I hurried back to my division and passed on Arthur's order. Rhys signalled the dismount and a moment later we were racing back up the hillside, scrambling over the rocks, falling, picking ourselves up, running on.
The enemy saw that we had abandoned our horses and took this as a good omen for them. They raised their evil screams with renewed vigour, and danced their frenzied war dances along the top of the wall. They were frothing mad with blood lust.
As soon as we came within range the enemy loosed their throwing axes at us. We threw pur shields before us and stumbled on. Some among us picked up the hateful axes and hurled them back. More than one barbarian was killed with his own weapon.
The sun had risen higher and I could feel its warmth on my back. My blood pounded hot in my veins, and I drew the cool morning air deep into my lungs. It was a good day for a battle, I thought, and then remembered that in numbers and position Cerdic boasted the advantage.
The place Arthur had found proved the only weak place that side of the wall. He had chosen the eastern side for assault because the incline was easiest, but the enemy realized this, too, and had built up the wall on the eastern side. The low place Arthur saw was a section that had been hastily repaired and some of the stone had fallen in when the first foemen swarmed over.
We drove towards this place, all of us, our force becoming a spearhead to thrust up under the enemy's defences and into his heart.
It nearly worked.
But there were simply too many barbarians, and the incline too steep. Though we stood to our work like woodmen felling trees, we could make no headway. Picti, Cruithne, Angli and Scoti, Saecsen and Frisian and Jutes… there were too, too many. We could not come near the wall.
For every pace we advanced, the enemy pushed us back two. For every foeman we killed, three more sprang up before us. Our warriors were being dragged down by the enormous crush of the enemy host. They rushed down upon us, hacking with their cruel axes: eyes wild, mouths twisted, arms swinging like flails.
But our warriors had fought barbarians before and were not unnerved. We lowered our heads and stood to our grim toil. And the battle settled into its awkward, lurching rhythm.
The day passed in a haze of blood and havoc. As the sun descended westward, I heard Rhys raise the retreat and knew that we were beaten. I gathered my division and we withdrew with our wounded; everywhere warriors were streaming down the hillside to the refuge of the wood.
The enemy seemed eager to give chase at first – would that they had done so! We would have cut them down with the a/a. But Cerdic knew enough to halt the pursuit at the lower ditch, and the barbarians returned to the hill fort.
While the warriors lay under the trees recovering strength and having their wounds bound, the cooks and stewards brought us meat and bread and watered ale, and we ate. My limbs ached and my head throbbed. My clothing was sodden with sweat and blood. I stank.
A still and sinister dusk settled over the land. The trees around us filled with crows from the battlefield, croaking grotesquely over their ghastly feast. But that was as nothing to the wild cries of victory from the hill fort above us. Fires leapt high into the darkening sky as the victory celebration commenced.
We slept fitfully that night, the sound of savage revelry loud in our ears. At dawn we awoke, broke fast, took up our weapons and climbed the hill once more. The barbarians allowed us to crawl so far and then fell upon us, hurtling down from the heights, axes whirling.
We took them on the points of our spears and swords, and struck them with our shields. But many a warrior fell, his helm or shield or mail shirt riven asunder. The carnage was appalling, the tumult deafening.
Once again the flanks of Baedun Hill blushed crimson with the blood of the brave.
And once again, as the sun passed midday Rhys signalled the retreat and we withdrew to the wood to Uck our wounds. The warriors sank to the grass and slept. The stewards crept among them with water jars and woke the sleeping soldiers to drink. The wood grew still, given only to the hum of flies and the flutter of birds' wings in the branches above. On Baedun, the enemy was silent.
When they had refreshed themselves and put off their weapons the lords of Britain held council with Arthur.
'I say we must lay siege to the hill and send south for more men.' This was Maglos' suggestion, and after the heavy going of the morning, several agreed with him.
'If we could only take the fortress,' began Ceredig, but he was cut off by the scorn of the others.
'Take the fortress!' Idris shouted. 'What else were we doing up there? It is impossible – there are too many! I agree with Maglos: we should lay siege and wait for more men.'
'No,' said Arthur. 'That we cannot do.'
'Why not?' demanded Idris. 'It worked at Caer Alclyd; it worked at Trath Gwryd… '
'It will not work here,' Arthur told him flatly.
But Idris gave no heed to the iron in Arthur's voice. He persisted, saying, 'Why? Because you want to exalt yourself over Cerdic?'
'If that is what you think – ' I snapped, jerking my head toward the hill, 'join him!'
Myrddin, leaning on his rowan staff nearby, stirred and came near. 'This hill is cursed,' he intoned softly. We all quieted to hear him better. 'There is distress and calamity here. The slopes are treacherous with torment, and disaster reigns over all.'
We all glanced over our shoulders at the looming hill. The clouds playing across its surface gave it a brooding, dangerous aspect. Certainly, the corpses scattered on its rock-crusted slopes argued eloquently for disaster. Myrddin did not need sight to know our torment – but what else did he see?
'In older times armies have fought upon this troubled mound. A great victory was won here through betrayal, and the wicked defeat of good men clings to the earth and rocks. The mountain is unquiet with the evil practised upon it. Cerdic's treachery has awakened the vile spirit of this place to work again.'
Tell us, Emrys,' said Custennin. 'Give us benefit of your wise counsel. What are we to do?'
It was the formal request of a king to his bard. Myrddin did not fail to oblige. 'This battle will not be won by stealth or might. It will not be won by bloodshed alone. The spirit abiding here will not be overthrown except by the power of God.'
The lords peered helplessly at one another. 'What are we to do about that?' they demanded.
'We must pray, lords of Britain. We must erect a fortress of our own whose walls cannot be battered down or broken. A caer that cannot be conquered. A stronghold of prayer.'
Some of the lords scowled at this, embarrassed at their lack of faith and understanding. But Arthur rose and said, 'It will be done as you say, Wise Counsellor."
Myrddin placed his hands on Arthur's shoulders. 'I will do all to uphold you – as I have ever done to this day.'
Though men may scoff, it is no small thing to be upheld by the Chief Bard and Emrys of Britain.
The next morning, as we arrayed ourselves for battle, I saw the solitary figure of Myrddin toiling up the hillside, picking his slow, blind way with his staff, his cloak wrapped tightly around him. For the day broke grey and misty, and a chill wind blew at us out of the north.
'Do you want me to go after him?' I asked, fearful for Myrddin's safety.
'Wait here. I will go to him,' replied Arthur, starting after the stumbling Emrys.
I watched Arthur stride out upon the hillside. Cai and Bors saw him and came running to where I stood at the edge of the wood. 'What is he doing?' asked Bors. 'Does he think himself invisible?'
'I do not know,' I answered.
'I am going to bring him back,' said Cai.
'He said to wail here. But signal Rhys to be ready to sound the attack. If the barbarians come over the wall, I want the Cymbrogi to move at once.'