Page 94 of The Quest for Excalibur
“My uncle says that if he gives his word today, no man will dare gainsay it. He is their Bretwalda– what he says is law.”
Arthur nodded again. “And no more keels from across the German Sea, seeking to steal new lands for themselves. That must be guaranteed. If any come, then they are to be accommodated in the lands already Saxon. No further expansion. If he can give his word to that, then I, too, will give my word that the British people will not offer aggression to their Saxon neighbors. I am High King. My word is also law. The other kings will do as I say.”
He heaved a deep breath, shifting as though uncomfortable, which wasn’t at all surprising, all things considered. “I myself wish for peace, not constant warfare. I wish for rich harvests and good hunting, for food and wealth for my people.” He paused. “And I wish that for Aelle’s people, too.”
“My uncle says he, too, wishes the same for his people.”
Arthur and Aelle stared into one another’s eyes. Gray blue met dark brown. I held my breath. This was what the legends said. That after Badon, peace would come. Had I had a hand in making it happen? Was I truly what the prophecy had said– the woman who would make Arthur great? Who perhaps had already done so?
Arthur stepped away from Custennin and Cerdic, up to where Aelle stood between his two guards. He held out his right hand.
Aelle looked down at it. His own were still tied in front of him. He held them out, and Arthur nodded to Cei, who stepped forward and sliced through the tight bonds. They fell to the ground unnoticed. Was this setting a tiger free amongst us? Could we trust this man?
Time ticked past. The silence seemed to lengthen. Overhead a buzzard mewed.
Aelle studied Arthur’s face for a moment, before reaching out and clasping his forearm, as Arthur’s hand clasped his. Handfasted, they stood for a moment, regarding one another warily, perhaps each suspecting the other of being some sleeping predator with some trick up his sleeve.
“You and your men are free to go,” Arthur said. “To bury your dead and perform whatever rituals you require for their passage to the next world. My men will not prevent you leaving. I have no wish to be your enemy. You shall have your arms and armor back.” He glanced down at Aelle’s dirty feet. “And your boots.”
Cerdic translated. For another long moment Aelle hung onto Arthur’s arm, before releasing his hold, and stepping back.
Arthur held up his hand to the warriors surrounding the prisoners. “Stand down. Fetch them their belongings.”
Our men shuffled back, muttering their displeasure– they’d seen the Saxon belongings as rightful booty. Their weapons barely wavered, distrust written across their suspicious faces. An enemy does not become an ally with a few easily spoken words.
The Saxon arms and armor were brought out. The men pulled on any boots they could find, and grabbed their mailshirts and weapons as though afraid we’d change our minds. I didn’t blame them. A lot of our warriors looked as though they resented Arthur’s amnesty. They shuffled closer as the Saxons gathered their belongings.
Arthur held up his right hand. “Let them pass. We have agreed a peace. They may leave. After we have left, they may return to bury their dead. Unmolested.”
With reluctance, our warriors retreated, still gripping their weapons, their eyes never leaving their ex-prisoners. They, in their turn, clearly had no wish to turn their backs on their heavily armed captors, and with Aelle and Octha amongst them, shuffled backwards away from us.
“Tell him he has my word my men will not attack his,” Arthur said to Cerdic. “Or they will feel my wrath. It’s peace I broker here today, not war.”
Cerdic raised his voice as the Saxons retreated en masse. With more space between them and us, they half-turned and continued more quickly, while keeping a wary eye on our men.
Arthur turned back to Custennin and Cerdic. “Let us break camp. We’ll leave them to bury their dead and head back to Dinas Badan. He grinned, clearly still on the high of the poppy syrup. “And we’ll station plenty of lookouts– their leader might have agreed to peace, but that doesn’t mean his men will feel the same, as yet.”
He turned to me, lowering his voice. “Will this suit your book, d’you think? Is this the battle you told me about?”
Chapter Forty-Four
The good weatherof the day after the battle lulled us into a false sense of security. The following day, unrelenting rain sleeted down, with no respite even when we made our soggy camp in a wooded valley not far from Stonehenge.
A lone farmhouse squatted there, dismal and gray on the edge of a beech wood. A wall of piled up flints encircled a small roundhouse with a conical roof of blackened thatch and a few tumbledown sheds and animal pens. Smoke hung snagged between the trees in dirty shreds.
At the edge of the wood, pigs fled squealing at the sight of us, as well they might. We were hungry, and roast pork would have been tasty. The chickens were not so lucky.
I swung down from my saddle into wet mud with a squelch, and beside me, Merlin did the same. Arthur leaned his hands on his saddle horns and stayed put.
Bedwyr came tramping over. “This rain is ridiculous. I’m winkling these farmers out and commandeering their house.” He shot an anxious glance up at Arthur. “Not just for you. There’s a good few other wounded men I want to see inside out of this rain.”
Arthur nodded, water dripping down his face from his soaking hair. His skin had a disturbing gray look about it that sent a shiver of fear down my back. I’d been so busy being glad Badon had turned out as I’d predicted, I’d almost forgotten to worry about possible infection of his wound.
“I’ll go,” Cei said, swinging his leg over the front of his saddle and sliding down from his horse. Mud spattered. “You get the wounded all together. I’ll see them dry tonight.”
Hanging onto Alezan’s reins with one hand, I put the other on Arthur’s knee, cold and wet under my touch. “Stay there a minute, until Cei gets back.”
Water had traveled down my legs into my boots. I couldn’t tell if my feet were cold and wet from that or from the mud seeping through my boot seams.
