Cadorius limped his way, as spattered with gore and filth as Stirling.
"God be praised," the king of Dumnonia gasped, "I thank the Almighty you were in position to sound that warning. I didn't see their shift in time to respond."
"The Dumnonian lines held," Stirling insisted, cleaning his sword on the tunic of a dead Saxon. "Gododdin only gave them the breather they needed to regroup and hold fast, which they did. With more bravery than I've ever seen in battle, and that is no lie."
Cadorius smiled wearily. "Then let us agree to praise one another's men to the skies and be grateful that we've men left alive to praise."
"Agreed," Stirling said, offering his hand.
Cadorius clasped his forearm, then hugged him with a rougher embrace. "Come, let us see to our wounded while yon bastards try to talk their men into making another try at us!"
The Saxons gave them a respite of two hours, which they all needed, then charged the walls from the southwestern flank this time. Britons scrambled to strengthen the defenses, only to snarl curses as Saxon slingers hurled live coals onto wooden roof shingles and thatched barracks inside the hill fort. Smoke and flames blazed up from a dozen spots while soldiers dodged the children who scrambled with pails of water to douse the flames. Confusion engulfed the whole compound while the Saxon charge shattered the southwestern shield wall and poured into the hill fort itself. Stirling found himself in a desperate hand-to-hand fight for his life, slashing and stabbing with his sword, shouting orders through the chaos, trying to regroup his men in a wedge formation.
"Rally to me!" he shouted, "Rally to me! For Artorius and Britain!"
A rumbling thunder drove through the confusion. Stirling could spare no time even to glance around to see what it might be. An instant later, a mass of cavalry smashed into the Saxon lines, cataphracti mounted on armored chargers, lances held low for full-bore charge. The heavy horses shattered the Saxons' front ranks. Half a hundred of Britain's finest cavalry rode down the infantry beneath flint-hard hooves. Men screamed, horses snorted and trumpeted, lances shattered on shields and skewered yelling men on every side. More Saxons were pouring over the walls, but the momentum slowed as the cavalry drove straight through their ranks. More Britons came pouring in from the flanks, driving the Saxons slowly back across the innermost wall, across the second, the third, and finally the fourth and fifth walls. Briton dead lay trampled beside Saxon invaders, while smoke rose ominously into the sky at their backs.
Stirling waited to be certain the Saxons were, in fact, being driven back before turning his attention to the fires blazing up from the compound. Livestock bellowed and tried to break out of burning pens. Women and children hurled buckets of water onto the flames, while soldiers used axes to cut supports out from under burning roofs, toppling the structures before the flames could spread. By the time the last fires had been doused, they'd lost two months' worth of supplies, most of the grain for the horses, and shelters for nearly a third of their civilians. Cadorius, cursing under his breath, stalked through the camp shouting orders for temporary shelters to be rigged for the women and children, while Stirling and Melwas ordered the butchering and dressing of the livestock that had perished before the flames could be doused.
As the sun dropped behind the distant Mendip Hills, a single rider rode up from the Saxons' main encampment, under another flag of truce. Cadorius and Ancelotis waited in terse silence while Melwas ordered the civilians back, out of sight. The courier was not Creoda this time, but Cutha. His arrogant face wore a smug expression as he reined around beside the outermost wall, trying to survey the destruction within.
"Ancelotis, I see you have tasted the beginning of my vengeance!" he shouted across the walls.
Ancelotis didn't even bother to answer.
"I come bearing a message from my father, king of Sussex. Pay heed, for we will not repeat ourselves and we will offer you mercy only once. Surrender Caer-Badonicus to us and we will allow your women and children to leave the fortress in safety. Defy us and we will deliver to them the same mercy I showed the whores of Penrith!"
Melwas, striding up to join them, clenched both fists and started forward with a snarl of hatred. Cadorius grabbed his arm and slung the younger king to a forcible halt. "No. Let the jackal speak."
Cutha smirked at them from across the five walls. "Give this jackal your decision, old man."
Cadorius stared levelly into the Saxon's eyes. "I will answer the puppy of Sussex when it suits me. Return here in a quarter hour and I will give you an answer."
Cutha's lips twitched and he lifted fingertips in a mocking salute. "By all means, confer with your brother kings."
He set spurs to his horse's flanks and the animal leaped away, tossing its head unhappily at the steep descent. Cadorius turned a brooding gaze toward Ancelotis. "We have lost much that we needed to hold out."
"Artorius will come. He cannot be far away, now. Tell Cutha when he returns that you must persuade others to surrender, as the safety of the women and children is your greatest personal desire."
Cadorius' eyes flashed. "Surrender is the furthest thought from my mind, Ancelotis!"
"And from mine. But two can play the game of lies that Cutha delights in so greatly. Unless I am very much mistaken, we can strike them a blow at dawn they'll not soon forget."
Cadorius frowned, clearly unhappy, but nodded. "Very well. After these past few days, I trust your judgement and cunning implicitly."
When Cutha returned, Cadorius called his answer across. "It is in my mind to accept your offer of clemency, Saxon, but my brother kings need more persuasion. Grant me the night to confer with them and I will give you our combined answer with the dawn. But look you, I will not give such a reply to mere princelings and go-betweens. If Aelle of Sussex wants to hear terms of surrender, he must come to these walls and take them in his own person."
Cutha's smirk was a mortal insult. "Of course. My father, King of the Saxons, will greet you at dawn. Take very great care that you do not disappoint him." He put spurs to his horse's flanks and galloped recklessly down the steep hillside once more. Melwas sent an obscene gesture after him, then spat out, "Terms of surrender?"
Cadorius smiled tightly. "You will please note that I carefully did not say whose."
A bark of laughter broke from the younger king. "Very well. Let us go and discuss how to force the Saxons to their knees."
Ancelotis and the other kings made the rounds of the hill fort, making sure the wounded were being properly succored, seeing to it the children and women were fed, overseeing the repairs to structures only damaged while work crews labored to clear the charred wreckage of destroyed structures out of the way, should rapid troop movements be required again. They had just retired to the assembly hall for discussion of the Saxons' ultimatum when the lookout in the tower high overhead gave a shout and came skinning down the ladder, bursting a moment later into the room.
"Come quick!" he gasped, snatching at Ancelotis' arm. "A signal light!"
Ancelotis raced outside, climbing the ladder in haste. The lookout shinnied up behind him and pointed to the northwest, where a light blazed in the darkness atop the highest of the Mendip Hills. The light flickered in a definite pattern. Ancelotis counted flashes, translating numbers in his head.
"Artorius is camped at the edge of the Salisbury Plain," he said tersely. "He plans a charge at the Saxons' northeastern flank at dawn. Besides infantry numbering five hundred, he's brought more than a thousand heavy cavalry. Fetch me a lamp, quickly."