Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur (60 page)

Drystan rode knee to knee with Kurvenal, the late morning sun on his shoulders, the sound of the galloping horses and the battle cries of both armies in his ears. On his other side rode Ruan, who had been with him now since Portus Adurni — when Cerdic had been fighting with them rather than against them.

Back then, Drystan had thought Cerdic a good man, despite his wealth of residences.

The armies slammed into each other with a force that unhorsed many men on impact. Neighing and screams filled the air, along with the clash of steel and wood and bone. Drystan narrowly avoided ploughing into a fallen horse struggling to get back up, and batted away the sword of an unmounted Saxon warrior with his lance. Before the man could attack again, Drystan plunged his lance into the unprotected spot between shoulder and helm. The enemy warrior gave a gurgling cry and crumpled beneath the hooves of Drystan's mount. He yanked the tip of the lance out and turned to his next opponent.

A huge cry as from one voice arose from Banner Hill to the north. Owain's forces were a little behind them, their position not as ideal as Arthur had planned. But as they came hurtling down the hill, they provided enough distraction to give Arthur's troops an advantage. On the left flank that Drystan commanded, a number of Cerdic's warriors turned their attention to the new threat. Drystan forced his mare farther into the melee and thrust his lance into a back of boiled leather. The metal tip striking bone sent a jar all up his arm.

"Drys!"

Kurvenal's cry saved him. He whirled his mount around just in time to swing his lance towards a mounted warrior bearing down on him. He caught the enemy on the side of the head, and the man fell, blood streaming down his face, but the wooden shaft of Drystan's lance cracked at the impact.

He drew his sword, and the slaughter continued.

The sun crept across the sky, and between thrusts and parries, Drystan found himself wondering when Gawain's forces would arrive. The battle on the left flank was moving from the Roman road and the valley up the hillside as the combined Saxon and British warriors of Cerdic's army beat back the cavalry under Owain's command.

Driving a wedge between him and Owain.

But perhaps they would be able to use that to their own advantage. In front of him, the enemy lines were thinning, and Drystan thought he saw an opportunity to cut off Cerdic's right flank. He whirled his mare around to face the men under his command. "If we can fight through to the Roman road, we can surround Cerdic's right flank!" he called out above the sounds of the battle. "Forward! Britannia patria!"

They spearheaded the straggling line below Banner Hill, and the thunder of shield meeting shield and sword meeting battle ax, the screams of injured men and horses, grew even louder. To his left, he saw Ruan's mount fall, but he had no time for grief or worry.

Then, finally, to the south on the opposite side of the stream, British forces appeared on the summit of the downs.

Gawain had arrived.

A shock of relief went through him, but he could give in to that as little as he could give in to concern for Ruan. The battle was far from over.

A shift seemed to go through Cerdic's army as they too noticed the reinforcements charging down the incline to the south and fording the stream.

Drystan's unit took advantage of the distraction to continue their onslaught of the enemy forces trying to push Owain's troops back up the hill. He and his men couldn't cut off Cerdic's right flank completely — they weren't enough — but with their maneuver they caught several dozen mounted warriors between them and the troops under Owain's command. The barbarians and traitors were at a disadvantage, and Owain's cavalry began to move forward again. Slowly, the horned and flanged helmets of the Saxons grew fewer, and when Drystan and Owain's forces met, they left a field of blood and bodies behind.

Together, they fought back Cerdic's right flank, pushing his troops into the valley, where they were surrounded on three sides. As the sun began to descend towards the horizon, the tide of the battle turned, and Arthur's army closed in on what was left of Cerdic's.

Just as Drystan was hoping they would soon be able to take the traitor, Cerdic's army turned tail and began to flee west along the valley, following the path of the stream. Drystan and his cavalry unit began to pursue the enemy, cutting them down while they ran. And then they heard the battle horn — not to charge, but to regroup.

They pulled up their mounts, confused. Drystan and Owain looked at each other, and Drystan could see his own disbelief mirrored in the eyes of Arthur's nephew. Only slowly did the battle frenzy leave him and reason return, and he remembered why they couldn't slaughter Cerdic's forces as they ran, why they couldn't take the traitor and make him pay; pay for the many friends and foes lying on the field this fine day in May, men who would never again kiss a woman's lips or smell the scent of freshly baked bread.

They still had another battle to fight.

Drystan and his men picked their way through the dead and dying to where Arthur's commanders gathered in the middle of the battlefield. The peaceful valley of the morning was gone, the vivid green of the spring grass trampled to brown, bloody muck and covered with the bodies of men and horses. The groans of the wounded filled the air, and the stench of blood stung in his nostrils.

He looked around and counted those who were still with them. Ruan was not among them. Or Julius. Or Tuthal.

His heart tightened in his chest, and he turned forward, to the Dux Bellorum, his commander and his cousin.

"We will go to Aquae Sulis first," Arthur was saying as they joined him. "See if Gaheris needs assistance holding the city. From there we can continue west to Lansdown to assist Pasgen and Manawyd in holding back the Saxons, if necessary."

The men gathered around Arthur nodded, apparently as numb as Drystan felt. He was glad to see Cador across from him, his face streaked with blood and mud and his eyes hollow.

Alive.

"What of the wounded?" Owain asked.

Arthur sighed, as if that were too much to ask of him, here, now. He looked around at his men and his eyes lit on Cador. "Could you see to it, Cousin, until we send medical assistance from Aquae Sulis? I will have to put your cavalry under the command of someone else. The archers can assist you, but we need every mounted fighting arm we have."

Cador stared at him a moment before answering, as if Arthur's words were in a foreign language. "Yes, I can try to sort to living from the dead," he said finally.

Drystan was glad Cador would not be dragged into the fighting again, even if his young cousin was not. The task was a gruesome one.

"Good," Arthur said and turned to the rest of them. "Men, we ride."

Aquae Sulis was only about two miles west and south. Pasgen's seat lay nestled in the bend of the river, the tiles of the roofs brightly red above the thick city walls in the late afternoon sun, apparently peaceful. But the sounds coming from the west were those of battle. Drystan could not see the fighting, but from the surrounding hills, the situation of Aquae Sulis would have looked very different.

As they neared the Corinium gate, the portcullis was raised, and they cantered into the city, hooves ringing on cobblestones.

Gaheris met them, on horseback as well, searching their ranks for his brother's face. When his eyes lit on Gawain, he looked relieved, but his expression remained grim.

He drew up next to Arthur. "I have sent as many men as I can afford to assist the troops under Pasgen and Manawyd, but we need to keep at least a minimal defense here in the city."

"Good work," Arthur said, and Drystan saw Gaheris's expression clear slightly. "Any doctors or healers you have need to be sent to the valley below Caer Baddon and Banner Hill to care for our wounded. Cador is there."

Gaheris nodded. "It will be done."

"And what of the battle?" Arthur asked, stroking Llamrei's gray neck absently.

"The forces of Pasgen and Manawyd are being pushed back closer and closer to the city. They are sorely outnumbered."

Arthur consulted with Gaheris briefly as to the position of the armies and decided to ride north from the Corinium gate and up the hill, following the ridge to join the battle from a more advantageous position.

As they galloped up the slope, the sounds of the battle became louder and more distinct, catching in the hills north and south of the river. They turned west, and below them to their left lay a field of seething men and horses. Behind it, the sun was nearing the horizon.

Drystan felt as if he had never known any other life than fighting and killing. Hours they had fought against Cerdic's forces, and it still was not over. They had won — and now their reward was to fight yet again.

Someone in the Saxon troops must have noticed their appearance in the hills to the north; from their vantage point, they could see a shift taking place in the enemy forces, a new line forming at the foot of the downs — a line of deadly Saxon spears that could kill a cavalry charge.

Arthur called a halt. "We cannot ride down into that line," he called out over the noise of the battle. "Too many of us lost our lances against Cerdic. Even though they are foot soldiers, they will stick us like pigs for roasting. Our advantage against them is speed and mobility; we must use that. We will charge, but when I give the signal, we peel off to the left to join Pasgen's army, and launch our attack past where the line has been formed. Understood?"

They answered him with a roar, and Arthur wheeled back around to face the battlefield. "Britannia patria!"

Drystan heard himself echo the battle cry, together with hundreds of other voices. "Britannia patria!"

They gave their mounts their heads and thundered down the hill toward the waiting line of Saxons with their deadly spears pointed straight up to catch the British mounts in the chest. As they bore down on the enemy, Drystan could distinguish individual faces beneath helmets both flanged and scaled.

Then the call went out and Arthur's arm up, and they veered off to the left, leaving the waiting Saxons gaping after them.

The line of Saxons let out a cry of rage and began to pursue them. Arthur needed no more encouragement to change his strategy yet again. He pulled his mare around to the right, and the mounted men behind him followed, as with one mind. With a united roar, they met the Saxons head-on, but now the foot soldiers were struggling up the incline, their weapons no longer ready to spear them as they charged.

Drystan saw a mass of surging shields and enemy faces as they hit with the force of wave against rock, spears and swords clashing, shields splintering, bones breaking under the heavy hooves of their mounts. The Saxons crumpled back, the wave to their stone, falling and retreating as Arthur's cavalry fought through the first line. Once again, Drystan felt the battle fever on him, his sword arm swinging almost without thought.

They had taken out many Saxons from the left flank with their charge, but it wasn't enough, and the battle continued as the shadows grew longer, both sides weakened but neither defeated. As the darkness spread, the hills around them threw their shadows over the battlefield, turning orange and then pink and then purple in a brilliant sunset. Drystan began to wonder how he would be able to tell friend from foe.

Then slowly their opponents began to slip off into the shadows of night, fading into the dark like an anticlimax.

There was no one left to fight anymore.

"Have we won?" Kurvenal gasped beside him.

"I doubt it," Drystan said.

As the sounds of battle died down, the clash of steel coming only occasionally, the battle cries and the splintering of wooden shields only a ringing of memory, the screams of the wounded and dying were loud on the darkening field. Somewhere nearby, a soldier was crying out for his mother, alternating between the Latin and the British tongue.

Drystan and Kurvenal turned their mounts and carefully made toward a spot where the British forces were gathering. Wounded men begged for help as they passed, but Drystan knew there was little help he could offer. They needed litters and light.

"I've sent to Aquae Sulis," Arthur was saying as they joined him, his voice weary. "Until they arrive, you must try to find those of the wounded who can be brought out on horseback. No more than one per man. And bring torches when you return. Those who find none who can ride, wait here for the litters."

Drystan picked his way through to the soldier who was screaming for his mother, but the injured man was trapped beneath a dead horse, his lower body crushed. Not even the litters would be able to help this one. Drystan waited with him until his screams subsided.