Pendragon

We joined in this heartbreaking labour, then gathered on the hillside in the twilight to offer up prayers for our fallen brothers as we consigned them to their graves. Only when the green turf covered the last corpse did Arthur enter the hall.

'They were careless,' Cai observed. 'They were in haste.'

'How do you know this?' wondered Urien. Since the last days in Ierne, he had dogged Arthur's steps, insinuating himself into the group closest to the High King. If anyone else noticed his presence, they gave no sign.

'If Twrch Trwyth had desired its destruction,' Cai answered curtly, 'the caer would be ashes, and those scattered to the winds.'

Embarrassed by his failure to discern the obvious, Urien withdrew and said no more.

'It is fortunate we have the war host with us still,' Bedwyr said. 'That great horde on foot -'

'Our horses can easily overtake them,' Cai put in, finishing the thought. 'They cannot have travelled far.'

'But the war host is fewer now than it was in Ierne,' Cador pointed out. 'Without the support of the Irish lords, I fear we will fare less well than before.'

'Gwalchavad will have reached the northern lords with our summons,' Bedwyr reminded him. 'Idris, Cunomor, and Cadwallo will arrive soon.'

Cador nodded, but the frown did not leave his face. 'We need more,' he said, after a moment. 'Even with the northern warbands it is still ten or twenty Vandali for every fighting Briton.'

'Bors and Ector should arrive any day,' Cai added. 'Together they will bring above six hundred.'

There followed a reckoning of numbers; warbands were estimated and tallied. At best we could count on four thousand, perhaps more – though likely far fewer. However, lack of fighting power was not the uppermost concern. Men must eat if they are to fight. And the talk soon turned to the persistent problem of provisions. Warriors require a constant, uninterrupted supply of food and weapons. We had not enough of arms or food to sustain a lengthy campaign.

'We must send to the settlements for our support,' Cador observed gloomily. 'And that will take men away from battle.'

'If we do not send them,' Gwenhwyvar replied, 'it will cost the lives of more. There is no other way.'

'There is another way,' Arthur said quietly, finding his voice at last. 'We will use the treasure of Britain to buy grain and cattle in Londinium.' Turning to Cador, he said, 'I give this task to you. Take everything we have saved from the Saecsen wars and use it in the markets.'

Bedwyr shook his head in amazement. 'Bear, God love you, we were plundered! Amilcar has it all!'

'All?' wondered Arthur aloud; this problem had not occurred to him.

'Not all, I suppose," Bedwyr allowed. 'We have that left which was hidden under the hearth, and the little we had with us in Ierne.'

'It is enough? That little is enough?'

'Perhaps,' Bedwyr said doubtfully.

'Artos,' Gwenhwyvar said, 'whatever we lack can be made up from the churches. They have gold and silver aplenty. Go to them. Let them help us now as we have helped them.'

'Tread lightly,' I warned. 'Separating holy men from their worldly wealth is not without consequence.'

'Listen to your queen,' Bedwyr urged. 'What good will their gold and silver do them when the barbarians come and carry it off? They will lose both their treasure and their lives. But if they give their gold to us, they may at least keep their lives.'

'So be it,' said Arthur, having heard enough. To Cador he said, 'Stop at the churches on the way and raise whatever you can. Tell them Arthur has need of it. When you reach Londinium, see you bargain well – our lives depend on you.'

Cador accepted reluctantly. 'As you will, lord,' he said. 'I will leave at first light tomorrow.'

Arthur stood. 'I am going to my chamber-what is left of it. When the lords have settled their men, let them attend me in council here.'

Thus, as a woeful sliver of moon rose to shine upon the ruined caer, the lords of Britain sat down to plan the defence of the island. Having had a taste of the Vandal way of fighting, the Britons were all for blunt confrontation. 'Give them the edge of the sword, I say,' Ogryvan argued. 'They shake with fear whenever they see our horses. We can catch them and ride them down.'

'He is right. A bold attack will send them back to their ships, smart enough,' added Brastias. 'They are cowards and we are swiftly done with them.'

Meurig spoke up. 'The sooner we engage them, the sooner we are rid of them. We must ride at once.'

'And then we will not need all the supplies you deem necessary to purchase,' Ulfias put in hopefully. 'We can finish this business before harvest.'

The High King abruptly banished all such thoughts from their minds. Up he rose, fists clenched. 'Did the sight of burning ships mean nothing to you?' he shouted. The noblemen glanced at one another warily. When no one made bold to answer, Arthur said, 'Hear me now: it will not be as it was in Ierne. The Boar has changed. He knows well what awaits him here, and yet he comes. I tell you the truth, Amilcar has become a new and more dangerous enemy.'

'How so, lord?' demanded Brastias. 'He tramples, he burns, he runs away. It is the same reckless enemy. You may mistake carelessness for cunning, but I reckon it well when I see it.'

Gerontius made to press the argument, but Arthur cut him off with a chop of his hand. 'Am I surrounded by fools?' he asked, his voice tight with fury.

'Tribes and families!' he shouted. 'Their ships burned behind them. Think!' He glared the length of the board, towering in his anger. When he spoke again, his voice was a tight whisper. 'The Black Boar will no longer content himself with plunder only. He means to settle.'

Before the noblemen could frame a reply, Arthur continued. 'The entire realm is unprotected – and Twrch Trwyth knows this. He runs before us, laying waste the land as he goes.' The High King's words were finding their mark at last; the lords kept their mouths firmly shut and listened. 'Only now does the enemy begin to show his true likeness, and it is an aspect I greatly fear.'

Having made his point, Arthur concluded simply, saying, 'Return to your men. Tell them we ride in pursuit. We leave at dawn.'

While the battlechiefs made ready to ride, I sat alone in the empty hall and considered the meaning of the change in the Black Boar's designs. Arthur had discerned the matter aright: enraged, or at least frustrated, by Arthur's opposition to his intended plundering of Ireland, the Black Boar had moved on to easier pickings. What better place than an undefended Britain? With the war host of Ynys Prydein in Ierne, the Vandal chieftain could plunder here to his heart's content, amassing great wealth before he was caught.

Arthur had read the signs aright, certainly. Even so, misgiving gnawed at me. Amilcar knew – and knew beyond any doubt whatsoever – that the lords of Britain would soon arrive to put an end to his plunder. Having faced Arthur and suffered defeat at every turn, why risk confronting the Bear of Britain again?

More importantly, if he meant to settle, why choose Britain? Did he not fear Arthur? Did the Black Boar believe he would not be hunted down and killed?

Something drove Amilcar to this extremity. Was it desperation? Revenge? Something of both perhaps, but there seemed to me also a portion of shrewd defiance. How was that to be weighed?

I went to sleep with an uneasy mind and was roused a short while later by Rhys. Declining to break fast, I went out to walk the ramparts of Caer Melyn until it was time to leave. I watched the sky lighten in the east. Away in the south, white clouds crept along the coast, but these faded even as I watched and with them vanished any chance of rain. The day before us would be the same as those just past: scorching hot.

I turned my eyes to the hills. The grass was beginning to wither and dry. Already the trails were turning to dust. If it did not rain soon, the streams would begin to dry. Drought is not unknown in Britain, God knows, but it is rare and always betokens hardship.