‘Why?’ Cuneglas demanded fiercely. He was famous for his opposition to the new religion.
‘Because,’ Arthur said, still gazing down at the enemy, ‘the cross is the price we pay for Gwent’s army.’
Cuneglas stared at Arthur as though he hardly dared believe his ears.
‘Meurig is coming?’ I asked.
‘No,’ Arthur said, turning to us, ‘not Meurig. King Tewdric is coming. Good Tewdric.’
Tewdric was Meurig’s father, the king who had given up his throne to become a monk, and Arthur had ridden to Gwent to plead with the old man. ‘I knew it was possible,’ Arthur told me, ‘because Galahad and I have been talking to Tewdric all winter.’ At first, Arthur said, the old King had been reluctant to give up his pious, scrimped life, but other men in Gwent had added their voices to Arthur and Galahad’s pleadings and, after nights spent praying in his small chapel, Tewdric had reluctantly declared he would temporarily take back his throne and lead Gwent’s army south. Meurig had fought the decision, which he rightly saw as a reproof and a humiliation, but Gwent’s army had supported their old King and so now they were marching south. ‘There was a price,’ Arthur admitted. ‘I had to bow my knee to their God and promise to ascribe victory to Him, but I’ll ascribe victory to any God Tewdric wants so long as he brings his spearmen.’
‘And the rest of the price?’ Cuneglas asked shrewdly.
Arthur made a wry face. ‘They want you to let Meurig’s missionaries into Powys.’
‘Just that?’ Cuneglas asked.
‘I might have given the impression,’ Arthur admitted, ‘that you would welcome them. I’m sorry, Lord King. The demand was only sprung on me two days ago, and it was Meurig’s idea, and Meurig’s face has to be saved.’ Cuneglas grimaced. He had done his best to keep Christianity from his kingdom, reckoning that Powys did not need the acrimony that always followed the new faith, but he made no protest to Arthur. Better Christians in Powys, he must have decided, than Saxons.
‘Is that all you promised Tewdric, Lord?’ I asked Arthur suspiciously. I was remembering Meurig’s demand to be given Dumnonia’s throne and Arthur’s longing to be rid of that responsibility.
‘These treaties always have a few details that aren’t worth bothering about,’ Arthur responded airily,
‘but I did promise to release Sansum. He is now the Bishop of Dumnonia! And a royal counsellor again. Tewdric insisted on it. Every time I knock our good Bishop down he bobs up again.’ He laughed.
‘Is that all you promised, Lord?’ I asked again, still suspicious.
‘I promised enough, Derfel, to make sure Gwent marches to our aid,’ Arthur said firmly, ‘and they have undertaken to be here in two days with six hundred prime spearmen. Even Agricola decided he wasn’t too old to fight. You remember Agricola, Derfel?’
‘Of course I remember him, Lord,’ I said. Agricola, Tewdric’s old warlord, might be long in years now, but he was still one of Britain’s most famous warriors.
‘They’re all coming from Glevum,’ Arthur pointed west to where the Glevum road showed in the river valley, ‘and when they come I’ll join him with my men and together we’ll attack straight down the valley.’
He was standing on the rampart from where he stared down into the deep valley, but in his mind he was not seeing the fields and roads and wind-ruffled crops, nor the stone graves of the Roman cemetery, but instead he was watching the whole battle unfold before his eyes. ‘The Saxons will be confused at first,’
he went on, ‘but eventually there’ll be a mass of enemy hurrying along that road,’ he pointed down to the Fosse Way immediately beneath Mynydd Baddon, ‘and you, my Lord King,’ he bowed to Cuneglas,
‘and you, Derfel,’ he jumped down from the low rampart and poked a finger into my belly, ‘will attack them on the flank. Straight down the hill and into their shields! We’ll link up with you,’ he curved his hand to show how his troops would curl about the northern flank of the Saxons, ‘and then we’ll crush them against the river.’
Arthur would come from the west and we would attack from the north. ‘And they’ll escape eastwards,’ I said sourly.
Arthur shook his head. ‘Culhwch will march north tomorrow to join Oengus mac Airem’s Blackshields, and they’re coming down from Corinium right now.’ He was delighted with himself, and no wonder, for if it all worked then we would surround the enemy and afterwards slaughter him. But the plan was not without risk. I guessed that once Tewdric’s men arrived and Oengus’s Blackshields joined us then our numbers would not be much smaller than the Saxons, but Arthur was proposing to divide our army into three parts and if the Saxons kept their heads they could destroy each part separately. But if they panicked, and if our attacks came hard and furious, and if they were confused by the noise and dust and horror, we might just drive them like cattle to the slaughter. ‘Two days,’ Arthur said, ‘just two days. Pray that the Saxons don’t hear of it, and pray that they stay where they are.’ He called for Llamrei, glanced across at the red-haired spearman, then went to join Sagramor on the ridge beyond the saddle. On the night before battle we all burned crosses onto our shields. It was a small price to pay for victory, though not, I knew, the full price. That would be paid in blood. ‘I think, Lady,’ I told Guinevere that night, ‘that you had best stay up here tomorrow.’
She and I were sharing a horn of mead. I had found that she liked to talk late in the night and I had fallen into the habit of sitting by her fire before I slept. Now she laughed at my suggestion that she should stay on Mynydd Baddon while we went down to fight. ‘I always used to think you were a dull man, Derfel,’ she said, ‘dull, unwashed and stolid. Now I’ve begun to like you, so please don’t make me think I was right about you all along.’
‘Lady,’ I pleaded, ‘the shield wall is no place for a woman.’
‘Nor is prison, Derfel. Besides, do you think you can win without me?’ She was sitting in the open mouth of the hut we had made from the wagons and trees. She had been given one whole end of the hut for her quarters and that night she had invited me to share a supper of scorched beef cut from the flank of one of the oxen that had hauled the wagons to Mynydd Baddon’s summit. Our cooking fire was dying now, sifting smoke towards the bright stars that arched across the world. The sickle moon was low over the southern hills, outlining the sentries who paced our ramparts. ‘I want to see it through to the end,’ she said, her eyes bright in the shadows. ‘I haven’t enjoyed anything so much in years, Derfel, not in years.’
‘What will happen in the valley tomorrow, Lady,’ I said, ‘will not be enjoyable. It will be bitter work.’
‘I know,’ she paused, ‘but your men believe I bring them victory. Will you deny them my presence when the work is hard?’
‘No, Lady,’ I yielded. ‘But stay safe, I beg you.’
She smiled at the vehemence of my words. ‘Is that a prayer for my survival, Derfel, or a fear that Arthur will be angry with you if I come to harm?’
I hesitated. ‘I think he might be angry, Lady,’ I admitted.
Guinevere savoured that answer for a while. ‘Did he ask about me?’ she finally enquired.
‘No,’ I said truthfully, ‘not once.’
She stared into the remnants of the fire. ‘Maybe he is in love with Argante,’ she said wistfully.
‘I doubt he can even stand the sight of her,’ I answered. A week before I would never have been so frank, but Guinevere and I were much closer now. ‘She’s too young for him,’ I went on, ‘and not nearly clever enough.’
She looked up at me, a challenge in her fire-glossed eyes. ‘Clever,’ she said. ‘I used to think I was clever. But you all think I’m a fool, don’t you?’