‘Huell?’ She looked from Arthur to Kai and shook her head slowly. ‘I will not marry him, although he is a man of honour and reputation. My heart lies with another.’
Arthur sighed and Lunete’s face became etched with sadness. Her look confirmed that she held a dream that she and Arthur would marry, and though he loved her, it was the love of a brother for a sister and could be nothing more. He had hurt her, but Arthur wanted her to see the bleakness of what lay before them.
‘Our choices are not our own. Ector decides where we go, who we marry, and what our destinies will be. Why should we not try to take charge of our own lives?’
‘You talk like a fool,’ Kai spat, his voice dripping with scorn. ‘That spear you carry was a gift from my father. As was the knife at your belt. That horse you ride is my father’s, and most men would give anything to be so honoured by Ector. The clothes you wear came from my father. You cannot just ride away and pretend like you are free. My father took you in and raised you when you had nothing. How many other men would have done so? He treated you like his own son, and Lunete and I have always looked upon you as a brother. If you leave like this, you will break Father’s heart and I will never forgive you. Repay the debt you owe, earn your spear and the life of privilege Father has given you. Don’t forget, someone left you at our door without a pot to piss in.’
That hit Arthur like a slap across his face, a shocking blow of hard truth. Arthur just nodded at his brother and friend. There was nothing left to say. He owed Ector his life and realised how his leaving must seem to Kai and Lunete. They cantered back to the Bear Fort in silence, riding up the pathway which ran with little rivers of water as the rain kept falling. The three riders dismounted as they reached the gate and led their horses through the Bear Fort’s courtyard, which was as chaotic as a kicked wasp’s nest. Warriors shouted, ran, and hurried between buildings as they prepared to march. The rain stopped and men looked up and laughed as cauldron-grey clouds gave way to bright sky and the morning sun peeked through the grey to warm their soaking faces.
Arthur tied his horse off beside the stable. He turned to Lunete and pulled her into a warm embrace. She held him tightly. He had come within a whisker of leaving and seeking a new life. Everything Kai had said was true, how could he leave when he owed Ector so much? His life, family friends were here. Arthur stared off at the distant forest, wondering at what could have been, but realising that duty bound him to stay. Kai slapped Arthur’s back, and Huell’s roars lifted above the bustle to order his men to gather.
‘I will see you when we return,’ Arthur said, wiping wet strands of hair from Lunete’s face.
‘Not if I see you first,’ she said with a mischievous grin. She would ride with Ector and return to Caer Ligualid, whilst Arthur and Kai rode with Huell and the war band to strike deep into Saxon lands and find a lost princess. Arthur and Kai went to muster with Huell and the picked warriors who would make the journey, and Arthur set his jaw to the task. It was time to become a warrior, to repay the debt he owed Ector and become the man he must be.
5
Ten warriors rode from the Bear Fort, Arthur and Kai on their own horses, and Huell and the seven warriors on horses provided by King Urien’s stable. They pushed east, leaving Rheged’s dense woodland and entering the high mountains which ran across the middle of northern Britain like the bent back of a mighty dragon. Oak, ash and elm gave way to pines the higher they rose, and lush pastures and meadows became heather and gorse as the war band rode into lands free of villages, road or farm. Glass-surfaced tarns provided fresh water where they sat nestled between lofty peaks, and the war band stopped to rest the horses wherever they found grass or water for their mounts.
Arthur rode with Kai, and Huell led from the front. Thankfully, the grizzled warrior had so far left Arthur alone, preferring instead the company of his warriors to taunting Arthur. Huell relished his chance at command, leading the riders around foothills, ordering stops for rest and then camp at the end of the first day. The men Ector sent with Huell were all warriors of reputation. Rhys, Serwil, Nyfed, Merin, Kadored, Dunod and Cynfan were veterans of the wars against the Saxons, men with braided beards, each with a dozen death rings marked on their forearms. Each man carried a spear, a long knife and a shield slung over his back. It would take two days to ride from the Bear Fort to the border of Bernicia and Arthur rode quietly for much of the first day. He and Kai rode in companionable silence and, thankfully, not a word was mentioned of Arthur’s attempt to leave Rheged.
Huell called a halt to make camp on a rocky shelf facing west between two great mountains. Heavy rocks and boulders covered the slope, so the war band made camp among those cold, lichen-covered stones in order to hide their campfire from the east. Kadored told the tale of how King Uther had killed a Saxon king in single combat during the Great War, and the warriors shared their skins of ale. Nyfed had caught a rabbit with the bow he carried over his shoulder and so they had fresh meat to add to the supplies each man brought for the march.
‘Bernicia is a big kingdom,’ said Serwil, a thick-chested man with a broad nose and silver loops hanging from each earlobe. ‘Where do we search for the princess?’
‘Ida was the Saxon leader who took Bernicia from our people in the Great War,’ said Huell. ‘He made his fortress at Dun Guaroy on a high crag beside the island of Lindisfarne. We could follow Dere Street, the old Roman road north, but that would attract too much attention. So, we keep heading east until we reach the coast, and then follow the sea until we reach Ida’s stronghold. If the princess is anywhere, she is there.’
‘But didn’t King Urien say that it is this new Saxon warlord, Octha, who captured the princess?’ said Arthur, and then immediately regretted opening his mouth as Huell shot him a baleful frown.
‘When I want the opinion of a lackbeard boy yet to blood his blade, I will ask.’
‘Are Octha and Ida allies or enemies?’ asked Serwil. He chewed on a piece of rabbit meat and eyed Arthur carefully.
‘During the feast, Ector discussed these matters with King Urien, and all we know is that Ida and Octha have formed an alliance to conquer new lands and establish a new Saxon kingdom. Octha did not bring his warriors to our shores for nothing. He means to make himself a king.’
‘They are settling here. Bastards want to breed us out of our own lands,’ said Nyfed, and he stared around at each man, making sure they understood the weight of his words. ‘Which is why the druids have stirred themselves from Ynys Môn, and why this quest of ours is so important. We must strike at the Saxons; show them we can penetrate deep into their stolen lands. Whilst Ector fights them in battle, we strike at the very heart of their new lands like a spear thrust to the Saxons’ hearts.’
‘Saxon dogs,’ said Rhys, a wiry man with corded muscle on his thin arms. He made the sign of Annwn with his fingers to ward off the Saxon evil, and then crossed himself so as not to anger God.
‘We start at Dun Guaroy,’ said Huell. ‘Many of our people are slaves in those lands, so we will ask the folk in the fields and on the coast if they have heard of a captured princess from across the sea. Octha will want men to know that he captured Guinevere. It makes him famous, and men will know a ransom is coming his way. Warriors and bucellari flock to rich lords, war and silver to a warrior is like firelight to a fly. Slaves will have heard the talk from their Saxon masters, and that is how we shall find the princess.’
‘You are more cunning than you look,’ said Nyfed, and Huell winked at him and spat through the gap in his teeth. The war band laughed and talk shifted to more mundane matters, such as which of their wives was the worst cook, and then Cynfan tried to stump them with riddles. His father had been a bard, and so Cynfan was fair famed for the riddles he learned from his father and was often called upon to test the warriors’ cleverness. Arthur watched Huell in the firelight and wondered if the brutal warrior was indeed more cunning than he seemed, for his plan seemed practical. There was little sense in following the Roman road, the principal thoroughfare linking Bernicia with Deira and the south. That route would be busy with folk travelling north and south, merchants trading furs, amber, iron, copper, bronze and even amphorae of wine from across the sea. News would quickly reach the Saxons of a Briton war band heading north, armed with spears and shields, and Huell’s war band needed to avoid trouble before they found Princess Guinevere.
Talk dwindled once the meal was over, and it was a dark night with only a sliver of moon in the sky. The men lay back on their riding blankets and covered themselves with their cloaks to bed down for the night. Arthur lay with his spear next to him and just as he was about to close his eyes, he caught Huell glowering at him across the fire.
‘There will be battle on this journey, bastard,’ Huell said, pointing a thick finger at Arthur. ‘When it does, we shall need every spear sharp and ready to strike. If you fail us, if you shirk or run, you leave us a man down. I did not want you with this war band, and I said so to Ector. If I catch you shirking when the Saxons come for us with their broken-backed blades, their wild savagery, their axes and their hate, I’ll kill you myself.’
Arthur turned away and closed his eyes, under no doubt that Huell spoke the truth. It was a chilly night, but Arthur slept deeply, having not slept at all the previous night spent beside the ailing Queen Igraine. He woke early and took the strip of leather he used to tie his hair at the nape of his neck and cut it into two thinner pieces with his knife. Arthur used one piece to tie his hair again and threaded the other through the small hole at the top of his bronze dragon disc. He tied the leather thong around his neck and hid the disc beneath his tunic. At first it was cold against the top of his chest, but then there came a warmth from wearing the charm close to his skin and Arthur hoped it would bring him luck.
The war band rose before the sun crept fully over the sprawling mountains and they set off westwards, skirting the summit of a peak which seemed scorched by fire, black, bleak and devoid of trees, grass, heather or bracken. Huell led them around to the eastern side of the mountain and Nyfed believed they would see the sea before nightfall. Huell ordered a break to rest the horses when the sun reached its highest point on its westward journey and the war band stopped beside a babbling brook. The horses drank the cool mountain water, and the war band ate leftovers from last night’s meal. Once the horses had recovered, they rode down the mountainside, avoiding scree and loose rock, and stayed in the areas where the land was dusted with bracken or heather.
A sparrowhawk soared above them on the breeze and Arthur followed its flight as the bird searched for prey on the high slopes. The sun began its downward journey and Huell searched for a place to camp for the night. He led the war band into a copse beside a broken-down timber shack which must have belonged to a shepherd or goatherd, but the wood was so weathered and its roofless walls so broken that it could not have been used for a generation or more. Arthur’s horse shied as they entered the clutch of trees, and he patted her muscular neck. An animal rustled in the undergrowth and scampered away unseen.
‘I have a riddle for you,’ said Serwil, slowing his horse and ducking beneath a low bough. The men groaned because Serwil was not renowned as a deep thinker. ‘At night they come out without being fetched, and by day they are lost without being stolen.’
‘The answer is stars. My grandmother told me that one when I was still at my mother’s tit,’ said Rhys, to guffaws. They rounded a twisted hawthorn tree and suddenly went quiet. Arthur kept his horse moving forward, but Huell and others stopped dead, staring ahead with open mouths.
‘God help us,’ Kai whispered as he and Arthur came around the twisted hawthorn branches. Fifteen Saxon warriors sat in a clearing between the trees. They crouched around two men trying to light a fire with flint and steel. They were big men with fur at their necks and shoulders, some with golden hair and blue eyes and others with dark, braided beards. The Saxons were making camp in the trees, just as the Rheged men were about to. Two enemy war bands had, by some cruel twist of fate or fell-luck, stumbled across each other. The Saxons rose slowly, and their eyes flickered to a stack of spears resting against a tree trunk, surrounded by a dozen large shields covered with leather and bossed with iron. The Saxons outnumbered the Rheged men. They were filthy and smeared with dirt from hard marching. Arthur had never seen a Saxon warrior before, and they were not so different to his own people, save that they wore furs about them and strange amulets around their necks. They had come across the wild sea in their warships, braving the terror of high waves and sea storms to reach Britain’s shores. They came for land, wealth, women and glory, and their brutal, ancient gods demanded blood and war.
A big Saxon with a milky eye dropped his hand to the axe at his belt and Huell snarled. Huell cocked his arm and threw his spear at shocking speed. The spear thumped into the Saxon’s chest and sent him sprawling backwards into the undergrowth.
‘Dismount! Arm yourselves!’ Huell roared and leapt from his horse, drawing his shining sword in one fluid motion. A man cannot fight on horseback. There is nothing for his feet to grip or brace against, and so men always fought on foot. Arthur slid from his horse, already holding his spear, and in a heartbeat the forest’s calm erupted into a welter of shouting, of iron, steel and wood clanking together. A Saxon threw an axe, a short-hafted thing with a curved blade. It turned head over haft in the wan forest light and chopped into Dunod’s face with a wet slap. Dunod fell, his head a horror of blood, bone and mangled flesh. Huell charged at them, his bright sword held high and his war cry terrible. The rest of the war band followed him, and Arthur charged with them. He gripped his spear with two hands and followed Kai as he swerved to the right, towards the Saxons’ left flank. The enemy had no time to retrieve their spears or shields and they met the Rheged men with axes and the wicked bladed seaxes, which gave the Saxon people their name.
Kai roared and charged with his spear levelled. He dashed towards the rightmost Saxon, a young man with a short beard and an axe in his fist. Arthur’s boots crunched on fallen leaves and twigs and his heart thundered, blood rushing in his ears. He aimed for the next warrior over from Kai’s man, another young Saxon with a golden beard and a hatchet-hard face. That warrior bared his teeth and spat a curse at Arthur in the Saxon tongue. He held a seax, a single-edged knife as long as a man’s forearm, with a long tapering point. Arthur reached him without slowing and aimed his spear at the enemy’s chest. The Saxon parried the attack with his seax, and as Arthur’s momentum drove him forward, the Saxon tripped him, sending Arthur sprawling in the bracken.
Arthur turned, gasping with fear, just in time to see the seax swinging for his neck. He brought his spear up and caught the blade on the spear stave with a loud crack and kicked the Saxon’s legs from under him. The fight raged around him, weapons clashing, men screaming and bellowing as each tried to kill the other. Kai fought with a Saxon, their weapons flashing as they moved around each other, seeking the killing blow. In the blink of an eye, Arthur remembered Ector’s lesson at the villa. That savagery was as important as skill in a fight to survive. So Arthur surged forwards. He dropped his spear and dragged his long knife free of the sheath at his belt and leapt upon the fallen Saxon.
The Saxon scrambled to his feet and was in a half-crouch as Arthur slammed into him. Both men fell to the forest floor, rolling and thrashing in the leaf mulch and rotting branches. The Saxon grunted and his elbow cracked against Arthur’s head. He ducked and drove his knee into the Saxon’s groin and stabbed his knife upwards, but the Saxon blocked it with his seax. As Arthur struggled for space, the enemy pressed Arthur’s head into his chest, forcing the stink of sweat and leather into Arthur’s nose. The seax point flicked at Arthur’s neck and drew a trickle of blood and, with his free hand, Arthur reached up and clawed at the Saxon’s face. He yanked Arthur’s hand away and Arthur bucked, raising his head to free himself of the suffocating stink, but the seax point ripped across his cheek and chin like a white-hot whip. Be savage, you will die here unless you can kill this man. Somewhere around Arthur, a warrior shrieked like a demon and another warrior roared his war-fury like a bear, or like Balor, the Demon King of legend.
A calm descended over Arthur in that moment, taking him into another part of himself, like sleep takes a man into the dream world. Ector’s words were with him, burned into his mind. Arthur heard himself growling and shouting like a man possessed, and his heart pounded, filling his limbs with strength. Arthur planted his boots in the earth and drove his head upwards, cracking off the Saxon’s chin, and he pulled his head back and butted the Saxon full in the face. He twisted to get away from the pain as Arthur’s forehead crushed his nose into a bloody pulp and Arthur pressed his forearm into the Saxon’s neck, leaning on it with his chest. The man choked and thrashed at Arthur with his free hand, and his seax sliced into Arthur’s shoulder, tearing through his jerkin to slice his flesh. But Arthur’s knife hand was free, his arm low at the Saxon’s waist and Arthur drove it upwards, piercing the enemy warrior’s side and pushing the sharp blade into the man’s flesh. He felt resistance and pushed harder. He was above the Saxon, staring into his eyes which grew wide with horror as he felt cold iron slicing into his body. Arthur pushed again, and the blade hit the solid bone of a rib, so he twisted the knife, ripped it free and pushed into the Saxon’s guts. He could feel blood warm and wet against his own midriff, but not his blood. The Saxon screamed, his breath stinking of milk and onions.
The Saxon’s hand grabbed Arthur’s face, an unnatural strength in the fingers as the man fought for his life. His nails scratched Arthur’s cheeks like an eagle’s talons, and he hooked a finger into Arthur’s mouth, trying to rip his cheek open like a fish hook. Arthur twisted his head away and bit down hard on the filthy finger until he could taste blood. The hand came away, but grabbed his gullet, squeezing and choking Arthur. Arthur stabbed again twice in two short bursts into the Saxon’s guts, and the hand fell away. It was a vicious fight, and Arthur stared into his enemy’s eyes, which were wide and dilated. The Saxon’s mouth contorted and his teeth ground together so hard that one of them shattered like rotten wood.
Arthur pulled himself free of the dying man, but the seax darted upwards and cut Arthur’s forearm. Just as Ector had warned him, a man doesn’t die easily and Arthur fell upon the Saxon again, stabbing him in the neck and chest repeatedly with his long knife until fiery blood splashed his face and the enemy lay dead. Arthur stood, caught in the grip of battle calm. Kai still fought his man, both circling each other wearily, sweat drenching their faces. Arthur knelt and picked up his spear and as the Saxon warrior parried a thrust from Kai’s weapon, Arthur charged and sunk its leaf-shaped point into the Saxon’s side. Kai turned in surprise, but Arthur left the spear and kept moving. Rhys lay on the ground with a bloody gash in his neck. Dark blood oozed there like a black pool, and his eyes stared lifelessly at the heavens. Huell fought against three Saxons, and two more lay dead at his feet. Arthur bent and picked up a fallen seax and dashed to Huell’s side with a weapon in each fist. The first Saxon saw him coming and lunged a long spear point at Arthur’s face, but he parried the blow, driving the spear across the man’s body, and stabbed the seax into his heart without hesitation. The countless days of weapons practice made Arthur’s blades move without him thinking. He was like water pouring over rocks, finding his way through the battle naturally, following its contours and shifting with its dangers.
Huell opened a Saxon’s throat, the third Saxon licked his lips, turned and ran. Huell dropped to one knee, exhausted from the battle. Arthur took a spear from the man he had stabbed through the heart, took two steps, and threw it overhand at the running man. The blade took him between the shoulder blades, and he fell into a clutch of dark brown bracken.
‘For Rheged!’ shouted Huell between gasps, and the surviving members of his war band responded with three clipped roars.
