by Simon Lister
‘Gods help us if we ever have to defend this place from the Adren,’ Ceinwen said quietly, voicing the thoughts of the others; only Morveren had looked at the town without thinking how best to defend it from attack.
‘If we ever have to defend this place from the Adren then the gods would have deserted us long ago,’ Morgund replied and they made their way across the frozen but snow-free fields.
Like Caer Sulis, the Haven was half-empty during the winter months with most of the population farming the lands across the sea where the sun rose three months earlier than it did over Middangeard. It was a short growing season but a crucial one in the cycle for the southern tribes. When the tall ships returned from the West they did so with usually double the supplies of food that they had left with. It defined the difference between living on the margins of starvation, like the Uathach of the North, and living in relative comfort and security. Occasionally a ship would be lost on the crossing but it was rare and the last such loss was more than twenty years ago. Only once had none of the ships returned and every child had heard the legend of the Tribes of the Lost Crossing.
Arthur had sent Mar’h and Lissa to bring back the peoples earlier this year and he was angry that the beacon on the headland had not already been lit to guide the ships towards the Haven. They rode past the long, empty dwellings, which were used as brief accommodations for those preparing to embark, and onto the harbour master’s house on the edge of the promontory. She had left in autumn with the ships but her second-in-command, a man called Juraman, had been left in charge.
As they approached the house Morveren peeled away on the pretext of finding Elwyn who was likely to be staying at one of the taverns on the beachfront. Both Morgund and Ceinwen wanted to join her but they felt obliged to stay close to Arthur in an effort to protect those who had forgotten to light the beacon from his worsening mood. A young boy in charge of the stables took their horses with a look of nervous fear. Everyone at the Haven had heard from King Maldred’s messengers that Arthur had died in the Shadow Lands. Then the unbelievable news had followed that Arthur had returned from the dead, slain the king and fashioned a new treaty with the Uathach. Word had spread just as quickly that there was an Adren host waiting to invade Britain and that Arthur was to marry an Uathach princess to bind together the tribes of the South and North to stand against the Adren. The boy led the horses away quickly; he did not want to incur the wrath of the warlord ghost and certainly did not want to play any part in the great events that were to shape his own destiny.
Arthur called out angrily to the boy and he froze in his tracks. It was all he could do to turn around and face the three warriors. Arthur was asking him if Juraman was in. He nodded dumbly and then fled to the stables.
‘Didn’t you wash at Caer Sulis?’ Morgund asked turning to Ceinwen.
‘More likely to be your breath,’ she replied.
Juraman had appeared at the doorway to the house and Arthur was demanding to know why the beacon was not already lit. The two warriors exchanged a quick look and leaving the hapless Juraman to answer to Arthur they headed off down the steep lanes to join Morveren in her search of the taverns. They had gone no more than ten yards when Ceinwen had the satisfaction of catching Morgund surreptitiously breathe into his cupped hand.
Within ten minutes the whole bay was flickering in the light of the blazing beacon that was set upon the edge of the headland. Arthur stood with his back to the towering fire, staring out across the dark ocean to the western horizon. The distant skies betrayed the first hints of the coming dawn but of the tall ships there was no still no sign.
Arthur spent several hours watching the dark, empty seas before seeking out the tavern where the others were staying and retiring to get some sleep. He repeated the pattern, taking his food to the headland and eating it there. The others joined him at different times and one of them kept the watch each time Arthur retired to sleep. None of them feared that the ships were lost but it was getting very close to the time when Arthur would have to return to Caer Sulis to welcome Gwyna and the Uathach and then march on to the Causeway. He needed to first answer to the council for the king’s death and then set them to organising the people for war. He would depend heavily on Gereint being able to convince the returning Mercian warriors to accept him as Warlord of Britain and to follow him to the Causeway.
The wind still blew gently from the sea and Arthur could think of no reason why the ships should be so delayed. He grew more irritable as the time passed and for every four hours he slept he spent twenty more staring out to the West. Despite his vigil it was Ceinwen who saw the first ship. She sent word to the sleeping Arthur and within an hour he and the others arrived at the edge of the promontory. The waxing moon was bright and the skies were clear but it was another five hours of quiet frustration before Arthur too could make out the tiny speck on the distant surface of a sea rippling with the soft silver light cast by the crescent moon. The ship had long since seen the glow from the beacon and was making straight for the Haven. Arthur watched it for another two hours but it seemed stubbornly unwilling to get any closer and he returned to the tavern to sleep away the time before it arrived.
As he slept, the Haven became a scene of frenetic activity. The wharves were made ready for the ship to dock and wains were brought alongside the quay in preparation for unloading the stores from the ship’s hold. The lines of low buildings were first aired then fires were lit to warm them and fresh bedding was laid out for the travellers, many of whom would be exhausted after the crossing. Juraman was working hard to make sure nothing was left undone and he even lit fires in the main room of his house and prepared food should Arthur wish to speak to the council there.
Ceinwen woke Arthur as the ship rounded the headland with several smaller craft guiding it to the first of the long wharves. Other ships had been spotted out to sea and over the next few days the Haven would become chaotically busy as the tall ships sailed in from the West one by one.
Arthur strode along the waterfront. Those that saw him coming hurriedly moved possessions, equipment and baggage aside. The entire wharf and surrounding area was well lit by dozens of burning brands, each one guarded by a youth. The tall ships were mostly oak and canvas and carelessness with fire could easily lead to disaster.
There was an order to the turmoil on the docks but to those unaccustomed to the unloading of the ships it seemed like madness had been loosed. Seagulls, having returned as winter moved away from the land, whirled and dived, competing noisily with the shouting of orders and the cries of welcome that rang along the quayside. The strong fresh smell of the salt air was expunged around the ship and supplanted by the stench of the animals that had been penned on board for more than four weeks. There were hatches to the sides of the stalls that allowed the lower decks to be swilled clean but four weeks was more than long enough for the animals’ reek to become all pervasive.
Arthur approached the group by the main gangplank where Juraman was reporting to Unna, the harbour master. She was a tall woman, young to be the master of the Haven but with a reputation for brooking no nonsense that she had inherited, along with the running of the harbour, from her father. She stood with her hands on her wide hips as Juraman told her what had been done and what still needed doing. Juraman was flicking nervous glances towards Arthur as he approached and Unna turned to see what distracted him. She tried to hide the sudden unease she felt at seeing Arthur. They had already heard from Mar’h and Lissa what had happened at Caer Sulis and what lay beyond the Causeway.
‘Any problems on the crossing?’
‘No, fair sailing once again,’ she replied, wishing her voice sounded stronger in her dry mouth.
‘I expected you here sooner.’
‘We were surprised to be leaving earlier than normal, Lord,’ she had not meant to add the title and her eyes broke away from Arthur’s as she shifted nervously.
‘Are the counsellors already inside?’ Arthur gestured to her house above them.
She nodded and Arthur strode away and climbed the steps that led up towards the house on the promontory. Unna turned her attention back to Juraman and spoke to him with a newfound sympathy.
Further along the wharf the others greeted Mar’h as he disembarked. Ceinwen glanced up and watched Arthur as he took the steps up to the house two at a time. Mar’h followed her gaze, ‘He looks like he’s in a hurry.’
‘He’s been in a hurry for the last two months but with nowhere to go,’ Ceinwen replied.
‘Come on, let’s get to the tavern before it gets too full,’ Morgund said and taking Morveren’s arm led the way with the other two following.
The inn was already busy with people looking for beer or wine to help them rediscover their land-legs after the long voyage and Morveren made sure the landlord had kept their rooms set aside for them. As they settled around a sturdy table, one that had soaked up countless spills but not seen a clean cloth in months, Ceinwen asked Morveren where Elwyn was. Apparently he was with Gereint and the returning Mercian warriors explaining what had happened in their absence. There was much to explain and doubtless Arthur was doing likewise with the counsellors.
‘You’re looking better than when we last saw you,’ Morgund said, clapping Mar’h on the shoulder.
‘Still too thin though, you’ll need to do some serious eating before you meet up with the Adren again,’ Ceinwen added.
‘Find Cael and follow his example,’ Morveren suggested.
Mar’h did indeed look better. His skin had darkened further under the western sun and his broken, hooked nose seemed to have healed itself. He lifted his mug of beer and saluted his friends and Ceinwen noted he still could not use his left hand properly. The Uathach arrow that had smashed his forearm had left his hand with some movement in his thumb but little else. He smiled at them as they lifted their mugs in return and his recovery from the nightmare of his last weeks in Britain was clearly evident in his eyes. He had brought that nightmare upon himself with his own deeds but he appeared to have made a peace with his past.
He had spent long hours walking the coastline of the western shores debating all that had happened and his part in it. He had been consumed by guilt and more than once he had thought to end the slow torture by simply hurling himself off one of the cliffs but each time he found himself looking down into the churning waves, images of his wife and children came to his mind and each time he turned away from the precipice. He had told himself that he wanted to atone for the damage he had done. He wanted a chance to balance the harm with some good. As he dwelt on his actions and lingered over his guilt it seemed to him that perhaps fate had determined events.
If Breagan had not been on that raid so many years ago then he, Mar’h, would not have raped Esa. If he had not raped her then Gwyna would not have been born the person she was. She and the Uathach party may not have been in the Shadow Lands and Arthur would not have saved them. There would have been no one to confirm to Ablach, the Uathach chieftain, that the Adren were poised to invade all the lands of Middangeard. Ablach may not have had a daughter to use as a pawn in his ambitions and whom Arthur could marry in order to cement an alliance with the northern tribes to oppose the Adren host. In some strange twisted way, Mar’h felt that his rape of Esa had ultimately led to the unification of the tribes of Britain. If fate was to blame then perhaps he was not, but that did not lessen his desire to counterbalance the wrong he had done. He reasoned that he was merely playing a part on a greater stage, a stage he had little control over and that his part now was to try to achieve some measure of forgiveness, if not from Esa or the gods, then perhaps from himself. He could do no more than that and had accepted it but at the back of his mind lurked the nagging suspicion that his self-justification was no more than just that.
He realised he had drifted away from the conversation around him and tried to find its thread once more in the increasing noise of the tavern. Morgund was making his way back from the long tables that divided off one corner of the large room and which acted as a serving counter. Someone jostled him from behind and the beer slopped over the sides of the mugs as he placed them down on the table. He turned swiftly and caught the man by the shoulder. Seeing he had inadvertently bumped into one of the Wessex warriors the man hurriedly apologised and offered to fetch more beer.
Apparently mollified, Morgund sat down then winked to Mar’h who laughed, ‘I see not much has changed. Morgund’s still bullying anyone who can’t defend themselves.’
‘We’ll see if he’s as brave when it comes to the Adren,’ Morveren said.
‘Yes, well I’m sorry about that but I’m not going to the Causeway with you. Arthur’s asked me to do an inspection of the wells in the far west of Wessex.’ Morgund shrugged in apology as Morveren stared at him in disbelief.
‘Wouldn’t surprise me,’ Ceinwen added.
Mar’h grinned at his friends and took a deep gulp of his beer, glad to be back with them. Elsewhere in the waterfront tavern the talk of the Adren was not so light and one rumour of impending disaster was quickly followed by another and more extravagant one. The luckless man who had bumped into Morgund returned with more beer and Morgund asked him his name, promising to defend the man’s family personally if the Adren attacked his village. He had forgotten the man’s name before he had even finished talking; his mind was on the snippet of conversation he had overheard at the bar.
‘What’s this I hear about coming across people in the Western Lands?’ Morgund had to repeat the question before Mar’h could make it out in the surrounding din. Ceinwen and Morveren leant closer too, curious about the news or rumour that had swept through the Haven when the ship landed.
‘Yes, that’s right. A scouting party of about ten.’ Mar’h was beginning to slur his words. ‘Came across them a few days before we left, or rather they came across us. They were scouting new lands, said there was war in the West.’
‘They weren’t Adren then?’ Ceinwen asked loudly.
‘No, certainly not, just like us really, spoke the same language even.’
‘Strange. Why haven’t we seen them before now? We’ve been to the Western Lands every year for hundreds of years,’ Morveren said, frowning into her drink.
‘Don’t know. Perhaps they were ghosts. Kenwyn and Aelle, the two chieftains, spoke to them before they left.’
‘We know who Kenwyn and Aelle are you idiot. You’re not with ignorant villagers now,’ Morgund replied and they fell to insulting each other, dredging up past follies and humiliations. Ceinwen laughed at them and turned to Morveren to question her further about Elwyn.
As more beer arrived the conversation turned back to the dominant topic, ‘when would the Adren cross the Causeway and could they stop them?’ They discussed the matter in an increasingly fruitless way and eventually stumbled out of the tavern a few hours later roaring out a tuneless rendition of one of their many drinking songs. They were half-way to the jetties before Morveren remembered that they were actually staying in the tavern that they had just left. Undeterred and completely unashamed they simply turned around and reeled back the way they had come. As they turned, Ceinwen looked up to the harbour master’s house where the lights were still burning inside; Arthur was still talking to the tribes’ counsellors.
When they left with Arthur for Caer Sulis the next day the four drinking companions were very quiet. Mar’h had to get off his horse several times to be heroically sick but none of the other three taunted him as they were feeling a bit bilious themselves. Arthur was silent too but for entirely different reasons.
Chapter Three
Since leaving the camp in the woodlands Cei’s band had toiled through the endless night of winter and left behind the gently undulating hills and valleys of the land beyond the ruined city.
At first they had made good progress despite having to share and change their mounts to spread the extra load the horses had to carry. They had even managed to cut through the ice on a large lake and catch some fish to supplement their
dwindling supplies. It was during those days that hope rose once more in Cei that perhaps they could complete their journey deep into the Shadow Lands to the Adren City and at least attempt Arthur’s plan. Trevenna’s indefatigable hope was spreading once more through the company and although the miles passed by slowly the lingering sense of an impossible task gradually lifted from their hearts.
In the absence of any present danger, Ethain became more relaxed and chatted happily to the rest of the band and it was not long before they realised the reason why. Even travelling in a large company it was difficult to keep secret any coupling but it was a fruitless endeavour in such a small group. Not that Leah made any attempt to hide her affections, which did nothing to improve Cerdic’s temper at first but he put aside his chagrin as he reasoned, in his own way, that Ethain’s bravery in the city had merited such a reward.
The others looked on in amusement at the ill-matched couple. Leah was every bit the warrior, strong, proud and confident. Ethain did not seem to be any of these things but he had proved his shorter, wiry frame and nervous attitude were not any hindrance to his courage. Merdynn snorted in derision but otherwise kept his opinion to himself, wishing the boy well but thinking it would end badly for him. Leah was not known to be ‘hearth-bound’, as the Anglians said. Indeed, quite the opposite but they were practical and none held it against her that Herewulf, her previous lover, had been replaced so quickly. Each to their own they reasoned. None of them knew about Morgund, which was probably just as well. Ethain, naturally enough, was entirely blind to all of this.
When they were able to find enough shelter and stop long enough to light a fire, Merdynn would tell them tales from ages long past. Everyone found them too fantastic to have any truth and Cerdic scoffed at the impossibly heroic deeds undertaken by such unlikely heroes but nonetheless they all sat enthralled as the tales unfolded. He spent one such stop teaching them a less ancient song and they soon altered parts of it to amuse themselves. Leah had been off with Ethain when she heard the singing and laughter and, unwilling to miss out and much to Ethain’s annoyance, she had abandoned their tryst to return to the fire and see what the noise was all about.