Page 89 of The Road to Avalon
Cinbelin laughed, the sound harsh. “Anyone who doesn’t fight with us’ll feel the sharp edges of our swords when we’re victorious and Din Cadan and Dumnonia are yours, Milord King. What punishment do you have in mind for that cowardly dog who calls himself my brother?” He spoke with a relish that made my blood run cold.
Medraut chuckled. A menacing sound that boded ill for Cyngal.
A red-faced warrior burst through the crowd down by the stables, pounding up the steep hill from the gates, and I had to duck back further in case he saw me. “Milord Medraut,” he called, gasping for breath. “King Arthur’s army have massed in battle formation on the plain a mile to the west, this side of the River Cam.”
Without warning, Medraut swung a gloved fist and knocked the man sprawling into the dirt. “How many times do I need to tell you all? He’s no longer king.Iam.”
The man, blood trickling from his nose, scrabbled away crablike, scuffing up the dirt.
I ignored them. The RiverCam. Arthur was beside the Cam, waiting for Medraut.Cam… Camlann… the bank of the River Cam? Not Camboglanna on Hadrian’s Wall, but lurking under my nose here in Somerset, biding its time just outside our home, a bare stone’s throw from us and Ynys Witrin– mythical Avalon.
I had no idea if Cam was still the name of the river in my old world, but I did remember the village of Queen Camel being close to South Cadbury. My father had driven through it with my brother Artie and me quarreling in the back seat, and it had stuck in my head because I’d liked the name. Thishadto be Camlann. It could be nothing else. Whatever I did, the chess pieces were slotting into place with alarming regularity, but so far, the queen, hemmed in by the warriors of the enemy, had no power at all to protect the king.
Medraut turned away from the frightened messenger, and his thick upper lip curled in scorn. “My uncle lines his old soldiers up to face my young ones, does he? Fool.” He glared around at his friends as if defying them to gainsay him. “But someone must have warned him we were waiting for him. When this is over, I’ll get to the bottom of that. Have no fear; whoever did it will pay.” He fixed Bran with an accusing glare. “Come on. To horse. We’ve a battle to win and an ex-king to kill.”
He strode off in the direction of the stables, Cinbelin and Bran dragged in his wake by the tide of his going.
I watched them for a moment, my mind churning. What should I do? I couldn’t just wait here and do nothing, resigning myself to the role of helpless spectator. I didn’t have it in me.
On frightened feet, I scurried back to Coventina and Cottia. The old woman had sunk down onto the rickety stool outside our front door, and her middle-aged, widowed daughter had come out with a horn beaker of something to revive her.
“Arthur’s less than a mile away,” I said, unable to keep the heady mix of excitement and fear out of my voice. “He’s drawn up his army on the plain to the west, as though he’s waiting for Medraut to come out. It looks like Medraut’s obliging him. The bastard sounds full of confidence that his green, untried warriors can beat Arthur’s experienced ones.”
Coventina’s face brightened. “My Cei’ll be there, too.”
Cottia handed the empty beaker back to her daughter. “My boys, both o’ them.” Her faded eyes shone with a reflection of the anticipation I felt.
“How big was the army Arthur took to Armorica?” I asked Coventina. “Do you know?”
She frowned. “More’n a hundred and fifty. Maybe two hundred? P’raps more. Don’t forget he had to get them all on Theodoric’s ships. I wasn’t countin’ them out. But he took his best warriors, so even if Medraut has more, which I’d wager he don’t, our men’re better.”
“True,” Cottia mumbled, sucking the few teeth she had left. “An experienced warrior’ll beat any green boy. Hands down.”
I hoped so. I really did. Because if Arthur only had a hundred and fifty men with him, Medraut would definitely have more. Providing the full garrison of Din Cadan turned out on his side, which was debatable given Cyngal’s unwillingness to fight. He couldn’t be the only warrior not wanting to take up arms against the High King, although he might be the only one brave enough to say so.
“We need to see what’s happening,” I said. “I’m putting my braccae on and finding a sword and going to help.” My own weapons had been left behind at the abbey. They’d been in the storehouse with all my other things, and Medraut, wisely perhaps, had not returned them to me with my clothes. I’d just have to find another. Not that difficult.
Coventina bit her lip. “I wish I knew how to fight.”
“That’s not your calling,” I said. “You should go to the walls once Medraut’s left. You’ll get a good view.”
From her seat, Cottia nodded. “I’ll be goin’ there m’self if ’tis the last thing I does.” She patted her daughter’s hand. “My girls’ll get me there to cheer on my boys.”
“Now, Mother,” the daughter said, frowning. “I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise anythin’. You come inside now, and get some breakfast– there’ll not be a battle startin’ afore you can eat yer fill.” She raised her eyes to mine. “And if you’re plannin’ on joinin’ the fight, you should get some food inside o’you, an’ all.”
I looked at Coventina. “I couldn’t eat a thing.”
She nodded. “Me neither. I feel sick.”
Not as sick as me.I put my hand protectively on my belly for a moment. No. I couldn’t think about this baby now. No more could I think about Amhar and Llacheu, both Medraut’s victims already. I had to think only of Arthur and Archfedd and how to save them.
We hurried back inside the house, and I found my boy’s clothes and chainmail and put them on in a hurry, buckling my empty sword belt around my waist over my mail shirt. Medraut had giventhatback to me, along with my shield and helmet, laughing as he did so. Clearly, he hadn’t thought I’d find the opportunity to use them. How wrong he’d been.
When I was ready, Coventina, who’d been waiting by the cold remains of the fire, pushed a beaker into my hands. “Drink this,” she said. “It’ll give you strength.”
I downed it in one, a streak of fire blazing its way to my stomach. Then I coughed as the afterburn hit. “Good stuff,” I choked at her, and we both laughed, albeit a little nervously. Not the time to confide in her about my pregnancy or she’d never let me go.
Outside in the courtyard again, I returned to the entrance and peered out with caution. Medraut had joined his men by the stables and was already mounted up, his muscular bulk an impressive sight on his big warhorse. Even as I watched, he turned the horse downhill, and his young men– our stolen, renegade men– fell in behind him.
