Hawk of May (28 page)

“You are everything I had heard you might be, Arthur ab Uther,” he said, speaking British now. “I do not see why you bother to employ sorcerers.”

“I employ none.”

“Then…?” Cerdic looked to me again.

Arthur shook his head. “Gwalchmai ap Lot is not my warrior.”

Cerdic raised his eyebrows. “Indeed. I wish I had been able to be as firm. Sorcery may be powerful, but sorcerers are unreliable—and dangerous.”

I wondered how Cerdic and Aldwulf had parted. Not amicably, it seemed, for Cerdic spoke with some vehemence.

“I am glad we think alike on this,” said Arthur. “Have you, then, further objections to my terms?”

Cerdic sighed and began to haggle over the wording of the oath, then stopped abruptly. “No. Why continue with this? We both know that I will swear your oath and break it when it pleases me. When next I fight you, Pendragon, you can call it sedition instead of invasion. I think you will find small difference between the two.” Cerdic swung down from his horse and signalled to one of his men. The warrior rode up and dismounted, and Cerdic took from him a large wooden box carved with runes. Arthur dismounted and stood by his horse, waiting.

“This is Thunor's arm-ring,” said Cerdic. “We brought it from Thunor's temple, north and east of Gaul. It is very old, and sacred.” He opened the box and carefully lifted out an immense ring of gold, also carved with runes, heavy, and about two hands' lengths in diameter. He stood looking at it for a moment, then looked up and smiled gaily. “Thunor is a warrior, if a god. He understands these matters of oaths.”

“Swear the oath, then, if you are sure of his forgiveness.”

Cerdic hesitated, turning the ring in his hands. Then he turned to the other kings and politely gestured them to go first.

They, too, dismounted and came forward, Aeduin of Cantware and Eosa of the South Saxons. Each in turn knelt, drew his sword, and swore on sword and arm-ring, by Thunor and Tiw and Woden, an oath that was essentially the same as the oath sworn by all kings to the High King. They were both older than Cerdic, well used to swearing oaths and breaking them, and oaths sworn to the British were particularly easily broken. It was more difficult with the new oath, but their Thunor had broken his word at least once, and they would buy new swords, in case the weapon they had sworn on betrayed them in battle. When they had finished, Cerdic drew his own sword, and stepped forward to face Arthur, who was now holding the arm-ring.

The day was cloudy, but at the moment the sun broke free of the clouds, and the bare steel of Cerdic's sword gleamed brightly in its light, while the arm-ring glowed with warmth. Cerdic smiled more widely, but his eyes held the dark brightness I had seen before. I became suddenly afraid, and ceased to worry over what the kings had said of me. I set my hand on Caledvwlch.

But before anyone could think, Cerdic stepped abruptly forward, lifting his sword to place its cold, gleaming tip at Arthur's throat. Constantius of Dumnonia gave a cry of horror, and Bedwyr dropped his spear into line and drove his horse a step nearer before realizing that he could do nothing and reining in, white-faced. Cerdic's party pressed forward, their swords drawn. Cerdic smiled, the darkness filling him, mingled with a strange brilliance.

“I came here this morning to kill you, Pendragon,” he whispered.

Arthur had flinched at first, but now he looked at Cerdic over the bright metal calmly, and the light in his grey eyes was astounding. “It would solve most of your difficulties, if I were dead,” he said in a conversational tone.

“Indeed,” said Cerdic. “And war is a great thing for the lowering of morals. Even Woden, king of the gods, believes this. You understand it,
imperator
?”

I heard Bedwyr's breath hiss in the stillness, saw him alter his grip on his spear, preparing to throw it if Cerdic stirred. Cerdic did not even glance away from Arthur.

“If you still meant to kill me,” Arthur said, “you would have done it by now, quickly.” He stepped aside and caught Cerdic's sword-hand.

“True,” said Cerdic. He lowered the sword till its point touched the earth, Arthur's hand crossing his upon the hilt. “Unfortunately, Pendragon, bastard or not you are too much of a king and too much of a man. Arthur of Britain, let us be enemies, but not fight like wolves.” He dropped to one knee, reached out his left hand to take the other side of the sacred arm-ring, and swore, by Thunor, Tiw, and Woden, and by the earth, sea, and sky, to fulfill all his oath to Arthur, High King of Britain, as a subject king to his lord.

Arthur smiled at the use of the Threefold Oath, and when Cerdic had finished swore the returned oath, not to infringe the rights of his subject king, and to preserve the kingdom of his tributary “secure against all foreign enemies and invaders.” He ended in an oath of his own, “And I swear to make your nation part of one empire, Britain, and to hold it so, in justice and in light, so help me God.” He released the arm-ring.

Cerdic took it, resheathing his sword. Cerdic's men seemed confused; Arthur's, limp with relief, and not a little confused as well.

“When next we meet, Arthur Pendragon,” Cerdic said when he had mounted his horse, “I hope our positions will be reversed, and, by Thunor's hammer, I think they will be. Until then, farewell. I am glad to have met you.”

“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.

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.”