And for a moment, for a glorious moment, I thought the enemy would break, but then Gorfyddyd saw the same danger and he shouted at his men to form a new shield-wall facing north. He would sacrifice his rearward men and instead make a new line of spears from the back most ranks of his forward troops. And that new line held. Owain, so long ago, had been right when he told me that not even Arthur's horses would charge home against a well-made shield-wall. Nor would they. Arthur had brought panic and death to a third of Cuneglas's army, but the rest were now formed properly and they defied his handful of cavalry.
And still the enemy outnumbered us.
Behind the tree fence our line was nowhere more than two men deep and in places it was just one. Arthur had failed to cut through to us, and Gorfyddyd knew that Arthur never would cut through so long as he kept a shield-wall facing the horses. He planted that shield-wall, abandoning the lost third of his army to Arthur's mercy, then turned the rest of his men to face Sagramor's shield-wall again. Gorfyddyd now knew Arthur's tactics, and he had defeated them, so he could hurl his spearmen into battle with a new confidence, though this time, instead of assaulting all along our line, he concentrated his attack along the vale's western edge in an attempt to turn our left flank.
The men on that flank fought, they killed and they died, but few men could have held the line for long, and none could have held it once Gundleus's Silurians outflanked us by climbing the lower slopes of the hill beneath the ghastly ghost-fence. The attack was brutal and the defence just as horrid. Morfans's surviving horsemen hurled themselves at the Silurians, Nimue spat curses at them and Tristan's fresh men fought there like champions, but if we had possessed double our numbers we could not have stopped the enemy from outflanking us and so our shield-wall, like a snake recoiling, collapsed on to the river bank where we made a defensive half-circle about two banners and the few wounded men we had managed to carry back with us. It was a terrible moment. I saw our shield-wall break, saw the enemy begin the slaughter of scattered men, and then I ran with the rest into the desperate huddle of survivors. We just had time to make a crude shield-wall, then we could only watch as Gorfyddyd's triumphant forces pursued and killed our fugitives. Tristan survived, as did Galahad and Sagramor, but that was small consolation for we had lost the battle and all that remained for us now was to die like heroes. In the northern half of the vale Arthur was still held by the shield-wall, while to the south our wall, that had resisted its enemies all that long day, had been broken and its remnant surrounded. We had gone into battle two hundred strong and now we numbered just over a hundred men.
Prince Cuneglas rode forward to ask for our surrender. His father was commanding the men facing Arthur and the King of Powys was content to leave the destruction of Sagramor's remaining spearmen to his son and to King Gundleus. Cuneglas, at least, did not insult my men. He curbed his horse a dozen paces from our line and raised an empty right hand to show he came in truce. “Men of Dumnonia!” Cuneglas called. “You have fought well, but to fight further is to die. I offer you life.”
“Use your sword once before you ask brave men to surrender,” I shouted at him.
“Afraid to fight, are you?” Sagramor jeered for so far none of us had seen Gorfyddyd, Cuneglas or Gundleus in the front of the enemy shield-wall. King Gundleus sat on his horse a few paces behind Prince Cuneglas. Nimue was cursing him, but whether or not he was aware of her I could not tell. If he was he could not have been worried, for we were all now trapped and surely doomed.
“Or fight me now!” I shouted at Cuneglas. “Man to man, if you dare.” Cuneglas gazed at me sadly. I was bloodstained, mud-covered, sweaty, bruised and hurting, while he was elegant in a short suit of scale armour and with a helmet surmounted by eagle feathers. He half smiled at me. “I know you're not Arthur,” he said, 'for I saw him on horseback, but whoever you are, you have fought nobly. I offer you life."
I pulled the sweaty, confining helmet off my head and tossed it into the centre of our half-circle. “You know me, Lord Prince,” I said.
“Lord Derfel.” He named me, then did me honour. “Lord Derfel Cadarn,” he said, 'if I stand surety for your life and for the lives of your men, will you surrender?"
“Lord Prince,” I said, “I do not command here. You must speak to Lord Sagramor.” Sagramor stepped up beside me and took off his black spired helmet that had been pierced by a spear so that his black curly hair was matted with blood. “Lord Prince,” he said warily.
“I offer you life,” Cuneglas said, 'so long as you surrender." Sagramor pointed his curved sword to where Arthur's horsemen dominated the northern part of the vale.
“My Lord has not surrendered,” he told Cuneglas, 'so I cannot. But nevertheless' he raised his voice “I release my men from their oaths.”
“I also,” I called to my men.
I am sure some were tempted to leave the ranks, but their comrades growled at them to stay, or perhaps the growl was simply the sound of tired men's defiance. Prince Cuneglas waited a few seconds, then took two thin gold torques from a pouch at his belt. He smiled at us. “I salute your bravery, Lord Sagramor. I salute you, Lord Derfel.” He threw the gold so that it landed at our feet. I picked mine up and bent the ends apart so that it would fit around my neck. “And Derfel Cadarn?” Cuneglas added. His round, friendly face was smiling.
“Lord Prince?”
“My sister asked that I should greet you. And so I do.”
My soul, so close to death, seemed to leap with joy at the greeting. “Give her my greetings, Lord Prince,” I answered, 'and tell her I shall look forward to her company in the Otherworld.“ Then the thought of never seeing Ceinwyn again in this world overcame my joy and suddenly I wanted to weep. Cuneglas saw my sadness. ”You need not die, Lord Derfel,“ he said. ”I offer you life, and I stand surety for you. I offer you my friendship too, if you will have it."
“I would honour it, Lord Prince,” I said, 'but while my Lord fights, I fight.“ Sagramor pulled his helmet on, wincing as the metal slid over the spear wound on his scalp. ”I thank you, Lord Prince,“ he told Cuneglas, 'and choose to fight you.” Cuneglas turned his horse away. I looked at my sword, so battered and sticky, then I looked at my surviving men. “If we did nothing else,” I told them, 'we made sure Gorfyddyd's army can't march on Dumnonia for many a long day. And maybe never! Who'd want to fight men like us twice?"
“The Blackshield Irish would,” Sagramor growled and he jerked his head towards the hillside where the ghost-fence had held our flank all day. And there, beyond the magic-ridden posts, was a war-band with round, black shields and the wicked long spears of Ireland. It was the garrison of Coel's Hill, Oengus Mac Airem's Blackshield Irish, who had come to join the killing.
Arthur was still fighting. He had torn one-third of his enemy's army into red ruin, but the rest now held him checked. He charged again and again in his efforts to break that shield-line but no horse on earth would ride through a thicket of men, shields and spears. Even Llamrei failed him and all that was left for him to do, I thought, was to thrust Excalibur deep into the blood-reddened soil and hope that the God Gofannon would come from the darkest abyss of the Otherworld to his rescue. But no God came, nor did any man come from Magnis. We later learned that some volunteers had set out, but they arrived too late.