'Winter in the north is harsh and long,' Bedwyr told him, 'as I know only too well.'
'Your concern does you honour, Lord Bedwyr,' Hergest answered. 'But would not homeless Britons suffer the winter as readily as homeless Vandali?' He lifted a hand to Mercia. 'My lord says that if we are to live under Arthur's rule, let it be among Arthur's people.'
The young chieftain's eyes shifted from Bedwyr to me, and back again – willing us to believe.
I regarded him carefully, uncertain what to do. Truly, they offered us a way out of the hateful task of forcing people from their homes – countrymen whose only sin was having unfaithful noblemen for lords. What would Arthur do?
I was on the point of sending them away to allow us to think the thing through when Mercia said, 'Lord Bedvyr… Lord Galahad' – that was as much as he could make of our names -'please, I beg you, let us prove the trust that has been granted us.'
'Very well,' Bedwyr said, making up his mind at once. 'Let it be as you say. We will conduct you to unclaimed lands and there you shall make your home. I leave it to you how to divide the realms between your tribes. Make your settlements as you will. But there is to be no trouble between your people and the Britons who choose to remain.'
He said this sternly, every word an implied threat. Mercia rushed forward, knelt before him, seized his hand, and kissed it. No doubt this was a common thing among the Vandal kind, but we are not so accustomed. Bedwyr snatched his hand away, saying, 'Rise, Mercia. You have the thing you seek. Go and tell your people.'
Mercia rose and stood a little apart, smiling his good pleasure. 'A wise decision, Prince Bedwyr,' Hergest assured us; he touched a hand to his throat and I noticed he no longer wore the iron slave ring.
'Make certain I do not live to regret it.'
'The Vandali are barbarians, it is true. They give their word rarely, but when they do, the vow endures to the fifth generation,' the priest affirmed. 'I trust Mercia.'
'May God be good to you,' Bedwyr told him. 'I am content.'
'I am heartily glad you are content,' I told Bedwyr when they had gone. 'I only wonder what Arthur will say when he hears what we have done.'
'I care nothing for that,' replied Bedwyr. He turned away quickly, adding, 'I pray instead he lives to hear it.'
TWO
Bedwyr retreated to the tent, but I remained outside, thinking, and listening to the sounds of the camp settling in for the night. Twilight deepened around me. I watched the dusky slope of the distant hillside begin to glow as campfires wakened in the darkness; soon the aroma of roasting meat stirred me.
What has become of Rhys? I wondered, thinking that he should have returned long ago.
He and a small company of warriors had gone in search of water as soon as we halted our day's march. We were camped in a shallow valley, and there were streams in the surrounding hills. Finding water had become the chief task of each and every day; we did not neglect any possible means of filling the waterskins and jars. As we moved farther up the vale, the streams narrowed and thinned, and the search became more difficult. We had not located any drinking water this day, so Rhys had undertaken to continue looking.
The rest of the Cymbrogi were nearby, having established camp at a second place on the hillside. We did this by way of guarding the Vandal host, yet allowing ourselves a ready retreat. For though they were no longer armed – their spears alone filled three wagons! – there were so many of them that we could easily be overrun. Thus, we always made two camps a short distance apart and kept watch through the night.
'He will soon return,' Bedwyr assured me when I pointed out that it was well past dark and still no sign of Rhys and his company. 'Why uneasy, brother?'
'How much water remains?' The Cymbrogi also stood guard over the water wagons, lest anyone try to steal another share.
'One day at full rations,' he replied; he had already reckoned the amount. 'We could go on half rations, but I would rather wait until Rhys returns to make that decision.'
I left him to his rest, and returned to the campfire feeling uneasy and troubled – though I could not think why. Perhaps I was merely tired. It seemed like years since I had slept more than two nights in the same place… years since I had slept without a weapon in my hand. Once Mercia and his folk were settled, I thought, we will begin to enjoy the peace we have all fought so long to achieve.
A pale phantom moon rose and soared like a silent spectre over the narrow valley. I supped on something tough and tasteless – stewed saddle, perhaps – and finished the last of my day's ration of water. I retreated to the tent and lay down, but found the closeness inside stifling; so I took up the oxhide and stretched out on the ground a short distance away – whereupon I found I could not sleep for the barking of the camp dogs. I lay on my back with my arms folded over my chest, gazing up at the heavens, marking the slow progression of the moon, and wondering if the mutts were always so loud.
I lay a long time before realizing that I was listening for Rhys' return. I identified all the night sounds of the camp -horses whickering and jittery at their pickets, the tight voices of the sentries as they moved along the boundary, the far-off call of a night bird in a distant tree – all familiar, yet made peculiar by my listening. Or perhaps it was something else – something in the air making them seem that way.
I must have dozed without knowing it, for when I looked again, the moon was well down. I heard the short, sharp challenge of a sentry, and the expected reply. I rose at once and made my way to the picket line to see Rhys and his band dismounting. Some of the men swayed on their feet, exhausted by their long search.
'Good hunting?' I called, hurrying to join them.
Rhys turned when he heard me. The look on his face halted me in my steps. 'Rhys?'
He tossed a quick command over his shoulder and then stepped near. 'We found a spring,' he said, his voice husky and strange. Perhaps it was merely fatigue, but I have seen terror often enough to recognize its many guises, and I thought Rhys wore it now.
'A spring, yes,' I said, searching the steward's face for a sign. 'Good. Well done. Is it far?'
He took my arm, wheeled me around, and started walking me away. When we were out of hearing of the men, he said, 'No, not far. The spring is not large, but it supplies a pool. We can get water there.' He paused, hesitating, uncertain how to proceed.
'Rhys?'
There is something queer…'
'About the spring?'
'Yes.'
'You said it was not far -'
'Indeed, it is just beyond the hill.' He lifted a hand, but the gesture died and he lapsed again into a hesitant silence.
'Well?' I demanded, growing impatient with his reticence. 'Speak, man.'
His reply was swift and harsh. 'I do not like it! Something queer is out there.' He glowered at me.
'Calm yourself,' I said soothingly. 'Come to the tent. Sit down. You have not eaten anything all day. You must be starving. Come, Rhys.'
I led him to the tent and sat him in Arthur's chair, then roused one of the younger men who served the Dragon Flight. 'Wake you, Baram,' I said. 'Rhys has returned. Fetch food and water.'
Rhys sat slumped in the camp chair, his head bent forward, resting in his hands. I had never seen him so. 'Food is coming,' I said, dragging up a stool. Thinking to distract him from his thoughts, I began telling him about our talk with Mercia and Hergest. In a little while, Baram appeared with the food; I dismissed him to his rest once more, and served Rhys myself.
When he finished eating, he seemed in better spirits, so I said, 'Now, then, tell me about this strange pool you have found.'
Rhys nodded, took a long draught of water, swallowed slowly, and then began. 'We came upon it before sundown. It is no great distance from here, and we discovered it soon after we began. There is a rocky outcrop on the hillside, and a beech grove below. The leaves on the trees looked fresh – not wilted like all the rest – so we rode to the place for a closer look. The grove hides a cleft in the rocks – pass through it and you come to the pool.'