Page 64 of The Quest for Excalibur
I put a hand on his arm. “They intend to have Britain and all her kingdoms for their own. Of that I’m certain.” My head twisted toward the table, where it lay hidden in the shadows. “I need a map, and I can show you the place I mean.”
His tongue darted out to lick his lips. “I think I know the spot you’ve described. On the ridge of hills between Caer Ceri and old Spinae there’s a high scarp face to the downs, facing west. Along the ancient track that follows the highest ground sit a row of old defensive forts.”
“We call it the Ridgeway track in my old world.”
He laughed. “It’s the Ridgeway here as well. And the Roman road passes close by, following a wide valley. Where it crosses that Ridgeway path, you mean there, don’t you?”
“Yes. Is the fort above it still fortified? Defendable?”
He shook his head. “Sadly not, save by a handful of men with a beacon fire. Only the shades of the old inhabitants remain, I’d imagine. And this’ll please you– it’s called Dinas Badan. I think your father might well have been correct.”
He got up and disappeared back into the Hall, returning in a few moments with one of my carefully drawn maps in his hands. Not large, as the vellum I used, made from a single calf skin, had limited size. He fetched his candle closer. “Show me, then.”
I unrolled the map, and he sat down beside me on the bed. The vellum felt fine and smooth under my fingers, the ink lines etched across it in a spidery network of roads and rivers, hills and forests, added to year by year as more information had come my way. Squares marked the towns, circles the hillforts, their names written in tiny, careful lettering. All gleaned from what I could remember of the layout of modern Britain combined with what I now knew of the once strange world around me.
But I’d made these maps with an eye to a purpose other than to ease the navigation skills of my husband and his army. With a hope in my heart that maybe, written on long-lasting vellum, one day they might be seen by future generations. With this in mind, I’d also marked on the sites of Arthur’s battles, all lost to history in my old world. Wouldn’t scholars love to find these.
I jabbed my finger at the center. “They’ll be heading for the heartlands of Britain, and Badon is on their way. This is where the village of that name is in my time.” I put my finger on the line of chalk hills that Ermin Street crossed. “And that’s where you must meet them. At Badon.”
He studied the map. “So.” He grinned mirthlessly, teeth white in the candlelight. “I shall do just that. If it’s written in your history books as the site of a great victory, then that’s where I’ll meet them. And I will beat them.” He kissed my hair. “And it will be the battle to end all battles, just as you say.” He put an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. “Between us, Gwen, we’ll write those missing history books for the people of your old world to read.”
I wrapped my arms around him, his heartbeat pounding in my ear. “The Saxons will have an enormous army. This is their major push to take over Britain for themselves, and you have to stop them. But to do that you’re going to need help.”
“From you?”
I shook my head. “No. Not me. From the other kings.” I peered up at him. “From Cerdic and from Cadwy. They’re your nearest allies now. They can get help to us the quickest. You’re going to need to work with both of them to bring about a lasting defeat that’ll set the Saxons back for years, as you’re meant to do. Cooperation’s the only way.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The first messengerfrom the east arrived in the middle of the night, hot on the heels of the beacon fire. Arthur got out of bed and padded through to the Hall to receive his message in just his braccae and undershirt, and in a hurry, I wrapped myself in a blanket and followed him, the reeds underfoot prickling my bare feet.
The messenger, a slender boy hardly older than Medraut, made us a low bow and held out a crumpled roll of parchment. “Milord. ’Tis from King Cerdic.”
Arthur unrolled the parchment and read it through, then passed it to me. I flicked my gaze over the spidery writing. It seemed that yesterday, the citizens of Caer Guinntguic had been treated to the terrifying sight of a huge force of Saxons marching within a mile of their city. They’d passed near enough to cause total panic amongst the inhabitants, and Cerdic had readied his warriors to ride out. But the Saxons had marched on past, as though uninterested by even so great a city as Guinntguic.
“Tell me what you yourself saw,” Arthur said, fixing the boy with a firm stare. “The truth only. No hyperbole.”
The boy sucked in his lips before he spoke. “’Twas as though we weren’t enough for them.” He shook his shaggy mane of auburn hair. “As though they were turning their noses up at us as not important.”
The door of the hall opened, and Merlin hurried in. He halted a few steps back, eyes going from Arthur to the boy. I passed him the parchment to read.
“How many did you see?” Arthur asked.
The boy straightened a little as though more confident when asked about numbers. “I’d say ten keels of warriors, Milord. Reckoning’s something I’m good at, being as my father’s a shepherd. I can count how many sheep’re in a flock in moments. Marching men’re the same. I’d say four hundred, easy.”
Arthur shook his head. “And yet they marched on past your walls. Leaving you untouched.”
Merlin let the parchment roll back up in his hands. “A touch of loyalty for his nephew, perhaps. Maybe he thinks if he leaves Cerdic and his people unmolested, they won’t feel constrained to join us.”
Arthur glanced at his friend and nodded, worry at the back of his eyes. “Giving Cerdic the option to sit on the fence and do nothing, then claim he backed the winning side.”
Not a comforting thought, reminding me uncomfortably of Lord Stanley at the Battle of Bosworth, waiting until he saw which way the wind was blowing before entering the battle on that usurping Henry Tudor’s side. I’d always been a fan of RichardIII.
Merlin found a blanket for the messenger, and we went back to bed, but it was impossible to sleep properly. I tossed and turned for some time, aware that Arthur was doing the same. Before first light the second messenger, this time from King Einion in Caer Celemion, arrived. We pulled our clothes on before going through to the hall to receive his message.
Another lightweight boy barely into his teens. This one came to us dusty and travel-weary, his eyes red-rimmed but back ramrod straight, fully aware of the importance of his mission.
All he could tell us was that a second, similarly large force of Saxons had landed on the south bank of the Tamesis, left only a small guard over their beached ships, and set off in a direction that sounded as though it would take them to meet the northbound troops from the south coast. When he’d left, late last night, the king had still held his fortified town. But who knew what the situation might be now?
