Page 84 of The Quest for Excalibur
He nodded. “And wait.”
With nothing to see; that was how we waited. Blind, but not deaf. The thunder moved away, but didn’t take the rain with it, and the constant drumming dimmed the noise of battle. The trees, with their late autumn gowns already depleted by the vicious wind, gave us little shelter.
I drew my cloak closer around me and pulled up my wet hood over my helmet, but it made little difference. My leather braccae kept some of the rain out, but water pooled on my saddle, and my tunic soaked up the rain like blotting paper. The rain mingled with the tears I couldn’t staunch.
Where was Cerdic when we needed him? Where was that two-faced bastard? He’d taken the knee to Arthur and vowed to be his man, and yet he wasn’t here. We’d sent for him, a mere sixty miles off, and he hadn’t come. Hatred bubbled within me, hot and vibrant and all-consuming.
Time inched past. The rain kept falling. The thunder and lightning retreated.
Gradually the battle must have been inching our way, until at last we could see the fighting on the brow of the hill. Dead and dying men fell to the soaking grass. A few crawled our way, perhaps thinking to find a safe hiding place within our woodland. They didn’t reach us.
Where was Arthur? I scanned the seething maelstrom of men but didn’t find him. Nor Cei, nor Llacheu, nor anyone I knew. Every man’s face was dark with blood– theirs or their enemies’. Like some Dantéesque inferno.
The battle had been raging for an eternity when my sharp ears caught a distant sound carrying on the wind. I grabbed Merlin’s arm afresh, voice rising in a mixture of panic and excitement. “What’s that? Did you hear it?”
He cocked his head on one side, like a dog, listening, and the four men surrounding us did the same. The sound came again.
Merlin’s face lit up. “That’s a horn. A war horn. From the south. Not one of ours. This way.”
Spinning our horses around, all six of us crashed through the trees toward the south, away from the battle. The wood wasn’t deep. As we burst out onto open ground, the warhorn sounded again. I pulled Alezan to a halt and stared, open mouthed, as relief washed over me. Galloping across the wide, rainwashed valley came Cerdic and his men. A fresh army.
“Let’s hope they’ve decided they’re on our side,” Merlin said.
My hand went to my mouth. Might they not be? Might this be why they’d left it so late? Could Cerdic have chosen to join his uncle’s men? Cold fear closed around my heart and my knees went so weak I had to grab Alezan’s neck to stay in the saddle.
Chapter Forty
Cerdic and hisarmy didn’t pause, but swept past us around the eastern end of our beech woodland, hooves thundering on the turf, kicking up clods of dirt, their chainmail glittering. Their angry, insistent warhorn sounded again.
Merlin reached out a hand to steady me. “Back.” We swung our horses around once more and urged them into the woodland, guards in hot pursuit. Branches whipped my face, but I didn’t care. On the far edge, I wrenched Alezan to a halt in time to see Cerdic’s forces fall upon the battle.
Time stood still.
For one long and terrible moment I thought they’d joined the fight against Arthur and Cadwy and that we were doomed. That Badon would not be the British victory of legend. That I’d changed too much, and history had chosen to follow a different path.
“Yes!” Merlin punched the air. “He’s chosen us.”
Now we had the advantage, surely.
But the Saxons were nothing if not determined, and the fighting continued, inching back toward the road and out of our sight as our forces gained ground, propelled by Cerdic’s fresh onslaught. I could still see nothing, nor tell which warriors were ours. There was a lot to be said for different colored uniforms.
I itched to follow, but Merlin held me back. Sensibly. What good could I have done? A lot of harm, most likely.
Slowly, as the rain at last began to lessen, the battle shifted over the brow. Were the Saxons in retreat? Did we at last have them beaten? Oh, how I longed to know.
And what about Arthur with that arrow in his shoulder? Unable to do anything, I pushed my fear for him away, but with little success. All I could think of was that terrible thud as the arrow had pierced his mailshirt and flesh. And the pain that had severed my link with him.
The conflict might have been out of sight, but the battle noises carried, the terrible death noises I dreaded– the noises I would hear forever in my nightmares.
If only I could see what was going on. Not for my book. No, that was forgotten. For Arthur.
Alezan, alert to my anxiety, refused to stand still, instead pacing and tossing her head, her tail switching back and forth.
“Can’t we ride closer?” I begged Merlin, at last. “I can’t stand not knowing much longer.” I swallowed the lump that wouldn’t leave my throat. “Almost as much as I hate to see it.” Hysteria lurked close by.
He shook his head. “Too dangerous.”
I sucked in my lips, groping for something, anything. “Can you look again? See? I mean… can you use the Sight to tell us… to tell me… if Arthur lives?” Just saying the words brought tears to my eyes and the urge to sob swept over me. I dug my nails into my palms and fought for self-control. “Can you? For me?”
