Page 80 of The Quest for Excalibur
My stomach did a convulsive flip, and I gripped Alezan’s mane so tight between my fingers she tossed her head and stamped. A hissing murmur of excitement ran through the ranks of Cadwy’s men like a Mexican wave.
Another rumble of thunder. Much closer, this time.
If only I could see Arthur. But from here I might as well have been blind. Llacheu must be waiting in full view of the Saxons, with his small force of light archers on their fast horses, bows at the ready. How must he be feeling? Like me? Or did men not feel the nerves that knotted my insides before every battle?
Wait, was that thunder to the east as well?
Merlin stood in his stirrups to make himself taller and put his reins into one hand, gazing east.
Anxious and excited at the same time, I did the same. Between the silvery tree trunks, the distant brow of the hill that formed our horizon, and that one day would mark the edge of the village of Baydon, bristled suddenly with marching men. Ten wide, row upon row appeared like a tidal bore, their heavy boots mimicking the rumble of distant thunder.
I sat down hard on my saddle, jolting Alezan who laid her ears back. How many could there be? The fear that the farmer who’d guessed at twenty keels ashore in the Thames had been right, or had even underestimated, gripped my heart, and my breath seemed to have stopped.
Every battle I witnessed seemed more brutal than the last, and my knowledge of the previous ones only made dread of the one to come worse. I forced the air out of my lungs and heaved in a breath, my knuckles white on Alezan’s reins.
Like the deep rumble of surf on a beach, the sound of marching boots on the road echoed through the chill air. Footsoldiers every one of them, many of them in mailshirts and with round metal helmets that caught what light there was and flashed like precursors of the promised lightning.
Impossible to see as yet, but they’d be armed with long swords, wicked, double-edged axes, and spears. And beneath their helmets they’d have yellow hair and drooping mustaches. I’d seen enough Saxons in my time to know their harsh faces would match those of our own men for determination and ferocity, and that they’d fight as though they had nothing to lose and all to gain.
The road dipped steeply, dropping out of sight from where we stood, before starting its climb toward Llacheu and his archers.
I glanced at Merlin in desperation. “I need to see what’s happening.”
He grimaced, annoyingly calm. “Don’t we all.”
A shout rose from the Saxon ranks, guttural and gleeful, carrying across to our sheltering woodland. Had they spotted Llacheu and his men lined up on the brow? The frustration of not being able to see gnawed at me.
Every Powys horse champed at the bit, or stamped impatient feet, picking up the nervous tension and battle lust of the waiting warriors.
My mouth had gone so dry, I couldn’t swallow.
Merlin put out a hand and caught my arm. “Here they come.” His eyes were closed. How could he know?
A shiver of electricity ran up my arm from where his hand gripped it, and for a moment an image flashed into my head. A horse’s ears, a view down the road toward the charging Saxon army, a hand that wasn’t mine holding a bow and arrow. And then the electricity and the image were gone.
I stared at Merlin, my mouth hanging open.
In front of us the warriors of Powys tightened their grip on their weapons. Their backs straightened, every man and horse poised for action.
But I ignored them. They didn’t matter. What had just happened? What had I seen?
From beyond the brow, completely hidden from us, the strident call of a battle horn carried on the wind. Once, twice, three times. And thunder, rumbling overhead with a sinister threat.
I couldn’t drag my gaze away from Merlin.
From the front, Cadwy’s voice carried, barely audible above the rattle of the rising wind in the branches. “Not yet,” he growled.
Alezan danced beneath me, eager for the off, and I had to give her my attention, even though all I wanted to do was demand of Merlin what he’d done. He snatched his hand back to better control his own mount, and I tightened my reins.
Two flashes of light from the signaler on the brow.
Words rippled back from man to man, reaching us in moments.
“They’ve taken the bait.”
“They’re charging.”
“Hold your horses, men.”
