Pendragon

For, by employing so many points of attack, he spread the enemy and forced them to remain on the defensive. Though each of our attacking forces was small, the more numerous barbarian host could not afford to ignore any of them, for every lapse was punished severely. The Black Boar and his warlords could neither unify nor concentrate their defence, and thus were robbed of the advantage their vast numbers gave them. The swift-moving raiders struck and retreated to strike and strike again.

The tactic would not have worked in the daylight. But it was perfectly suited to a night raid, where darkness multiplies the ordinary confusion and chaos of battle into a potent force all its own. Arthur manipulated this force, wielded it like a weapon. A harp singing under the touch of a true bard is but a dull, stifled thing compared to the song of a weapon in Arthur's hands. And I thrilled to it.

I rode in the front rank with him – Llenlleawg and Gwenhwyvar on his left, with me on his right, backed by Cador and Meurig and their war bands. From time to time, I caught fleeting glimpses of other warbands as they darted in and out along the battleline. It was in Arthur's battle order to resist engaging the enemy head-to-head, so we delivered only glancing blows – striking and breaking off before they could muster their forces to trap us, which was ever their chief intent.

Arthur continually searched the heaving sea-swell of battle for the Black Boar's standard; if he chanced upon Twrch Trwyth in the fight, the opportunity of crossing swords with the Vandal war leader would not pass him by. As the fortune of combat decreed, Arthur received his chance. For on one of our swift-breaking forays, I saw the boar standard rise up before us, and in the same instant heard a full-throated battle cry as Arthur sped past me, making for the place. I lashed my mount forward, striving to keep pace with him. I saw Llenlleawg's sword flash in the firelight as he matched Arthur stroke for stroke.

The two of them pushed into the churning mass before us. Turning to my right, I saw Gwenhwyvar struggling to follow. 'Lady!' I shouted. 'Here! This way!'

She was beside me at once and together we struck into the bristling wall of defenders. I slashed with my sword, my arm rising and falling, the quick blade hacking a grudging path through the stubborn press. All at once the way parted, and I saw before me the huge Vandal chieftain, surrounded by his bodyguard, and Arthur, high on his rearing mount, Caledvwlch a reddish blur in his hand.

Twrch Trwyth, angry, his eyes mere slits of hatred, met Arthur's assault. He leapt forward, throwing his spear before him, slashing at Arthur's throat.

But Arthur was swift. Up came his blade. The Black Boar's weapon splintered and the spearhead spun away. Disarmed, Amilcar fell back, taking cover behind his upraised shield. Crack! Arthur struck the shield a bone-breaking blow. Then another and another.

The Vandal chieftain staggered and fell back. I saw him stumble as his bodyguard surged forward, encircling him once more. Then the tide of battle bore him away. The foemen swarmed us and it was either break off the attack or be dragged down. There was nothing for it but to disengage.

We regrouped just out of spear-throw. 'I had him!' shouted Arthur in frustration. 'Did you see? I had him!'

'I saw,' Gwenhwyvar said. 'You hurt him, Arthur. He went down.'

'Aye, he went down,' Llenlleawg confirmed. 'But I think he was not wounded.'

'I was this close!" cried Arthur, slapping his thigh. The shield rattled on his arm. 'I had him in my grasp!'

'He will not long elude you,' Gwenhwyvar said. 'Few men feel the Bear of Britain's bite and remain alive to tell it.'

Cador reined in beside us. 'Too bad. You will have another chance, Artos.'

'If that is to be,' answered Arthur, scanning the melee, 'it will be another battle. This one is finished.'

'Finished?' Cador protested. 'Artos, we are just beginning to make our mark here.'

'And the enemy has begun throwing off his confusion.' He pointed with his sword. 'Soon Twrch will realize he can repel us. I would rather we were gone before that time.'

We looked along the line. The Vandali were everywhere moving to the offensive. At last emboldened, they were fighting back; the tide of battle was turning. It was time to withdraw.

'Rhys!' shouted Arthur. 'The horn! Sound the retreat!'

Thus with the sound of the hunting horn ringing in our ears, we fled, flew back up the long slopes and into the dark. We paused at the crest of the hill to look back upon our night's handiwork. The enemy camp swirled in turmoiclass="underline" tents burned, men screamed and cried, running here and there. Around the perimeter, however, the silent dead lay thick-strewn on the ground.

'Victory,' Arthur muttered. 'It swells your heart with pride, does it not?'

'Amilcar will understand his aims cannot succeed,' I replied. 'It may be that you have saved the lives of many this night.'

'Pray God you are right, Myrddin,' the king replied. Then, turning his mount, he rode down the hill away from the valley.

We did not return to the abandoned stronghold, but rested beside a stream a short distance away from the battleground. At dawn one of the scouts Arthur had posted to watch the enemy camp appeared to rouse us.

'The enemy is striking camp, lord,' the rider said. 'They appear to be moving.'

'Show me,' Arthur said. He summoned Cador and myself to attend him, and, in a gesture of reconciliation, Conaire as well. We arrived at the crest of the hill overlooking the Vandal camp just as the sun broke fair in the east.

We stared into the valley, the red-rising sun in our eyes, and watched as a line of warriors extended from the mass and began threading along the stream, heading west. Soon the entire invading host was moving, flowing like a dark river towards the sea.

'They are leaving,' observed Cador. 'The triumph is yours, Artos! You have defeated them.'

Cocking his head to one side, Arthur gazed long at the retreating floodtide. When he turned away at last, 'Follow them!' was all he said.

Then Arthur and I returned to our men, leaving Cador, Conaire, and the scout to oversee the retreating foe. The kings and lords were awaiting word, and Arthur lost no time: 'It appears the enemy host is leaving the valley. I have set Cador and Conaire to follow and bring word of their purpose.'

So we settled down to wait, and the day progressed. Men looked to their weapons and nursed their wounds, grateful for the rest. As the sun passed midmorning, Fergus arrived to great acclaim with much-needed provisions – including a small herd of cattle on the hoof. He set those with him to distributing the food and came to us. Ciaran, the priest, was with him.

'What am I hearing?' Fergus demanded, almost stumbling in his excitement. 'The enemy routed? That is what they are saying. Is it true?'

'So it does appear,' Gwenhwyvar informed him. She rose and greeted her father with a kiss. 'The Black Boar has left the valley-Conaire and Cador follow to learn where he has gone.'

'And here I am with meat and grain enough to last the summer,' Fergus complained good-naturedly. 'What am I to do with it now?'

'The food is no less welcome for that,' Cai told him. 'Waiting is hungry work. I am starving.'

'Say no more, my friend.' Fergus turned and called a string of commands which brought men running with ready-baked loaves, haunches of roast meat, and skins of ale. The Irish lord had, it seemed, snatched bread from the ovens and meat from the spit, gleaning the very crumbs from beneath the tables of those from whom he obtained his support.

'Oh, they were happy to give it,' Fergus explained when Bedwyr commented on the astonishing largesse. 'Once I had sufficiently aroused their sympathy, they could not give me enough. Bless them.'

'Fergus mac Guillomar!' Gwenhwyvar cried. 'You robbed Conaire's settlements?'

'Teh!' sniffed Fergus. 'You wound me, daughter! Did I steal a mouthful? I never did.' He gazed around him and, finding few believers, appealed to Ciaran. 'Tell them, priest. You were there.'