“If it is till, then, Cyning Cerdic, I will fare well for ever. I too am glad we have met.”
All the way back to the camp Arthur kept smiling.
A few days later we brought wagons and loaded our wounded on to them, and the Family returned to Camlann, the other kings and warbands to their fortresses, and the armies to their fields. For a week and a half the Family feasted itself on plunder and ransoms from the Saxons, counted its losses, and recovered, and then we were on the move again, riding north on the main road for Rheged.
Fifteen
The journey should have been pleasant for me. My performance in the battle had won me the wholehearted approval of most of the men in the Family. The warriors rejected, as Gruffydd the surgeon had, my stories of “otherworlds and magic” as being a mere side-effect of battle-madness. They offered me their comradeship freely, with admiration and without fear. Sorcerous and supernatural events, they decided, were to be expected with the madness, but it reflected nothing unnatural on me. My wound healed cleanly and without trouble; we enjoyed fine weather and, in the lustre of our victory, the friendship of the country we rode through. We set a leisurely pace, stopping at every sizeable fortress along the way and being feasted there. I had money, as well. Although I was not a member of the warband and could claim no share in the considerable amount of plunder the raid had yielded, nor in the sums the Saxons had expended to ransom prisoners, both Eoghan of Brycheiniog and Constantius of Dumnonia had given me gifts, and some of the noble warriors had done the same. Eoghan in particular gave me a large gift and lavish praise, and tried to persuade me to join his warband. My refusal delighted the Family.
I had to refuse two more such offers on the way to Rheged. One was from Rhydderch of Powys, with whom we stayed for two days. The other was from Maelgwn Gwynedd. He sent a messenger to Arthur while we were at Dinas Powys, on the journey north, conveying congratulations on the victory late and in insulting terms. After delivering the message the messenger spoke to me privately, criticizing Arthur’s injustice and pretending sympathy before making his offer. It pleased me to refuse that offer, as it did not to refuse Rhydderch’s.
But these offers in themselves were one reason I did not enjoy the journey. Arthur, still, simply did not want me, and I could not follow him like a stray dog looking for a master for ever. I had become a warrior and I had fought for him, but a warrior must have a lord. That it was so easy to find any lord but Arthur depressed me. All the kings in Britain were hungry for warriors, especially warriors who could rival the Family. Rhydderch of Powys deserved his nickname, “Hael,” “the Generous,” and was, as far as I could tell, a fine king and a good lord. He fought the Saxons, even as Arthur did, though less spectacularly. I did not really want to refuse his offer, which was worthy of his name.
Besides this, I felt lonely. I belonged and did not belong. I wanted someone who could understand, who believed what I said to them. Before I had had Medraut, for whom I now mourned secretly, more so when I tried to explain to Agravain something or other, and he firmly and resolutely did not understand. I wished to speak with Bedwyr about his philosophy and books, but he was forever with either Arthur or Cei, and both of these avoided me as much as possible. Taliesin I could speak to for hours, but we seldom said much, apart from what he said about songs. So I lived, as Taliesin had said, in uncertainties, and brooded over my own thoughts, wondering about the men I had killed and Arthur’s anger, and Morgawse, and the Darkness. It was not a pleasant journey for me.
Towards the end I enjoyed it more, however, when we crossed Hadrian’s Wall at Caer Lugualid and entered Rheged. The road was much worse and the area was heavily forested, making travel difficult, but I liked the land more than I liked southern Britain. Northern Britain was never conquered by the Romans, and southern Britons call northerners barbarian, ignoring the fact the northern poets are generally better than southern poets and northern and Irish metalwork is sought throughout southern Britain whenever Gaulish goods are unavailable. Rheged is probably the strongest nation in Britain. For centuries it has suffered attacks of greater or less intensity by raids from Erin, which lies only a short distance away across the Irish Sea. This continual warfare long ago forced the kings of Rheged to build strong fortresses, and a strong warband; and the clansmen and farmers are hard, slow-spoken men always willing to join with the army and fight. Now, besides the Irish, Rheged defends herself from Saxons, and from the Irish-speaking Dalriada to the north, who gave the land many goods and ways which were familiar to me from my own home. I liked the land. Despite its heavy forests it seemed familiar, and for all their hardness the people were open-handed and open-hearted, and never stopped singing.
We rode up to Urien’s royal fortress, Yrechwydd, on a cold grey day in August in a heavy rain. The bare wood and stone of the walls were sharp against the sky, and the gulls called over the feast Hall, for Yrechwydd overlooks the Irish Sea as Dun Fionn does the North. I listened to the beat of the waves and remembered my father’s fortress, and my kinsmen, and Llyn Gwalch, and my heart leapt as though I were returning home. I looked at Agravain, and he too was grinning. We laughed and began to sing a sea song in Irish:
“A tempest is on the ocean’s plain:
Boldly the winds awaken it,
Winter sweeps the fierce sea again,
By wind and winter are we slain:
Winter’s spear has overtaken it.
When from the east the wind sets
The spirit of the waves is free,
They desire to sweep over all the west
To reach the land where the sun sets,
To the wild, broad green sea.
The deeds of the plain, the ocean’s rush
Have driven alarm upon me,
But what, of all, is as tremendous,
Wonderful and as momentous
As its incomparable story?…”
“Crazy Irishmen,” muttered Rhuawn, drawing his cloak higher about his ears. We laughed, and sang louder.
Arthur had, of course, sent messengers ahead. We were expected. Servants waiting just inside the gates took our horses and a fire roared in the Hall. Urien himself was waiting by the gates, a great brown-haired bear of a man with a loud laugh. He welcomed us warmly, congratulated Arthur on the victory, and thanked him for coming to the aid of Rheged, then hurried us into the Hall, declaring loudly that no one should stay out in such weather. The warriors hung their sodden cloaks by the fire and sat down at the tables while Urien’s servants brought them mead. The Hall was crowded, although Urien had sent some of his own men out to make room for us—but after some of the mead everyone forgot this. After the welcoming cups there was a feast and a great deal more mead. The harp was passed around, and the warriors sang boastful songs of their prowess and made loud talk of how they would destroy the northern Saxons. Taliesin sang a song about the battle of Bassas river, and was loudly cheered. I felt light-hearted for the first time in weeks.
After the song, Urien called for me and gave me a place at the high table on his left, on the grounds that I was his nephew. I thanked him, but pointed out that Agravain was also his nephew.
“Of course!” said Urien, snapping his fingers. “That is the other one’s name: I kept thinking ‘Avairgain,’ and knowing it was wrong.” Urien called Agravain up to the high table as well. “Your Irish kings seem to have all the same names: it’s either Niall or Eoghan or Laeghaire for all the royal clan.” Urien took a deep drink of mead and shook his head sadly. “At least you have a British name, Gwalchmai ap Lot. And a name well-suited to you, if Taliesin’s song is true—and it always was before, so there is no reason to doubt it now. It must have been your mother’s idea.” Urien ignored the way Arthur, Agravain, and I went quiet at this mention of Morgawse, and poured me some more mead. “Sensible father you have, to marry a British woman, and my Morgan’s sister. How did this battle appear to you?”
“I do
not remember most of it,” I answered, hesitated, and added, “I go mad in battle, Lord Urien.”
Urien looked momentarily puzzled, then shrugged the subject off. “Indeed? I wish some of my warriors would go mad in battle, then. I think, Dragon,” he said, turning to Arthur, “that you have stolen the finest fighters in Britain, and left the other kings with the dross—and that besides stealing my chief poet, alas for that! I will never find a bard to replace Taliesin—and I am fast becoming a toothless lion. No, don’t laugh. When you meet my war-leader you will see it is no laughing matter, and my son…” the king paused. All Britain had heard of Urien’s son Owain, who, it was said, could not tell the hilt of a sword from the point. “Now, if I had had better warriors or a proper war-leader a month ago when I fought the Scotti at Aber yr Haf…” Urien launched into a description of this fight.
I sighed inwardly and only half listened. Urien sounded as though he wished to offer me a position in his warband. He was certainly no toothless lion, but he needed more warriors.
From what I had seen of him, moreover, I liked him; and I liked Rheged. If I took service with Urien I could win some honor and still fight the Saxons; I could fight Aldwulf, a truly dangerous man and one much more my enemy than was Cerdic. And yet, it was Arthur who was fighting to make real a dream, and, as he himself had said, without the dream the war was pointless. I watched the High King as he began to discuss with Urien what should have been done at Aber yr Haf, using knives and serving dishes to show the land and the forces. The shifting torchlight gleamed on his hair and glittered on the gold of his collar. His face, intent on the rough plan of the battle, seemed to hold steady in the moving shadows of the hall. Beside him, Urien looked as dull and dense as the oak table. I took a long, hard drink of mead and set the empty horn down, still watching Arthur.
We stayed at Yrechwydd for a day before setting out south-eastward, to raid the Saxon kingdom of Deira. Urien came with us, bringing twenty of his men. These were only an honor guard: he came to see how the Family fought. Most of his warband was left to guard the coasts.
We moved swiftly, as always. The Saxons were not aware of us in the north of their land until we were gone, taking with us a few hundred head of cattle and sheep, a good deal of plunder, and leaving one of their chieftain’s fortresses and part of the countryside in ruins. When the news of our raid reached the king of Deira, Ossa Big-knife, he was angry enough to attempt to retaliate immediately. We were in Ebrauc when he marched on us with his warband and the few hundred men he had mustered by the fyrd in the short space of time since he had heard of us.
We gave the Caradoc of Ebrauc the sheep we had driven off, and in exchange received the support of Caradoc’s warband. Arthur did not think we needed Caradoc, but the British king would have been insulted if we had won a victory on his land without him.
The encounter—it could not really be called a battle—was brief and fierce. The infantry engaged the Saxons first, as usual—it was a good downhill charge, led by Cei, and left the enemy reeling—-and, as usual, the cavalry made a flank attack. The fyrd panicked and the shield-wall was gone, as quickly as that. Ossa and his warband, more skilled, managed to regroup and retreat, though with heavy losses, and we pursued them to the borders of Deira but no further. I cut down a Saxon chieftain and won a very fine mail-coat from him, with which I was pleased. The rest of the plunder, including what we had taken on the raid, we sent to Yrechwydd.
Both Caradoc and Urien were surprised with the speed and completeness of the victory. There was a great deal of congratulating and gift-giving and Caradoc gave a feast. It was an especially splendid one, and used a large amount of the Saxon mutton we had given Caradoc, as well as great quantities of mead and wine. Taliesin sang of the recent encounter, singing the praises of the living and of the dead. He gave a stanza to me: “I will sing the praise of Gwalchami,/Whose sword was as lightning, a flash to the Saxon/Shining in the red tide, the ride of battle…” and so on. Urien beat the table at that stanza, and Arthur frowned. Agravain, seeing the frown, tensed angrily, and Cei grinned at him sardonically. The two glared at each other for the rest of the night.
The following morning Caradoc sent a messenger to me and, when I had come to his rooms, offered me a position in his warband. I refused.
He frowned. “I have heard stories which led me to expect this,” he told me in his dry, quiet voice. “Still, I had not thought…what do you hope to gain?”
I leaned against the wall, fingering a gold brooch I had won in the fight. “A place in the Family.”
Caradoc shook his head. He was a small, calculating man who looked more of a monk than a king. “I do not think you will get that. Arthur has something that he holds against you. I discussed it with him last night.”
I dropped my hand and stood up straighter. “Did he say what it was?”
“You do not know? No, he said only that he suspected you of witchcraft. For my own part, I think it absurd to suspect a warrior who has proved himself in battle of so weak and womanish a pursuit as that. I would be willing to give you second place under my war-leader, and the rank of tribune…”
“Thank you, Lord; it is a noble offer and more generous than I deserve, but I will wait for Arthur. He may yet change his mind.” I bowed to Caradoc.
He steepled his fingers, stared at me a moment, then smiled drily and nodded. “You can afford to wait, I suppose. Tell me, is it only the desire for battle and fame which makes men follow Arthur ab Uther? I ask this as a king, and one who needs more men and is uncertain how to get them.”
I shook my head. “It is not only the battle and fame. Bran of Less Britain was willing to risk his life and his followers for Arthur before he was High King, when he was still a usurping bastard. It is because Arthur is Arthur…He says that he wishes to restore the Empire.”
“You are not Roman: what is the Empire to you?”
“Very little,” I admitted, smiling. “But the Empire that Arthur would create is a great deal, and I am willing to wait and hope until Arthur sees that.”
He sighed, a short, sharp sigh of exasperation. “So others also have said, they would rather fight for Arthur and starve than have high advancement with another, and always it is because ‘he is a great emperor,’ or ‘he will restore the Empire’ or ‘preserve the Light.’ Very well, Gwalchmai of Orcade, good fortune attend your waiting!” He rose and saluted me. “But should you change your mind before Arthur changes his, and should you decide that you dislike Urien, the place will still be open. You are a brave man and a fine warrior, and I have said as much to the Pendragon. Now, I believe that your Arthur is preparing to leave again, so you had best go and join him.”
I bowed deeply and left, closing the door behind me.
Since Ossa could not expect a second raid so soon after the first we made a second, south of the first one, and concentrated on the newly settled border region. Ossa refused to make the same mistake twice and waited to gather his army before marching on us. In doing so he made a worse mistake, for he left his royal fortress, Catraeth (or Cataracta, as the Saxons call it) with only a light guard while he marched slowly up to when we had last been reported. But we circled around through Ebrauc as fast as we could press our horses, left the plunder from the raid there, and struck into the heart of Deira. We took Ossa’s fortress, removed all the hoarded plunder, and fired as much of it as we could before retreating again to Caer Ebrauc. We were surprised at the amount of plunder; Ossa’s raids had apparently been successful. Ossa had tried to follow us when he heard that we were again in Deira, but arrived in Catraeth too late, and had to disband his army for the harvest-season and try to repair the damage and appease his warband, who had also lost their goods.
Urien was delighted.
“By the sun and the hosts of Heaven,” he told Arthur when we were again feasting in Caer Ebrauc, “you’ll have them beaten by mid-winter!”
Arthur shook his
head. “It will be harder from now on. They know how quickly we can move now. And we are still unable to meet their army, and they know that. They have learned, I think, not to raid too deeply into British territory, or to fear retaliation if they do. But they will guard themselves now, and probably try more short raids. Still, at this rate—perhaps by midsummer.”
Urien laughed. “Midsummer. I have been fighting for years, and have felt glad if I can manage to hold my own. Ach well, you have fine warriors, who know how a war should be fought. Your friend Bedwyr seems capable of leading the Family on his own.” (Bedwyr, near Arthur as always, smiled at the compliment but made a disclaiming gesture.) “And Cei ap Cynryr is a man who would be war-leader in any other warband. And Gereint and Goronwy and Cynan and my nephew Agravain have earned their fame as well, that is plain. I cannot hope to match them with any of my own followers. And then, I must guard my coasts, or those thrice-damned Irish would burn my fortress under me.” Urien paused, taking another sip of Caradoc’s wine, and looked at Arthur with a gleam in his eyes. “And Gwalchmai ap Lot, though not a member of your Family, fights in such a way as to make songs for the poets.”
Arthur shrugged and changed the subject.
Agravain glared at Arthur, then hacked savagely at the haunch of venison before him. Cei glared back at Agravain, then stared at Bedwyr, questioningly. Bedwyr was his friend and Arthur’s, and Cei expected the Breton to take their side in the debate which had grown up about Arthur’s continued refusal of my word. Many of the warriors, who admired my fighting and my refusal to serve any other, endlessly discussed Arthur’s reasons and frequently blamed him, which caused others to grow angry with them. Bedwyr alone tried to remain neutral, and Cei resented this neutrality.
“Well, but it is true, Hawk of Battle,” Urien said, refusing to accept Arthur’s change of subject and turning to me. “How was it in that skirmish half a day’s ride south-east of the border? I missed that one.”
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