Upon reaching the foremost earthwork we seized the clay jars at our belts and smashed them against the timbers, spilling oil everywhere. We thrust the torches forth and held them. The oil sizzled and burst into flame. Greasy smoke billowed into the air. Curtains of shimmering flame leapt high. The smoke rolled to heaven. Everywhere along the timbered mazework the assault was repeated and the timbers began to burn.
Now were the barbarian hosts entrapped in a maze of their own making. Battle taunts became shrieks of terror. Men plunged through the flames to the ground and we ran among them with sword and spear, cutting them down.
We had prayed for confusion, and were granted chaos.
Angels and archangels bear witness, we gave the barbarians a taste of the burning hell that awaited them! Oh, it was terrible to see!
The disordered ranks of Angli and Irish collapsed. The Irish screamed and flew to the refuge of the forest. The Angli raged and began slashing at one another in utter hopelessness and frustration. In all, the enemy hordes behaved foolishly, for if they had simply held firm for a moment they would have seen how few we truly were, and how scant the fire.
But it has been said, and indeed proved true, that for all their ferocity and cunning, the barbarians are easily discouraged. They lack the spirit to stay the course. Let their scheme be thwarted and they surrender wildly to despair. They fall away; they die. Myrddin says it is because they do not know how to hope, and I believe him.
We had only to run shouting at them, throwing our torches into their midst, and they faltered. Our simple surprise unnerved them. They yielded not to our swords, but to fear. And it was their doom.
They might have rallied given time, but Arthur snatched that chance clean away. For the instant the barbarians turned to glance behind them at our onslaught, the dauntless Cymbrogi swarmed up and over the embankments. Fire on one side, Arthur on the other – little wonder that so many chose the flames.
With deft, sure strokes we hewed them down. Though they had been a forest, we could not have felled them so swiftly. All around us the enemy wailed. Where one or two brave battlelords stood to fight like men, a dozen others deserted king and kin. Thousands bolted into the dark refuge of the forest.
'Bretwaldal'
I heard the familiar voice and searched the melee for it. Not a hundred paces before me stood Arthur at the foot of the central mound, Caledvwlch streaming red in his hand. I ran to his side.
1Bretwalda, I challenge you!' the Duke called boldly.
From the earth mound above us came a great cry of rage. We looked up through the shining veil of smoke and flame and saw a knot of foemen clustered about the skull-and-bones standard of the Bretwalda. Out from the midst of his house carles roared Baldulf like a bull, his helm gleaming in the firelight, his axe shining dull red; blood drenched his sinewy arm to the elbow. Trampling without heed over the corpses of his kin, the battlechief plunged down the hillside straightway, so that the force of his assault might be the greater.
Arthur faced him unafraid. And when the Bretwalda leapt through the flame-curtain, his loathsome axe high in the air, the wily Arthur dodged aside, leaving only the sharp edge of his sword behind.
Baldulf s steel shirt saved him from the fatal thrust, but the frenzy of his attack carried him beyond Arthur. In trying to stop, his feet slid in the blood-soaked earth and he fell onto his back. Arthur was there and ready.
Caledvwlch sang in the air. The thirsty blade bit deep, and Baldulf s head rolled cleanly from his shoulders.
Seeing their mighty Bretwalda slain, the barbarians fled, howling in despair and anguish. Their flight to the forest became a migration. The hundreds, thousands – abandoning the field like dogs running from a scalding.
Arthur strode to the severed head of his enemy and lifted the helm from its face. The bulging eyes that stared at him were not those of Baldulf. The face belonged to another man: Boerl, the Bretwalda's kinsman.
'They must have taken one another's helms and weapons,' I observed.
Arthur nodded. 'It matters not. Baldulf has doomed himself.'
The Duke signalled Rhys, who raised the hunting horn to his lips and sounded the rout. The Britons pursued the fleeing foemen into the darksome tracks and game runs of Celyddon. The wood echoed with the screams of the unfortunate. It was the sound of miserable defeat. I do not know any warrior who likes hearing it.
But twilight comes early to the forest and we could not run the enemy to ground. Many escaped in the dark.
ELEVEN
'We will camp in the meadow and continue the pursuit at dawn,' declared Arthur. 'I will have Baldulf in chains, or see his body in the earth before I put up this sword.'
He then ordered the care of the wounded and the plunder of the dead, and we worked steadily into the night, stripping the corpses by torchlight. The enemy dead were thrown into the earthwork ditches. The British fallen were wrapped in their cloaks, carried to the mound, and honourably put to the flame by the priests of Mailros. As the pyre tit the darkling sky the good priests prayed the souls of our sword brothers on their way. Thus the bodies of our kinsmen and Cymbrogi did not suffer the gross humiliation of birds and beasts.
When at last we staggered back across the river to the meadow, a pale moon shone through wisps of cloud. The camp fires had been banked high; hot food and cold drink awaited. The war host of the Island of the Mighty sank gratefully down upon the cool grass, too tired to stir. The Duke made certain his men were well supplied with all they needed before turning to his own refreshment.
The other lords did likewise, and I saw the clustered masses of our troops spread out along the river and across the meadow. Fewer, Dear God, than had marched out this morning – an age ago that was. I felt old and weak.
Arthur and I dragged ourselves to the place where Arthur's tent had been set up. Myrddin waited there before the fire, and rose when we came near. 'Sit you down,' he commanded. 'I will bring food.'
Without a word, Arthur collapsed into Uther's camp chair. He sat there too exhausted to move. We had washed in the river, but the blood stains on our clothing shone black in the firelight and we were speckled with dark, crusted blotches.
'It is a filthy business,' Arthur murmured, staring at his hands.
I nodded. ‘That it is, Bear, that it is.'
Myrddin returned with two stewards carrying meat and bread on a wooden tray, and beer in a huge jar. He quickly dismissed the stewards to other duties and began serving us with his own hand. Blind though he was, the Emrys moved quickly and without hesitation. When I asked him how he knew where to find us, he laughed and answered, 'By the smell of you, Most Fragrant Bedwyr! How else?'
It was meant to cheer us, and did not fall far short of the mark. But I was too tired to laugh, and could not even manage a suitable smile. I drank my beer in silence, and ate some bread, forcing my jaws to chew. I think I have never eaten bread so tough; although it came apart in my hands easily enough, it was all I could do to choke it down. The venison was no better.
While we ate, some of the other lords, having settled their men, joined us. Maelgwn and Maglos were first, and they were followed by Owain, Ogryvan, Idris and Ceredig. These were eager for the division of the spoils, which they thought should take place at once as they saw no reason to delay.
Arthur was not inclined to disappoint them, although I could see that his heart was not in it. 'Bring the plunder here before me, and I will divide it out.'