‘We shall draw them out, lad,’ Balin said, and grinned wolfishly. He turned and continued to the farmhouse. ‘We shall draw them out like wolves who scent an unprotected flock,’ Balin shouted over his shoulder.
Balin woke them early the next morning, when the sun had just begun to warm the land and the war band stirred with groans and yawns. They each had a sup of ale and broke their night fast with leftover meat and cheese. Merlin led them from the Saxon farmhouse, striding with his amber-tipped staff, his pack slung over his shoulder, and wearing his wide-brimmed hat. He led them north-east towards a vast stretch of woodland, and they reached the edges of its ash and elm trees before the sun was halfway across the sky. Balin sent scouts into the forest, six men to spread out into a wide line and pick their way lithely through the trees whilst the rest of the war band waited for the scouts to return.
The first two scouts returned after a short time, red-faced and sweating from running through the forest.
‘Saxons, lord,’ said the first scout, a lean man with a single, thick eyebrow spanning the width of his face. ‘Approaching the woodland from the north.’
The scout spoke to Balin, but the entire war band bristled with excitement at the prospect of battle.
‘How many?’ asked Balin.
‘Two score,’ said the scout, and the men instantly lost their brief thrill. ‘The rest of our scouts are watching them.’
‘Twice our number,’ said Kai, shaking his head because it was too many to fight. Kai was always ready to fight, he always had been, and the son of Ector was as dismayed by the news as Balin’s men, because only a fool would attack a larger enemy war band.
‘So, our pyre of smoke worked,’ said Merlin cheerfully. ‘More Saxon war bands will come this way, mustering from their stolen farms, villages and strongholds.’
‘But we are only twenty men, Lord Merlin?’ said a black cloak named Dewi, giving voice to what every man thought.
Merlin leant towards Dewi and fixed him with a thoughtful stare. ‘Then it’s a good job you warriors have a druid to do your thinking for you then, isn’t it? Inside that woodland is another force of Britons. They will meet us at the dubhglas, the black water deep inside the forest. A place of the old days, where our forefathers gathered in the days before the Romans came. The black water, where spirits live beneath the surface and elves stir in the trees, is one of the many places in our lands where the gods are close to us, where they hear our prayers and answer our call. Bors awaits us at the dubhglas, Bors the champion of Gododdin has come with thirty spears and we shall join our forces together!’
The black cloaks cheered and clapped one another on the back, for all men knew of Bors of Gododdin. He was a warrior, as famed for his prowess as Ector. Bors was the leader of King Letan’s forces, who were at constant war with the Saxons and the Scots in Lothian and beyond. Gododdin was the kingdom to Bernicia’s north and isolated from the rest of Britain. Rheged and Gododdin had been allies back to the days when Rome left.
Balin nodded to Merlin with stern determination, and he set off into the woodland with his men flowing behind him. Balin seemed like the only man in his war band not surprised by Merlin’s words, and Arthur was sure that the druid and the warrior had this planned all along. The firing of the Saxon homestead, the march deep into Lloegyr, it all seemed clear to Arthur that it was all born of Merlin’s cunning and as he ducked beneath boughs heavy with green spring leaves, he wondered how deep the warp and weft of Merlin’s scheme ran.
The rest of Balin’s scouts met the war band as they marched through dense woodland but reported no other sign of the enemy, though they confirmed what Merlin had said, that a force of Gododdin men waited for Balin beside a wide black pool. Kai hurried ahead of Arthur, so excited was he to see Bors and the Gododdin warriors that he left Arthur alone with Redwulf, who marched in sullen silence. Arthur expected the Saxon’s usually easy manner had been shaken by the prospect of more Briton warriors in Saxon lands, and the chance that he might meet his countrymen in battle that very day. That chance had not bothered Redwulf in the slightest in the farmhouse, but now as he marched with Britons bristling with spears, axes, knives and swords it all became suddenly more real, and terrifying, Arthur thought.
The forest parted to reveal moss-covered stones, and a wide black pool the colour of jet. Its waters were eerily still, and around it willow trees stretched over the surface, reaching towards the still water like grasping fingers coated in green lichen. The clearing and the pool exuded a strangeness, with a thick gloom surrounding them. Ancient trees formed a dense overhead canopy, shielding the water from the sun, as their branches intertwined and mingled to create a roof resembling the highest hall. The small hairs on the back of Arthur’s neck prickled as he emerged onto the dubhglas’ bank. Reeds grew there, and lilies floated on the surface like a draped cloak. Lush green grass covered the bank and Arthur could almost imagine an old god like Maponos or Manawydan emerging from the pool to begin one of their adventures.
‘Merlin!’ boomed a deep, loud voice, and from the trees strode the biggest man Arthur had ever seen. He was head and shoulders taller than any man in the clearing and twice as broad across the shoulder. He wore a leather breastplate across his chest, and pieces of chain mail draped around his round shoulders and thick neck. The enormous man had a Saxon axe tucked into his belt, and a completely shaved head above a round, heavily scarred face. ‘I told my men that if we were late, you would turn them into toads, or muck nuts hanging from a sheep’s arse. I have never seen the stinking bastards march so fast!’
‘Lord Bors, well met,’ said Merlin with a mischievous grin on his face. A band of warriors emerged behind the monstrous warrior, and each carried a shield painted with the stag of Gododdin and a long spear. They bowed their heads reverently at Merlin, men in leather, padded woollen jerkins, grizzled beards and long, braided hair.
‘We’ve been here for two days, and we ran out of food this morning. My belly thinks my throat’s been cut and my men can’t catch anything in this bloody forest worth eating. I hope you’ve brought some cheese with, or some meat. Cheese would be better. Ah!’ Bors exclaimed and opened his arms wide. ‘Balin of the Two Swords, you miserable bastard. I never thought I’d be so happy to see your serious face. It looks like a slapped arse, but by the gods, we need your sword.’ For a moment, Arthur thought Bors would gather Balin into an enormous bear hug, but they slapped their arms together in the warrior’s grip, each grasping the other’s forearm. The black cloaks and the Gododdin men greeted each other warmly. Bors shouted constantly, greeting Balin’s men by name where he knew it, calling out a brave deed or a memory of the man’s relatives. He greeted Huell as an old comrade and made light of his lost hand. The warriors laughed and grinned at the huge champion and his brash warmth, his presence lifting their spirits like a barrel of mead.
‘Why have the men of Gododdin come?’ Arthur asked Merlin as the old man smiled mirthlessly at the warriors, who now numbered fifty.
‘Because the Saxons captured Gawain, prince of Gododdin, and imprisoned him inside Dun Guaroy with our noble princess.’
‘Prince Gawain is a Saxon captive?’
‘Just so, young Arthur. King Ida captured him on a raid and plans to ransom him back to his father. Only I got to King Letan first, and so we shall free his son when we free Princess Guinevere.’ Merlin winked at Arthur, and he wondered again at the druid’s deep cunning, and how these events which had so shaken Arthur’s life and awakened him to a world of war, revenge, druids and Saxons, seemed to shift in Merlin’s palm like a weaver’s needle. It was as though everything which had unfolded since Huell’s war band had accidentally stumbled across the Saxons had been at Merlin’s design.
‘Like Ector said,’ said Huell in Arthur’s ear. ‘Beware of Merlin and his trickery. We are up to our necks now, lad, up to our bloody necks in it.’
After the greetings, the combined forces of Balin and Bors wove their way through the tangle of trees, ferns and brush towards the approaching Saxon war band. They were fifty warriors, as large a force as Arthur had ever seen marching together. To him it felt an army, their boots crunched and rustled in rotting leaf mulch, the murmur of their whispers carried through the treetops like the wind. They reached the forest’s edge, and Arthur crouched, watching the distant line of Saxons approaching from the lowlands.
‘We need to lure the filthy whoresons to us,’ said Bors, standing five men down from Arthur, towering over everyone.
‘Send ten spearmen down to that brook there,’ said Arthur quietly, speaking almost to himself. ‘Act foolish, perhaps drunk. Horse around in the water and wait until the Saxons approach.’
‘What was that, lad?’ said Bors’ booming voice.
Arthur’s stomach clenched, and he could feel Kai’s eyes burrowing into him from his right side. Arthur swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He wasn’t sure why he had spoken; the idea had appeared in his mind like a painted image, and he spoke to himself as much as anyone else. Arthur’s head had been full of marching, fighting and constant thoughts of war since his first fight, so much so that ideas and questions spilled out of his mind like an overfilled mead horn.
‘Well… just an idea…’
‘Speak up, don’t stutter like a beardless boy tupping a whore for the first time. What is it?’ Bors barked, and the warriors around Arthur laughed.
Arthur’s face turned fiery, and he reached up and touched the bronze disc at his neck for luck. He cleared his throat. ‘I said we should send ten spearmen down to that brook beyond the trees. The men should act like fools, as though they are drunk. Wrestle in the water or sit down for a rest. Make sure the enemy can see their shields bearing the fox of Bernicia or the stag of Gododdin and they won’t be able to resist attacking. At the last minute, the spearmen flee towards these trees and then we can attack.’
‘Like flies towards shit,’ Bors said, grinning in his bush beard. ‘You’re not as stupid as you look, lad. You’re Ector’s boy?’
‘No, lord, well, sort of…’
‘Ha! Sort of? Did Ector rut with your mother or not?’
‘No, lord.’
‘What in Arawn’s hairy arse are we talking about Ector rutting for?’ Bors threw his head back and laughed, and the warriors laughed with him, except Arthur, who blushed. ‘Never mind. It’s as good a plan as any. Pick your nine men and get down there. Unless Balin objects?’
Balin shrugged and shook his head to show that he had no objection to Arthur’s plan, but his hard eyes met Arthur’s and held them for a moment, and Arthur wasn’t sure if there was a flicker of respect there, or just a hard indifference. It felt like fifty faces all stared at him, waiting to see what he would do next, wanting him to fail or shirk from what he had committed to do.
‘Kai,’ Arthur said in a whisper, and Arthur blew out a small sign of relief when his brother nodded proudly. ‘Redwulf, Huell.’ The one-handed warrior rocked backwards in surprise at being selected, but he did not deny Arthur’s request. Arthur picked seven other men at random, the youngest men he could find amongst the Rheged and Gododdin fighters, because he feared the older warriors with fiercer reputations would baulk at marching out of the forest under his orders. Arthur was young. He had killed and fought but was still untested and had never fought in a battle as large as the one about to unfold beyond the woods. If his ruse succeeded, then there was reputation in it, but if he failed, if the Saxons failed to take the bait or if he timed the retreat badly, then Arthur could face humiliation or even death if the enemy caught them.
Arthur’s small party gathered about him, and he led nine warriors out of the trees, marching boldly towards the small stream which babbled its way through a sloping meadow.
‘Remember,’ Arthur said, making sure each man paid attention. ‘We can’t look at the enemy. They must believe we are fools who have raided deep into Lloegyr. They have seen the smoke in the sky from the burned settlement and will want revenge. We don’t run until I give the order.’
