by N. M. Browne
Bedewyr welcomed Petronax home and did his best not to show his amusement that the proud veteran had been captured by a woman. Dan sent the other men Bedewyr had chosen to find Larcius and Bryn.
The summons from Duke Arturus came almost at once, before Dan had done little more than outline what had happened to him and sketch in Taliesin’s role. Ursula seemed less concerned than he had expected.
‘Well, you know, Dan, it’s not certain that I’d have got us home anyway. There are places I could have taken us to that are a lot worse than this. You don’t want to know some of the nightmares I’ve had about the Veil – back in Macsen’s world! I’m just grateful we’ve both survived.’ She was – he could feel it clearly. For the moment, all she could think about was that he lived, and so did she – against the odds. Ursula pushed her hair back from her grimy face unselfconsciously and continued, ‘Anyway, what’s this Duke Arturus like?’
‘Not like Macsen. He’s cold somehow – not such a leader.’
‘Is he one of the good guys?’
‘He’s against Rhonwen and he says the Aenglisc are savages. Are they?’
‘I don’t think I saw their caring-sharing side. They were going to kill me and let Rhonwen tell the future from my death throes. What does Taliesin think?’
‘I think he sees these people as Combrogi, even though they seem more Roman to me and some of them don’t even speak the tribal languages.’
‘You don’t seem convinced, Dan.’
‘I’ve had enough fighting. All I want to do is go home.’
With that, they were escorted back into Arturus’s council chamber where Dan greeted Bryn with a warrior’s embrace. Bryn almost glowed with joy that his Lord still lived. Dan fought a lump in his throat. He’d never realised how much he meant to the Combrogi orphan. He made a private vow to be more worthy of the boy’s absolute and unqualified adoration.
There was a tension in the air that must have been obvious to anyone. Taliesin stood silently to the left of Arturus while Medraut stood to his right, looking remarkably cheerful in spite of his wound. He did not seem to be in any pain but was being persuaded to sit down by an insistent Brother Frontalis. The walls of the chamber were lined with men. The man Ursula knew as Larcius was lounging on the sheepskin-covered couch. Dan sensed Ursula’s sudden confusion when she saw Larcius in clean garments. He realised bleakly that she was very attracted to him. She even blushed. It made him feel acutely uncomfortable.
Ursula had been too busy talking with Dan to change her clothes. She was caked in dried blood and dirt and stank of horses and stale sweat. Her pale blonde hair was filthy and hung like rats’ tails around her face. Dan thought she looked beautiful, if in an unconventional way.
The Duke eyed her coldly.
‘Do you claim to be the Boar Skull of legend?’
‘I have been called that, sir, yes,’ she said calmly, undeterred by the tension in the air.
‘But you are a woman.’
‘Yes, that’s true. Didn’t Taliesin tell you that bit?’
She was joking but Dan knew the moment she said it that Taliesin had omitted that part of the tale. Dan glanced at the bard; his lips were drawn into a thin line but his face remained otherwise impassive. Perhaps he’d thought her transformation into the mighty Boar Skull too unbelievable. Ursula was smiling; her joy at finding Dan had put her into an uncharacteristically buoyant mood. It worried Dan because to him she seemed enormously vulnerable. She was taller than almost all the men there, strong and athletically lean, but compared to the burly men all round she seemed young and slight and horribly, innocently, unaware of the disapproval she was generating. Dan felt the waves of it combined with anger that the hero Taliesin had promised was this tall, filthy, straggle-haired girl. He wanted to warn her. She had learned to fight well as Ursula but without her magically-enhanced alter ego, she was no more the Boar Skull than he was the Bear Sark. He sensed trouble.
‘Taliesin neglected to mention that you were a girl, yes, and it makes me wonder how true the rest of his tales were.’
Taliesin said nothing, but Dan felt Ursula’s anger begin to blaze. He wished he still had his sword. If they hurt her he was not sure he could keep from killing them all or dying in the attempt. His sword, still moulded to his own hand, was in Ursula’s strong grip. They had not thought to disarm her, which summed up their expectations of her.
‘I don’t know why Taliesin did not mention my gender; perhaps he did not think it important. I have fought as a Combrogi warrior and I have proved my worth to those whose opinion I respect.’ Dan noted how she tightened her grip on the sword and subtly altered her stance. She was not unaware then. He could feel her rising anger but also her battle readiness.
There was a murmuring from the assembled men, a wave of challenge: let her fight.
Ursula glanced around quickly at the assembled men and spoke to them directly. She was afraid now, Dan knew it, but she was ready to do some damage. He prayed silently that there would be a way out. Ursula was good, but without magic, she could be beaten. Ursula herself brought his earnest prayer to an unexpected halt. ‘Come on then! Try me!’ she shouted in the commonest Combrogi tongue, accompanying the challenge with a white-toothed smile that had much in common with Braveheart’s warning teeth-baring. She dropped into a fighting stance. She turned off her grimace of a smile – her face became sullen and expressionless, as it always did when she was under threat. Her blankness was strangely intimidating.
The assembled men ceased their muttering as Larcius rose to his feet, somewhat awkwardly due to his wound. ‘For those of you who do not know me, I am Ambrosius Larcius, son of Ambrosius Aurelianus, High King of Britannia, and grandson of Ambrosius Aurelius who wore the purple.’
There was a sharp intake of breath from the assembled men and Dan finally grasped the reason for the underlying tension in the air. Ursula was only part of it. If this Larcius was the son of the High King was he not the new High King? Did he now outrank Arturus?
Larcius waited until silence was restored. ‘I am here now, alive before you, due to the courage and strength of this young woman. She has proved herself to me and I stand as witness to her many stalwart qualities.’
There was silence, then someone from the back shouted, ‘You fight her then!’
Dan sensed Ursula’s shock; her mixed pleasure and annoyance at Larcius’s somewhat patronising accolade. She did not want to fight him. Dan knew that.
‘He is injured!’ Ursula objected, angrily.
‘And you are a woman,’ Arturus said softly. ‘Give him a sword!’
Someone took Larcius’s cloak and gave him a sword, not a gladius but a longer Roman spatha. Ursula looked at it in distaste. She spat on her hands and wiped them on her grimy tunic. Dan was worried. If this handsome Larcius were a prince he would have had the best available tuition in the arts of war. Ursula had learned with a hard taskmaster, Hane, himself Roman trained, but even so. Maybe Dan could help her as she had once helped him. Maybe he could enter her mind.
‘Ursula?’
He knew she’d heard him, felt the connection between them, the marrying of minds. It had happened before, in Macsen’s world, this strange intimacy at once shocking and familiar. Her answer came back firm and uncompromising, and shocking in its crystal clarity.
‘Get the hell out of my head, Dan. Can’t you see I’m busy?’
Larcius circled her with a professional eye. Ursula contrived to look bored. He made a move and Ursula turned his blade away nonchalantly. Her extra height and reach and her longer sword gave her an advantage that Dan had, in his panic, failed to acknowledge.
She parried several more of Larcius’s more probing attacks. He was a confident swordsman but Ursula came from the hacking and thrusting school of survival; she looked unimpressed. Dan watched her with growing respect. She was not as quick as Dan himself, but she was always where she should be. She moved without particular grace but with great economy and she was strong. She turned aside
Larcius’s blade again and again. The crowd was silent now, watching. If any of the assembled men were true Combrogi they would be betting on the outcome even as Ursula fought. Dan began to get the feeling that Ursula was spinning this out, trying to make Larcius look better than he was. He saw several opportunities she didn’t take, and he knew she’d seen them too.
‘Ursula, get on with it. Finish it!’
She did not answer him but thrust forward suddenly with a well-aimed attack and knocked the sword effortlessly from Larcius’s hand. It skittered across the mosaic floor amidst silence. Taliesin clapped and Arturus scowled.
‘I hope I didn’t reopen your wound.’ Ursula sounded genuinely anxious.
Larcius smiled shakily.
‘You have already pierced my heart with your loveliness – the rest is nothing.’
Ursula blushed again. Dan could not believe it.
There was some clamour at the back and yells of ‘Fix!’ and ‘He let her win!’
Dan knew Larcius had not let her win, though his overly courtly response might have been designed to suggest that he had. That man had been afraid.
Ursula’s irritation got the better of her caution and, with a sinking feeling, Dan heard her shout, ‘Oh, for Lugh’s sake! I’ll fight anyone you like but can we do it outside? This room is stifling!’
They walked en masse to the amphitheatre where Dan had fought Medraut the previous day. Dan pushed his way to Ursula’s side, though she was effectively under guard. They spoke in English.
‘You heard me didn’t you?’
‘Yes, Dan, though I don’t think much of your timing. I don’t know why you’re so surprised, you forget I was once a sorcerer!’ Her triumph over Larcius had put her in playful mood.
‘Seriously, how did you hear me and speak back to me?’
Ursula looked suddenly earnest. ‘Things have changed, Dan, but not the connection between us. Have you forgotten how I passed power to you? How you learned the language from me? We are linked somehow, as we have been since Rhonwen first called us.’
Dan was confused by that earnestness, the uncomplicated affection she had for him. ‘No, I’ve not forgotten. I just didn’t think it would still work here. Oh, I don’t know. It’s all too weird.’ He found it increasingly difficult to get his mind round what was happening to him, the strange feeling that his own mind was not a closed entity but receptive to the minds of others. He changed the subject. ‘Listen, are you OK with this fight even though you’re not Boar Skull now?’
In Macsen’s world, Ursula’s magic had first manifested itself in her ability to take on the form of a huge and extremely effective male warrior.
Ursula’s grin was mischievous. ‘The funny thing is, I think I am. I don’t look like him … er, me – whatever. I don’t seem to have his physique and all the rest of it but I feel like I’ve got the strength and the reactions he, I mean I, had when I was Boar Skull. It’s great! I loved having that power. I tell you, whoever fights me next is in for a surprise.’
She laughed, a laugh not too far from hysteria. Even reading her mind Dan did not understand Ursula, but he no longer worried about the coming fight. He’d bet on Boar Skull against all comers.
Three men offered to fight her in turn within the arena formed of Duke Arturus’s soldiers. The first man was a heavily muscled tribesman who, unusually it seemed, still sported tribal tattoos. He was of the Deceangli, a tough people. Ursula disarmed him quickly enough and when he continued to charge at her, hoping to use his strength against her, she rugby-tackled him and finished the contest straddling his chest with Bright Killer held against his throat. He conceded ruefully to loud barracking from his friends. Ursula spoke to him in his own language and told him not to underestimate women. He was almost as startled by that as by his defeat.
The second challenger was a smaller man, named Viridias. He had the compact build and economical moves of a born fighter. That contest lasted longer, but again Ursula disarmed him and this time he conceded at once. He had quite a reputation in Arturus’s force and when he bowed to her in courtesy at his defeat, the men grew silent. Dan saw him shaking his head at his fellow soldiers; he knew he’d met his match.
The third man, Quiriac, was a giant, at least as tall as Ursula herself and built like Kai, their friend from Macsen’s world on whom Ursula had modelled herself as Boar Skull. He had a Combrogi weapon and wielded it as Ursula held Bright Killer in the three-fingered grip of the tribesmen. Betting started in earnest. Quiriac was supposedly the best fighter in Arturus’s army. Ursula was tiring. She took a goblet of water from one of Arturus’s men, drank some, and poured the rest over her head.
Quiriac was a worthy opponent. He did not waste time circling her. The makeshift arena rang to the clash of Celtic sword against Celtic sword. Ursula’s height was no advantage here and her opponent’s sword was as long as Bright Killer. Ursula’s concentration was total. She could not disarm him; he was too good for that. She raised the sword as if to slice down with all her strength and as Quiriac lifted his sword to parry the blow, she suddenly twisted the blade and slashed sideways so that the cutting edge sliced against his torso. She stopped the blade before it bit too deep, but it could have been a fatal attack. Quiriac conceded defeat and Ursula’s reputation was assured.
Breathing hard she approached Duke Arturus.
Dan was startled to hear her voice in his mind. ‘Do you want to wield Bright Killer again, Dan, or can I pledge it to this Arturus?’
Reluctantly, he replied. ‘I do not want to kill with it again, Ursula, it’s yours – pledge it.’
It seemed to Dan the right thing to do. Arturus’s men banged their spears on the ground so that the earth seemed to shake to their rhythm. They stopped as Ursula started to speak:
‘Duke Arturus, I trust I have proved to you that Taliesin does not lie. I am Boar Skull and I am a Combrogi warrior and I offer you my sword at your service if that is what you will.’
The spear banging started again with even more enthusiasm. Dan was surprised to see a scowl on Taliesin’s face.
‘Forgive my mistrust, Lady Boar Skull. You have indeed proved yourself a warrior of surpassing skill. Larcius tells me that you tore this sword from a great pyre of stones from which no man could release it. It is a magical sword indeed.’
Ursula quickly grasped what Arturus intended.
‘Duke Arturus, it is a great Combrogi blade worthy of a man willing to bear it to unite Britannia, the Island of the Mighty, against her enemies. Take it as a gift and a pledge of my service.’
The spear thumping became maniacal as Arturus raised the sword to the sky.
‘I name this sword, torn from the very rock of this land, the sword from the stone, given in our country’s hour of direst need: Caliburn.’
Dan felt a shiver run down his spine as he heard the name; there was something familiar about the name ‘Caliburn’. More than that, the powerful image of a sword being lifted from the stone suggested a conclusion so obvious it was ridiculous.
‘Ursula, I’ve just remembered “Caliburn” was another name for the sword in the Arthur legend – you know, Excalibur. You don’t think …?’ he tailed off and Ursula’s incredulous mental voice finished the idea.
‘You don’t think Duke Arturus could be Arthur do you? He couldn’t be!’
Chapter Twelve
Dan tried to speak to Taliesin but Duke Arturus, having proclaimed the day a feast day, swept him off somewhere. Dan could sense that Taliesin was in some way disappointed with what had occurred in the amphitheatre. As it was inconceivable that he would have wished Ursula to lose, Dan gathered that the bard’s dissatisfaction had something to do with the sword.
Bryn, Dan and Ursula were shown to their lodgings in an inn by one of the War Duke’s retinue. It was a ramshackle-looking place, close to Arturus’s villa in the main town. Duke Arturus sent his deepest apologies, apparently, but all the rooms in his villa were already filled with high-ranking visitors from throughout the
Combrogi territories, preparing to choose a replacement for Ambrosius as High King. It would not be politic, Arturus’s messenger announced gravely, to request that such guests be moved to less prestigious accommodation. But as a sign of the esteem and honour in which Arturus held them he had sent them precious gifts and the messenger himself would assist them in dressing should they have need of him.
The inn keeper was a short broad woman, more concerned with sorting out barrels of ale for the feast than with them. She treated Bryn like one of her many children, forcefully persuading him to wash and change before allowing him to check on Braveheart in the stables. She left Dan and Ursula alone.
They sat hunched by the fire on low wooden stools. Arturus seemed to have no urgent need for them before the feast and Taliesin had not appeared, as Dan had half expected, to speak to Ursula or comment on what she had done. Ursula was chewing thoughtfully on some bread the innkeeper had given them. It was tough and adulterated with hard lumps of something she’d rather not think about, but the fights had made her hungry. She spoke unselfconsciously, with her mouth full.
‘I don’t understand how Duke Arturus could be our Arthur of legend. I don’t think I even like him much and he looks wrong. Shouldn’t there be a fine castle, Camelot, and a wizard called Merlin and—?’ Ursula stopped, irritated. She did not want her idea of a mythical Arthur to be no more than a rather cold, cross young man in a patched robe.
‘But think about it!’ Dan launched his theory with conviction. ‘This place – Camulodunum Bedewyr called it but I heard some of the soldiers refer to it as the Fort of Camulos. Well, that could be Camelot, couldn’t it? You’ve got to admit it sounds like it and then, well, I have heard Taliesin called Merlin – I’d almost forgotten with everything else that’s gone on. Medraut called him merlin-man and Frontalis called him Merlin, and I’m sure Caliburn is another version of the name Excalibur, and you’ve got to admit Arthur is just a modern version of Arturus.’