by Jay Allan
Thus resolved, Igraine tried her best to feign interest in Gorlois' stories, for in his own conceited way he was trying to win her affections. At last, though it had seemed to her the night would never end, Constantine bade his host to excuse his party, for they had journeyed far and were greatly fatigued.
Her father escorted her to her chamber, where her ladies prepared her for bed. Long after the supper had ended, she lay awake, staring at the crescent moon through the window, for sleep eluded her. She was resolved to do her duty, yet in her heart was naught but the cold ache of utter hopelessness.
"Go you now! For you must reach King Urien and tell him of this." Lord Arailt spoke with great effort, for he was hurt to the death. He lay in the new fallen snow, under a massive oak where his retainers had carried him, mortally wounded, from the field. His face was crusted with blood and his chest rent open by the blow that had struck him down. His ripped chainmail shirt dangled loosely from his mangled body. His blood-soaked cloak lay over him, for it was fearsomely cold, and his distraught warriors sought to comfort him any way they could.
Around him they stood, but five of the five hundred he had led there, and the only ones who still stood with their lord. Despite his command, none moved, for they could not bring themselves to leave their master to die alone in the bitter cold. Behind them lay the battlefield, now a hillside covered with broken swords, tattered flags, and the shattered bodies of the fallen, silent but for the moans of the dying and the screeching of the carrion birds.
Arailt spoke again, blood welling from his mouth as he struggled to form the words. "Do you hear me not? Begone! All of you! To the king, for you must tell him the Picts are all united, and they move south in great force. Go now, before you are trapped. I need no man's help to die."
The warriors finally heeded their lord's commands, and they ran south through the deep forests, leaving Arailt, a lord of the Kingdom of Rheged, Marshal of the North, as he bid them do. Yet too late they were already, for the woods were full of Pictish warriors hunting for survivors from the battle. Together they encountered a group of three, tall warriors clad in filthy plaid tunics, now stained with blood, their painted faces framed by rough hanks of greasy brown hair. Wounded already were the five soldiers of Rheged, and ill-fit to battle new foes. They fought with courage and desperation and prevailed, though four of them fell slaying their enemies.
The last of the warriors, Caelin, was but a youth, and this had been his first battle. Now he was all that remained, and leaving his slain and dying comrades, he made his way south through the woods. His only hope was in stealth, for he had twice been pierced by Pictish spears, and he had not the strength remaining to face even a single enemy. Through the bristly snow-covered brush he made his way, listening carefully to avoid the roving bands of his foes.
For five days he staggered onward, first through the forests and then the hilly country to the south. Finally, he emerged into the open plains of Llwyfenydd then, half-blind, delirious with exhaustion, and frozen to the bone he reached the fields on the outskirts of King Urien's capital at Carlisle. Across the frozen River Eden and to the gates of the town he stumbled, and falling to his knees he gasped his message. "I must see King Urien, for I have been sent from the field of battle by Lord Arailt, Marshal of the North, who has been slain by the Picts."
The gate guard ran out with a skin of water, putting it to Caelin's mouth and urging him to drink. Calling madly to the townsfolk who had begun to gather at news of the new arrival, he enlisted two of the largest men, and bade them help him carry the youth to the king's stronghold.
Inside the city, many of the buildings near the old Roman walls had been taken down and replaced by small cultivated fields. Others stood empty, partially dismantled for their stone and building materials. It was clear that many more people had lived here during imperial times, and though the old walls were still maintained and guarded, the inhabited sections could have fit in half the space within.
Over the frozen mud of the rutted main street they bore Caelin, for Urien's keep lay at the far end of the town, adjacent to the southern wall. Nervous townsfolk gathered along their route, for Caelin's words that the Picts had attacked and the Marshal of the North was dead were spreading rapidly. The guards at the keep took Caelin from the townsfolk and carried him inside. Into the king's throne room they bore him, and they put him into a chair and wrapped a fur covering around his shivering body.
A moment later a door in the back of the room opened and King Urien entered. Tall was Urien, with long red hair and pale skin. Clad in a crimson tunic, leather pants, and boots, and covered with a fur-trimmed cloak and gloves, the king trod silently toward his throne. Young was Urien, of fewer years even than Caelin, though his bearing was noble, and deftly did he carry the weight of kingship.
Caelin, seeing the king enter, recovered somewhat from his delirium and attempted to rise, his face contorted in pain as he tried, without success, to stand. Urien, seeing the wounded man stir, raised his hand. "Nay, honorable warrior. Do not rise, for it is clear that thou has done thy duty and rendered service to make any king proud. I pray thee, sit and tell me what message you bear from Lord Arailt."
Caelin took a breath and then spoke, struggling to keep his voice even and strong. "My king, I stand before thee and offer my fealty, now and always. Come I from the northern borders, for there has been a terrible battle. Word had come to Lord Arailt that the Picts had been burning villages and carrying off slaves. Thinking this to be a raid, Lord Arailt called out the northern levy and marched against the foe."
Caelin's voice began to falter, his throat still parched. Urien motioned, and a servant brought a cup to Caelin. "Drink," said Urien, "and gather yourself. For a terrible ordeal have you had."
Caelin drank, a sip at first, and then deeply. When he had finished, he cleared his throat and continued. "I thank your majesty. To Carlisle, Lord Arailt sent a messenger, but likely he was slain, for we did not know at the time that the whole of the forest was full of Pictish warriors.
"North we marched, five hundred strong, and when our scouts found their host we formed for battle and charged. Our attack pushed them back, and we burned their camp and claimed the hillside. Yet this was naught but a trap, for the force we fought was only a tithe of their true strength, and next they assailed us from all sides. Banners from all Pictish nations we saw, for they have banded together it would seem. Though always there have been raids, never has this happened before that they fielded such a force. There were twenty of them to each of us, and we were surrounded. In a circle we fought, and many we slew, though our battle was a hopeless one. Finally, our circle was broken, and in small groups we fought on. In the end, Lord Arailt fell, surrounded by the bodies of foes he had slain."
Caelin paused for a moment and took another drink from the cup. "His guards had all fallen, and alone he was fighting when he was pierced by a Pictish spear and staggered back from the force of the blow. I saw, and I was running to him when a giant Pict swung his greatsword. Lord Arailt had dropped his guard as he fell back, and I saw a great spray of blood as the enemy's blade tore through my lord's armor and rent open his chest. In horror I watched, and then I screamed and ran forth to avenge my master. Three of us were upon the great Pict warrior, and together we overthrew him, for his strength was such that no one of us could have bested him.
"Into the woods we bore Lord Arailt, though it was clear his wounds were mortal. Resolved we were to stay with him while yet he lived and defend his body against defilement if needs be, but he ordered us to come to you and speak of what had happened. Five of us set out south together, and four were slain on the journey. Providence and God's good grace saw me to your majesty that I might fulfill my lord's last command."
Urien sat silently for a moment considering what Caelin had told him. Indeed, this was grave news, for if the Picts, who had always warred against each other more than they did against his realm, were united under a single banner, he would be hard-pressed to sto
p them. "Caelin, we thank you for your devotion in delivering these dark tidings. Wounded we can see you are, and we would have your hurts tended now. Your lord died a hero, and we shall honor his memory. You we would have join our own guard, for such valor and loyalty is to be recognized and rewarded."
Caelin again tried to struggle to his feet, for the king's kindness overcame him, and he was shamed to be sitting in his sovereign's presence. His strength, alas, was not equal to the task, and again the king waved for him to rest and remain in his chair.
"What of the northern levy what losses were suffered?" There was great worry written on Urien’s face as he spoke.
Caelin replied slowly, painfully. "I know of nary a man save me who escaped the field, though some may have done so that I did not see. Our losses were grievous, and it must be that at least nine of ten who fought on that hillside still there remain.”
Urien maintained his strong countenance, for he was king, and fear he could not now show. Yet shocked he was at the terrible losses, and unnerved at the size and ferocity of the enemy host. When he spoke he said naught but this: "Caelin, it is past time I saw that your wounds were mended and you were fed and rested. Again, my gratitude for your devotion. We shall speak again when you have slept." He turned to one of the guards. "Prepare a room and bear him hence. His wounds are to be tended, and he is to be fed. Then he is to rest. Let none disturb him."
The guard called into the hall, and a moment later several servants came in bearing a litter on which they placed Caelin and bore him out of the throne room. Behind them the great doors closed, and King Urien was left alone with his counselors.
"Call up the levy at once. All warriors of Rheged are to assemble at Carlisle, for we shall need every sword. Send out the runners to each county, and tell my lords that they are commanded to be here with all their warriors in three days, for we may have no longer than that before we are besieged. They are to march day and night if needs be." He turned to his chamberlain. "Prepare two riders, for one I shall send to King Lot and the other to King Constantine. If we are assailed by the Picts, so must Lot be, or else in grave danger of attack. No friend was he to my father, yet the northern barbarians are a foe to both of us. Indeed, at the council at Caer Guricon, he and I clasped hands and vowed to aid each other against the Pictish enemy. We shall hold him to his oaths."
Urien dismissed the counselors to complete the tasks he had given them, but long he remained, considering stratagems he might employ, for he had no thought about how to fight so mighty a foe. Finally, he retired to his chamber and took out parchment to draft letters to Lot and Constantine, for help he would surely need if he was to prevail.
In the days that followed Caelin's arrival, there was much activity in the court of Urien. South to Caer Guricon he dispatched his best rider, and indeed, to the other capitals he sent messengers as well, beseeching his prospective alliance partners to march north to his aid. Northeast to Luthien he send his missive as well, though he knew well that if he was sorely pressed, King Lot must needs be under even more dire threat.
Much was done to prepare the city for a siege, and in this the king had an advantage, for he had already been preparing for war, and the storehouses were bursting with grain. Weapons and armor were stockpiled, and the walls had been made ready for defense. Warriors began arriving from Arailt's doomed force, and it became apparent that, while the battle had indeed been disastrous, far more soldiers had escaped than Caelin had guessed. Fully a third of those who'd marched with Arailt yet lived, and these were now rallying at Carlisle.
Across the river, north of the city, was the old Roman fort at Uxelodunum, built centuries before along the great wall. Urien ordered that it be readied and garrisoned, and he rode north to view the progress himself. Along the wall built by the emperor Hadrian he planned to delay the enemy. Though his forces were far too small to man the massive fortification, he would compel the enemy to besiege both Uxelodunum and Carlisle, lest they leave hostile forces intact in their rear. The Picts would be strongest in battle in the open field and weakest when attacking fortified places. He would give them two sieges to undertake.
Behind the warriors trickling in from the north came the refugees, townsfolk and farmers fleeing the invaders, miserable and hungry and destitute. Urien grieved for his people, but he ordered that none be allowed to enter Carlisle, sending them instead further south to survive as they could. His capital would likely endure a siege, and he could feed no more mouths, lest all should fall.
By the end of the third day after Caelin's arrival, over 1,800 warriors of the levy had reached Carlisle, adding to Urien's guard of 300. Five hundred men the king placed in Uxelodunum, along with enough store to last a year. The fortress would lay in the rear of any army besieging Carlisle, and the king commanded it be held at all costs. There he placed Owain, his father's brother and a warrior of great renown, and bade him defend the place to the last.
At dawn on the fourth day his scouts returned, bringing the news that the Picts had indeed come in great numbers. Over the wall they poured, and toward Carlisle they streamed, ten thousand strong. At first they ignored the fort, but Owain attacked them from behind with 200 mounted warriors, inflicting great slaughter before he withdrew, his own losses slight.
The foe then divided into two groups, the smaller assaulting Uxelodunum and the larger hurling itself against Carlisle. For two days, ill-equipped for attacking fortified places, they threw themselves at the walls, with crude ladders hastily built from felled trees. In a battle frenzy they charged and charged again, heedless of losses until finally they pulled back, leaving 1,500 of their number dead or dying beneath the walls. For two days and two nights the king was on the fortifications, fighting with his men, and many foes did he slay. On the last day, Caelin found the king on the wall and bade his permission to join the fight, though his hurts were still unhealed. A Pictish chieftan he slew before his wounds opened again and he was borne back to the keep.
Of old the Picts would have retired after such losses, but now they built armed camps around the city and the fort, and settled in to enlist hunger as an ally. Urien was dismayed, though he had expected nothing else. Whatever force had forged this alliance among the Picts also directed their strategy. The king knew he could hold for a time, yet he also knew that starvation and disease would sooner or later give the enemy the victory they sought, unless relief came to break the siege.
At dusk on the third day King Urien stood atop the tower of his keep and looked out over the fields of the south. Camps he saw, as the invaders surrounded the city, and when the fading light finally failed he watched their fires twinkling in the gathering darkness.
He spoke softly to himself. "Constantine, our fate is in thy hands. It was you who proposed alliance. Ride now to my aid, and save my people and I, for one, shall acclaim thee high king. Thus I swear before God."
Constantine awoke to someone banging on the door of his chambers. He looked through the window and saw that the sky was still dark, lit only by the stars themselves. "Enter."
The heavy oaken door creaked open and Arwel, his chamberlain, entered cautiously. The counselor was a tall, slender man, not much younger than Constantine himself. He bowed to the king. "I beg your pardon for awakening you, sire, but news we have had that I thought you should hear at once."
The king sat up uncomfortably, for his body was wracked with pain in the mornings before he drank Merlin's elixir. The room was lit only by the candle Arwel was holding, and Uther felt around the night table for the small vial. Finding it, he put it to his lips and took a sip of the vial concoction, feeling the pain driven away almost at once.
"What news? Don't just stand there. What has happened?"
"A rider has arrived from King Urien. A parchment for your majesty he bore.” Arwel set the candle on the small table next to Constantine’s bed.
Constantine rose and held out his hand. "Give me the message." The chamberlain hesitated for an instant, and the king demanded it again
. "Now, for we have no time for delay." He took the folded parchment that Arwel held out to him and looked down at the unbroken wax seal. It was the mark of Urien; he recognized it well. Reaching for a dagger from his nightstand he broke the wax and read the note. Constantine's eyes widened, and the dagger he still held slipped from his grasp and dropped to the floor. "Assemble my counselors immediately. And is Merlin at Caer Guricon still, or has he departed? If he not be here, send riders seeking him. Tell him I bid him return at once, for I would speak with him if I may."
The counselor bowed again and hurried through the door to carry out the king's orders. After him Constantine bellowed. "And send my valet at once!" Arwel had already sent for the Huarwar, the king's valet, and ordered food to be brought to his chamber, just as he'd already sent messengers to awaken the counselors. He resolved, nonetheless, to check on things himself and make sure all was underway.
A quarter hour later, Constantine was dressed, and he walked out of his chamber, leaving behind the breakfast Arwel had sent, untouched save for a few bites of bread and a cup of spiced wine. The king strode purposefully and quickly, for Merlin's potion had worked its magic yet again, and he felt strength in his legs as he had not for many a year.
When he reached the great hall he found his counselors already gathered, awaiting his arrival. He nodded abruptly as they greeted him. "All of you are aware of what has happened, I trust? I need not point out how serious this is, I am certain, for you all know we did not imagine that Vortigern could be ready to attack until early summer at the soonest. We have much work to do."
Constantine and Merlin sat alone, speaking of what had happened. "I underestimated Vortigern, Merlin, and he has defied winter and stolen a march on me. Caught unready we are, for our forces are ill-prepared to take the field as yet." He unrolled a large map depicting all of Britannia, showing each kingdom, and all the rivers, roads, and old forts. "This map is a great treasure, Merlin, for there is none like it possessed by any other lord. It was left by my father, and it depicts all terrain and fortifications in the land. I have made great efforts to see it kept current."