Page 79 of The Quest for Excalibur
Merlin and I, with half a dozen men of Dumnonia to guard us, waited behind the backmost rank of Cadwy’s Powys warriors. It had been a case of let me come or leave me behind at Dinas Badan, both unsafe options according to Arthur. Having me close by, despite being ostensibly in Cadwy’s charge, had narrowly won.
Merlin had helped my cause by taking Arthur aside to point out that the only safe place,ifyou could have called it that, from which to watch the battle would be the beech woodland that darkened the southern slopes of the ridge. Where Cadwy was to have his men stationed.
So here we were, eight Dumnonians behind four hundred men of Powys. If I hadn’t been so worried about the outcome of the battle, I’d have felt a sight more disquiet about that slippery eel’s proximity. But it seemed Cadwy, too, had other things on his mind. He hadn’t so much as glanced at us from his position alongside Custennin and Dubricius, just behind the archers.
I couldn’t say the same for young Custennin, though. Several times, as we’d ridden here, I’d caught his thoughtful gaze on me and seen it snatched away as though he were anxious to disguise his curiosity.
I had no such qualms and studied him with interest. Although cursed with the heavy brow and fleshy lips of his father, he’d grown into an altogether more attractive specimen, with more than a hint of Arthur about him– not unlike his cousin Llacheu. Probably as big a hit with the ladies of Viroconium as Llacheu was with the girls of Din Cadan.
Now, though, as we waited inside the woods, all I could see of him was the top of the plumed helmet that distinguished him from his father’s warriors in their less splendid headgear.
These men now lined up ten deep in front of us, although not Dumnonians, presented a ferocious front. Solid men on solid, well-muscled horses. Unshaven faces, harsh with battle lust, glared from beneath their helmets, their eyes ablaze, jaws set, and large hands fisted around the shafts of lances.
Just inside the woodland edge, the front line, as the designated light cavalry, had their bows at the ready, arrows already nocked. Between them and us ranged the lines of heavy cavalry, as ordered as it was possible to be while squeezed into the irregularity of the woodland, their lances bristling skyward, ready to form the second wave.
I swiped a scattering of raindrops from my face, and Alezan swished her tail in discontent. We’d been waiting for over an hour now, hidden between the trunks of this friendly beech wood, far enough back that no light should catch the metallic glint of our armor and betray our presence. Between us and the out-of-sight road, a quarter of a mile or more away, stretched open grazing, empty now of the sheep and shepherds who’d fled the moment they laid eyes on us.
At least the trees gave some shelter from the rain.
To our left, the woodland thickened where the road ran up the hill. There, the main force of Arthur’s warriors stood waiting on the road, hidden by the brow and trees from the view of anyone approaching from the east.
How I longed to be able to see, to watch over my husband and keep him safe. The itch welling up in me grated in my stomach, heart, and mind, making my whole body quiver with fearful anticipation.
I tried to picture what was happening.
Llacheu would have his band of forty archers ready, strung across the road and out to either side of it– the only warriors the approaching Saxons would see. They’d hidden their mail shirts under their tunics, the better to look like local farmers, not king’s warriors, and rode helmetless at Llacheu’s own suggestion. Farm boys possessed bows, not plated helmets.
As yet, all seemed quiet and peaceful. The last scout had arrived not half an hour ago to warn Arthur that the Saxon army was nearly upon us. A rider had come to share the news with Cadwy, and this in turn had filtered back through the ranks as fast as water down a drain.
All we knew, though, was that the Saxon army, vaguely described as huge in number, was drawing ever closer. However, as not many men could count above twenty, any estimate of army size was to be considered unreliable.
My position behind the men restricted my view, but I knew better than to try to move. Not that I could have even if I’d wanted to, as, in a fit of zealous overprotectiveness, my guards had surrounded me and Merlin. Rows of horses’ bums, men’s backs, and lances pointing skyward were all I could see between the bulky bodies of my escort.
I’d managed to take a good look at the lie of the land on the ride to the woodland, marking out the proximity of the road to the north and, in my head, the escape routes to the south. Who knew if I might need that knowledge before the day was done? Best to be prepared for every eventuality, despite my hope that the outcome of today’s battle would be as I expected.
Hard, now, to picture this countryside as it would one day be– with rolling arable fields made huge for combine harvesters, a motorway, and pylons striding across the domesticated panorama. Here, small, earth-bank-surrounded fields were the norm, and apart from the stony ribbon of the Roman road, all other routes were dirt tracks, some nothing more than narrow deertrods.
I took my feet out of my stirrups to stretch legs that ached from doing nothing, pointing my toes and wiggling my feet. Nothing I could do about my nerves, though.
With nowhere else to look but up, I peered through the wildly swaying, rust-red foliage toward an ever-darkening sky. All around me, dead leaves fell in a silent rain, to join the rustling carpet under our horses’ hooves.
Thunder rumbled again, closer now, and a stronger wind whipped the branches into a frenzy. The leaves fell more thickly, and Alezan stamped in agitation, no better at being patient than I was.
Merlin shifted his weight in the saddle as though he, too, was stiff from inactivity. “A storm’s brewing,” he muttered, as though he thought perhaps I hadn’t noticed.
He’d confined his long hair in a single braid, and his helmet strap hung unfastened on his shoulder. A frown darkened his brow.
I managed a nod and the briefest of smiles. “It’s heading our way.”
His horse fidgeted under the too-tight hold he had on his reins. Was he as nervous as I was? Did we have reason to be, despite my belief, not nearly so strong now and rapidly diminishing, that this would be a victory for Arthur?
I had to think of something else or I’d go mad.
Was this an ambush we were staging? I’d never participated in one before. Been ambushed, yes, but never been on the giving end. The waiting, new to me, itched my very soul. My innards had coiled themselves into an anticipatory ball and refused to unravel. If only the battle would begin. If only it were over, which would be better. If only we were home safely with it existing as just a bad memory.
Up by the road, Cadwy had posted a scout, hidden in bushes and armed with a copper mirror. Now suddenly a flash of light arced across the slope, once, twice, three times, before it died.
The Saxons had come into view, but not from here, for me.
