As I watched, I saw a man come into view, balance briefly on the cataract's edge and lower himself cautiously to arm's length before leaping sideways, into the trees and out of sight again.
"That's fifty, and they're still coming, " Huw grunted.
I answered without looking at him. "Fifty seven. " And then, as yet another moved forward to teeter, lower himself and leap, "And he's fifty eight. "
Ten days had passed since Ironhair's deputation had approached us. We stood now on a hilltop close by the west coast of Cambria, screened from detection by a fringe of bushes, watching Rufio's prophesied treachery and betrayal unfolding as the long file of men made their way with extreme caution down the steep hill on the other side of the narrow valley that divided us from them.
One of Huw Strongarm's men had sat among these cautious prowlers the previous night and learned much from them. They were Ironhair's mercenaries, mainly, guided by a few Cambrian locals, and their plan was to scale the hill from the coastal side and make their way unseen down the deep ravine and into the woods along the valley bottom, where they would wait for us to cross the harrow bridge over the swift flowing river, and then seal it behind us. Huw's man, whose name was Gwynn Blood-Eye, had slipped away silently and brought the word to us immediately, travelling by moonlight for most of the night and reaching our encampment just at dawn, so that by the time the first of the Cornwall mercenaries breasted the summit across from where we now stood concealed, there was no sign of life on the valley floor below, and I was safely ensconced with my retinue on the hillside facing them.
Below us, in the valley bottom, lay the river, the confined belt of forest that lined it on both sides, and the narrow, stone arched bridge built by the legions of Paulinus four hundred years before in his campaign to wipe out Cambria's Druids. Beyond the bridge, the ancient legionary road swung north again, following the river's edge until it emerged onto a plain formed by the convergence of three valleys. More than a hundred additional mercenaries lay concealed on the flat topped hill that divided the two most northern of those valleys. We had discovered their presence the day before, thanks again to Huw's amazing hill scouts.
The design was clear: we were to ride out into the plain following the ancient road, which would lead us beneath the slopes where our murderers lay hidden. When they attacked, we would either fight or flee, and it must have seemed likely to them that we might do both, outnumbered as we would be. Those who remained to fight would die there, and those who fled would die at the hands of the group behind them, waiting at the bridge. The flaw in the design lay in the fact that they expected twenty of us to ride into their ambush, whereas they would, in fact, find fifty of us, backed by fifteen hundred more.
Rufio's suspicions had had a salutary effect on me. Everything we had planned, from the moment he had so eloquently stated his beliefs, had been designed to encompass and eliminate the threats we were all convinced would now materialize. Philip had returned quickly, summoned by Bedwyr, and had agreed immediately with Rufio's interpretation of events. Thereafter, as our plans progressed and we became accustomed to the steps we had decided to take, the scope of our thinking developed and our manipulation of events and probabilities had grown more deft, more sure handed and more confident.
Connor had returned on the fourth day, flushed with triumph at the success of his raid on Ironhair's home base in Tintagel. He had been virtually unopposed and had achieved complete surprise, capturing two of the six galleys moored below Ironhair's clifftop fortifications and burning the other four. After that, secure in their possession of the seaward approaches, his men had ranged far inland, seizing great stores of food, drink and booty from the supplies in Cornwall storehouses, all of them destined for Ironhair's armies. Our own army feasted on the beaches on the night of their return, gorging themselves, after four months of campaign rations, on the food, wine, mead and casks of ale Connor's fleet had pillaged.
Connor had listened that night to our suspicions about Ironhair and Uderic, and had agreed with our reasoning and our proposed responses without a blink. His sole amendment was to suggest acting with even greater strength. He believed we should field every unit at our disposal, and he argued that, were we to do what must be done, and do it stealthily and subtly, we could turn all threats to our immense advantage. To illustrate his point, he gave us all a lesson in fleet warfare, scratching a battle plan in the dirt by the fireside and demonstrating how his individual galleys could combine, in line abreast or line astern, to concentrate the heaviest weight on the enemy's weakest point. As he spoke, I looked from face to face among my troop commanders, some score of whom had gathered around our fire to listen. All of them, standing or sitting, were bent forward, narrow eyed with concentration. When he had finished, Connor looked up at me, and every eye in the assembly turned to see what I would say.
"So you would have me take my entire strength into the hills to this upcoming meeting, and you would prefer it if I could achieve that without their being seen? Do I understand you clearly?"
He looked at Derek, one eyebrow raised high, and then his teeth flashed in a great grin. "Perfectly!"
"Wonderful, Connor. Now would you have any idea how I might do that? I know there are stories among my troops that I was something of a sorcerer in my youth, gifted in the ways of the gods. And I know Derek, there, for one, believes me to have mystical and superhuman attributes. To this time, however, I have never found a way to transport a thousand men and five hundred cavalry invisibly. But that, apparently, is what you'd have me do. How? If either you or Derek, with whom you seem to be sharing something humorous, could suggest some means of achieving that, I would be most grateful."
'Tomorrow," he said, his grin still in place.
'Tomorrow. What about tomorrow?"
"Huw Strongarm might come back."
"Aye, he might, and... ? Is there significance to that? How will it help me take my army unseen through the mountains?"
"That might depend upon where you wish to go." Connor glanced around the assembly, catching Derek's eye again. When he spoke again to me, no trace of humour was left on his face.
"Look you, Merlyn, you suspect collusion between Ironhair and Uderic, no? Well, in order to collude, they have to take you to some place close by the sea, for Ironhair will not stray far inland from his ships and his escape route, I promise you. There's a terrible attraction in the safety of a heaving deck when your enemies are all behind you, on dry land. Two things occur to me. Either they will combine to wipe you out, expecting you to come as Uderic instructs you to, with but a few strong, trusted men. Or they will ambush you along the route, with Ironhair attacking you before you get to Uderic, thereby leaving Uderic's hands clean. They won't try either method far inland. Deep enough into the central mountains, the glens and hills will work against them as much as for them. So they'll keep you close to the coast, where they can use the terrain to their own advantage.
"As soon as Huw returns we'll know the where and when. Once we do, then I can take your thousand infantry along the coast in my own ships and land them safely and unseen, long before you reach the meeting place. That was Derek's idea, and he would come with us, being more at home on a galley than on a horse. You travel inland with your scouting force, your full five hundred, but you yourself ride out in front with thirty or forty men, leaving the other hundreds to follow behind you, well out of sight of spying eyes. Huw's own Pendragons—how many of those are there?"