Hawk of May (26 page)

Was swinging. Despite their losses, the Saxons were rallying, forming a strong shield-wall; and they had broken the momentum of the British charge. The forces had locked shields, the high tide line of bodies moved no further forward, but hung for what seemed an eternity, motionless. The British stumbled back a few feet, then pressed forward. The hosts swayed like a tree in the wind, like a huge panting animal struggling to give birth. It was hot, very hot. My leather armor was stifling, and in the center the heat must have been nearly unendurable. I felt even more dizzy as the pressure mounted within my skull. It is undecided, I thought, it may turn either way, and Light, let the victory be with us!

But then, just when it seemed that the outcome would become clear, I saw the south flank, the Dumnonians, whose line had been thinned by the Saxon move northward, begin to collapse. If they broke, and the Saxons came through, they could encircle the center and…I looked towards that center, where the dragon waved above the locked warriors. Arthur should be the one to signal us when to attack, but he was nearly in the forest now: could he see the danger on the flank?

The center jerked forward, suddenly and again I saw the High King. Behind him the standard wavered; Arthur turned, small with distance, and seized the standard as it fell, and swung his arm forward. The war-cry rose to us, and the Family was shouting its lord's name. They thrust forward…

But the Saxon flank movement broke through the British line, and the British fell back, trying to lock shields again, were forced back, falling, and then the shield-wall was in pieces and the Saxons were coming through, the light making their helmets look like the heads of so many insects. I clutched my spear uselessly. We could not charge them; their line was three deep, and they could brace their thrusting spears against the ground and destroy any horsemen who managed to pass the hail of throwing spears they would throw at us. And yet, if the cavalry did not charge, the Saxons would encircle the now rapidly moving British center, destroy it, kill Arthur…

It was unthinkable. We all knew it. To attack against the shield-wall was almost certain death, but…We will charge,” said Bedwyr quietly, voicing the thoughts of all of us. “Mount!” He vaulted onto his horse, drew up the reins and looped them about the cantle of the saddle; his shield was already strapped to his arm. “For Arthur!” he called, nearly screaming it, and spurred his horse forward into a gallop.

“For Arthur!” we answered as one, and followed.

The light-headedness that had been with me all the morning suddenly transformed itself into a fire in my mind, the same blinding inward illumination, more powerful than ever before. The sun of noon was high, Ceincaled's pace flowed like music, and I felt light as air, as sunlight. I urged the horse on, no longer thinking of anything at all, past Bedwyr and out of the forest on to the Saxon lines.

They had had time enough to see us coming, and greeted us with spears. I loved them and hurled my own throwing spears in answer, instinctively concentrating on one place in the line and hoping to break it. The world was dissolving about me, leaving only a light and an ecstasy. I threw away my spear and drew Caledvwlch. The Saxons, holding their places, leaning back and bracing their thrusting spears, wavered suddenly as they saw it, their faces distinct, pale and vivid under their helmets now. I was on them, swerving Ceincaled from the tips of two spears and striking, hard and fierce; turning the horse along the lines and striking again. I was vaguely aware of shouts and of screaming, yet the action seemed soundless and detached. The Saxons moved so slowly, recoiling, hesitating, some turning; then the rest of the cavalry also was striking into them and they shattered. We were through their lines and turning back to destroy them. I think I was singing, the same song that burned in my skull. We had the victory within our hands.

The pattern of the rest of that day is lost to me in the fire.

The Saxon army was broken in two places, I was later told, and tried to retreat back the way it had come. But the cavalry had cut off the retreat by the road, over the bridge, and the retreat increasingly became a rout, a desperate run through the forest and across the river as the soldiers dropped their shields to run and most of their arms to swim. Cerdic managed to control his warband and some of his men and retreat in order, but by then most of the British forces had crossed the bridge, and the cavalry cut him off. He surrendered to Arthur late in the afternoon, while the British cavalry still pursued the remnants of the rest of the Saxon forces.

My own memories of the battle, as of most battles, are limited, blurred by too much light, sharp-edged fragments of passion and action. It only becomes clear to me again when, as evening was darkening the east, Bedwyr rode up beside me and caught Ceincaled's bridle.

I knew that he had been somewhere near for most of the day, and that made me pause; but nonetheless I lifted my sword to strike. He caught my sword hand.

“Softly,” he whispered. “The battle is over, Gwalchmai.” I met his eyes, which were dark and calm, and my mind cleared a little. “Softly,” he repeated. I took a deep breath, lowered my sword, and he released my hand and watched me seriously. I looked about.

There were no Saxons in the immediate area, except for dead ones. I did not recognize the place; it seemed to be on the plain. A little to the west, behind Bedwyr, stood a group of Arthur's cavalry, on horses whose heads drooped with weariness. They were looking at me with a kind of awe.

I shook my head, tried to sheath my sword and couldn't fit it in the scabbard. “Where…” I began, and stopped. Exhaustion rolled over me in a great wave, and I caught Ceincaled's mane to stay in the saddle. My side ached, and I felt drained, like a cleaning cloth with the water wrung out of it. Everything seemed dark, and looked different to what it had been only a few moments ago.

“We are some three miles north and east of where we were this morning,” Bedwyr answered my unfinished question, steadily. “And it has been hard fighting. Cerdic has surrendered, and tomorrow he will ask Arthur for terms for a peace, and that peace he will have to keep, for a year or two. We have succeeded. Now, let us go back to the camp and rest.”

It was dark by the time we reached the camp, but the place seethed with torchlight and activity. The dead and the wounded were being brought in from the battlefield by the servants and camp-followers of the army, the wounded being carried to physicians and the dead guarded from looters. Men and women hurried back and forth, bringing herbs and hot water to the doctors; carrying food, for men and for horses leading horses stumbling to the picket lines and carrying still forms on stretchers to the physicians or to the heap awaiting burial. For many the battle had only begun. I was glad that my part in it was finished and I could go to sleep. Even Ceincaled was tired, though he held his head high; and the horses of the others stumbled, blind with exhaustion.

As we entered the camp the workers—servants, slaves, mistresses and wives and relations of the fighters—looked up, then pointed to us. Someone cheered, and some others took it up. Ceincaled tossed his head and a spring came back into his step. Some of the other warriors drew in the reins and straightened, beginning to smile back. Some of the early lustre of victory surrounded us as we rode to the center of the camp, where the Family was and where we could give our horses to the grooms.

Agravain was in the central hub of the camp, seeing to some prisoners whom he abandoned when he saw me. He ran across, circling the great fire, and reached me as I reined in my horse. He caught my foot. He was unkempt and dirty, there was a smear of someone's blood on his cheek, and his beard was bedraggled, but his eyes burned.

“By the sun and the wind and the sea, Gwalchmai!” he shouted in Irish, “I have never seen…if Father could have seen you, he would have given you half the Orcades for that charge. Yffern, he would give you all of them! By the sun, you fought like CuChulainn. I swear the oath of my people…”

He was drowned out by a crowd of warriors and servants who thronged about us, shouting congratulations and praise. It was too much for me. I had felt worn and bewildered before, and could only shake my head vaguely.

“I think I must indeed have fought like CuChulainn,” I said to Agravain finally. “He went mad in battle. And I…don't remember…” Lugh's blessing, I thought. Yes, this sweet madness was given also to his son, CuChulainn. Again I shook my head to clear it, wishing that all the people would go away. “But I am not a divine hero like CuChulainn, Agravain. I am tired. Can you make them be quiet?”

He let go of my foot, spun on the crowd, and snapped, “By Yffern, let him be now. Can't you see that he is tired? There is time and plenty for praising tomorrow.”

The crowd did nothing. Agravain's face darkened and he began to shout. Bedwyr edged his horse away from the crowd a little—they still followed him—and said to Agravain, softly but clearly, “Perhaps if you spoke British they would understand you.”

Agravain glared at him for a moment, then began to laugh. The other warriors began laughing as well, then the servants. The rest of the cavalry slid from their horses, and the crowd began to disperse, everyone embracing and congratulating everyone else.

I dismounted slowly from Ceincaled and caught his bridle. The horse nuzzled my shoulder, snorted in pride and content. I rubbed his sweaty neck, whispering some words of praise and gratitude; then a groom took the bridle from me and led the stallion off. I was about to follow, and care for the horse myself in my usual custom, but Agravain caught my arm and pulled me off to the tent we shared with Rhuawn and Gereint. I remembered what he had been doing and asked, “But your prisoners?”

“The servants will take care of them. I was really only waiting for you.”

My beautiful new spears were gone, and my shield, still strapped to my arm, was hacked so badly as to be useless. I dropped it on the floor and Agravain helped me off with my jerkin. I muttered thanks and collapsed on the sleeping pallet. In the few seconds before I fell asleep it struck me: I had done it. Somehow I, or the fire in my head, had become the hero of the battle and saved the Family. Oh my King, I said silently, you are generous to me beyond measure. The meadow grass under me smelled sweet, of sunlight and flowers under blue skies. Arthur would accept me. I had won.

I woke towards noon the following day. I would have slept longer, but I had a raging thirst. I lay still, aching all over, and trying to remember why I felt so glad in spite of this. After a little, the past day returned to me and I sat up abruptly, wondering if I could have dreamt it. But it was real, real. I sat there for a few minutes, wanting to sing and knowing no words to carry my joy. I think that that was one of the best moments of my life.

There was no one else in the tent. I rose, tried to straighten my clothes a little, and left to find some water. I noticed that I had a cut along my ribs, where a spear must have penetrated the jerkin. It did not seem to have bled much, and was a light wound for the kind of fighting I had been in for; I saw that my right arm was covered with blood. Still, I decided it would be best to have it cleaned. Even a small cut can be deadly if it takes the rot. First, though, a drink; and then I would have to see that Ceincaled was properly cared for. And find Agravain, of course. I had been glad of him the previous night and he deserved thanks and attention. Besides which, I admitted to myself, I wanted to hear what he had to say about my fighting.

I found a servant carrying a double yoke of buckets from the river, and asked him if I could have some water. He looked at me suspiciously.

“And who might you be? I was bringing this to the sick tents, where it is needed.”

“Oh,” I said. “In that case…”

He gave me another look, then smiled. “Ach, it is not that badly needed. You are a warrior, plainly, and if you are just now waking after the battle—I could give you some.”

“That is exactly what I am,” I said. “That, and very thirsty.”

He slid the yoke off his neck and handed me one of the buckets. “Drink some, and I think you had better use the rest to wash in. You are a sight. If you don't mind my asking, who are you? You look as though you were in the thick of it.”

I took a long drink before answering. The water was delicious. “My name is Gwalchmai, son of Lot.”

He actually gasped. “Sweet Jesu! Annwn, but you were in the thick of it indeed! My lord, I can tell my children of this, to be sure!” The man caught my hand and clasped it eagerly. “Indeed, my lord, you are the hero of the camp!”

“Am I? I don't remember it. I was not even sure what I was doing.”

He gave me a puzzled look. “That is not the talk of a warrior.”

“Well, I suppose I am not yet used to being a warrior.” I felt very pleased, though. Extravagant praises are given to the finest fighters in any battle, and, though it seemed unreal, I had earned that position. My father would hear of this, and be proud. Arthur would accept me. I felt as though some inner wound had finally healed.

I took the bucket of water back to our tent, which was still empty, and there washed and put on a clean tunic. When first I saw my reflection in the water of the bucket I understood the servant's initial suspicious look. I was covered with grime and dried blood. I felt grateful to Lugh for the gift of madness that hid the memory of how that blood had got there. I vaguely remembered rubbing the worst of the blood off my sword the night before, but I took it out and cleaned and oiled it again now. Then, feeling still happier, I set out again to find Ceincaled.

He had been picketed in the best place in the line, well-groomed and watered and fed with grain, but he was very pleased to see me. While I checked him to see if he had been at all hurt, listening to the grooms congratulating me on the way I had fought, Agravain came up.

He shouted my name when he saw me, ran over to give me one of his bear hugs, then stepped back, grinning. “I thought you would be here,” he stated cheerfully. “By the sun, Gwalchmai, the thing appears no less splendid in the morning than on the night.”

I shook my had. “I don't remember it. And what else could I have done? Bedwyr ordered the charge, not I.”

“But the charge would have failed without you. Don't disagree with me, brother—accept the credit. You deserve it!”

I grinned back. “By the Light, it is a miracle. Arthur will accept me now.”

“He'd be an idiot if he didn't, and he is certainly not that. By the sun and the wind, though! There we were at the centers, slogging away, thrust and cut and push and getting nowhere, until around noon Arthur caught the standard himself and shouted for us to charge, and we thought we had them. And then we hear a sound like the sky falling, and look up, and there is the cavalry charging down. By the sun, Arthur was angry—he thought you had decided you could not wait—only then he saw what was happening. We all thought it couldn't be done, and the Saxons were even laughing, falling back a little to watch. But then you charged ahead of the rest, looking like CuChulainn, and drew that sword of yours—I swear the oath, it cast shadows all the way over to where I was—and you did it! You broke through their shield-wall, and the rest came in behind you and chopped them to bits.”

“That…yes, I remember that. But you; what happened in the center?”

“We started to yell our lungs out, and ran at the Saxons and carried them back until they were falling over themselves to get away from us. And then I and some others had to run down to the bridge, because your lot took it and left it again, and Arthur didn't want the Saxons to escape by the road. Hard fighting there, for a time. But it was the cavalry charge that won the battle, and you were the one who won the charge. There will be songs about this, brother!”

“And I am glad,” I said, because to say more made the understatement even worse.

“What did you mean, then, that you don't remember it?”

I explained, and he listened carefully. “Like CuChulainn,” he said, nodding. “I wondered what you meant last night. Well indeed; there are plenty who become at least a little mad in battle.”

I nodded
back and asked, “Where is Arthur?”

He paused, considering. “Probably, he is talking with emissaries from Cerdic
and the other Saxons. That, or asleep. He was up until dawn.”

“Till dawn?” It seemed incredible, when I remembered the army's exhaustion, that anyone could have stayed on his feet until dawn. “What was he doing?”

“Och, he was trying to find out what had happened to everyone. But we can go to see if he is free.” Agravain gave Ceincaled a wary pat on the neck, which the horse tolerantly accepted, and we set off. “He always tries to account for each member of the Family before resting,” Agravain went on. “He meets with Cei and Bedwyr and hears who was hurt, and tries to learn whether they are dying or dead or only wounded or missing. He goes to the sick tents and talks to the wounded, especially those that are dying. And he sees that the physicians have all they need and that the wounded are being properly cared for.”

“He is a great king.”

“The greatest in the West,” Agravain agreed, smiling widely. “Which makes him the only fit lord for a warrior such as yourself.”

Arthur was indeed in consultation with emissaries from the Saxons when we arrived at his tent. We joined the crowd of men bringing matters for his decision, and waited.

Soon, I told myself, I would have a place. Morgawse would be proved wrong for ever and I could stop questioning and doubting. Whatever might come next, I would have something I could rely upon. I would be a part of the Family, a servant of the greatest king in Britain, the man who was the center of the struggle raging on Earth. In my imagination I saw it: Arthur would come out of the tent with the Saxons, see Agravain and me and hurry over to us. He would smile, as he had not smiled at me before, and he would take my hand…

The tent-flap opened and Arthur came out, followed by four Saxon noblemen and then by Bedwyr, who had been holding the flap of the tent open.

“It is agreed, then?” Arthur said.

“The terms are harsh,” one of the Saxons said. I recognized him as one of Cerdic's men. His British was excellent.

“A matter of opinion; I think them mild. You have said this before, however. Is it agreed?”

The Saxon nodded glumly. “Tomorrow, mid-morning, on the road by the bridge. We will bring the arm-ring of Thunor and swear the oath on it.” He paused again. “My Lord will be displeased.”

“Tell him that I do him great honor by giving him another form of oath than that I use for the rest of my subjects. It is plain enough that to swear the Threefold Oath in the name of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit means nothing to you.”

“The terms are fair,” said another of the Saxons.

“For you, perhaps,” snapped the first. “You are not asked to surrender lands…” and he added something in Saxon.

“If the lord refuses to accept the terms,” Arthur said, “he must propose others as good, or fight again. You have safe-conduct from my camp, noble lords.”

The Saxons took the hint, bowed politely, and left, escorted by some British warriors. Arthur sighed, watching them leave, and began to turn to Bedwyr with some comment. Then he saw Agravain and me.

Again, his eyes widened slightly, and the shadow fell over him. Again I could feel the Darkness between us, and his horror. For a moment we both stood as though frozen, and my hopes collapsed for a second time, crumbling into dust and leaving me dazed and bitter in their ruin.

Bedwyr followed his lord's gaze, saw us, and frowned. He touched Arthur's arm, and the High King nodded and started over to us.

“Agravain,” he said, clapping my brother on the shoulder. “For holding the bridge yesterday, many thanks; it was well done.”

Agravain's eyes lit and he grinned. “I think we managed to set them back a bit, my lord.”

“A little,” returned Arthur, smiling in return. “By Heaven, you fought like a lion, like a wolf setting a herd of deer to flight.”

Agravain grinned still more widely. “Perhaps it was so, indeed. And my brother also will be praised, for he fought like a falcon, stooping upon a flock of doves, and broke the shield-wall.” Arthur said nothing, dropping his hand, and Agravain only then noticed that anything was wrong. “Gwalchmai, of any of us, deserves your praise,” he said, more hesitantly now.

“He has my thanks,” Arthur said, after a long silence. “For his part in the battle yesterday.”

I bowed slightly, not trusting myself to speak. What with confusion and hurt I did not know what I might say.

“What kind of thanks is that?” asked Agravain, still confused as to what was happening. “My lord, Gwalchmai saved the battle for us.”

“And he has my thanks for it. I expect that now he will find it easy to serve any lord in Britain.”

“Any but yourself,” I finished for him.

The High King looked at me again, at last, and his eyes were like the north sea in midwinter. “I would rather any man but yourself had broken the shield-wall,” he said, in a very quiet, level voice. “A defeat at arms I could have mended, but a victory by the wrong means is worse than a defeat. Without the dream, the war is pointless.”

“I agree, Lord Pendragon,” I said. “And I fought for your dream, though I do not say I understand it entirely. Do you truly believe that I broke the shield-wall by the use of sorcery?”

He did not need to answer. His stare was enough.

Agravain seized his arm. “What do you mean? Didn't Gwalchmai prove anything yesterday? He has earned the thanks of every man in the Family, and of all Britain, all that fear the Saxons!”

“I have given him my thanks,” Arthur said, still quietly, but with a sharper edge to the coldness. “That alone is more than I wish; do not ask me to do more.”

“You have done nothing! By the gods of my people, where is your famous justice? Gwalchmai has proved…”

“Nothing; except that he can kill Saxons. The which we knew already,” snapped Arthur. “It is not your place to speak to me so, Agravain ap Lot.”

Agravain flushed. “By the sun! I've half a mind to seek another lord, with my brother, one who will…”

“You cannot leave. You are a hostage, whom I keep so that your father will remain faithful to his oath.”

Agravain went white, then red with anger. He seized his sword, and I caught his arm. Arthur merely looked at him, not moving, and Agravain slowly loosened his hand, dropped it from the hilt. He stared at Arthur.

“Why?” I asked.

The High King knew what I meant by it. “You already know that, son of Lot. You know it very well, too well, and would God that it were otherwise!” He turned on his heel and left, striding back into the tent; and those who had business for him stood aside, not daring to speak to him.

But I did not know, nor did Agravain. My brother stood, staring after his king, clenching and unclenching his fist.

“By the sun,” he whispered at last, in a choked voice. “That he should, he…” he turned away abruptly. “Oh God. Why?”

“I do not know,” said Bedwyr, tiredly. He had remained behind.

“Hush,” I told Agravain. “He meant nothing against you. He was only angry with me.”

“But why?” Agravain asked angrily. “You helped to give him this victory; you fought for him, risking your own life. What reason did he have to think that you did it by sorcery? And yet, he distrusted you from the start. Gwalchmai, he had much more reason to hate me. I bore arms against him when I fought beside Father. But when I became his hostage, he was generous to me, and never himself mentioned or allowed others to mention in his hearing that I was a prisoner and the son of his enemy. Before I joined the Family, even, he provided me with a servant to help me learn British, and treated me with all courtesy and nobility. But when you came, never having fought against him, seeking his service, and giving him a great victory, he wishes to drive you off like a stray dog. I do not understand it. I cannot understand it.”

“Nor can I,” said Bedwyr. “I saw him last night, when he came to ask me about my men, who was wounded and who was safe. He could not wait to praise me for commanding the charge. I have known him now for years, and think…No. It is not unknown, it is something that has always troubled him. Sometimes I have found him sitting silently and looking at nothing, not as he does when he plans something, but with the look he had just now; and then I do not dare to speak to him. Gwalchmai, are you certain you have not met him before?”