Page 59 of Warrior Queen
I glanced over my shoulder at the warriors in the torchlit stable yard. They were talking quietly, with none of the exuberance you’d expect from victors. “Who else is dead?”
Merlin sighed. “A goodly number. Coel fell a hero. As did many of his men. But there were more deaths amongst the Yellow Hairs than in our ranks. We drove them hard, right back to their ships. If we’d had fire arrows, we’d have set their ships alight to speed them on their way. They ran before us, driven like sheep, and we picked them off as they ran. Our horses gave us the advantage.”
He paused, ruminating. “That was how it happened.”
I waited for him to go on, but his eyes had taken on a faraway look, as distant as Arthur’s had been. The horse beside me lifted his tail and did a dropping, the slap of it hitting the cobbles loud. Steam rose from the pile. A snort came from further down the row. Hooves stamped. Outside in the stable yard night had nearly fallen.
Merlin cleared his throat and spat into the straw underfoot. “We were fording a river. A deep river. The current took Rhiwallon and dragged him and his horse downstream. A Saxon straggler must have knocked him from his horse as he struggled onto the far bank. Perhaps he meant to steal the horse.” He paused. “The boy had no chance. The Saxon was a monster– he must have seen his opponent was nothing but a stripling. He took his time, letting the boy tire, nicking him here and there to make him bleed… to cause him pain… to taunt him.”
He heaved a heartfelt sigh, setting his hand on the quarters of the horse beside him. His horse. “The boy fought bravely. Arthur and I saw the current take him. Once we were across, we rode to find him. We weren’t quick enough…” He fell silent, staring at his feet.
I waited, wanting to hear more but also not wanting to. Dreading the words that would come out of my friend’s mouth.
He straightened up, but didn’t look at me. “The bastard Saxon saw us. His ugly face– I’ll see that in my dreams. He looked at us and sneered, seeing his own death coming, and ripped his sword through the boy’s stomach. He made sure to mark the boy for death before he died.”
It had grown very dark in the stable, the flickering light of the distant torches throwing Merlin’s face into grotesque shadow, made worse by his expression of horror. “Arthur rode him down too hastily. The Saxon used his axe and Llamrei fell, the axe in her chest. But Arthur was quick. He took the man’s head– with the sword from the stone– even as Llamrei fell.”
“Is she… is she dead?” Perhaps I’d been nurturing a hope that Arthur had just lost her, that she was out there somewhere looking for her master.
Merlin nodded. “I had to finish her off.”
Llamrei, with her shining white coat, her flowing mane and tail, her large dark eyes with the perfect white lashes. Strong and proud, and trained as an extra weapon to fight for Arthur. Dead. Beside Rhiwallon. The tears flowed down my cheeks afresh– for everything that had been lost. For youth, for beauty, for innocence.
“And Rhiwallon?” My voice sounded small in the quiet stables.
Merlin swiped a hand across his eyes. Rhiwallon was a boy he’d taught. A boy he’d prepared for this life– the life that had killed him. Did he feel guilt? Most likely. “He’d fallen to the ground. His… his belly had been ripped open.” He shook his head. “There was nothing we could do. Nothing could have mended that… that gaping wound. He could barely breathe.”
I stood still, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound crass.
Merlin sniffed hard, his hand returning to his eyes. “Arthur took him in his arms. The boy was still alive, but he knew his end had come. He called out for his mother.”
Somehow, when I’d heard the tales of Arthur and his knights from my father, I’d never bestowed human emotions on them, never thought of them as being affected by the deaths of their companions. They’d been stories, but this was real, and even men accustomed to violent deaths had feelings. And where a stripling boy was concerned, a boy they’d known from babyhood, they were like anyone else. Deeply affected.
Merlin picked up the reins he’d been oiling, twisting them in his fingers. “You get used to death when you’re a warrior. Every time you ride into battle it could be the last… your last… but when a young warrior dies, a boy in his first campaign… it’s different.”
I licked my dry lips.
He shook his head. “A boy like that has all his life ahead of him. Or he should have done. A life of fighting, whoring, drinking, hunting. A wife, perhaps, and children. To have it snatched away in such a manner… not in battle… in spite. That Saxon killed him out of spite, because he could, careless of the consequences to himself.”
He gave the reins a savage jerk. “You expect deaths in battle. You expect to lose men. Sometimes many. But not this way. And not Rhiwallon. A man should not outlive his children.”
He fell silent. Behind him, his horse swished her tail, and the contented rhythmic masticating of the animals seemed to grow louder in the quiet.
I dug my nail into the wood, not wanting to ask the question forming on my lips. But I couldn’t keep it in. “Did-did Arthurkillhim?”
Merlin nodded. “He had to. The boy was in terrible pain. It was the kindest thing to do. Just as I did for Llamrei. As he held him close, he slid his knife up under the boy’s ribs into his heart– the surest way.”
Tears overflowed and ran down my cheeks. Tears for a future Rhiwallon would never see. Tears for his mother, all unknowing of her loss.
“What did you do with his body?” Surely they hadn’t left it out there on a distant river bank for the crows, or worse?
Merlin must have guessed my thoughts. “We brought it back. He’ll have an honorable burial. Here, outside the city, after the Roman fashion. All our dead will.”
I nodded. Shock had numbed me, but part of me was screaming inside that this could be Amhar in ten years’ time, that someone could be bringing me news of my son’s death, just as we would have to bring our news to Coventina.
I clenched my fists in an effort to stem the tears. “Do you know where Arthur’s really gone?”
Merlin shrugged. “To see the men. That’s what a good leader does. He rises above the losses, squares his shoulders and carries on. Arthur and Cei both know that.” He set down the reins. “Does this not happen in your old world?”
