Hawk of May (18 page)

Sion gave me a look of flat disbelief. “You have. Someday, I will tell my grandchildren how I met you on your way to Camlann and gave you a ride in my cart, and they will not believe a word of it.” He stood, dusting off his knees. “They will say, ‘There is Grandfather, pretending that once he knew all the kings in Britain and making himself foolish.'”

I shook my head. What fighting I did would surely be in dark places, where there is no fame to be brought back to the sunlit world. “Why don't you wait until Arthur has accepted my sword before planning what you will tell your grandchildren?” I asked. “You might say, ‘And once I met Gwalchmai mac Lot,' and they will only reply, ‘Who?'”

Sion shook his head stubbornly. “That they will not say. Do you wish to leave now for Camlann?”

We were just leaving the chapel when we heard the sound of shouting and of horses from the abbey yard. We glanced at each other and hurried out into the sunlight, and found the other travellers, most of the monks, and a group of warriors standing about within the gate and shouting. There were about a dozen of the warriors; they were British, mounted on tall war-horses, and their arms gleamed.

One of the monks was doing most of the shouting. He was the abbot, I guessed, from the quality of his clothing and the jewels on the gold pectoral cross he wore. “What more?” he was demanding. “We have had to ask more from our flock to cover what you have taken already, and we've barely enough to last us until the harvest even so…”

“Do you think you can put us off with plain lies?” answered one of the warriors. He was a very big man, so big that his war-horse looked small. His red hair bristled in all directions, and his light blue eyes glittered dangerously; he wore more jewelry than I had seen on one man before, and brighter colors. “You have enough and more than enough to grow fat on, without taking double tithes of your miserable ‘sheep' and robbing every traveller who comes by expecting hospitality. If the Saxons came here, they would take all you have, down to the last rush and candlestick. Aren't you grateful to us for keeping them away?”

“The Saxons are only an excuse, a pretext put forward by a tyrant!” said the monk fiercely.

The warriors laughed. “Perhaps now you prefer the Saxons to the emperor,” said another, a lean, dark, one-handed man in
plain clothing. “But you would think otherwise if the Pendragon ceased to fight them.”

The abbot snarled, “It is the duty of Christian kings to protect their people; it is not their duty to rob them. We cannot give…”

“Oh? Hear him, brothers!” said the red-head. “He cannot give. But we can take.”

“Robbers!” cried the abbot.

“Be careful, Cei,” warned the dark warrior. “Arthur said we must not push them to breaking.”

Cei shrugged. “But if we bend them a little? Perhaps with a little fire? Just a small one, on top of the gate house?”

The abbot looked at him furiously, decided not to
risk seeing whether he was serious. “You godless killers,” he said. “We keep some supplies over there, only a few, but all we have.”

The dark warrior gave his comrade, Cei, a meaningful look. “Yes, perhaps you keep the tenth part of your goods there. Truly, Theodoruas, it does you no good to lie to us. Last time you said you had no gold, and then came to us wanting us to recover what you'd sent to Sorviodunum for safekeeping. Very well, I suppose that that will have to do for now.” He turned from the abbot to Sion and the other travellers and announced, “The Pendragon has won another victory, for he came across a large Saxon raiding party in Powys, and destroyed it. Praise to God.”

The farmers cheered. The Saxon raids would probably be eased slightly now, and their lands and herds were safer.

“It is good that you are pleased,” said Cei. “In token of it, you can lend us any carts and horses you have. You can claim them in Camlann, and you'll be paid for any goods you've brought.”

The farmers fell abruptly silent.

“By my name saint!” said Sion angrily. “I've a fine load of wheat flour in my cart, and my best horses harnessed to it. I'll not lend it to any before you pay me.”

The other farmers muttered angry agreement. The dark warrior shrugged. “You will be repaid. The emperor will not cheat you.”

“You misheard me,” said Sion. “I said, I will not lend you my cart and cargo without payment.”

“Yes you will,” said Cei. “You will lend it for payment later, or lose it altogether.”

“That is not just,” I said, becoming as angry as the farmers. “I do not think that your lord could approve of it.”

The dark warrior lifted an eyebrow. “We need supplies,” he said, very calm and reasonable. “We need carts and horses to move the supplies, and all of ours are damaged or being used for the wounded. My lord Arthur approves. You will be paid, never fear.” I continued to stare angrily, and suddenly he frowned and gave me a sharper look.

The other spokesman for the warriors, Cei, ignored the whole exchange and simply asked the farmers, “Where are your carts?”

Sion spat and crossed his arms. “First pay me.” The other farmers followed his example and remained stubborn.

“Give them some token now,” I suggested to the dark warrior, “or at least mark down the value of the goods, so that they can be sure of their full payment when they reach the High King.”

Cei glared at me. “Who, by God, are you? You're no farmer. What's your business here?”

“My name is Gwalchmai, and I was going to Camlann to seek service with the Pendragon.”

Cei laughed. “Arthur has no need of swineherds. You had better go back to wherever you came from and leave warriors' matters to warriors.” He said it as a challenge, speaking as Agravain often had.

The dark one shifted uneasily. “Cei, stop.”

“What? Bedwyr, you cannot want to defend this base-born meddler?”

Bedwyr shook his head dubiously. “Let him be. If he speaks the truth, he may be our comrade soon.”

“Him? A warrior? Look at how he's dressed! He hasn't even a horse!”

“Nonetheless,” said Bedwyr. “Let us take what we need and go, without fighting. We must reach Camlann quickly.”

“Bedwyr, my brother, do not turn moralist on me again. I swear the oath of my people, you Bretons are worse than Northerners, and almost as bad as the Irish.”

Bedwyr smiled. “So, it is ‘bad as the Irish' again? There speaks a true Dumnonian. But I seem to recall that…”

“Per omnes sanctos
!
There are exceptions; I admitted that I was wrong about him. God in heaven, how you revel in my mistakes. Why am I cursed with such disloyal friends?”

At this the warriors began to laugh and Bedwyr smiled again.

“Truly, Cei,” he continued, “you are over-fond of fighting; and it will hurt us here.”

Cei sighed. “Very well.” He looked back to me. “I will overlook it, you. Now, men, where are your carts?”

“Where is your justice?” replied Sion, but uncertainly now.

“Be quiet, farmer!” snapped Cei. “Or I will teach you when to hold your tongue.”

My hand dropped to Caledvwlch's hilt. Cei saw the movement and drew his own sword with a ring of metal, his eyes lighting. The warriors fell silent
.

“What do you mean to do with that, my friend?” asked Cei, soft-voiced now, and courteous.

“Cei…” Bedwyr began again, then stopped, seeing that it was useless.

“I do not mean to do anything with this,” I said, my voice also soft. “But I will not have you threatening my friends as well as stealing their goods.”

Cei dismounted and came closer, grinning fiercely. Abruptly I realized what I had done and wondered what could have come over me. How could I fight a professional warrior, one of Arthur's men? The most I could hope for was not to be hurt too badly.

But I could not withdraw now, and something of the same lightness fell on me. I drew Caledvwlch. Cei grinned still more widely and took another step forward.

“Cei! Who is it now?” came a voice from the back of the group. The warriors glanced round.

Another of their number had ridden up, carrying some of the monks' supplies, and Cei's band made room for him. He was a tall man of about twenty-one, with long gold hair and a neat beard and moustache. He wore a purple-bordered cloak fastened with gold, and radiated energy and strength. His hot blue eyes skipped lightly over me to rest on Cei. “If this man is all, he's not worth it.”

“He began it,” said Cei in an injured tone.

“The day someone else begins a fight with you, rivers will run backwards,” said the newcomer. “By the sun and the wind, for once let us obey Arthur and simply take the supplies and go.”

Cei paused, glanced back at me. I sheathed Caledvwlch.

Cei sighed a little, then sheathed his own sword. “Well enough. It is not worth it; and it is too soon after a battle besides.” He swung up on to his horse. The blond man grinned and turned his own horse. The tension was gone: the foraging party would take what it wanted and go.

“Wait!” I called. The warriors stopped, turned, looking inquisitive. I smiled, feeling a strange emotion, half joy, half an old envy and bitterness—bitterness which dissolved away, leaving only the joy.

“A thousand welcomes, Agravain,” I said to the blond warrior.

My brother sat motionless for a moment, staring at me with his old hot stare. Then he dismounted hurriedly, ran a few steps towards me; stopped; walked on slowly.

“It is impossible,” he said, his face growing red. “You…you are dead.”

“Truly, I am not.” I replied.

“Gwalchmai?” he asked. “Gwalchmai?”

“You know him?” demanded Cei in astonishment. Agravain did not even look round.

“I had not thought to see you so soon,” I said. “I am very glad.”

He smiled hesitantly, then beamed, caught my shoulders, looked at me, and crushed me in a hug. “Gwalchmai! By the sun and the wind, I thought that you were dead, three years dead! Och, God, God, it is good to see you!”

I returned the embrace wholeheartedly, laughing, and it seemed that finally all the dark years of our childhood were blotted out for me. We had both endured too many things to feel anything but gladness on meeting one another again.

“What is happening?” asked Cei, in complete confusion. “Why are you jabbering in Irish?”

“Cei!” shouted Agravain, releasing me and whirling about to his comrades. “This is my brother, Gwalchmai, the one who died—the one I thought had died! I swear the oath of my people, I do not know how, but this is he.”

The warriors reacted by staring in astonishment, except for Cei, who gave me a look of first embarrassment, then apology. But the farmers around me drew away a little, and the monks stared with increased suspicion.

“So he is the famous Agravain ap Lot,” said Sion, looking at my brother—the only one in the crowd who was.

“Is he famous?” I asked, remembering my old worries for Agravain's case as a hostage. Clearly, they had been wasted. “Och well, it might have been expected.” Agravain grinned at that.

“Where have you been when you were considered dead, that you heard nothing of your brother's fame?” asked Bedwyr quietly. I looked up, met his eyes, and felt respect for him.

“I have been to a distant place,” I said. “And through strange things, too many to tell quickly.”

“Indeed,” said Bedwyr, not questioning at all, and shook himself.

“These are strange matters enough,” said another of the warriors. “Come, let's finish our business here and go to Camlann. Arthur and the rest will be there soon, and there's nothing to eat there but pork rinds and cabbage.”

Most of the foraging party set about loading the monks' goods into the already loaded carts, and, at my insistence taking down the amount and kind of the farmers' goods. Agravain and I stood looking at each other and trying to decide how to begin. Then the carts rolled out into the yard, and Sion, who had been harnessing his mare, reluctantly jumped from the seat. “You will see that my horse is well treated?” he asked me.

I nodded, then, realizing that it was intended that he should continue to Camlann on foot and that I might not see him again, I caught his hand. “And I will remember you, Sion ap Rhys, if the thought of that gives you pleasure. If I do not see you at Camlann, remember that. And if ever you need any help, and I can give it, my sword is yours.”

“I thank you,” he replied, quietly. “And…may God grant you favor with the emperor.”

“And may you walk in Light.” I climbed into his cart and took the reins. “I will drive this one,” I told Agravain. He nodded, and I shook the reins. The little mare started off, trotting down the hill towards the causeway. Those warriors who had taken the other carts followed, and Agravain rode his horse beside me. We left Ynys Witrin and turned east for the main road and Camlann.

“Why don't you let the farmers drive their own carts?” I asked Agravain.

“They would go too slowly, and when they arrived in Camlann, drive the prices up by their bargaining. As it is we can have the standard price ready for them when they reach the gate, and send them off at once. You seemed friendly with that man; where did you meet him?”

“On the road, yesterday.”

Agravain checked his horse. “Yesterday? What did he do for you, that you let him take liberties?”

“He gave me a ride in his cart, and paid for my night's stay at Ynys Witrin. I had nothing to pay with.”

Agravain scowled. “And for that you take his hand? You should merely have repaid him double, and not demeaned yourself. Why in God's name had you nothing to pay with?”

“In God's name,” I said. “Have you become a Christian, Agravain?”

“God forbid!” he said, grinning, then frowned again. “You should not let commoners become so familiar. They are always wanting favors, then.”

I sighed. “Sion is a good man. I was lucky to have met him.”

Agravain's frown deepened, but he shrugged. “Well, you can choose your own friends.”

“I think he is capable of that,” said a quiet voice on the other side. Bedwyr drew his horse in besides us. “Come. We must hurry. I do not want Arthur to have to wait for his victory feast at Camlann.”

Agravain spurred his horse and I urged Sion's mare obediently, though she did not like the brisk trot with the heavy cart. We fell silent again, and Cei came up and rode beside Bedwyr, giving me interested looks.

“You destroyed Cerdic's raiding party, then?” I asked, finally thinking of something to say. “That is good, but surprising. I would have thought his parties move too quickly for even the Pendragon to reach them before they returned to Sorviodunum.”

“It was more chance than foresight,” said Bedwyr. “We were returning from fighting the East Saxons when we heard news of this raiding party from Sorviodunum, and we caught them only just in time.”

“That was a thing Cerdic hadn't planned for,” said Cei with satisfaction. “They say that that sorcerer of his, Aldwulf Flamddwyn, has been telling him where Arthur is. But even Aldwulf cannot predict where Arthur will be.”

“Nor can we,” said Agravain. “Even when we are with him. He is a great king, Gwalchmai. It shames me that ever Father fought him. We should have made alliance with him, and not with those Northern cattle.”

“Now, that is true,” said Cei, “and it would have saved you time, as well.”

“But your brother must believe this, too, Agravain,” Bedwyr added, “Otherwise he would not be seeking to serve Arthur.”

Agravain frowned again. “What were you expecting to do, Gwalchmai? Arthur takes only warriors and a few doctors with the warband. You could stay in Camlann, I suppose, if you are not planning to go home.”

“I cannot go back to the islands,” I said. “But you, Agravain, how is it that you are fighting alongside Arthur's own warband? And gaining fame in it, as well? I have not heard any news of you, not since you were taken hostage.”

“Och, that,” said Agravain. “That came of itself. The High King was kind to me, after Father and our kinsmen had gone; and I had some admiration for him already, because of his skill at war, though I hated him for an enemy.”

“But he let you fight beside his men?”

“Not at once.” Agravain suddenly grinned at Cei. “This hard-handed lout of a Dumnonian decided to give me the sharp edge of his tongue, and that is a sharp edge indeed. I understood little enough of it at the time, for my British was still not good, but I understood enough. And so one day, when he and the Family, returned from a raid, were at Camlann, and he began to say, ‘The only worse men than the Saxons are the Irish,' I up and hit him. So he hit back, and we were at it like hammer and anvil. Only, as you see, he is bigger than I, and got the better of me.”

“Only you would not stop fighting for all that,” Cei put in.
“Gloria Deo
!
I was certain I was fighting with a madman.”

“And when he knocked me down for the fifth time, and I tried to get up again, and had to hold on to a table to do it, he said, ‘You mad Irishman, don't you know enough to stop fighting when you are beaten?' and I said, ‘I do not; and I wish my father had not either.' And he said, ‘You're a wild barbarian, but by God, you've heart enough. I take back my words,' and helped me up. And when the High King next wanted him to lead a raid, Cei said, ‘Let me take Agravain, then. It is the only way to keep him out of trouble.'”

“Not,” added Bedwyr, “that Cei wanted to keep out of trouble. On the contrary, there is nothing he likes better, and he was the more pleased that he had a friend to make it with him.”

“So I have fought for the High King,” Agravain concluded. “And it is well and good. Father has sent messages, from time to time, saying that he is pleased to hear that I fight well. But what of yourself, Gwalchmai? For three years I have heard nothing of you, not from the islands, nor from Britain nor from anywhere else. Where have you been?”

I looked away, unsure. I owed it to my brother to tell him the truth, but what he would do with that truth I could not guess. Probably, refuse to believe it. Still, I would tell him. But how could I speak of Morgawse before Bedwyr and Cei? Agravain would have to believe what I said of her—he knew her just well enough for that—but it was not for the ears of others.

“Perhaps you should begin at the beginning,” suggested Agravain when the silence became awkward.

“There is time enough for you to tell the tale,” Bedwyr added, “It is miles yet to Camlann.”

I studied Bedwyr. Here, I realized, was another man who served the Light, but one completely different from Sion. He had seen at the first that I had had dealings with the Otherworld, too, and his eyes were still doubtful. Now Cei too was giving me a peculiar look. Only Agravain noticed nothing.

“Agravain,” I said, “I can tell you. But not now.”

“By the sun and the wind!” exclaimed Agravain, using his old oath, which touched me hard with memories, “You have just returned from the dead, as far as I know, and you wish me to wait patiently and make light conversation?”

“That might be best,” I said. “It is a family matter.”

“I have another family now,” replied Agravain, waving his hand towards the warriors around him. “And what concerns me concerns them.”

“If you wish to join us,” Bedwyr commented, “you will have to tell us as well. There is no vengeance taken for past blood feuds or such once a man has joined the Family.”

“Gwalchmai join the Family?” asked Agravain. “That is as unlikely as his engaging in a blood feud. He is not a skilled warrior.”

Bedwyr looked thoughtful. “Perhaps.”

“I am not,” I said. “I hope to serve the Pendragon in some other way.”

“Arthur does not take many men with us,” said Cei, “but he might make an exception, if you can ride well.”

“He was the best rider in the islands,” said Agravain. “He can join us in some fashion, then, if not as a warrior?”

“That is up to our lord Arthur,” Bedwyr said.

“But if you wish to, we have a right to know what you have done,” Cei told me. “Shortly after Agravain joined us, he had a message from the Ynysoedd Erch saying that his brother had ridden off a cliff, and he went into mourning for weeks. Anything that affects him thus is my concern too. So, tell us now.”

I looked from him to Bedwyr to Agravain, then shrugged. “As you wish. But it is a strange story, and I do not know whether you will believe me. And there are things Agravain and I can understand that you may not. I am not a skilled fighter, to be involved in duels and blood feuds, but this is a matter of Darkness…”

The doubt in Bedwyr's eyes flamed in suspicion. Agravain gave a start, like a frightened horse shying. “Then it does have something to do with Mother,”
he whispered.

“It does,” I agreed. “Would you prefer that I wait, brother?”

He began to nod, stopped again. “I had heard that you went riding at night, on Samhain. By the cliffs. It was a mad thing to do, but like you, and I had heard also that…” he trailed off, and I saw that he too was familiar with my old reputation for sorcery. Cei and Bedwyr glanced at each other, the same thought in their minds.

Then Cei snorted. “Your mother, the famous witch, and an old pagan festival, and this is a reason for disappearing? I do not believe in such things. I did not think you believed either, Agravain.”

“I don't,” said Agravain. But he did not look at Cei. He believed, well enough. It was impossible to know Morgawse and not believe in her power.

“Shall I go on?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Agravain. “Cei and Bedwyr are also my brothers now; they have the right to hear.”

Well, if that was how it was to be, I would tell the tale to the three of them. But I didn't want to. It would be painful enough to tell to kinsmen, let alone strangers. “Agravain,” I said, “what did you hear of my death?”

“Only what I said, that you went riding at night on Samhain, and your horse was found by the cliff next day, riderless. No one could expect you to turn up two and a half years later, eighteen miles from Camlann, dressed like a servant and picking fights with Cei—couldn't you have chosen someone else? He's the best foot fighter in the Family.”

Cei grinned and nodded his agreement with this.

“And you have grown! It has been so long since I saw you—you are seventeen now, and the last time was what—more than three years ago. Come, explain how it happened.”

I drove the cart in silence for a while, trying to decide where to begin, and praying that my brother would accept the story. “You recall a certain summer, years ago, when I first began learning Latin?” I asked finally.

He thought back. “Yes. A wise thing to do; they speak a deal of it here, and I still cannot understand a word of it.”

“That is where it began. We had a quarrel over my learning such a thing, and you called me a bastard and said that I was trying to learn sorcery.”

Agravain looked surprised. “I did? I don't remember that.”

“I suppose you wouldn't. It didn't mean much to you. But I was foolish, and it meant a deal to me. I determined to truly learn sorcery.” I lifted my eyes from the road and met Agravain's hot stare. “And I am certain that you did hear of those matters.”