M. K. Hume [King Arthur Trilogy 04] The Last Dragon (24 page)

‘I’ll not die in this tree,’ he swore. ‘I’ll reach the palisades and I’ll see those Saxons dead for what they have done.’

When dawn came, he began the long journey to Bedwyr’s hall once more, moving by instinct rather than conscious plan. He did not know it, but the Saxons had retreated during the night to pick the farm clean of food, grain and livestock for the winter months, hoping that the young interloper had died in the forest. In relative safety, therefore, but stumbling with exhaustion and loss of blood, Arthur returned to his home.

A number of Bedwyr’s warriors had been organised into a search party that had begun combing the forest at first light. One small band of horsemen found the boy just an hour’s walk from the palisades. They carefully lifted him onto a horse, where he leaned against the rider and allowed his exhausted muscles to relax. When the rescuers reached the hall, the boy was asleep in the saddle.

The next four hours passed in a dream – or a nightmare, depending on the point of view of the onlookers. Elayne supervised the warriors who carried her eldest son to his room, her face drawn and pale from worry, Father Lorcan close behind her. Arthur had scarcely been lowered onto the bed when Bedwyr arrived, dishevelled from searching along the forest trails during the night. He had heard the rumours that were circulating among his men as soon as he dismounted from his horse, and was eager to know how his son had been wounded.

‘What’s amiss with the boy? Where has he been?’ he began. Lorcan had bared Arthur’s chest to expose the rudimentary bandaging and had begun to soak the bloodstained pad from the flesh with warm water, while Elayne was nursing a very indignant kitten.

‘Father,’ Arthur croaked, trying hard not to cry from Lorcan’s ministrations, even though the priest was attempting to be gentle. ‘You must ride to the Crookback farm at once. It’s really important.’

‘Slow down, boy,’ Bedwyr ordered, suppressing an urge to shake the lad for the worry he had caused his mother. ‘Who gave you this wound?’

‘A Saxon. Oh, Father . . .’ Arthur was suddenly close to tears. ‘I killed him with my old knife. He might have a wife and children at home, but I never thought of that. And it’s too late now!’

Then, to his shame, Arthur began to weep as he suddenly realised the finality of death. All the horrors of the previous day swept over him in a wave.

Still burdened with the complaining kitten, Elayne bent over her son to comfort him, and Bedwyr noticed the little creature for the first time. ‘Where did that come from? Get rid of it,’ he ordered, and Arthur cried out in dismay.

‘Please, Father, I’ve carried him all the way from the farm, and he’s mine now. Please let me keep him. He’s only making that noise because he needs to be fed.’

‘Very well – someone take that damned cat and give it some milk,’ Bedwyr decided quickly. ‘Where did you go that put you in so much danger, lad? We’ve been worrying all night.’

‘I went to the Crookback farm to see Rab. But he was dead . . . they’re all dead . . . they were killed before I got there. I couldn’t do anything to help them.’

‘But Crookback’s farm is only just beyond the margins of Arden, and it’s within easy reach of Fosse Way. Who would dare to strike so close to our borders?’

‘I think they were Saxons, Father – in fact I’m sure they were. The man I killed told me that I’d soon discover why they would eventually own these lands. I think there were six of them in the group that chased me, but there could have been more. They spent half the night searching for me in the forest, so they really wanted to stop me from spreading the news. If I hadn’t decided to visit Rab, the murders might not have been discovered until the spring thaw. Oh, Father, it was terrible.’

‘Oh, my love,’ Elayne crooned, patting her son’s shoulder. ‘You must have been terrified.’

‘I was so angry that I wanted to kill them all, Mother. I suppose the one I did kill is still there, unless his companions have taken his body away to prevent discovery. Do you think the spirits of the people we kill wait in the shadows to take their revenge on us? Old Berwyn says it’s so, and he was a warrior for many years before he became too old to fight and became a gardener. He has told me tales of his life in the army of the High King. Will my Saxon haunt me?’

‘Not if he tried to harm you first,’ Father Lorcan whispered as he lifted the water-soaked pad from Arthur’s chest to reveal the long slash, which was fast becoming inflamed. ‘You’re going to have an interesting scar to excite the ladies.’ He whistled quietly in amazement at the length of the wound.

‘I was lucky. He had already been wounded – it looked as though Crookback caught him on the thigh with his hoe – or he would have killed me. He was on the pathway, and I couldn’t get past him.’ Almost dry eyed now, Arthur described how the Saxon had died.

‘It’s more likely that his shade will be haunted by the spirits of Ednyfed Crookback and his family, so I doubt that he will be concerned over you,’ Bedwyr said, for Lorcan was occupied with Arthur’s wound. ‘No, there is no need for you to fear the dead, Arthur.’

‘Will you find them and kill them?’ Arthur asked, his teeth clenched against the pain as Lorcan used hot water laced with stinging spirits to cleanse the cut. It was one of Myrddion Merlinus’s techniques. Unfortunately for Arthur, the treatment was painful.

‘I shall take great pleasure in destroying every one of them, Arthur. But for now you will remain in bed and rest. When Father Lorcan has completed his ministrations, I will get about the business of convincing the Saxons to stay well clear of my lands.’

In case his earlier words had been too gruff and unkind, Bedwyr gripped his son by the shoulder before ruffling his tangled, knotted hair. ‘I’m very glad you survived this trial by combat, my boy, for your mother would never have forgiven me if anything had happened to you. You’ve been brave and true, so don’t trouble yourself with guilt over the man you killed. He was a warrior and understood the risks of his trade.’

‘Besides, he underestimated a weaker opponent,’ Father Lorcan added. ‘It is to be hoped that you will remember the lesson of this scar when you grow into manhood. A desperate creature will do almost anything to stay alive, regardless of how weak it might appear to be.’ He smiled down at the boy. ‘But for now, lad, I’m going to heat this small iron to cauterise the end of the wound under your arm. It’s the deepest part of the cut and it is a little reddened, so it’s better to be safe than sorry.’ Father Lorcan grinned sardonically once more. ‘This will definitely hurt you more than it hurts me.’

With a troop of twenty mounted warriors at his back, Bedwyr set out after the Saxons as soon as Arthur was asleep. Elayne kissed her husband before he mounted and made him promise to return safely, which he did while laughing down at her serious, worried face.

‘I might promise to live, precious, but I can’t actually guarantee it. As well you know! Take care of the boy.’

Then Bedwyr and his warriors trotted away from his hall in a flurry of snow. At the farm, the Cornovii warriors discovered that Arthur had been meticulous in his descriptions. Only a few dispirited chickens had survived the looting, for the Saxons had taken everything edible from the farm’s stores, careless of the mess they made. Even though snow had fallen, their tracks were still visible, unusually deep because of the weight of meat and grain they carried.

‘That greed will be the death of them,’ Bedwyr told his captain drily as the troop set off in pursuit. Only when every Saxon was dead would Bedwyr take the time to bury Ednyfed Crookback and his family. The Master of Arden Forest was certain that Crookback would forgive him from the shadows where his shade was waiting for his murderers to join him.

Bedwyr’s scouts found the Saxons’ camouflaged campsite with relative ease and the Cornovii troop gathered above the fold in the hills. Bedwyr decided to attack during the hours of darkness, when his horses would have a devastating advantage. Any guards would be despatched by two warriors sent ahead on foot to clear the way. Once the guards were eliminated the warriors would light a shielded torch, a signal that Bedwyr could begin the attack.

Although taken by surprise, the Saxons fought like berserkers, and several of Bedwyr’s mounted warriors were killed as the troop cleared out the rats’ nest that had infiltrated the hills between Venonae and Ratae. One wounded man was taken alive, but even the most creative measures used by the British warriors couldn’t set the captive’s tongue to wagging. He remained stubbornly mute to the messy end of his life.

Coel, Bedwyr’s captain, was amazed at the fortitude of the hulking outlaw. ‘These Saxons are brutes. They’re too stupid to talk, even when they are faced with certain death,’ he muttered as they cut the dead man free and flung his body onto the pile that had been prepared for burning.

‘I wish they
were
brutes,’ Bedwyr replied sadly. ‘But they are still men. And they have a code of honour as strict as ours for all that they act like barbarians. They are what the Celts were before the time of the Romans, so who’s to say that our culture is right and theirs is wrong? They are men who are seeking a homeland for their children.’

‘They can have any homeland they want, as long as it isn’t ours,’ Coel countered, puzzled by his master’s sad eyes when he should have been elated by the success of his plan.

‘They grow confident, for they know that the Dragon King is dead. This is only the beginning, Coel. The darkness is gathering, and who knows whether there will be a dawn in our lifetime? Perhaps it is our tribes who will need to find another homeland before we go to the shades. Where will we go if our forests are barred to us?’

‘But that won’t happen,’ Coel protested, and then his brows furrowed. ‘It can’t happen, can it, master?’

‘How the fuck do I know? The gods will decide who deserves this land, rather than us mere mortals.’ Then Bedwyr ordered the fire to be lit under the Saxon corpses and secured the Cornovii dead over their saddles before ordering the troop to return to Crookback’s farm.

Coel watched his master carefully, and for the first time saw that Bedwyr had a new, and defeated, expression on his face.

CHAPTER VIII

A TWILIGHT TESTING

He maketh wars to cease in all the

World: he breaketh the bow, and

knappeth the spear in sunder. And

burneth the chariots in the fire.

Be still then, and know that I am God:

I will be exalted among the heathen,

And I will be exalted in the earth.

Psalms 46:9

From his position on a hilltop to the north of Ratae, Arthur could see both the Fosse Way and the northern road that came from Londinium. On the fallow fields below, two small armies had met at noon and both sides were now exhausted and desperate as dusk began to settle over the hills to the west.

‘I should be down there with Ector, Bran and Bedwyr,’ Arthur growled at Germanus. ‘I’m old enough and tall enough to fight those shaggy Jutes. How can I be blooded if I never take part in a battle?’

Arthur’s face was set in lines of discontent as he stared down at the desperate conflict, so evenly matched that only the Christian God could distinguish friend from foe. At least the plain to the east of old Margidunum was free of the thick marshland and clinging, murderous mud that clogged the ground near old Caussenae, which had recently been put to the sword by the Jute invaders who had burrowed into the landscape like ticks, and would be as difficult to dislodge. The combined tribal invasion into enemy territory had been planned by Bran and Ector as a means of dissuading the Jute thanes from carrying out their regular forays towards Ratae. As Bran explained to Bedwyr, only a concerted show of force would pluck the tail feathers of the proud Jute roosters and convince them that the Britons still had teeth to bite.

‘You’re only thirteen, Arthur, even if you are almost as tall as me and have sprouted your first chest hair,’ Germanus answered sharply. ‘Impatient as you are to become a man, try thinking beyond your own desires. I’m as unhappy as you are to be stuck here in safety. But I’ve been barred from the battlefield in order to guard your back, so you should show a little gratitude to those noble kinsmen who love you. If Bran and Ector should perish on the field, you will be required to act as regent for Ector’s son Aeddan. A significant weight of trust and responsibility has been placed on your shoulders, so stop whining.’

‘I’m not whining,’ the youth snapped back irritably, because Germanus was accurate in his criticisms. Arthur’s voice sounded petulant, and he knew it held an unbecoming edge of childish complaint. ‘I’m sorry you have to stay up here with me.’

‘I know you are, because you hate it when I point out that you’re in the wrong.’

Arthur swore creatively in Saxon and Jute, tongues he understood well courtesy of Bedwyr’s insistence that he must be able to speak the languages of the enemy with some fluency. Unfortunately, Germanus also had a passing knowledge of both languages and he cuffed his student lightly round the ear to remind him of their relative positions. So Arthur took refuge in the relative safety of silence and continued to survey the carnage below them, his large arms master standing phlegmatically at his shoulder.