The Forgotten Kingdom

by Signe Pike

  “And I must know you will heed me as your counsel.”

  “I swear upon all the Gods I will honor your counsel. I trust you beyond measure. Help me, Lailoken. Strathclyde will soon stand on a sword’s edge. I would have you at my side.”

  “Then all can be forgiven,” I said.

  “Good.” He smiled. “For I have brought you a horse.”

  Rhydderch gestured, and one of his guard emerged from the center of his retinue, leading the reins of a powerful gray mare.

  I stroked her smooth cheek. Her eyes were calm and deep as a well. “Thank you. She is magnificent,” I said, pulling myself astride.

  Rhydderch climbed back upon his own mount, and together we guided our horses back onto the fortress trail. I felt the weight of boulders lifted, yet we stood at the foot of a mountain that threatened to crush us all the same.

  “Before we arrive,” I said, “one more question, and this is most earnest.”

  “What is it?” Rhydderch turned, gray eyes wary.

  “You expect me, then, to step forth into the same hall with Mungo without cleaving open his head with my sword? Just so I understand.”

  “Yes.”

  “Impossible.”

  I had tethered my loathing, at least for now. I meant only to lighten Rhydderch’s mood, as I’d once been able.

  But Rhydderch did not smile, only looked at me sidelong. “It is good to have you returned, brother. Please do not cleave open Mungo’s head. You will beget a civil war.”

  “Only jesting,” I said. Then added, “But I cannot swear I won’t curse him.”

  We arrived at the fortress, and Languoreth and I embraced as if we had not seen each other in seven winters. I greeted Meldred and Cywyllog, whose eyes were too eager. I said nothing to Mungo. I did not have the opportunity. The moment I opened my lips to speak, Meldred’s watchman came hurrying through the door.

  “What is it?” Meldred asked.

  “There are beacons blazing on the hills.”

  “What news do you hear?”

  “The Angles of Bernicia,” the messenger said. “Archers, spearmen, footmen by the thousands. They are marching northwest along the old Roman road to lay siege upon Din Eidyn.”

  Rhydderch cursed. “I thought we might have more time. Their king, Hussa, has only just taken the Bernician throne! How can he have gathered such a force so quickly?”

  Languoreth’s eyes mirrored mine across the great room. The Angles of Bernicia were coming for the Britons. Sweet Gods. We were not prepared for this war.

  Arrows in the wood, Diarmid had said.

  At last I understood. The Keeper of the Falls had shown me. There was an old Roman road that yet ran through the forest; the Ninth Legion would have taken that road to crush the Britons in his time. Now Hussa, king of the Angles of Bernicia, traveled it to crush the Britons in mine. He had shown me a triumph in the wood.

  The Caledonian Deep. It must begin there.

  “We must waylay the Bernicians in the Caledonian Wood long before they reach Din Eidyn,” I said.

  Those in the room looked at me as if I were mad.

  “We must ride north to Din Eidyn!” Meldred said. “They will need every man they can muster there. If Din Eidyn should fall, we will all be lost.”

  Languoreth’s skin had gone sallow, but Rhydderch must have seen my expression. “Tell me what you know.”

  “It was a dream, a vision, but the Bull’s Sleep does not lie. Thousands beyond belief marching the old Roman road through the Caledonian Wood. If we attack there, we stand a chance at survival.”

  “And if we muster all of our forces to Din Eidyn?” he asked.

  “The battle I saw did not take place at Din Eidyn. It was in the shelter of the Caledonian Deep. If we do not engage them there, I fear all of us may die.”

  Even as I spoke, my thoughts were racing. If what the Keeper of the Falls had shown me was truly coming to pass, each moment we tarried was a moment wasted.

  “We must summon allies beyond our imagining,” I said. “And we must summon them in great haste.”

  But each lord had his own plan.

  Rhydderch signaled his man. “Send out the scouts. We must know their precise number,” even as Meldred called out, “Summon my men. We will ride to the aid of our brethren at Din Eidyn.”

  “We will not survive if we cannot act together,” I said. “The Bernicians depend upon our discord. Do not give them what they seek, Meldred.”

  “Silence!” Mungo’s voice rang out as he lifted his hands. “I must call for silence. Lailoken claims we must waylay them here? I heard tales of his lunacy, brought about by war. My king, your proposed counsellor is not of sound mind. We cannot stand against an army of such measure.”

  “Tell me, then, Mungo. What is your plan?” I challenged.

  Our eyes locked in loathing as Rhydderch strode between us. “I would have a word with my counsellors.” His voice was hard. “War comes this way. I must know from you now: Can you set aside your differences? Quick now, and tell me true, for you breach this pact at your peril,” he warned.

  “I agree,” I said.

  Mungo’s dark eyes were placid, as if untroubled by storm. “Yes,” he said. “I offer you my hand.”

  We gripped each other’s arms. I wanted to pummel him.

  “Good,” said Rhydderch. “Now tell me, Bishop, what would you propose?”

  “We must not abandon our fellow Britons in their hour of need,” he said. “I am in agreement with Lord Meldred. We must keep Din Eidyn from capture at all cost.”

  “The Bernicians expect us to ride to Din Eidyn! If we strike in the Caledonian Wood, we can finish them before they should even reach Din Eidyn. At the very least, our attack would give the northern Gododdin more time to prepare. But we need allies.” I turned to Rhydderch. “We must send your three fastest riders. One must go to Strathclyde to summon your army. The second must go north to Mannau, with a message for Artùr, son of Aedan. And the third must ride south, to Urien of Rheged. I will muster my men along with the Selgovae. They know the Caledonian Wood better than any.”

  “Artùr and Aedan raided Clyde Rock,” Rhydderch said. “They would sooner run a blade through my back than come to our aid.”

  “I am your counsel now. If I summon Artùr, he will come. You forget, too, that Meldred and Artùr are kin. Artùr will come with his cavalry to help the Gododdin.”

  “Aye,” Meldred said. “Artùr is my uncle. We will tell him that I, too, request his aid.”

  Mungo nodded his assent.

  “Well enough, then,” Rhydderch said. “While we wait for the scouts’ return, we will finalize our plan.”

  CHAPTER 45

  Languoreth

  Dùn Meldred

  Southern Kingdom of Gododdin

  28th of June, AD 580

  War.

  I’d watched in silence as the news dawned on the men gathered in the hall and plans for a coalition were made.

  The Angles of Bernicia would have to travel in great number to use the old Roman road. Theirs would be a long march northwest to Din Eidyn. And while the first part of their journey began in their own kingdom of Deira, as soon as they entered the land of the Britons, they would be exposed. It seemed the Bernician king, Hussa, counted upon our division. Upon the past feuds of our kingdoms preventing us from becoming a united force. Upon the Selgovae granting the Bernicians passage through their great wood in exchange for an offer of peace.

  And so my thoughts fell to Ebrauc. Neither Rhydderch nor Lailoken had mentioned them. My hate for Gwrgi was a burning pyre, but sweet Gods! The Angles were coming. Even I could see we needed Ebrauc’s blades.

  I caught the sleeve of Lailoken’s robe as he moved to the table, drawing him aside. “And what of Ebrauc, Brother? Surely they, too, must come to our aid.”

  “I did not summon Ebrauc, with good reason.”

  “I know there is bad blood. You cannot know how much I loathe him—”

  Lailoken s
poke low. “I burned Gwrgi’s men alive in the forest. I strewed their arms and legs from trees. If I see him, I will kill him, and all will be undone.”

  “Do not be foolish, Lailoken. You fought them. You know they are fierce. Men are men, and we are in need of them.”

  My brother’s blue eyes turned stormy. “There are things you do not know of, Sister, things I cannot say. But Gwrgi slipped my grip more than once and will not do so again. The next moment I see him will be his last.”

  “Lailoken, I swear to you, I understand. You must know, Eira has told me all.”

  Sorrow replaced the fury in the depths of his stare. “Then you know, if I see him, what I must do.”

  “Gwrgi’s day will come, I swear by the Gods! But we cannot let hatred keep warriors from our ranks. Between the north and south of Ebrauc, they stand to muster nearly one thousand men. Come, Lailoken. You have taken leave of your senses!”

  “No, Sister. But should I see him, that is precisely what I might do,” he said.

  “Lailoken.” Rhydderch beckoned from his seat.

  “Please,” I said. “Summon them. Rhydderch may be king, but I am your queen. Do not let your loathing blind you to good counsel.”

  Lailoken did not answer. I hoped I had moved him. I watched him sit down beside Rhydderch, bowing his head as the men began to speak. I could see the new wisdom born in Lailoken from his ashes of torture and pain. Mungo was trial enough for us both. Now I had advocated for Ebrauc to take up our fight. But I, too, had suffered and burned and emerged forever changed. This moment demanded everything if we wished to survive.

  I settled beside the fire, trying to stifle my frustration. Cywyllog spoke, and I did my best to engage her. After all, she was our hostess, and it seemed we would be thrown together here until the battle was done. Then, from the table, Rhydderch stood to summon a fourth rider. My brother’s eyes found me and gave a nod. Ebrauc. It would soon be done.

  It was long into night by the time Rhydderch and I had a chance to speak. We knew rest would be needed in days to come, but not a soul slept that night, keeping awake for the scouts to return. They returned just before dawn, the horses ridden until their coats frothed.

  The Angles of Bernicia were coming. They marched at great speed toward the land of the Britons along the old Roman road.

  In their ranks were some ten thousand men.

  “I would stay with you,” I told Rhydderch. “I am not afraid.”

  “Nay, Wife, it is not safe. I would have you west, behind the ramparts of Clyde Rock.”

  “But you will meet Hussa’s forces over three leagues away. The fortress will be out of harm’s reach. I beg you. I have been shut away while those I loved rode to battle before. I will not allow it again.”

  “And who will rule Strathclyde,” he asked, “if I am dead?”

  “Surely not me, Husband. The council would not have it, as well you know. Your brother Morcant, more likely, and we cannot have that. You are the middle way. The only way. So you must fight and return, Rhydderch, for we cannot lose you.”

  “And I cannot lose you. Please,” he said. “Go. The queen should be in Strathclyde.”

  I took a step nearer, tilting my head. “Come, Husband. I am not blind to the truth. If we should lose this battle, it will not matter where I might be. For whether it be the next day or several days after, there will soon be no kingdom of Strathclyde left to rule. Please. Let me stay. Let the people know Strathclyde’s queen is with their king.”

  He reached to sweep a wisp of hair from my face, and I saw he did not have the life force to argue it any further. “As you wish, Languoreth. I can see you have made your choice. I will not dispute it.”

  “You will be quite safe here,” Cywyllog said early the next morning. “They shall have to cut their way through nearly half of Gododdin first. And Meldred has summoned his Swineherds to protect us here at the fortress.”

  Her servant moved the bread close in an offering, but I had no hunger and waved it away. “His swineherds? Does your lord have such confidence in the men who would mind his pigs?”

  Cywyllon smiled. “Ah. You shall see. We in the fortress shall have nothing to fear.”

  Warriors of some sort, they must be. But why they were so called, I could not say. “I do not worry for myself. I worry for our men.”

  Cywyllog bowed her head to concede my point, though I did not think her concern extended much beyond her own kin.

  “You should worry, Lady Cywyllog,” I told her. “For the great battle of the Britons has already begun. We must fight to remain masterless, or soon all will be dead.”

  All through the night, warriors had been bolstering the ramparts.

  For two days, men poured into the fortress from the countryside: tenant farmers and millers, tanners, woodworkers, cowkeeps. Eira led a small company of women and children from the Caledonian Wood to join us at the fortress for safekeeping. But even the servants of the hall were fitted with weapons. And on the eve of the second day, I saw the arrival of a small band of men.

  They were not more than thirty in number, traveling by foot in thick leather armor, each with a wolfhound trotting by his side. Their animals were sleek, their dark eyes unfriendly. These were not hunting dogs; these were dogs of war.

  “The Swineherds of your lord,” I gathered, looking at Cywyllog. “But where is their quarry?”

  “They seek their quarry at our command,” Cywyllog said. They brought to mind the Fianna, men who gave service to their lord for the summer, then lived off the land in the lean parts of the year. Wolving, it was called. But such men were heroes of old Westmen’s tales. These men’s eyes were too savage to inspire such regard. Perhaps I had underestimated the ambition of Meldred. His holdings and his retinue might have been modest, but he had drawn warriors, and from the look of them—rather like the warriors of Mannau—these warriors came from a variety of clanns.

  “What do you know of these Swineherds?” I asked Torin as he came to stand beside me.

  “Outcasts and unwanted sons,” he said, following my gaze.

  “And what else?”

  “Each man, when his place is earned, is given his own hound.”

  “Of course,” I said. “I heard Meldred’s dogs. He keeps them in an enclosure beyond the hut where I sleep.”

  “They are rough,” Torin allowed, “but they will help keep you safe.”

  “Oh, I do not doubt it. But I would like to learn more about them, all the same.”

  “As I can,” he said.

  “How many men in all have come?” I asked, looking out over the crowd.

  “One thousand from Strathclyde. Another thousand from Strathclyde march north to fight at Din Eidyn. Urien comes this way with nine hundred men. One thousand come from Ebrauc.”

  “How many have the Selgovae?”

  Torin exhaled. “I cannot rightly say. Their kingdom is vast, and they keep to themselves. Less than one thousand, I’d say.”

  “Four thousand men to stand against ten thousand.”

  “Aye,” Torin said. “It seems that is our fate.”

  Warriors and tents covered the pastures beyond the hillsides. We’d had no word yet from Aedan or his son Artùr. Even with Ebrauc, we were still not enough.

  I looked to the sky, the summer sun nearly overhead. Even now the men were striking their tents to march for Pebyll. They would camp this night near the path of the Angles, who were due to reach the settlement by morning. I had kissed my brother when he left to muster his forces in the Caledonian Wood.

  Now Rhydderch came to stand beside me, taking my hand. “Would that you had gone to Clyde Rock,” he said.

  Torin had become my shadow. He would stay behind with a small number of my guard in case our men should fail and the Angles break through. I turned to him now. “Torin, will you pardon us?”

  He nodded and stood at a distance, averting his gaze.

  “Well, I, for one, am glad I was not whisked away to Clyde Rock,” I said. “It cheer
s the warriors to see me. My brother will soon fight in the distance. Eira is here. My tenants are just arrived from Cadzow to fight for their queen.”

  “We will depart shortly.”

  I turned to Rhydderch, placing my hands upon either side of his face. It frightened me to see him this way—bleary-eyed and disheveled from lack of sleep—and now an ominous tone had crept into his voice.

  “When Boudicca raised her rebellion against Rome, everyone thought it an impossible task,” I said. “They, too, were outnumbered. But the tribes came together to fight for one cause. Now, for the first time in ages, the Britons have set aside their differences. The very men you slaughtered at Arderydd fight for us now, out there in the wood. This will not be the end. It cannot.”

  “Aye, love. But Boudicca’s rebellion failed.”

  “This battle will be different. You were given this role with good reason. And tomorrow you must fight harder than ever before, for I will not lose you. The Britons cannot lose you.”

  He closed his eyes, covering my hands in his.

  “You know. They say the Iceni queen was a diviner, with long tawny hair. Perhaps I am Boudicca returned.” My words were soft, but I could not muster a smile. “Perhaps tomorrow is the day we will at last win Boudicca’s fight. Rome. The Angles. This army that marches is just a beast by another name carrying the same bottomless stomach. Slit open its belly, Rhydderch. The beast shall not have us.”

  A blast of the horn sounded, summoning the men.

  “That’s it, then,” Rhydderch said.

  My chest tightened. “So soon?”

  I leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms round my waist. As we kissed, his mouth lingered a moment on mine as if he hoped to remember. I reached into my cloak and took out a sprig of ivy I’d plucked that morning, tucking it beneath his armor where it might cover his heart. “May it protect you, my love. Gods keep you safe.”

  He bent to kiss me again. “I love you, Languoreth. You bring me such strength.”

  “And I love you,” I answered.

  Hand in hand, we descended from the rampart into a world of chaos. My ears filled with the barking of dogs and the chanting of men: warriors in their kin groups singing their songs, the low tones of Mungo and his priests chanting their prayers. My thudding heart threatened to shatter the cage of my chest. But I raised my chin high, meeting our men’s eyes as I walked among them, offering words of encouragement.