All at once, there came a shout from up the beach, brutally truncated in mid-cry. A heartbeat later, the invader camp was in turmoil. Shouts echoed along the cliffside. I glimpsed the forms of horses moving against the firelight, and the swift, flashing glint of weapons as they rose and fell. The darkness itself seemed to swirl and swarm.
As abruptly as it had begun, the attack was over. Almost before the enemy could arm themselves, the defenders had struck and vanished. And before the alarm could spread to the next camp, that camp, too, was under attack. In this way, the assault travelled up the coast away from us, and we gradually lost sight of our warriors – although the sound of the havoc they created continued long after they had gone.
Still we watched and waited. The night passed in a tense but idle vigil. Gwenhwyvar dismounted and walked a little way along the strand. I joined her. We walked a short while in silence, eyes and ears straining into the darkness. 'Do not fret for him,' I told her. 'He will be well.'
'Fret for Arthur? I wish I were with him.'
The sky was growing grey in the east when a call came from the clifftop above. We turned to see a dark figure making its way down the cliff track. 'Lord Fergus,' said the man, running to meet us. 'Conaire has returned. He is waiting for you.'
'And Arthur?' asked Gwenhwyvar, betraying a shred of concern after all.
'He has not yet returned,' the messenger replied.
'You go, Myrddin,' Fergus said. 'I will wait here a little longer for Arthur.'
Gwenhwyvar and I left Fergus and ascended to the clifftop where Conaire and his warriors were waiting, exhausted and bruised from their night's work, but jubilant.
'I regret you were not there to see us,' the king said. 'When you hear the tale, you will rue your misfortune that you missed it. Oh, it was a beautiful fight, I tell you.'
His battlechiefs agreed loudly. 'The enemy runs away at the first sight of a horse!' some said. 'And their leaders cannot command them.' Others offered, 'They hardly know how to use their own weapons!'
The Irish were ecstatic at their easy mastery of a much more numerous foe. In this, I saw Arthur's genius at work: he had designed this exercise not only to harass the enemy, but to inspire the Irish at the same time. They had gained confidence in their ability to attack and rout the invader with small risk to themselves. Thus, when next the two forces met, the Irish would hold themselves superior no matter how many foemen faced them across the line.
A pale white sun was showing above the eastern rim when Arthur finally returned. Like Conaire, he had suffered no loss greater than his night's sleep. Unlike Conaire, he was far from jubilant. He kept his distress to himself, however, until we were alone at Rath Mor.
'What is troubling you, Arthur?' I asked. As he had seemed ill-disposed to talk on the way back, I waited until Gwenhwyvar had gone to bed before challenging him outright.
'I do not like these Vandali,' he said darkly.
'Conaire is very well pleased with them,' I remarked. We sat at the far end of the hut the Irish king had provided for their quarters; Gwenhwyvar slept in the bedplace behind the wattle wall.
'Yes,' granted Arthur, 'but the Irish have little experience dealing with barbarians. They think that because the enemy fears our horses, he can be easily beaten.'
'What do you think?'
'I think they are waiting for their lord. He has yet to come ashore; when he does, it will begin.'
'Indeed. But why would he wait?'
Arthur shrugged heavily. 'Who knows why the barbarians do anything? Their ways are past reckoning.'
'That is true.' I paused, then asked the question foremost in my mind. 'Can the Irish defeat them?'
The High King of Britain considered this for a long time before answering. 'No,' he said at last, shaking his head. 'They are skilled horsemen and warriors," he allowed, 'but their courage is brittle and they are easily given to despair. Also they are wayward and contrary, Myrddin, I swear it. Tell them one thing and they do another.' He paused. 'But that is not what disturbs me most.'
'What then?'
'We cannot drive these invaders away without the aid of the British kings,' he said gloomily.
I finished his thought: 'And British kings will never risk their lives and kingdoms to aid the Irish.'
'They will sooner cut off their own arms than lift sword to defend Ierne,' he muttered. 'Even so, how long do you think the barbarian will content himself with this scrag of turf and rock when Britain stands ripe for the plucking? Even the Irish do not content themselves with raiding one another, but ever and always leap across the sea to our fair shores when seeking easy plunder.'
He had read the situation aright, and I told him so.
'Aye,' he agreed grimly, 'when the barbarian has plundered here, he will turn greedy eyes towards Ynys Prydein. Pray that does not happen, Myrddin. We have just put down the Saecsens – Britain cannot survive another war.'
SEVEN
'Wayward and contrary!' Gwenhwyvar cried. 'Easily given to despair!' She charged into the room and planted herself before us, fists on hips.
'Gwenhwyvar,' Arthur said, somewhat startled. 'I thought you were asleep.'
'Listen to the both of you,' she scolded. 'I will tell you what troubles me, shall I? You haughty Britons think you are the only men alive who know how to throw a spear.'
'Calm yourself. I did not mean -' began Arthur.
'You think you are the only men under God's blue heaven who know how to defend your land and people from enemy invaders! You think -'
'Enough, woman!' Arthur said, rising to his feet. 'I am sorry! I did not mean for you to hear.'
'Sorry!' Gwenhwyvar stepped nearer, her nose almost touching his chin. 'Sorry that I heard your scurrilous talk, or sorry for what you said?'
'I feel the way I feel,' Arthur told her, growing angry. 'I cannot change that.'
'What do you know, you big stump?' Gwenhwyvar pushed her face into his, though she had to stand on toe tip to do it.
Arthur's jaw bulged dangerously. 'I know what I see with my own eyes.'
'Are you blind then?' Gwenhwyvar scoffed. 'For a truth you know nothing of Ierne's people. You know nothing of our courage. You know nothing -'
Taken by fury, she leaned too far and fell forward. Arthur, red-faced and furious, without a thought reached out, took her elbow and steadied her.
Quick as a flash, Gwenhwyvar snapped, 'Take your hand from me, Briton!' placed both hands against his chest, and shoved him backwards. Caught off-balance Arthur went down, and Gwenhwyvar, supremely triumphant, stormed out of the house.
Arthur sat astonished for a moment. Then: 'It is as I told you, Myrddin. They are a contrary race, and hasty. And that is the end of it.'
I put out a hand to help him up. 'What will you do now?' I said, ignoring the squabble.
'We must return at once to Britain,' he said. 'We must raise the support of Britain's kings and persuade them to pledge warriors to the fight.'
'Easier to persuade the invaders to turn their ships and sail away,' I replied.
'You know them too well,' Arthur agreed. 'Yet, I see no better hope for Ierne. Indeed, it is Britain's best hope as well. For if we can defeat the Vandali here, Britain will remain unscathed.'
I left Arthur to his rest then, and went in search of a place where I might sit alone with my thoughts. I found a sheltered nook in the shadow of the wall, wrapped myself in my cloak, and settled down to contemplate the magnitude of the disaster that had befallen us.
Oh, it was a calamity and I knew it. Britain was newly united, the alliance still soft; it would harden in time – given the chance. But the British kings had suffered at Baedun, and they needed time to heal their wounds and rebuild their warbands. Even Arthur's most loyal lords would view a war across Muir Eireann with cold eyes. The Irish had long been a thorn in the British flesh with their incessant raiding. Few Britons would see the prudence of Arthur's summons – much less understand it – and none would welcome it.