The Road to Avalon (17 page)

“You will never survive the march north if you don’t get some sleep!” Merlin exclaimed. “You’re driving yourself too hard, boy.”

Arthur’s smile was not pleasant. “Where in Wales?”

“Powys. The holding is called Dinas-Cymri.”

Arthur nodded slowly. Merlin refrained from letting out his breath in relief. Even if Arthur sent someone to Wales to check on her, as he undoubtedly would, it would be all right. Morgan and Morgause were to exchange identities on the way to Dinas-Cymri. If news reached Arthur that one of the sisters was pregnant, the name he heard would be that of Morgause.

“When will she come home?” Arthur asked.

“In the spring. I don’t want them traveling through the mountains in winter. And it will be as well to have Morgause out of the way until we can make some arrangements about Lothian.” He added after a moment, “The boys are still at Avalon.”

Arthur’s expression became slightly more friendly. “You are very confident, sir.”

“Yes. I am.” Merlin allowed something of what he was feeling to color his voice. “I wish I were coming with you, but that is for my sake, not yours. You will do very well without me. However, about Lothian . . . ”

He spoke his mind and Arthur listened with his usual courteous attention. When his grandfather had finished, Arthur nodded. “I will remember what you have said. I am sorry as well that you cannot come, but . . . ” Gray eyes held blue in perfect comprehension. “I fear you will be needed more here in Venta,” Arthur concluded.

“Yes,” said Merlin. Unspoken but perfectly understood between them was the knowledge that Uther would not live to see his son again. With Arthur away in the north, it would be left to Merlin to deal with the government at Venta. Merlin ran a hand through his still plentiful gray locks and frowned. “Now, get yourself to bed, my boy,” he ordered gruffly. “You need sleep—”

“Yes,” returned Arthur. “I will” And turned away too quickly for Merlin to see the bitterness that twisted his mouth.

It was gray and overcast when the line of troops marched out of Venta the following morning and headed north. In leaving Venta, they were leaving Rome. There would be no more square forums surrounded by colonnades containing shops and offices. No more public baths, or inns offering good food and beer to the traveler or to the farmer come to market his goods. Venta was one of the last functioning cities in Britain, held that way solely because it had been the center of government under both Ambrosius and Uther. Luguvallium, their destination, was but a legionary fortress with none of the amenities they enjoyed at Venta.

Their march north, however, would be greatly facilitated by one of Rome’s greatest legacies to all her outposts of empire. They would march on Roman roads, first north to Calleva, then west to Glevum, where they would take the road that led directly north to Luguvallium, the last British stronghold before the wall.

The foot soldiers marched four abreast, wearing their leather tunics and mail coats and carrying weapons that shone with careful polishing. The cavalry led the way, with the supply wagons and camp followers bringing up the rear. Arthur, mounted on Dun, rode up and down the line of men, assessing the mood, his sharp eyes checking the equipment and the readiness of the weapons.

It rained, but they were British and used to the rain. The mood in the tents when they camped for the nights was cheerful. The food was hot and plentiful and the young prince appeared to know what he was doing. The soldiers all found themselves unaccountably cheered whenever they caught sight of their commander’s black head, white tunic, and scarlet cloak. He knew just what to say, too, to make a man laugh.

They marched into Rheged, through the humpbacked bare uplands that were its chief feature, and saw no sign of the king or any of his followers. The only people besides themselves they encountered were a smattering of hill farmers whose holdings overlooked the road.

They were within twenty miles of Luguvallium when Arthur called a halt to the day’s march. They camped in a small valley called Glein and had finished putting up tents and were eating their dinners when scouts brought Arthur the news that the garrison in Luguvallium had declared for Lot. As had the five hundred men at Corbridge.

It was not news Arthur had expected to hear. He was not happy. “They are all men of the north,” Cai said slowly as they sat in Arthur’s tent discussing the unwelcome report.

“They fought with Uther in the spring campaign!” Bedwyr said angrily.

“Presumably because Lot fought for Uther also.” Arthur’s voice was cool. “It’s a pity, but it seems we will have to do without them.”

“More than that.” Cai’s normally calm face was looking extremely worried. “We will have to fight them.”

“How many men does that give Lot now?” Bedwyr demanded of Arthur.

“By all the accounts we can discover, about forty-five hundred,” Arthur replied.

Bedwyr swore. It was more than twice their own strength. Arthur looked at him and raised a black eyebrow. “But we have the cavalry.”

Bedwyr ran an impatient hand through his hair, dislodging some golden strands to fall across his forehead. “The cavalry is not trained,” he said. “You know that, Arthur.”

Arthur looked into the arrogant face of the man he had chosen to be his cavalry leader and replied, “You will be able to do what I need.” Bedwyr’s nostrils flared, and then he nodded.

“You’ll think of something,” Cai said to the companion of his youth. The worried frown had lifted from his brow. “You always do.”

Arthur produced a shadow of his old grin. Then he said, “I need to talk to Gerontius.” He rose to his feet as his two commanders stood up. They looked down on him from their superior height and he said to Bedwyr reassuringly, “If all else fails, I’m very good at ducking and hiding. Ask Cai.”

“Shall I send Gerontius?” Cai asked him in return.

Arthur shook his head. “I rather think he must be waiting,” he replied, and indeed, as Cai and Bedwyr left the tent, they saw the little mapmaker waiting outside.

All of Arthur’s careful planning with Gerontius was in vain, however, as he was awakened the following morning with the news that Lot had made a secret march through the night and was now but seven miles away. Arthur swore and called for his horse.

As the horns roused his army and his officers prepared their men for battle, Arthur reconnoitered the local terrain. Then, when the troops were drawn up and ready to march, he called in Bedwyr and Cai to look at the map he had drawn.

“Here,” he said, pointing to a place on the map, “this is where we’ll put the center. It’s a relatively strong position; there are a lot of bushes and rocks to shelter behind.” He looked at Cai. “The center will be your command.”

Cai was deeply surprised; traditionally the center was the commander’s post. “I am honored—” he was beginning when Arthur cut in.

“Don’t be. I’ve given you the worst job of all. You will have the Twelfth foot.”

Cai and Bedwyr stared at him in stupefaction. The center was also traditionally the position of the greatest strength. “Five hundred men and my banner,” Arthur continued grimly. “I want Lot to deliver his chief attack against you, Cai. I want him to think that is where I am. And I want you to hold him for as long as you possibly can.”

Bedwyr recovered his voice. “Those are eight-to-one odds.”

“I know.” Arthur turned to the Celt. “Bedwyr, the cavalry will be stationed here, in this hollow. The landscape will screen you from Lot’s view.” The finger pointed to another mark on the map. “I will be here, with the rest of the foot. Behind the hill.” The gray eyes scanned both faces.

“From your position, Bedwyr, you will be able to see me. When I give the signal, you are to ride like devils out of hell and smash into Lot’s forces.” Bedwyr nodded and Arthur continued, “But not until I give the signal. Understood?”

Bedwyr looked down his arrogant nose. “Understood.”

Arthur turned to his oldest friend. “The brunt of this is on you, Cai. You must draw them on. And you don’t have enough men to do it properly.”

Cai grinned. “Well, when you see me sinking, you can ride to the rescue.”

Arthur smiled back. “I will.”

It was one of those cobalt-blue mornings you sometimes get in the north, but Arthur would have preferred mist and rain. The entire success of his plan hinged on Lot being made to think that the bulk of Arthur’s forces were in the center with Cai.

He knew he had affronted several of Uther’s officers by putting Cai in command of the center. Cai had been only a junior officer under Uther, and Arthur’s policy had been to be as conciliating as possible toward army veterans, but still he had put Cai in command. He knew Cai, knew his mind and his capabilities. Cai had the fortitude to take punishment and not retaliate. It was something Bedwyr, for example, could never do. There might perhaps have been someone among Uther’s senior officers who could have commanded the center successfully today, but Arthur did not know any of them well enough to be sure. He knew Cai and he knew Cai could do it.

Arthur had all his men in position by the time the skirling sound of the Lothian pipes came echoing down the glen. From his vantage point on higher ground, Arthur could see Bedwyr and the cavalry hidden in the hollow further up the glen. Lot should march right past him, leaving his rear exposed to Bedwyr’s surprise attack. Arthur could not see Cai, who was to the right of both his command and Bedwyr’s, on the other side of the hill that was screening Arthur and his men from Lot.

There was a shout of triumph as Lot’s forces spotted Cai’s banner. The war pipes skirled even louder. Then the noise began to move down the glen in their direction. The pipes and the roaring from thousands of throats came even closer. Lot was attacking the center with the full force of his army.

In the moment before the battle was enjoined, Arthur had time to remember what everyone else had apparently forgotten: he had never yet been in a battle himself, let alone commanded one.

The deafening noise from the far side of the hill was suddenly augmented by the sound of sword clashing upon sword. Then, more horribly, came the shrieks of the wounded. Arthur turned Dun over to a subordinate to hold while he went to lie on his stomach at the top of the hill to watch.

Cai could scarcely see for the sweat that rolled down his face and into his eyes. The fighting around him was hard and vicious. He had a plan of retreat in his mind, and as it became impossible to hold one line, he fell back, sheltering behind bushes and rocks, shouting encouragement to his men, who were being overwhelmed by the superior numbers pounding against them.

Backing up, Cai stumbled over a prone figure. The man moaned, and Cai, thrown off his balance, began to go down. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a sword coming toward him.

The training of Avalon saved him. As he fell he automatically swung his own sword up in a maneuver drilled into him by one of Merlin’s imported journeymen years ago. Blood spurted, and it wasn’t his.

A hand under his elbow dragged him to his feet. “This is madness!” the Twelfth’s chief officer screamed in his ear. “Send for the reinforcements!”

“No!” Cai shouted back from a raw throat. “We can hold out a little longer!”

The stench of blood was in his nostrils. God, he thought as he saw the colors on his left, the bastards are surrounding us. “Back!” he shouted to his men. “Fall back!”

“By all the gods of the underworld,” Bedwyr said savagely between clenched teeth. “When is he going to give the signal?”

Bedwyr would have charged five minutes ago. In fact, he had sent a courier to Arthur to ask if he could attack. The answer had been uncompromising. “Don’t move until I give the signal.” So Bedwyr waited and fumed and swore. Cai, poor bastard, was being murdered out there, while he sat here . . .

“My lord!” Peredur, who was closest to him, pointed toward the hill. He could see Arthur mounting his horse. Then the figure on the big black looked his way, put an arm above his head, and brought it down decisively.

Bedwyr laughed with savage elation. “This is it!” He turned, giving Peredur a brief glimpse of white teeth and blazing blue eyes. He stood in his stirrups then, and turned to his men.
“For Arthur!”
he shouted and, wrenching his horse around, drove him straight up the slope of the hollow and at the massed forces of the Lothian rear.

Arthur sat his horse on the top of the hill and watched Bedwyr’s mad charge. The cavalry smashed into the Lothian lines, and Lot’s men gave way before them. Arthur turned to his own command.

“Are the Twelfth and the cavalry to have all the glory of this day?” he shouted.

“No!”
came the resounding reply, and Arthur put Dun into a brisk trot and began to move down the hill. The Eighth, Ninth, and Fifteenth foot came pouring behind him.

The Lothian forces, certain the day was theirs, were staggered by the dual assault. Bedwyr’s horses were trampling them down in the rear when the fresh troops under Arthur smashed into them from the left. For a moment the battle wavered in the balance.

Arthur thrust Dun through the ranks of men in checkered cloth, slashing a path for the soldiers who followed him with a sword that was bloody up to Hadrian’s great ruby. The time for strategy was over. Now it was a matter of who could fight the hardest.

The noise at Bedwyr’s end of the battle abruptly changed. Arthur looked and saw, with almost unbelieving eyes, that the Lothian forces had broken and were running from the field. He turned back to his own men and urged them on with greater ferocity.

As the brunt of the battle was taken off his shoulders, Cai drew breath and took the time to look around him. There, to the right of the field, was the standard he was looking for. With his keen, farsighted eyes, Cai could make out the figure of the King of Lothian. Calling a few men to him, Cai began to make his way across the battlefield.

It was fifteen more minutes before Arthur could be certain that the battle was won. Lot’s forces were disengaging everywhere on the field and melting away into the surrounding hills. Arthur paused for a minute in the center of the field to assess the situation, and it was then that it happened.