by Simon Lister
‘Oh, we’ll be sure to tell them when they return from the Western Lands,’ Maldred replied, leaning forward on one half of the split table.
‘And the Adren? Who will stop them without the Wessex and Anglian warriors?’ Arthur asked quietly.
‘The Adren? I haven’t seen any Adren. Some concoction between you, would-be Lord of Wessex, that old fool Merdynn and the ghost from the Winter Wood.’
‘Is this what you think?’ Arthur asked, lowering his sword.
‘Ah, but I’m no fool, even should there be Adren armies we all know what they really want! The Veiled City! Well, they can have it. You’re defeated you witless warmonger, while you were chasing shadows in the East we’ve signed a treaty, an alliance and the land is divided anew!’
Arthur stared at Maldred and his gray eyes emptied of expression. When he spoke to the king it was without anger and in a flat, cold tone that carried through the hall.
‘You are a fool, Maldred. You are unfit to stand as king. Your judgements are insane and you would cast this land to destruction. You would divide this land just as it needs to be united. You are,’ and his sword swept out in an arc, ‘no longer king.’ The king’s head remained sitting on his shoulders as his mouth soundlessly formed words, then it slowly tipped forward, rolling down his chest and thudding onto the floor. The king’s body slumped over the broken table.
The Great Hall was stunned to stillness and only the crackling of the fires and Ablach’s soft chuckle broke the silence. The two war bands stared at their dead king and at Arthur in disbelief. What they had just witnessed was impossible, something that just could not happen. Ceinwen’s mind reeled in shock as her worst fears were played out as if upon a stage in front of her. The kingdom would be plunged into warring chaos. Doubtlessly the Uathach were here in strength and would leap at this chance. The Adren would just walk into Britain unopposed. Other minds that were not numbed by what they just witnessed were thinking the same. Not least among them, Ablach.
Six of the Mercians, from the king’s personal guard, rushed at the dais in a rage and were flung aside by the volley of arrows that flew from Arthur’s warriors. The rest of the Mercians reached for their weapons but stayed where they were as Arthur’s longbows covered them.
Ablach signalled the Uathach side of the hall to stay their hands. He wanted to let the southern war bands kill each other.
Arthur faced the Mercians and looked among them for Gereint, their leader, and spoke out to him, ‘Our king is dead. Had he lived he’d have led each of you and your families to slaughter. More than twenty thousand Adren lie across the Causeway and come the spring they will attack this land. They will kill every living person in this land whether they be in Mercia, Wessex, Anglia or in the tribes to the North. Unless we can stand against them together.’
Arthur stepped down from the dais and walked towards Gereint and the Mercians.
‘If anyone in this hall wants to avenge their mad king then you can challenge me to combat, for it was I who killed him. Not the Wessex war band, not the Wessex Council, I.’
Arthur walked down the length of the Mercian line and no one in the hall had ever felt so much force of will from one person before. Even if they hadn’t all known his reputation, still none would haven chosen to stand against him. He returned to the dais.
‘I am not your king, I am the Warlord of Britain. Together we will stand against the Adren. Once they are defeated then together we will choose a new king.’
Arthur turned to the Uathach chieftains, ‘I have a new deal for you. Stand with us against the Adren and your families and tribes will have right of passage to the Western Lands on the ships that sail from the Haven when winter comes. Once we have defeated the Adren you will have the right to clear land and farm in the southern lands if you are prepared to live according to our laws.’
The Great Hall was again silent as everyone listened to the terms Arthur put forward.
‘Doesn’t sound as good as the last treaty,’ Ablach said with a shrug of his huge shoulders.
‘The last treaty didn’t take account of either the Adren or I. Make no mistake, the fate of your land depends upon what you decide. Refuse this and we will be at war. I will seek to kill all your peoples and burn your land and homes and I will start here and I will start now.’
Again Ablach shrugged, ‘I doubt you have the men to do so.’
‘What I leave undone the Adren will finish. Pray you fall to our swords and not theirs.’
‘Perhaps Maldred was right, the Adren want nothing in the North,’ Hund joined the debate. His eyes were darting between the gathered Uathach warriors and the southern war bands, which may or may not have been divided but which together outnumbered their own warriors. They had over a hundred more camped to the North of Caer Sulis and Hund was keen to quit the hall and return in force.
‘You can recall those words as you die and your village burns,’ Arthur replied.
‘What proof do you have of this Adren host?’ Ablach asked.
‘Disbelieve what I say and the proof will be in your death and the death of all your people. Seek out Ruraidh and your daughter Gwyna if you need to hear it from your own.’
Ablach was taken aback by the mention of his daughter and his captain. ‘I’ve had word that they have returned to Dalchiaran. I will send for them and then you’ll have your answer,’ Ablach said and signalled the Uathach to leave the hall.
They warily filed out to return to their camp leaving the Mercian and Wessex warriors still facing each other in the Great Hall of Caer Sulis. Arthur climbed down from the dais and told his bowmen to lower their longbows. Once again he faced the Mercians.
‘What is decided here, now, and in the next few days will determine the fate of this land. If you decide to attack us now then this land is lost. If you leave here and entomb yourselves in Mercia then this land is lost, either to the Adren or to the Uathach. If we stand together then the Uathach will not be able to defeat us. If the Uathach and Cithol stand with us then perhaps we can withstand the Adren host.
‘Your lands remain your own. Your war band will stay together under a leader you choose. I propose that you choose Gereint. The councils will choose a new king. A king who won’t lead us to ashes. I am not your king nor do I wish to be. I will lead this land only for as long as the Adren threaten it.
‘First we will build a funeral pyre fit for the king who led us well for so many years. Long years when his rule was just and fair, only age and the darkness of this time finally robbed him of reason. When we have sung his death song retire to your quarters and choose a leader from amongst you and decide which course you wish to set Britain upon.’
Arthur told some of his warriors to build a pyre outside the Great Hall and some of the Mercians left to assist them. Arthur signalled two Mercians to follow him and he turned back to where the king lay. They fashioned a death carriage from white tablecloths, spears and shields and carried the king out of the hall between the two war bands who formed two lines, facing each other to salute the dead king.
In the thickly falling snow they placed the king on the high pyre and put torches to the stacked wood. As they sung the death song, all those left in Caer Sulis gathered around the square outside the Great Hall. News of what had happened in the hall spread quicker than the flames on the pyre and many frightened eyes were turned to the tall figure at the head of the pyre who stood staring into the flames that flickered around the king he had slain.
When the fire had burned low and the spiralling, glowing flakes had subsided to charcoal embers hissing in the falling snow, the Mercians turned away from the pyre and left the square. Arthur watched them go and then addressed the gathered people of the town. He briefly told them of what had transpired in the Great Hall. He spoke of the treaty that Maldred had made with the Uathach and the new treaty he had offered to them with the Adren host poised to strike at the land. He told them to return to their homes and await the outcome of events. He and his warriors retreated i
nto the Great Hall to do the same.
They helped themselves to the food that remained on the tables and rationed out some of the wine. Arthur posted guards at the doors and unshuttered windows. Arthur took the first duty at the doors with Cael.
Inside, the others gathered around the main fire and discussed amongst themselves the events that had resulted in the king’s death. None thought that he had deserved anything less than death for the betrayal of their lands to the Uathach and for the way he had spoken to Arthur but they all realised how precarious their position was. The Mercians outnumbered them two to one and the Uathach probably three to one. What concerned them the most was the risk of the Mercians joining with the Uathach and bringing back to life the king’s offer. They felt confident they could take either of the factions on in battle, despite the numbers, but combined was a different tale and one they thought would not go well for them.
They argued amongst themselves whether or not Arthur should have killed the Mercians in the hall when he had the chance; it would have halved the Mercian force camped around Caer Sulis. Ceinwen angrily pointed out that the whole gamble was because Arthur wanted as many as possible left standing to fight the Adren, that a war between the tribes now could only end with one result; victory for the Adren. She left the group and joined Morgund who was sitting off to one side.
‘Well, can’t say I expected that,’ Morgund said with a laugh as he shifted along to make room for her.
‘It was what I feared. I hope he realises how close to disaster we are,’ Ceinwen said and sighed heavily.
‘Tired?’
‘It’s been a busy few months. I’m used to the quiet life.’
Morgund laughed and agreed. ‘Still, we’re alive and back in Caer Sulis, which is more or less what I promised myself. Thought it might not be quite this perilous mind,’ Morgund said and drank another mug of wine.
Ceinwen was appalled that he should be taking events so lightly. ‘You’re drinking too much. We might have to fight our way out of here,’ she admonished him.
‘Might? With the Mercians smarting on one side and the Uathach smacking their lips on the other? Certain to be dead before I can finish the wine here and if I’m going to die in the safety of Caer Sulis after tramping around the Shadow Lands then I’d rather do so drunk, thank you.’
‘Don’t be so sure. The Mercians won’t want to battle us. They know we’ve just fought our way through the Shadow Lands and, in a strange way, Arthur showed more respect to Maldred than was shown to him. I think they’ll take Arthur as warlord. If they believe the Adren host is ready to invade then they know as well as we do that Arthur is the best warlord to defend the land.’
‘Only one left, you mean.’
‘That’s what makes him the best,’ Ceinwen replied.
‘And the Uathach?’
‘He’s offered fair terms.’
‘What? You mean, ‘do as I say or I’ll slaughter all your people’, those fair terms? A masterstroke of diplomacy,’ Morgund said attacking another mug of wine.
‘It’s certainly simple enough for them to understand. But offering safety for their families in the West and good farming land in the South is, well, fair. And no more wine for you.’ Ceinwen took the cup away from Morgund and added, ‘My life might depend on your speed and ability - so stay sober.’
Ceinwen got up to make sure the others were not getting too enthusiastic with the wine.
‘Shame Balor missed this, he’ll be spitting fury not to have witnessed it,’ Morgund said.
Ceinwen turned and smiled, ‘And Mar’h too. They’ll never forgive us.’
Outside the hall, Cael was shifting uneasily. He almost wished that the Mercians would attack. He cast a furtive glance at Arthur who stood across the doorway, his eyes scanning the darkness beyond the square. The snow was still falling in thick swirls and was now beginning to cover the polished ice in the courtyard before the hall. Cael thought that Arthur looked unwell, the skin below his eyes was circled darkly and the whites of his eyes were veined red.
‘Pay more attention to the shadows,’ Arthur said quietly and Cael jumped. Arthur knew he was taking a risk being outside in the open. It would only take a few Mercian or Uathach bowmen to send Britain into a chaos that would ultimately result in its fall to the Adren. He felt that everything had been a risk since Merdynn and Cei had taken the road east. But if each risk paid off then perhaps the Adren host could be stopped. He knew that out there in the darkness beyond the square the people of Caer Sulis would be looking towards the Great Hall and fearing what may happen next. It would give them greater belief if they saw him standing guard in the open rather than skulking inside by a fire. It also showed them he was prepared to face the consequences of his actions.
Besides, it was a quiet place to think through the events both here and at the Veiled City. Everything depended upon what the Mercians and Uathach decided. The Mercians would decide first, Arthur thought. Ablach was waiting for Ruraidh and Gwyna. Arthur hoped they could convince Ablach of the Adren threat. If Ablach wasn’t convinced then he may well attempt to deal with the Mercians and Arthur’s own warriors here and now and take Britain for himself. Arthur knew Ablach would only agree to the treaty if he felt there was nothing more he could take by force. He might be in a position to destroy the majority of the Mercian, Wessex and Anglian war bands and take the throne for himself with all the farming land and riches that implied but he still could not get his people to the safety of the Western Lands in winter, not without the ships and seafarers of the South and neither could he defeat the Adren alone.
Arthur felt fairly confident that Ablach would convince the other two chieftains that the treaty was in their best interests, at least for now. But he did not know which way the Mercians would decide. He took one more turn on guard then let Elwyn take his place.
When he entered the hall Ceinwen beckoned him over. She had saved him some of the food. Arthur sat next to her.
‘You look tired,’ he said.
‘Aren’t we all? And we’ve got every reason to be,’ she replied, strangely calm now that the events she had feared had unfolded. She crossed her arms on the table in front of her and lowered her head to rest sideways on her forearms.
Arthur looked around the hall. Half of the company were sleeping, the other half were cleaning and sharpening weapons.
‘Do you think it will work?’ Ceinwen asked, her head still resting on her arms.
Arthur shrugged as he ate.
‘You’ve gambled everything haven’t you? Your friends, your sister, the whole of Middangeard,’ she said, looking up at him.
Arthur took a mouthful of wine and wiped his beard with the back of his hand before replying. ‘This land has to be wholly united to withstand the Adren. If it doesn’t bind together now then it would have fallen anyway. We die here or on the Causeway or somewhere in-between, it would have made no difference. Maldred might have united the land but he was a fool and sought to snatch what he could.’
Ceinwen lifted her head off her arms, ‘You don’t feel any remorse at killing the king?’
‘No. He was a poison in my land. There’s enough enemies on the road ahead without having one at your back.’
Ceinwen nodded and thought of Leah who had said something similar in what seemed like another lifetime now. ‘So, what happened at the Veiled City?’ she asked.
‘A less bloody version of what happened here.’ Arthur shook his head slowly and looked at the table, ‘We stand on the edge of utter ruin with the Adren hordes massing across the Causeway and everyone here seems obsessed with individual plans and plots for their own petty gain and safety.’
‘It’s like someone hurrying to bring in dry clothes when the storm that’s about to fall is going to blow their house and the whole village away,’ Ceinwen said, shaking her head at the folly of it all.
Arthur snorted, ‘I should have said that to Lord Venning.’
‘Do you think it will work, Arthur?’ Ceinwen asked
again.
‘We’ll find out soon enough but even if the Mercians throw their lot in with us, and the Uathach, and the Cithol too. Even if we can hold out until the peoples return from the West and even if we have the time to train them and arm them. Even if Cei and Merdynn succeed. Even then I don’t know if it will be enough, Ceinwen, but that’s as much as can be done so we’ll do that and then we’ll see if it’s enough to save this land.’
They sat in silence and Ceinwen laid her head back down on her arms.
‘You should sleep,’ Arthur said.
‘Hmm. You too,’ she replied already half there.
Arthur stood up to make a round of his warriors and check on the guards before finding a corner to sleep in.
*
He was shaken awake some hours later by Elwyn.
‘What is it?’ he asked, instantly awake and getting to his feet.
‘The Mercians. They’re coming across the square.’
Arthur crossed to the doorway, his warriors forming into a line behind him. Morgund was standing by the entrance.
‘How many of them?’ Arthur asked.
Morgund gestured across the square and replied, ‘The whole lot of them.’
Arthur went though the doors and stood looking out into the courtyard. There were a hundred of the Mercian war band standing in the square but their weapons were undrawn. Arthur stepped forward and his warriors took up a position behind him against the wall of the hall.
Two men walked towards Arthur from the Mercian ranks and stopped five paces in front of him. Arthur recognised Gereint and his brother Glore.
‘Will you take an oath, Arthur of Wessex, that you do not desire the throne and will never take it?’ It was Gereint who spoke. Like the rest of the king’s war band he wore the royal red cloak and the snow was already settling on both it and on his close trimmed, neat beard.
Arthur took a step forward, ‘I take the oath that neither do I desire the kingship nor will I take it.’
‘And will you take an oath before the war bands of Britain that you shall abide by the jurisdiction of the council once they return from the Western Lands on their choosing of a new king?’