Of the battle at Cerdices-leaga it can only be said that no one celebrated a victory. Arthur won the fighting, but left the lands open again to their Saxon owners. The Saxons, gathering their dead and counting their losses, saw their old borders still intact. But Cerdic, looking after the British force as, collected now and orderly, it left the field, made a vow.
"There will be another day, even for you, Arthur. Another day."
9
THE DAY CAME.
It came with the hope of truce and the time to achieve sense and moderation.
Mordred was the first to show sense. He made no attempt to enter Camelot, much less to hold it against its King. He halted his troops short of the citadel, on the flat fields along the little River Camel. These were their practice grounds, and an encampment was there, furnished ready with supplies. This was as well, for already the warnings of war had gone out. The villagers, obedient it seemed to words carried on the wind, had withdrawn into the citadel, their women, children and cattle housed in the common land to the north-east within the walls.
Mordred, going the rounds that night, found his men puzzled, beginning to be angry, but loyal. The main opinion seemed to be that the High King, in his age, was failing in judgment. He had wronged the Saxon king; that was one thing, and soon forgiven; but also he had wronged his son, the regent Mordred, who had been a faithful guardian of the kingdom and of the King's wife. So they said to Mordred; and they were visibly cheered when Mordred assured them that the next move would be a parley; there would soon, he said, be daylight on these dark doings.
"No sword will be drawn against the High King," he told them, "except we be forced to defend ourselves from him through calumny."
"He asked for a parley," said Arthur to Bors.
"You'll grant it?"
The King's force was drawn up at some distance from the regent's. Between the two armies the Camel, a small stream, flowed glittering among its reeds and kingcups. The stormy skies had cleared, and the sun shone again in his summer splendour. Beyond Mordred's tents and standards rose the great flat-topped hill of Caer Camel, with the towers of Camelot gold-crowned against the sky.
"Yes. For three reasons. The first is that my men are weary and need rest; they are within sight of the homes they have not seen these many weeks, and will be all the more eager to get there. The second is that I need time, and reinforcements."
"And the third?"
"Well, it may even be that Mordred has something to say. Not only does he lie between my men and their homes and wives, but between me and mine. That needs more explaining than even a sword can do."
The two armies settled watchfully down, and messengers, duly honoured and escorted, passed between them. Three other messengers went secretly and swiftly from Arthur's camp: one to Caerleon, with a letter to the Queen; one to Cornwall, bidding Constantine to his side; and the third to Brittany, asking for Bedwyr's help, and, when he could, his presence.
Sooner than expected, the looked-for herald came. Bedwyr, though still not fully recovered from his sick-bed, was on his way, and with his splendid cavalry would be at the King's side within a few days.
And none too soon. It had come to the King's ears that certain of the petty kings from the north were marching with the intention of joining Mordred. And the Saxons along the whole length of the Shore were reported to be massing for a drive inland.
For neither of these things was Mordred responsible, and indeed, he would have prevented them if at this stage it had been possible; but Mordred, like Arthur, was, without the wish for it, without the reason, being thrust closer hour by hour to a brink from which neither man could take a backward step.
In a castle far to the north, beside a window where the birds of morning sang in the birch trees, Nimuë the enchantress threw back the coverlets and rose from her bed.
"I must go to Applegarth."
Pelleas, her husband, stretched a lazy hand out and pulled her to him where he still lay in bed.
"Within raven's stoop of the battlefield?"
"Who said it would be a battlefield?"
"You, my dear. In your sleep last night."
She lifted herself from him, with her robe half round her, staring down. Her eyes were wide, blurred still with sleep, and tragic.
He said gently: "Come, love, it's a hard gift to have, but you have grown used to it now. You've spoken of this, and looked for it, for a long time. There is nothing you can do."
"Only warn, and warn again."
"You have warned them both. And before you Merlin gave the same warning. Mordred will be Arthur's bane. Now it is coming, and though you say Mordred is no traitor in his heart, he has been led to act in ways that must appear treacherous to all men, and certainly to the King."
"But I know the gods. I speak with them. I walk with them. They do not mean us to cease to act, just because we believe that action is dangerous. They have always hidden threats with smiles, and grace lurks behind every cloud. We may hear their words, but who is to interpret them beyond doubt?"
"But Mordred—"
"Merlin would have wished him dead at birth, and so would the King. But from him already much good has come. If even now they might be brought to talk together, the kingdom might be saved. I will not sit idly by and assume the gods" doom. I will go to Applegarth."
"To do what?"
"Tell Arthur that there is no treachery here, only ambition and desire. Two things he himself showed in abundance in youth. He will listen to me, and believe me. They must talk together, or between them they will break our Britain in two, and let her enemies into the breach that they have made. And who, this time, will repair it?"
In the Queen's palace at Caerleon the courier brought the letter to Guinevere. She knew the man; he had gone many times between herself and Mordred.
She turned the letter over in her hand, saw the seal, and went as white as chalk.
"This is not the regent's seal. It is from the King's ring, that was on his hand. They have found him, then? My lord is truly dead?"
The man, who was still on his knee, caught the roll as it fell from her hand, and rising, backed a step, staring.
"Why, no, madam. The King lives and is well. You have had no news, then? There have been sore happenings, lady, and all is far from well. But the King is safely back in Britain."
"He lives? Arthur lives? Then the letter — give me the letter! — it is from the King himself?"
"Why, yes, madam." The man gave it again into her hand. The colour was back in her cheeks, but the hand shook with which she tried to break the seal. A confusion of feelings played across her face like shadows driving over moving water. At the other end of the room her ladies, in a whispering cluster, watched anxiously, and the man, obedient to a gesture from the chief of them, went softly from the room. The ladies, avid for his news, went rustling after him.
The Queen did not even notice their going. She had begun to read.
When the mistress of the ladies returned, she found Guinevere alone and in visible distress.
"What, my lady, weeping? When the High King is alive?"
All Guinevere would say was "I am lost. They are at war, and whatever comes of it, I am lost."
Later she rose. "I cannot stay here. I must go back."
"To Camelot, madam? The armies are there."
"No, not to Camelot. I will go to Amesbury. None of you need come with me unless you wish it. I shall need nothing there. Tell them for me, please. And help me make ready. I shall go now. Yes, now, tonight."