to Caer Alclyd, the ancient fortress that guards the entrance to the passage to the east—as Caer Edyn guards it to the west.
We had forced them to act sooner than they might have, that is all. They had not given up, and had no intention of leaving. Our appearance had not caused them to abandon their plan. What is more, gazing upon them as they were ranged about the caer, it became apparent that they had been joined by other hosts. Perhaps Angli had been hiding in glens and valleys all through the region, waiting to come together at this time and place.
Well, our numbers had increased, too. With Lot and his fifty, the Cymbrogi, and…I was struck by a sudden thought. “Arthur,” I said, turning suddenly to Arthur on my left, “who is that in Caer Alclyd?”
“Do you not recognize the banner above the rampart?”
I squinted and gazed at the distant rock with its fortress on top. There was indeed a long banner hanging from a spear-shaft fixed to the wall. It swung and fluttered in the wind, and I caught a glimpse of gold and blue. “Bors?”
“None other.”
“Bors! What is he doing here?”
Arthur only shrugged. “That we will have to ask him when we see him face to face. But it appears we must first clear these barbarians away from his gate so that we can talk.”
He made it sound as if it were but a moment’s chore. God’s truth, it was but the beginning of a work that would last the rest of the summer.
* * *
We met the enemy three times and three times defeated them. But they were determined, for they knew the importance of the fortress: whoever held it commanded the western half of the valley.
The first battle liberated Bors at Caer Alclyd. He had arrived from Benowyc only a day or two after Arthur had sailed north from Caer Melyn. So, he had followed with his ships, thinking to meet us at the Clyd estuary. Upon coming into the river, however, he encountered the Angli host and had quickly sought refuge in the old fortress. The enemy then laid siege to it, and there the matter stayed.
This is how we found them: arrayed on the plain of the river, their camps ringing the great stronghold, or dun as it is called in that region. Arthur gave orders for the glen to be blocked, and sent swift messengers south to Custennin in Celyddon and to the lords of Rheged, bidding all to attend him. We settled down to wait until the British lords should arrive.
The lords of Rheged, my father included, joined us as soon as word came to them that Arthur was fighting in the region. Lord Ectorius, Cai’s father, joined us from Caer Edyn. Custennin of Celyddon came with a warband of two hundred.
As soon as these last arrived, Arthur gathered the Cymbrogi together and led us in a prayer of victory. Myrddin held his hands above us in blessing, whereupon we pulled on our battledress and mounted our horses. Then, taking our places at the head of the massed warbands, we left the glen and rode out onto the plain.
The charge was masterfully made. Long had Arthur observed the enemy encampment from our vantage of the glen. He knew how the battlelines would form; he knew—even before the barbarians knew it themselves—how they would respond to the charge. He knew it in his blood and in his bones.
Thus was that first battle short and sharp. Baldulf was beaten before he could mount a defense. Our ala simply ran through them, and not once only: time and time again, charge upon charge. Great was the carnage, great the slaughter.
The flat plain was death to them. They could not stand against us. The siege broken, Bors swooped down from the rock fortress with his warband, sweeping all
before him into the Clyd where many were drowned.
Seeing that his warriors could not fight us, Baldulf ordered the retreat, thinking to flee south to his ships. But Arthur had foreseen this, and our own footmen sealed the glen. In desperation the Angli and their minions fled to the north.
The barbarians were retreating to the forests of the lake region above the River Clyd, there to lose themselves in the dense and hidden pathways of those dark hills. Arthur called us to him while still on the battlefield.
“Cai, Bedwyr, Pelleas, Bors—assemble the warbands and divide them among you. We will give chase.”
Idris and the other kings joined us, and up they spoke. “Those forests are dangerous. The enemy can ambush us in there; they will lie in wait,” Idris complained.
Bedegran echoed his concern. “Horses cannot maneuver in such thick woods. We would only do ourselves harm.”
Arthur could not quite hide his contempt. “Since you fear, you will not be asked to undertake such dangerous duty. I have something else in mind for you.”
They did not like the way he scorned them, but it was their own fault. “What is it that you require of us?” asked Maglos.
“You are to accompany Lord Ectorius and Myrddin back to Caer Edyn. I would have the shipyards protected and restored.”
“We are to become seamen?” sneered Idris. He thought it beneath him.
“Before this land is free, all my chieftains will be sailors. We will all fight as readily on the boards of a ship as from the back of a horse.” So saying, Arthur dismissed them to return with Myrddin and Ector, and we began the long and difficult task of running the barbarians to ground.
Idris and Bedegran had not overstated the danger, but had belittled the need. It had to be done: every barbarian who succeeded in eluding us would return to slay and burn again. They spurned Arthur’s offer of peace, and had chosen the blade instead. Therefore we harried them mercilessly, allowing them neither rest nor respite. We pushed deeper and deeper into the wild hills, driving the barbarians before us.
The hills north of the Vale of Clyd are steep-sided and close-set. The lakes are narrow, long, deep, and cold: blackwater realms ruled by keening eagles. Into these desolate hills we followed the enemy, pushing them further and further each day. And many days passed.
After many more days, we came to a place where a vast hump of land rises between two long lakes. The one is open to the sea and has no name; the other is called Lomond. A river called Dubglas joins them, running through a deep defile. And it was on this river that the barbarians chose to rally.
In this Baldulf showed wisdom. The cleft of the river was narrow, preventing a charge by the horses. And it sloped sharply up, giving the enemy the high ground they covet—if they cannot find a ford, a hill is best. And here they stood.
We attacked from below, and the barbarians rushed down upon us. We fell back—as if overcome by their strength. Baldulf, eager to avenge himself for his defeats, pursued us. I still remember the gleam of their weapons in the hard sunlight as they plunged headlong down the scree-filled defile, screaming in triumphant rage. Those inhuman cries woke the stillness of the forest and made it quake. Down they rushed, with but one thought: to crush us utterly.
That was their mistake.
Arthur had held the second division in abeyance until Baldulf should commit himself. As the barbarians fell upon us, the hunting horn sounded and Pelleas, Cai, and Bors appeared up in the pass behind Baldulf. They had come around the hill and worked up the river pass from the opposite side.
Now Baldulf was trapped between two forces, and the larger of them held the high ground. Oh, the speed with which those cries of triumph turned to wails of anguish as the barbarians realized what had happened!
If at first they fought for revenge, now they fought for their lives. The battle was fierce, the fighting bitter and hot. With my spear I drove into the clash. My shield rattled with the blows rained upon it. My arm ached. But I struck and struck again, deadly, each stroke a killing stroke. The enemy fell before me.
The glens round about echoed with the clash of steel on steel and the cries of the wounded and dying. With the larger force bearing down upon the barbarians from above, we gave ground below, coming at last to stand on the grassy banks of the lake.
This opened a way for Baldulf, but there was no place to run. Behind and on either hand stood Arthur’s warhost, and before him the deep waters of Lake Lomond shining like polished silver. I do not know what I would have done in his place, but Baldulf fled into the lake. The lake!
It is not as foolish as it sounds, for there are a score or more islands in the Lomond waters. Some of these are mere rocks fit only for gulls; others support huge stands of trees, and men might hide there. And by running from island to island they might cross the deep water and escape to the far side, which in some places is no great distance at all.
Cai came red-faced at a run. “They are getting away. Do you want us to go after them?”
We stood on the shore and watched the enemy floundering across the water. Arthur did not reply.
“Please, Artos, let us finish it here or we will be fighting all summer.”
Cai was right, of course. But in his excitement he had not thought it out.
“What would you do?” I asked him. “Swim after them?”
“They are escaping!” he complained, thrusting his sword at the lake.
Arthur turned to Cai. “Take the Cymbrogi and ride the south track around the lake to the other side. Kill any who will not surrender.”
Cai saluted and hurried off to do as he was bid. Turning to me, the Duke said, “Mount the rest of the warband and follow me.”
“Arthur, no!” I called after him. For I had guessed what he had in mind. “It cannot be done.”
He stopped and turned around. “Has anyone ever tried?”
“Well, no—I do not think so. But—”
“Then how do you know? An angel told you, perhaps?”
“Do not talk to me of angels, Arthur. God love you, I am in earnest!”
“I am in earnest, too, Bedwyr. I mean to end this battle without further loss of life. I can do that, and no one even need get wet. I call that a victory.” He turned away again and called for Rhys to signal the formation. We mounted up at once and rode south, following Cai.
At intervals of every hundred paces Arthur placed one horseman, and one footman every fifty paces between them. In this way he surrounded the whole southern half of the Lake Lomond. Upon reaching the eastern shore we met Cai riding back along the lakeside.
“Did anyone come across?” asked Arthur.
“Only a few. Most drowned. They would not surrender, so they were put to the sword. The rest have taken refuge on the islands. I will continue south lest they slip away from us.”
“There is no need,” Arthur replied.
“But they can swim across while we sit here talking. Once in the forest we will never find them again.”
“There is no need,” I explained, “because Artos here has surrounded the lake.”
“Surrounded the lake!” exclaimed the red-haired firebrand. “Am I hearing you aright?”
“You are,” I assured him sourly. I did not much esteem the idea of surrounding large bodies of water.
Cai sputtered for a moment, but could think of no suitable reply. In the end he sighed—a noise like a hornful of beer poured onto a bed of hot embers. “Well, what are we to do now?”
“Wait,” said Arthur. “Only wait.”
“We could wait here all summer!” Cai complained. His temper, bless him, was never far from the surface. “Those islands have game and birds on them. There is water to drink. They could feed themselves for months!”
“Then we will wait months,” Arthur said firmly. “We will wait until snow rises to our chins before I let another of my men be killed rooting out Baldulf.”
There could be no moving him when he got like that. So, I let be. On the eastern bank of Lake Lomond we mad
e camp and pitched our tents in among the tall pines and burly oaks.
* * *
Waiting for someone to starve to death is a tedious business. I do not advise it.
The expense in patience alone is staggering, and it is a cost that must be weighed carefully. I have never liked sieges for the same reason. Better a battle sharp and quick—a spear thrust to the ribs, the swift chop of a sword—than a lingering death and slow.
Twice a day riders took food to the groups of watchers ranged about the lake; this task alone proved most formidable—the food must be prepared, loaded onto a wagon, and delivered to the sentries. Every other day the sentries were relieved and other warriors took their places, for it was an onerous duty.
For the rest, we occupied ourselves as best we could. We hunted in the forests and fished the lake. The warriors wrestled and disported with one another in various games of skill and chance. And above all, we watched.
Now and then we would catch a glimpse of the enemy on one of the islands. Usually this was at dusk or early in the morning. Mostly they stayed out of our sight—though once at the end of a long, rainy day there arose a cry from the islands and the barbarians came down to the water’s edge to jeer at us and rouse us to come and fight them.
Cai was all for it, but Arthur would not. We watched them, and as night came on the calls died away. All through the night there were renewed cries, and we saw torches and fires burning on the islands. But these too died away in time, and night closed around all.
One morning I saw Pelleas sitting on a rock at the water’s edge, gazing at the largest island before us. “It is a poor way to die,” he said as I sat down beside him.
“They do not have to die at all,” I pointed out. “They can surrender. All they have to do is swear peace and Arthur will let them go free.”
“It is hard for men who hold no truth among themselves to believe anyone else will hold to it,” Pelleas said.
Arthur: Book Three of the Pendragon Cycle Page 22