Pendragon

We worked amiably, talking quietly, the smoke from Gwalchavad's kiln fire drifting over and around us. Once or twice I observed the young warrior leaning on the stick he used to poke the fire, his face ruddy in the glow of the fire. And I watched Llenlleawg, stripped to the waist, the firelight glimmering on his back as he worked with the wood and iron fittings.

A Celt of elder days coming upon us now would have greeted the sight with recognition and hailed us as brothers. If there is any enchantment in good men toiling together in hardy companionship, we made powerful magic that night.

The moon slid farther towards the horizon before disappearing in a white haze at last. After the moon set, I built up the fire and stoked it more often to keep the light steady. The night passed to the cold ring of the hammer and the hot crack of flame. Daylight was greying the eastern sky before we finished.

Gwalchavad unblocked his kiln and scooped the soft white powdery lime onto flat rocks to cool, then came to view the result of our night's labour. 'Bring on the Vandal hordes!' he cried, leaping onto the platform. 'I will vanquish them all from here. It is a beautiful thing.'

'Do you think so?' wondered Llenlleawg, regarding the vehicle doubtfully. 'It still looks more wagon than war cart to me.'

A genuine war chariot would have been much lighter, the wheels larger, and the frontpiece made of stout wickerwork. The pole would have been longer as well – to prevent the horses' hooves from crashing against the platform as they careened in full flight over the battleground. Nevertheless, our crude imitation would more than satisfy my purpose.

'If I had such a chariot,' Gwalchavad replied happily, 'the enemy would soon learn to fear the thunder of my wheels.'

'Fortunately,' I replied, 'a little thunder is all that is required. I do not think Arthur even knows how to fight from a chariot. I only hope he can manage to steer it.'

'Never fear, Wise Emrys,' Llenlleawg replied. 'I will control this chariot for him. That is how the ancient kings entered battle. I would not see Arthur settle for less.'

'You have done well,' I commended them, and glanced to the rising sun. 'And now we must hurry back. The camp will be stirring soon, and I want to be there when Arthur wakes.'

While Llenlleawg and Gwalchavad harnessed the horse to the chariot, I packed the lime into a bag and retrieved the woad cauldron. 'Leave the tools,' I told them, mounting to the saddle. To Llenlleawg, I said, 'Remember what I told you.’

‘To hear is to obey, Emrys,' the Irish champion replied. 'So be it.' Snapping the reins, I wheeled the horse and raced back to camp.

As I expected, the warriors had begun to rouse themselves. A few cooking fires were already sending slender plumes of smoke into the clear, cloudless sky. The first rays of sunlight broke above the hill-line and I could feel the heat on my back as Gwalchavad and I entered the encampment. Not wishing to see or speak to anyone, I rode directly to Arthur's tent.

'Find Bedwyr, Cai, and Cador,' I commanded as we dismounted. 'Give them my instructions.'

Gwalchavad gave me the bag of lime and hurried away. Glancing quickly around, I drew aside the flap and stepped into the king's tent. The sight I encountered made my heart move within me: Gwenhwyvar, her arms around Arthur, holding him, his head on her shoulder, sound asleep. Save for his mail shirt, he was still wearing his clothes of the day before. She looked up as I came to stand before her. 'He was too tired to undress,' she whispered, brushing his forehead with her lips.

'Have you held him like this all night?' I asked, kneeling before her.

'He fell asleep in my arms,' she replied. 'I did not like to disturb him.'

'But you have had no sleep for yourself.'

'Arthur is to fight again today,' she replied, lifting a hand to stroke his hair. 'I wanted to spend the night with him just like this.' She did not say that she feared it might be their last night, but that is what she meant.

Although we spoke in whispers, the sound of our voices roused Arthur and he wakened. He sat up, drawing away from his wife. She released him, but kept an arm on his shoulders.

'Oh, lady, I…" he began. 'I fell asleep. I am sorry, I -'

'Hush,' she said, laying a fingertip to his lips. 'I am content. You were exhausted; you needed sleep.' She put her mouth to his and kissed him. He pulled her to him in a tight, almost crushing embrace, then noticed me.

'Myrddin,' he said, 'is the whole camp risen so early?'

'Not the whole camp, perhaps,' I replied. 'But I wanted to see you both before anyone else. Let me look at your shoulder, Arthur.'

Gwenhwyvar carefully peeled away the dressing and I saw an ugly red gash, swollen, and hot to the touch. The cut was not long – a thumb's length only – but when I pressed the edges of the puncture, a clear fluid oozed from it.

'How does it feel?' I asked him.

'Good,' Arthur lied. 'A bee sting is worse by far.'

'Move your arm for me.'

Arthur grudgingly moved his arm and rolled his shoulder, 'Satisfied?' he asked impatiently. 'I told you it is nothing. A night's sleep has done me a world of good.'

'Possibly,' I allowed. 'But I think it would be better to give your shoulder another day's rest.'

'What? And let the barbarian think that he has gained the advantage of me? I will not!'

'Let Amilcar think what he likes. You must consider your shoulder. What will it avail Britain if you get yourself killed today for the sake of your pride?"

'Twrch Trwyth and the Vandali will soon assemble on the plain. What will they do if I am not there?'

'Amilcar violated the law he agreed to honour,' I pointed out. 'I do not believe he will press the matter further. Let him wait, I say – until tomorrow if need be.'

'Do you forbid me, bard?' he demanded, growing cross.

I hesitated, then shook my head, saying, 'I do not say you cannot; I say you should not. I leave it to you. Do what you will.'

'Then I will fight him today,' Arthur declared. 'And, with God's help, I will defeat him.'

'Perhaps God has already sent his aid,' I suggested.

'Why?' Arthur asked, looking from me to Gwenhwyvar and back again. 'What have you done?'

'I have contrived a surprise for Amilcar,' I said. 'A deception,' Gwenhwyvar chided in mock disapproval. 'And from you, Myrddin Emrys. I am alarmed.'

'No deception,' I answered, and quickly explained how Llenlleawg, Gwalchavad and I had spent the night.

'What,' said Arthur when I finished, 'has no one slept the night but me?'

'A chariot?' wondered Gwenhwyvar. 'But that is wonderful.'

'I must see this marvel at once,' said Arthur, rising to his feet.

'Soon, but not yet,' I said. 'I would rather no one see you before the fight.'

'Am I to be made prisoner in my own tent?'

'Only until all the others have gone out to the battlefield.' I told them both what I intended. They listened to all, with bemused, slightly astonished expressions on their faces.

'No king has ever had a better bard,' said Gwenhwyvar when I finished; rising, she smiled and kissed me on the cheek. 'It is splendid, Wise Emrys. I commend your scheme, and will pray for its success.'

Arthur stretched and yawned, and sat down again on the bed, rubbing his well-stubbled jaw thoughtfully. 'Well, the shave will be agreeable at least.'

'I will bring a basin and a razor," Gwenhwyvar said, stepping to the tent flap. It pleased me that she welcomed my plan so eagerly. 'And something to eat,' added Arthur, yawning. 'I am starving.' He lay back on the bed and was soon sleeping soundly once more.