Around and around they went, neither warrior presenting a weakness, nor finding any in his opponent. They circled, and the burning sun peaked, hovered, and began to lower in its long slow plunge to the western horizon. The Britons shielded their eyes with their hands and watched the contest, senses numbed by the heat and light. On and on, the ceaseless circling went, and the day crept away.
Eventually, the light failed before either man gave in to fatigue or error. I took it upon myself to halt the combat as the sun set and shadows began to claim the battleground. Signalling to Hergest, I indicated my wish to confer, and he brought Mercia to me.
'It is soon dark,' I said. 'We can let this go on through the night, or we can agree to stop it and meet again tomorrow.'
The captive priest delivered my words to Mercia, who hesitated, regarding the fight thoughtfully. I sensed in him a reluctance to interfere, so I added, 'It will be no hurt to either man to rest the night and begin again at midday tomorrow.'
'It shall be done,' the barbarian replied through the priest, and the two approached the combatants, calling for them to put up their weapons and withdraw for the night. This they did, though not without some reluctance.
Thus the day ended without victory.
ELEVEN
The Cymbrogi were relieved to welcome their king's safe return, but disappointed that the day's fight should leave the issue unsettled. For his part, Arthur was tired, of course, hungry and desperately thirsty. He desired nothing so much as a moment's peace to recover himself. The Cymbrogi, however, having suffered the day's endless and relentless uncertainty, now required solid reassurance that their king remained strong and keen for the fight.
Arthur understood their need. 'Tell them I will speak to them after I have eaten,' he instructed me as we entered his tent. He removed his helm with a sigh, and lowered himself wearily into his camp chair. 'Rhys! Where is that cup?'
'Tell them to leave him in peace,' Gwenhwyvar commanded sharply. She knelt beside her husband and began pulling at the leather laces of his mail shirt. 'He has endured enough for one day.'
'Leave it with me,' I replied. 'Rest while you may.'
Stepping from the tent, I addressed the gathered throng. 'Your lord is well, but he is tired and hungry. Allow him a space to recover his strength, and he will hold council when he has eaten and rested.' I raised my hands to them. 'Go now; return to your duties and allow your king a space of peace."
'Is there anything we can do?' asked Bedwyr, stepping near. 'Say the word and it is done.'
'See that no one disturbs him,' I answered. 'That will be no less a boon to him than food and rest.'
'Done,' Bedwyr replied, contemplating the crowd. A moment later, after enlisting Cador, Fergus, and Llenlleawg, he began moving the warriors along to their camps, reminding them that vigilance was still necessary for the Vandali were yet near.
I called Rhys to me and set him the task of bringing food and drink. 'I have already seen to it,' he said, slightly annoyed that I should have thought to command him in such an obvious duty. 'The food is soon ready and I will bring it, Lord Emrys, never fear.'
Arthur passed a restful night. He ate well and slept soundly, rising with strength and spirit renewed – no less eager to continue the fight than on the previous day. He greeted his lords and warriors with good humour, and spent the morning tending to his weapons, choosing a new spear from among the many presented to him by eager Cymbrogi. Just before midday, he broke fast on hard bread and water. Then, donning his mail shirt and helm, he took up his weapons and went out to do battle once more.
As before, they met on the plain, the war hosts arrayed in long ranks behind them. The Black Boar took his place, his battlechiefs by his side, looking smugly impassive. Indeed, it seemed to me as I gazed at his cold-eyed expression that Amilcar appeared even more confident than before. Perhaps their previous encounter had answered any anxiety he may have had in confronting Arthur. Or, more likely, he had armed himself with additional tricks and feints which he hoped would turn the fight his way.
Arthur did not care to allow Amilcar the first word. 'Hail, Twrch Trwyth!' he called across the distance between them. 'You appear most eager to die. Come then, I will give you your heart's desire!'
Through Hergest the priest, the Vandal chieftain received Arthur's taunt. By way of reply, he spat.
Arthur replied acidly, 'As always, your wit is charming.'
The fight began as before – both warriors circling and circling, searching for an opportunity to strike the first, perhaps decisive, blow. I took my place with Cai and Bedwyr beside me, and the Vandali chieftains took theirs; we stood opposite one another, watching the efforts of our champions.
As expected, the Black Boar had armed himself with further deceptions. These might have beguiled a less wary and experienced warrior, but Arthur handled them easily. So the day passed to the sound of spear on shield. The two warriors strained to their work, hewing at one another, each trying to beat down the resistance of the other, but neither forcing a decisive advantage. I watched the day stretch long, a feeling of frustration and helplessness growing in me.
Once, during the heat of the day, Hergest approached to offer the warriors a drink of water. I saw him standing between the two combatants and came to myself with a start; I had been drifting in reverie, oblivious to the battle before me. But I saw the priest holding out the water jar – offering a healing drink to the two combatants – and the words came again into my mind: You must go back the way you camel
I have done that, I thought. What more can I do?
But the words became a voice-my own, yet not my own- and the voice grew insistent; stern, accusing, it persisted, drowning out all other thought until I heard nothing else. Go back! Go back the way you came! If you would conquer, you must go back the way you came\
I stood squinting in the sun, staring at Arthur as he leaned against his spear and drank. When he finished, he raised the bowl and poured water over his head. I saw the High King of Britain, head back, the harsh light full on his sweating face, holding the bowl above him as the water splashed down.
It was a vision old as Britain: a weary warrior refreshing himself before returning to the fight.
The voice in my head stopped its insistent refrain, as if silenced by the sight. But it was not silent long. For, as I beheld the vision of Arthur dousing himself with water, another voice stirred to life: This day I am Britain.
They were Arthur's words, the words of the king to his queen, spoken to remind her of his rank and responsibility. True words, certainly, but as the cooling water bathed his face, I heard in them the echo of a truth long forgotten – too long forgotten, or overlooked in our headlong drive for victory.
Great Light, forgive me! I am a slow-witted and ignorant man. Kill me, Lord; it would be a mercy.
The fight resumed and continued until pale twilight descended over the battleground. The day was spent and neither warrior had succeeded in gaining any advantage over the other. As before, I signalled Mercia and we approached the combatants with the offer of breaking off the battle and resuming the next day. Both men, weary beyond endurance, readily agreed; lowering their weapons, they stepped away from one another.
I turned to summon Cai and Bedwyr to help Arthur, and Amilcar's chieftains advanced to aid their king. The instant my head was turned, the Black Boar's lance flashed out. I saw the swift movement of his arm and shouted: 'Arthur!'
The spearpoint caught Arthur in the upper shoulder. He fell forward with the force of the throw, his shield slamming to the ground. The spear glanced and dropped into the dust. Cai leaped forward, snatched up the shield, and placed himself between Arthur and Amilcar.