Page 83 of The Quest for Excalibur
The shock almost threw me out, but I scrabbled back inside, and Arthur’s primal exhilaration surged through my body. No fear, so I had none, either. We were as one, more so than at any time in our lives together, closer than even the act of sex could make us. Did he know I was here, seeing through his eyes?
My fingers– his gloved fingers– gripped the sword hilt. Excalibur scythed through the air, biting into a Saxon neck. Blood fountained, splattering onto Taran’s coat and my leg. Arthur– my hand under his, in his, with his?– wrenched Excalibur free, and with him I kicked his horse on. Instead of the normal revulsion and nausea, all I felt was exultation.
The Saxon leader. Arthur knew him, so I did too. His name leapt into my head. Aelle. Cerdic’s uncle. A giant of a man, but small compared to a mounted warrior.
My sword arm buzzed with heat in every muscle as I slashed to right and left, leaning down to drive my weapon into a throat, to lop off a head, to beat back an attacker.
Deep in the melée, I saw no further than the men around me. My men.
Someone slashed at my leg– Arthur’s bad leg– and warm wetness ran down my thigh. But it was nothing. I swung my horse, she reared, deadly hooves striking out. The sound of the man’s head caving in was like the splitting of a log with an axe. Got him.
My hand went to my leg for a moment. Just a scratch, and no pain as yet. That would come later.
The part of us that was me wanted to look for Cei, and Llacheu and the other men I knew and loved, but what linked me with Arthur kept me shackled inside his head, in his body, seeing only what he saw. A sea of enemy warriors, our cavalry amongst them. The clash of weapons. The red of blood. The dead underfoot, trampled into the sparse downland soil.
Something made me turn my head, water running into my eyes. His head. We turned together. On the edge of the melée, a rider knocked an arrow to his bow, setting it to his shoulder in one swift movement. For the smallest morsel of a second our eyes met across the maelstrom of battle.
Then a hammer-blow impacted my left shoulder, swinging me round and almost knocking me off my horse. Only the four steadying horns kept me in the saddle as I lost my stirrups.
My link with Arthur shimmered and I felt him being pulled away from me. I looked down. An arrow shaft, white feathered, protruded from between the close coupled rings of my mailshirt. Blood darkened the rings.
Horror, mine alone, not his, shivered through me, as pain did the same to Arthur.
Our link severed. I recoiled into my own body in the woods, the battle left behind.
My eyes snapped open, wide and terrified. They met Merlin’s.
“He’s not dead.” Merlin’s whisper came so low I almost didn’t hear it. “Wounded but not dead.” The look in his eyes did nothing to reassure me.
Tears streamed down my cheeks. “I lost him.” My words came out on a gasp, as low as Merlin’s. “I lost him.” I dropped my reins and clutched his hands in mine. “Oh God. I felt it happen. He’s hurt. I felt his pain. An arrow…” With all the connotations that brought.
Merlin grasped my hands. “He’ll be all right. I know he will.”
How could he know? My husband was hurt. Badly. I snatched my hands back and stared toward the unseen battle.
From the trees beyond the brow, a flock of crows soared into the air in a flurry of dirty-washing wings, and overhead those buzzards wheeled in greedy anticipation, ignoring the rain. Thunder rolled again, further off, and the leaden rain hammered down harder.
I swung around on Merlin. “How can you be sure?” My voice rose in panic. “I need to see him.” My heart, that had already been racing, sped up even more, as though it might come leaping out of my dry, constricted throat.
Alezan stuck her head in the air, eyes rolling wildly, and I had to grab her reins. She wanted to be a part of this, to gallop with her fellows. The urge to let her do so rose up strong in me. A firm hand came down over mine on the reins.
I looked into Merlin’s anxious face. “No,” he said, voice harsh. “Arthur would never allow it. And neither will I. You stay here with me. It’s my job to keep you safe.”
Almost as though something had transmitted itself from his hand, through mine and into Alezan, she settled, ears twitched upright, but no longer itching to gallop into the fray. And the yearning left me too. I heaved a huge breath, finding I’d been holding it too long.
“That’s right,” Merlin said, more gently now. “Your place is to watch and record what you see. For posterity. And you can’t do that if you’re lying dead on the battlefield.”
“What if Arthur is?” I snapped. “What do I write then?”
Merlin bit his lip. “He won’t be. This is not the day he dies.”
Every hair on my body stood on end. Did Merlin know that day? Was it fast approaching? I wanted so much to ask him what he knew.
Instead, I pulled my hand away from his. “Don’t you wish you too could fight? Be part of this battle that will go down in history and legend?”
He pulled a rueful face and shook his head. “My duty is to do as my lord bids.”
“And wait,” I said, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.
