‘We’ll just march down and kill them,’ said Balin before Ector could offer a plan of his own. Ector nodded, because there was little point in guile or cunning when they outnumbered the raiders.
‘I’ll ride around their flank,’ said Arthur, without waiting for Balin or Ector to agree. He knew what had to be done.
The Saxons cried out in alarm as they saw the Britons gathering above them, readying shields and spears. They formed a hasty shield wall around their wagon, and a squat man with a thick neck barked orders at them. He drew a short sword and waved it at the Britons, shouting insults in his Saxon tongue. Arthur led his ten riders down the hill and around the Saxon’s right flank. Llamrei jumped over a thicket and the thrill of the ride quickened Arthur’s pulse. The Saxons watched him, but there was nothing they could do. Their ponies were little use against the bigger horses and no man wanted to fight on horseback when they could fight with sure footing on land. So Arthur led his men behind the Saxons, and Hywel and his Elmet men tossed their light Roman pilum spears at the Saxons. The Saxons caught three on their shields, but one spear smashed through a man’s rotting wooden shield and slammed into his chest to send him sprawling into the heather. The injured man screamed and twisted, his blood soaking the grass, and its smell caused their ponies to whicker and run away. Arthur dismounted and led his men forward with their Saxon shields and spears ready.
Ector and Balin’s men charged down the slope, not bothering to keep formation or form a solid line of attack. Arthur clenched his teeth with pride as his own men stuck to the formation he had drilled into them every day in battle practice. They came on slowly, their big shields locked together and spears bristling like a hedgehog’s back. The Saxons shouted at each other in panic, glancing from the larger force in front of them to Arthur’s ten men in their rear. Ector’s men charged behind their champion, and Ector smashed into the Saxons like a raging bull. The Saxons held their line at first, but once Ector’s sheer size and ferocity set about them, it was as though their faces were too close to a burning furnace and they cowered before him. Ector killed one Saxon with a spear thrust of such savage power it punched through his chest and the leaf-shaped blade came out of the Saxon’s back dripping blood. Ector released his spear, drew his sword and crushed the skull of the next Saxon with a terrifying roar.
Balin and the black cloaks swarmed the enemy, cutting them down with ruthless efficiency and in ten heartbeats the Saxons were overwhelmed and panicked for their lives. Their leader with the sword seemed to fancy his chances more against Arthur’s men rather than face Ector’s fury, so he charged with his sword held high in two hands.
‘That bastard is mine,’ Arthur growled. ‘Kill the rest. No survivors.’
Arthur drew Excalibur, and the leather-wrapped grip was warm and comfortable in his hand. He raised the cold iron pommel to his lips and kissed it for luck and went to meet the murderous Saxon, a killer of women and children. Ector and Balin’s men struck the Saxon line with a thunderous crunch. Men howled in rage and pain, weapons clashed and Saxons died. The Saxon with the sword charged at Arthur in an all-out run. He was a short man, but powerful across the neck and shoulders. Arthur lifted his heavy Saxon shield, tightening his hold on the wooden grip across its bowl and putting his shoulder behind the linden-wood boards and the iron boss and rim. The Saxon was mousey-bearded and as he came close, spittle flew from his rotten-toothed mouth. He screamed his defiance, and before he could bring his sword down to strike, Arthur smashed his shield into the man with full force. Arthur was a big man now, taller than most of his men and made broad by endless practice with shield, spear and sword. He grunted with the impact, and the Saxon flew backwards off his feet to land sprawling in the heather. Arthur’s men ran past the fallen Saxon to kill the enemy who had begun to retreat from Ector and Balin’s charge.
Arthur lowered his shield and strode to the Saxon leader, who scrambled to his feet. He came at Arthur again, stabbing his sword at Arthur’s chest. His sword was short, and its hilt had no crosspiece, just a small bronze bowl above its grip. So Arthur drove Excalibur onto the Saxon’s blade and slid the edge down the enemy’s sword until it chopped into the man’s unprotected fingers. He screeched in pain and blood sprayed bright on the light green heather. The Saxon fell to his knees, dropped his sword and stared open-mouthed at Arthur. But before he could speak, Arthur drove the point of his sword into the man’s gaping maw and down into his throat, chest and torso. Arthur roared with hate and ripped the sword hilt back towards him, tearing the Saxon open from mouth to stomach. Blood and offal slopped onto Arthur’s boots, and the butchered enemy died.
‘Kill them all!’ Arthur bellowed to his men and swung Excalibur at a fleeing Saxon’s legs to trip him. The man fell and turned over, mewing in desperate horror as death came for his murderous soul. Arthur lifted his shield and crashed the heavy iron-shod rim into his throat to crush bone and gristle and leave the man choking to death. ‘Kill the bastards!’
Ector and Balin’s men were driven to rage by the image of the burned farm and its slaughtered inhabitants, resulting in the Saxons capitulating against the greater numbers and most of them being killed in the early exchanges. Ten of the Saxons surrendered, kneeling to beg for their lives. But Arthur ordered his men to kill them all, which they did with brutal efficiency. There was no room for pity in war. Arthur had learned that and would not forget it. He ordered his men to cut off the Saxons’ heads and place them in a line facing westwards, as a warning to any other Saxon raiders who came that way from Lloegyr.
Arthur looked for Lunete as soon as the fight was over and was relieved to find her still on the hilltop with two of Ector’s men who had hung back from the fighting to guard their cloaks, food and other marching equipment. Two men, one woman and two children were among the slaves who were freed. They were hollow-eyed folk from the raided, destroyed farms, and sobbed when Ector cut their bonds. Ector’s men found them cloaks and clothes from the dead and told them to take the wagon filled with plunder and make their lives anew.
‘You have become a warrior,’ said Ector, laying a heavy hand upon Arthur’s shoulder. And so he had, and now it was time to bring the war to the Saxons and punish them for the woe they had brought to Britain.
17
Ector sent ten of his men scouting across the borderlands for signs of any other Saxon raiding parties. He would keep the rest of his spearmen marching throughout Rheged, ready to strike if those scouts returned with ill news. Arthur and Balin stayed with Ector and camped overnight in a barn with high gables, which folk in the valley used to store their surplus grain after harvest. The farmer, a portly man with bushy cheek whiskers and a veined nose, gave them a cured ham to share, some bread and freshly churned butter. Ector paid the man with a silver torc taken from a dead Saxon raider and the war band huddled around a small fire on a warm summer evening. The men were cheerful following their victory and asked Balin and his men to tell them a tale of their battles for lost Bernicia. Balin would not talk, and sat alone brooding at the barn’s rear, and Dewi told the Rheged men the tale of their attack on Dun Guaroy, of Ida’s impregnable fortress and the hordes within.
Lunete kept away from the huddle with her hood hiding her raven-black hair; there were few places to hide in the barn and so she sat next to Balin. Arthur brought them both a cut of pork and some bread. He eased himself down beside her and she offered him an upside-down smile from the shadows of her hood.
‘What is it?’ Arthur asked. ‘Are you not happy that you are marching with the warriors rather than learning how to curtsey at Caer Ligualid?’
‘It’s nothing,’ she said quietly, almost as a whisper. ‘It’s just… that farm and the bodies… The Saxons screamed as they died. There was so much blood.’
‘One thing I have learned, sister, is that war is not the honourable test of spear skill we once thought it to be. The bards and scops sing of heroes, brave warriors and great deeds. But they do not tell of how a man clings to life, how he wails when it is ripped from him, how much blood a man’s body holds, or the stink of battle.’
‘Sometimes I wish we were young again, before all of this, before talk of marriage, and war. It all seemed so distant then, like someone else’s world.’
‘Ector fought and protected us from the harshness of the world, but now we are grown, and the world will eat us up like lost lambs unless we harden ourselves to it.’
‘You have your sword, and your warriors and you are already forging a reputation as a warrior. Kai has the respect of every man in father’s war band. But what of me? What is to become of me, Arthur? I don’t want to go to Urien’s court, and I don’t want to marry some fat lord in a far-off land and have him whelp his pups on me. I want to ride and hunt and be free.’
‘You must marry who King Urien and Ector say you must marry. I don’t want that fate for you either.’
‘Really?’ Her pretty face stared up at him from beneath the folds of her hood, blue eyes shining hopefully.
‘I want you to be happy, sister. But we cannot avoid our fate. Each of us has our own duty to fulfil.’ Arthur loved Lunete, but the love of a brother for his sister. He had always known that her love for him was something more. Kai teased them both about how she would follow Arthur around, laughing at his jests and hanging on his every word.
‘Perhaps I can stay at the Caer. If there is a man there, who would ask my father for my hand?’
‘There is no man at the Caer worthy of you, sister. You are beautiful, funny, clever and will make any lord of Gododdin, Powys, Elmet, Dumnonia or Gwynedd a lucky man.’ Arthur rose, not wanting to see the disappointment on her face. ‘Balin of the Two Swords,’ Arthur said, ‘this brave warrior beside you is Lunete ferch Ector. Don’t worry, Lunete,’ Arthur said, waving his hand to soften the death stare she gave him from beneath her hood. ‘I trust Balin as much as I do you, Kai and Ector. He will not give your presence here away to Father.’
‘My lady,’ said Balin, and bowed his head in solemn greeting. ‘I am surprised to find you with the warriors, and shocked that none have recognised one so fair amongst the stink of their leather, ale and sweat.’
‘Keep Lord Balin company whilst I talk to Kai,’ said Arthur, and though both Balin and Lunete were uncomfortable and awkward left in one another’s company, Arthur was pleased to see them talking together well enough as he searched for Kai amongst the warriors gathered around the fire. It was a small blaze, a few logs ringed with rock to protect the barn. It was a balmy evening, and the fire had been lit for light more than the warmth. Arthur found Kai supping ale and listening to Dewi talk of how Bors of Gododdin fought like a bear inside Dun Guaroy’s walls, and Arthur touched his foster brother lightly upon the shoulder.
‘Can we talk?’ he mouthed silently. Kai sighed, but rose from his haunches to follow Arthur outside into the night air. It was a clear summer night and the stars twinkled around a crescent moon and its wan light.
‘Fine evening,’ said Kai, joining Arthur to stare up at the sparkling array of twinkling stars.
‘I am glad to march beside you again,’ said Arthur, and he held out his hand to his friend and brother. The manner of their parting after the escape from Dun Guaroy had stuck in Arthur’s mind like a fish bone in a choking man’s throat. Kai had been his closest companion for as long as he could remember, and he hated they had not departed as friends.
‘Me too, even if you are carrying an enemy shield.’ Kai frowned, but then chuckled at his mock gruffness and took Arthur’s wrist warmly in the warrior’s grip.
‘The shields work well in battle; you should try one.’
‘I’ll stick with our own shields. Lunete joined us, I see.’
Arthur laughed. ‘I thought no one else had noticed.’
‘How could anyone not notice her? She has no beard and smells like a summer meadow. The rest of us smell like boars. Every warrior has noticed.’
‘Even Father?’
‘Unless he has become simple-minded. Nobody mentions it because Father would lose his temper, and who wants to face Ector’s wrath? Father won’t send her away because he knows he must soon break her heart when he packs her off to the Bear Fort. Even though she is in danger marching with us, he wants her close. Once she is married, he might never see Lunete again, and if he does, it will be rare enough. So, he turns a blind eye to her dangerous ruse and is comforted to see her content.’
‘She’ll never change.’
‘She will when she’s married. A husband won’t put up with his wife riding with the warriors.’
