Page 52 of Warrior Queen
Perhaps resigning himself to the role of protector and not warrior, Bran heaved a heartfelt sigh, and took a firm hold of his mother’s hand. “Come on then, Mother, this way. Me’n’ Cyngal’ll take good care of you, ’speshully if those dirty Saxons gets in here.”
With a quick smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and did nothing to hide her trepidation, Fianna let her sons lead her away. Boden straightened up, heaving a groan as he did so. “Not so easy to get down on me haunches nowadays, miladies. Nor to get up from there, neither.”
Ystradwel put a gentle hand on his arm. “That was well done, Boden. Now, let Queen Guinevere and me out so we can go to the walls. Quickly.”
A frown of hesitation crossed his face. “Should I be doin’ that?”
I stepped forward. “Yes, you should. I’m the wife of the High King and you have to let us out. If the Saxons are not yet here, then we’ll be safe.”
His gaze slid between our faces. “I’m not sure as I should…”
I put my hand on the doors. “If danger threatens, we’ll come back. I promise. Neither of us have a death wish, but we want to watch the battle if we can.”
With a look of indecision on his face, Boden held open one side of the double doors for us to step through. “You’ll need to head to the south gates. I’m told the scouts seen them a-comin’ that way.”
Outside, the wet streets were deserted, and the chill of early morning sent another shiver of foreboding down my back. At least the lack of people made our progress to the town walls easy. Where were they all? Hidden indoors or out manning the walls?
“What about the side of the city that faces the river?” I asked Ystradwel as we hurried along the old Via Praetoria, the main Roman road. “And the bridge?”
She glanced sideways, drawing her cloak about her, brow furrowed. “Unless the Saxons have got boats, they won’t get in that way. No walls, but the river’s too deep to ford. And the bridge is narrow and easy to defend. It’s to the north, and Boden said they were coming from the south.” She shivered. “Let us hope he’s right.”
I peered down the many narrow side streets as we passed, searching for any sign of where Arthur had billeted his army. Nothing. Where was he? Had he already ridden out to meet the enemy?
Ahead, the tall towers of the main south gates rose, imposing and massive. On either side of them a huge earthen bank reinforced the inside of the city walls, with steps set in it at intervals leading up to the long, stone wall-walk. Along the run of the wall stood further towers, projecting out, and they, like the double gate towers, bristled with armed men.
The warriors manning the walls had been augmented by the townspeople, armed with whatever they had in their houses: wood-axes, hunting bows, hoes, spades, even piles of rocks to hurl. As with Vindolanda, women and older boys were up there too, prepared to defend their homes. Archers held their bows at the ready, each with a plentiful supply of arrows.
We climbed the nearest rain-slippery steps to the wide wall-walk, Ystradwel with some difficulty in her long gown. The nearest warrior spotted us and stood respectfully back to let us peer between the crenellations.
The valley of the Usa stretched wide and comparatively flat in all directions, the distant western hills veiled by heavy cloud. Not many buildings existed beyond the walls– ruined pagan temples, rows of old tombs beside the road, farms in the distance. Cattle still grazed unperturbed, and further off the white dots of sheep showed against the green of open pasturelands, as though nothing bad could be coming.
“Where are they?” I asked the warrior. “I don’t see them.”
He leaned closer, the hot stink of his body strong in my nostrils. “By there, milady. Look. You see all that smoke? They be in that low bit beyond the trees. A-burnin’ of a farm. The heathen bastards.” Bitterness edged his voice, and he spat. Perhaps he wanted to get out there and fight them off right now, instead of waiting for them to come to the city walls. Perhaps he knew the farm. Inaction is never the warrior’s friend.
He snorted in disgust. “They must’ve crossed the river to the south of ’ere by the looks of that. Or they’d’ve come upon us from the east.”
Ystradwel squeezed into the narrow crenellation and peered out beside me. Sure enough, a dark column of smoke rose from beyond a distant stand of trees, and even as we watched, a shadow tinged the brow as if from a mass of marching soldiers on the road.
“Miladies!” A voice I recognized. I swung round.
Cadman stood on the wall-walk, his helmet hanging from his gnarled fingers, staring at Ystradwel and me. “This is no place for queens.”
I’d heard all this before. “We’re safe enough here for now,” I snapped. “If danger threatens the walls, I’ll get the Queen back to the palace as quickly as I can.” I tapped my hip. “And I’m armed.”
The old warrior ran a hand through his wet white hair, eyes troubled, probably unimpressed by my claim to be able to defend myself. “That’s as may be, but it’s my duty to keep every woman and child within these walls safe. And standing up here isn’t that.”
“Good heavens, man,” Ystradwel barked. “The enemy are nowhere near the walls as yet. We’re staying here. Look about you. There are other women here, too.”
He stood his ground. “They’re not queens. But if you’re staying, then I’ll stop here with you. At the first sign of danger, I’ll have you down those steps and escorted back to the palace, if my men have to carry you over their shoulders.”
I compressed my lips for a moment and inhaled deeply. “If danger threatens, then you won’t need to waste a man escorting us. We’ll go by ourselves if you tell us to. You have my word.”
He nodded, jamming his helmet on over his wet hair. “Thank you.” One-handed, he fastened its buckle, but intent on his mission as guard dog for his two queens, he didn’t leave us.
I took another peek through our crenellation. The dark shadow of a throng of warriors was drawing nearer, the march of hundreds of booted feet heading our way. Where was Arthur? Were we going to sit here and wait for a siege? Would it be like Vindolanda, with scaling ladders and fire arrows? My memories of that battle surged back, making my empty stomach twist with fear. But this was a much larger city. Could they hope to besiege us successfully? Surely not? Hadn’t Cadman told us Saxons had no heart for siege warfare?
A clattering of many hooves filled the city streets. Down the Via Praetoria, a mass of several hundred mounted warriors approached the gates. Coel, helmetless, rode at its head, his thick white mane glowing like a beacon.
