Pendragon

SIX

Warriors lay on the ground where they had collapsed. Exhausted, too tired to move, they lay gasping, hardly more alive than the dead we left in the glen. Some men sat slumped over wounds, contemplating the extent of their injuries as if they revealed the source of the world's sorrow. Women and boys hurried among the scattered warriors with jars of water to help revive the beaten war host.

Dull eyes watched me pass with little recognition. I did not pause, but made my way to Arthur's tent. The Bear of Britain was holding council with his battlechiefs outside the tent.

'We have fared poorly today,' Arthur announced. 'It was only by God's grace that we escaped.'

'It is true,' Cador conceded. 'The Vandali were ready for us today -'

'More than ready,' observed Bedwyr sourly. 'It was as if they knew each move we would make before we made it.'

This brought a chorus of agreement from the gathered chieftains. 'Aye,' said Cai, speaking up, 'the Boar is showing himself a fighter at last. The farther inland they run, the more fierce they become.' He ended, shaking his head wearily. 'I do not understand it.'

'We are losing this war,' I declared, taking my place before them. 'And if we persist on this course, we will lose it, and all Britain as well.'

Arthur drew a deep breath. 'We are tired,' he said, 'and we all have duties elsewhere. We will talk again when we have seen to our men and taken some rest." He dismissed them then and, as they departed, he said, 'Attend me in my tent, Myrddin. We must speak.'

As soon as we were alone, he turned on me. 'I cannot believe you would speak like that in front of the men, Myrddin! Are you trying to discourage them?'

'I spoke the truth.'

'You spoke of losing and defeat. I do not find that helpful – especially after such a battle as we fought today.'

'It was not a battle,' I replied. 'It was a disaster.'

'I was ambushed!' he declared. 'The sneaking barbarian had a warband lying in wait in the gully. It was a trap! God love you, man, it was a trap. I was anticipated and taken by surprise. It was unfortunate-a disaster, yes. But I cannot see what good it does to wallow in it.'

'I do not say this to grieve you, O king. I say this to open your eyes to the truth.'

'But it does grieve me, Myrddin. I am aggrieved! You speak of disasters and loss – as if I did not already know it. Well I know it! I am the War Leader, I own the fault.'

'No,' I replied, 'if fault is to be apportioned, I am mostly to blame. I have not served you as I should. I have failed you, Arthur.'

'You?' he wondered, surprised by this unwarranted admission. 'You have ever stood by me. You have been my wise counsellor and my best adviser.'

'You did not need another adviser,' I told him flatly. 'You needed a bard. Britain needed a True Bard – and was made to suffer a blind meddler instead. That is my fault and I own the blame.'

Arthur drew his hand through his sweaty hair. 'I do not understand you, Myrddin. I led good men into the most simple trap of all. I have chased Twrch Trwyth all summer, I should have known. I should have seen it straightaway. But why sit here moaning about the blame? Where is the virtue in that?'

'Great the virtue if it leads to salvation.'

'Our salvation is as close as the next battle,' Arthur contended. 'The Black Boar's ambush held me too long from the fight, or you would have seen a different ending to this day's battle. I will not make the same mistake again, believe me. And now that the Irish lords are soon with us – '

'You have not heard a word that I have said,' I snapped. 'This is not about a single battle, or even a war. This is about the failure of a vision! Are we better men simply because we have better warriors, or better weapons?'

'With the Irish here,' Arthur maintained, 'we will yet drive the barbarian from this land.'

'Hear me, O king: the realm is dying. Plague and war are bleeding us to death. If we persist, we will die.'

'It is not so bad,' Arthur said lamely.

'It is the ruin of the world!'

Arthur glared at me, sullen and annoyed. 'We will yet drive the invader from this land. That is the truth, I say.'

'And those dead on the battleground – what do they say?'

'Agh! There is no talking to you.'

Arthur turned away and flung himself into Uther's camp chair. He put his head in his hands and rubbed his face. I moved to stand over him.

'We must change, or we will surely die. We must go back the way we came,' I declared. 'Think on that,' I challenged. 'Think long and hard, Arthur. For until you begin to understand what I am telling you, Britain is lost.'

The tent felt suffocatingly close; I could not breathe. Leaving the High King to his thoughts, I went in search of a place where I could be alone. I moved through a camp sunk in the gloom of defeat: silent, unmoving, awaiting the night's shadows to cover and claim it.

Warriors, spent and forlorn, sat or lay before unlit fires, speaking in hushed tones if they spoke at all. Boys were leading horses to the pickets, and women were working to bind the wounds of the injured. A pall hung over the camp, a lethargy deeper than simple fatigue – as if all understood the futility of effort alone to win any lasting gain.

I saw men sleeping, and knew that some of these would not rise in the morning. Jesu, have mercy! I saw several of the lords, heads together, holding close council; they stopped talking as I approached, watching me darkly. I ignored them and moved on.

My feet found the path leading to the stream; moving among the slumbering bodies of those who had come to drink and dropped there, I descended the bank, crossed the water and continued on. The path began to climb, ascending the hillside, and I followed where it led – up through pungent bracken and prickly gorse. Eventually, I found myself in a grassy hollow scooped out of the hillside. Smooth, lichen-covered rock formed a wall at the rear, fringed by elderberry and blackthorn shrubs,- beech trees stood on either side of the hollow, leaving the front open to a good view of the British camp below.

I sat down cross-legged on the soft turf between the two trees and watched twilight gradually enfold the glen in deep blue shadow. The sky held a pale lingering light for a long time, at last giving way before oncoming night. From my lofty perch I watched and listened, attending to the slow descent of the world into darkness.

My heart moved within me, for it seemed that as night stretched its dark hand over the glen, a weight of sorrow settled in my soul. Death had taken many good men this day, their sacrifice all but forgotten. As chief bard it was my duty to lead the people in laments of mourning for their fallen kinsmen. Yet here was I, sitting aloof from the concerns of my brothers. Once again, here was Myrddin, this day and always, a man apart, bearing all things, whether in triumph or tragedy, alone. You must go back the way you camel Thus spoke the truth of my vision, and thus I did believe. But how? Alas, I had no idea how such a thing might be accomplished, nor where I might begin.

I sat looking out over the glen in the steadily deepening twilight. Lost in thought, I did not hear the footsteps approaching from behind. Then, hearing them, I turned, supposing Arthur had sent Rhys to find me… I turned and strange faces rushed at me out of the shadowed darkness. Before I could lift a hand, I was taken.

Four immense Vandali, armed with stout spears, surrounded me. I made no move to resist; that would, I was instantly persuaded, have been futile. So I simply remained seated and forced myself to appear calm and unafraid.

It was a small thing, but great events often swing on such modest hinges. The Vandali, confronted by an unarmed enemy who appeared neither frightened nor in the least disturbed, hesitated. This emboldened me. I regarded them impassively and raised my hands in welcome – as if I had been expecting them.

'I recognize you,' I said, knowing full well they would not understand me. That was not important, however; I merely wanted to be the first to speak, thinking to keep them off their mettle. 'Put up your weapons and let us speak together as reasonable men.'