Warriors of Camlann (15 page)

Ursula stood on the parapet and watched the dust rise like a mist to mask the approach of some five hundred mounted men plus their baggage carts, servants, wives, and camp followers. It was a breathtaking sight, even through the haze of dust. Each man was dressed in a conical helmet and an elbow-length coat of scaled armour. Some shimmered blue-green and seemed to be of horn, others were of red lacquer or the rich brown of rawhide, and some few wore metal armour. Most of the horses were similarly apparelled with bronze or red-lacquered head guards and mail skirts that protected their chests and sides. The men also wore tunics and trews of Celtic brilliance: greens, reds and yellows only
dimmed by dust and mud. They carried sheathed swords and light bows across their back as well as the long slender lance, the kontos, favoured by horsemen. As far as Ursula could see many were unusually dark-skinned and dark-eyed, though she spotted some with the light eyes and dark skin that so distinguished Gwynefa. King Meirchion Gul of Rheged, Gwynefa's father, rode at the head of his troop, a tall, lean-looking man, notable for his elaborate golden helmet and metal armour. Next to him rode standard bearers carrying great red-and-gold dragons – these Sarmatian dracos were an infinitely more impressive version of a wind-sock. The wind blew through the open maw of each dragon so that its long, hollow body was inflated and it undulated like a live creature in the breeze. It was an awe-inspiring sight – the proud stance of the riders carrying their decorated lances, the horses riding three abreast in a column that extended as far back as the eye could see. The sound they made was deafening, not just the pounding of the horses' hooves against the stone road but the animal snorting, breathing and occasional whickering of five hundred weary horses, the clatter of mail and weapons and the jingle of harnesses. It continued long after the first arrivals were safely stabled in the barracks' mews or housed in the temporary shelters that had been erected on the parade ground. According to Taliesin these Cataphracts were descendants of the
Sarmatians who arrived in Britannia from the far reaches of the Roman Empire. They had intermarried with the local women and a substantial number of them chose to remain when the rest of the troops left Britannia. The armour and the technique of training and breeding the horses had been passed on down the generations and were part of a unique heritage. The Cataphracts of old shared their barracks with their horses and their great grandsons prided themselves on keeping to the same tradition. Ursula, breathing in the overpowering stench of hot, damp horses, was inclined to believe him. She took Taliesin's advice and returned to the inn to dress herself in heroic splendour before joining Taliesin at Arturus's villa to greet the leaders of the Cataphracts. She agreed with him that it would be best to make a good impression. She wished she knew where Dan was. She was worried about him and had struggled to see the old Dan in the strained, hooded figure of their last encounter. Her urge to fight something had dissipated suddenly. She felt empty and lonely and too far from home. She was trying to phrase an apology, which was not really an apology – but might persuade Dan to speak to her – when she noticed the extravagantly dressed figure of Larcius hurrying to greet her. Her stomach did that thing again where it seemed to twist and knot her insides to leave her breathless. Larcius was wearing leather scale armour and a fine
purple cloak with some kind of fur collar. His dark hair was clean and he smelled fragrantly of spices.

‘My dear Lady Ursa, might I escort you to the War Duke's presence?'

At a loss for words, Ursula smiled her assent. Her palms felt suddenly hot and the sheepskin fez she was wearing under her helmet caused small beads of perspiration to form on her forehead. Larcius chatted lightly about the Cataphracts and their great skill as horsemen, not unlike Ursula's own ability. Her leap from her own horse to Gawain's was now famous.

‘You will like King Meirchion Gul – his is very much a Celtic kingdom. He prizes strong women, and Gwynefa is the light of his life.'

‘You know him?'

‘I know everybody. He and my father were allies. After my mother died I often stayed with them in Rheged. I've known Gwynefa almost since she was born.'

‘She is very beautiful,' Ursula offered, half expecting one of Larcius's elaborate compliments for her own beauty to follow.

‘Yes. She is,' he said shortly and changed the subject. ‘You will, of course, be voting at the Council of Britannia tomorrow?'

‘Will I?'

‘As a Celtic hero you will surely help choose the new
High King at the Council of Britannia tomorrow. Arturus is still here and not mounting campaigns from his castle at Cado as he would prefer it because he is a candidate.'

‘I don't understand – who is the choice between?'

‘Well, the main contenders are Meirchion, Medraut, Cerdic and Arturus. But if Arturus marries Gwynefa, King Meirchion will waive his right and back Arturus. Medraut, well, he's not very popular, and the fact that half his kingdom is in enemy hands doesn't help his cause. Then Cerdic of Dumnonia, he's the elder half-brother to Arturus so …' he shrugged, ‘who knows? Of the others, many are young or too old and don't have the standing yet, though Agricola of Dyfed shows promise, and then there's
me
, the great Ambrosius's son,' Larcius said with a sardonic smile.

A heavily laden horse and cart wobbled in their direction and he placed a protective arm round Ursula's waist. It made her feel uncomfortable.

‘Well, my lady, be sure that even if I were High King you would always be Queen of my grateful heart.'

Ursula was distracted from his words by a glimpse of a man in dark robes, running from the villa.

‘Larcius, thank you for your company, but I need to go. Please give my apologies to the Duke. I will be back soon.'

She extricated herself from his arm and ran in the direction of the dark-robed figure. It had to be Dan and she had to speak to him.

Ursula failed to find Dan in spite of her best efforts. He did not return to the inn that night, but when the call came to attend the Council of Britannia he arrived, pale and haunted looking, to take his place in Arturus's hall. It was an odd meeting. All the furniture had been removed – the Roman-style couches and small tables bearing wine. Everyone sat in a circle on the mosaic floor, like small children at school assembly. Various elaborately dressed people spoke, apparently randomly, about the purpose of kingship and the pride of the people. No one spoke in Latin, which was awkward, as for many it was clearly their native tongue, and Ursula squirmed with embarrassment at the mangling some of those present gave the familiar language of the Combrogi. It was dull beyond description to listen to the endless round of self-congratulatory speeches, and her mind drifted. She watched Larcius and admired his handsome profile. Arturus looked sour and said little,
Taliesin looked bored, and Dan looked tortured. She wanted to reach out to him and find his mind, but what could she say? She fidgeted with her sword belt and traced the pattern of the round medallions of Roman designs that were woven into her tunic. It was somewhat worse than double physics on a Friday afternoon.

Then Arturus clapped his hands and servants brought out the best ale and Taliesin brought out his harp. Ursula felt her scalp prickle as Taliesin used all his skill to change the atmosphere of the room. There was little enough real magic in it, just enough to taunt Ursula, to remind her of what she had lost, but Taliesin's musical talent had if anything increased. The tune he played was familiar, redolent of Macsen's great hall, but the words were new. She recognised them with a shock. The bard was singing of the Battle of Craigwen, the battle in which she and Dan had helped to save King Macsen and the Combrogi from the Ravens. Ursula met Dan's eyes and he pulled a face. He was clearly as embarrassed as she was to hear their role in the battle sung of in such heroic terms, but his face looked less anguished as if Taliesin's last remnants of magic had eased his discomfort, salved the rawness of his sensitivity.

Afterwards, Taliesin introduced Dan and Ursula to the assembled crowds, though there was no one present who had not already heard the story of their exploits. Taliesin invited them to sit at either side of Arturus, as
his honoured guests. Perhaps it was Taliesin's revenge for Larcius's arrogance in arriving in purple, the imperial colour, and upstaging the Duke. As the ale was consumed with customary Celtic rapidity, the real argument began and things began to get interesting. Cerdic was becoming increasingly heated about the significance of his territory and its pre-eminence because of its mines and link with Roman Gaul. As Arturus's elder it became clear he felt the decision should be made on some ground that favoured his claim. The assembled men were watching and listening carefully. Ursula began to feel edgy and to regret that, like all the others, she had been obliged to leave her sword and knife at the door. Her heart began to beat faster. Cerdic had drunk too much and was losing his self-control. Dan had also tensed and his face resumed its worried expression.

Suddenly, Cerdic leapt up, his dagger in his hands, and threw himself at Arturus. Dan and Ursula responded as one, instinct overriding all else. Ursula flung herself at Arturus, knocking him backwards, while Dan tackled Cerdic for the knife. Checking that Arturus was safe, Ursula waited for her opportunity. Dan and Cerdic were rolling around on the ground. No one else was going to intervene – it was sport of a kind and the spectators watched for the outcome with barely concealed glee. Ursula was not risking Dan's life for entertainment. Cerdic had gained the advantage and lay
on top of Dan, gripping his neck firmly with his powerful left hand while straining to gain complete control of the knife with his right. Ursula, relying on her Boar Skull strength, grabbed Cerdic by the neck of his tunic, heaved him backwards and away from the prone and sweating figure of her friend. She kneed Cerdic casually in the groin and twisted the knife from his hand. His strength was no match for hers. She twisted his right arm behind his back and held it there.

‘What would you have me do?' she asked Arturus. She was only vaguely aware of the astonished response from the assembled men. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Medraut's swift intake of breath and something like a smile flit across Taliesin's craggy features. If he had planned this she would kill him.

Dan got to his feet. His neck was red and already bruising from Cerdic's ruthless grip. He clasped Ursula's shoulder in gratitude and moved to check that Arturus was all right. Ursula had never been taught to tackle and Dan was afraid she may have winded Arturus in her enthusiasm.

Arturus got to his feet rather clumsily and addressed the rulers of Britannia.

‘King Gorlois Cerdic has brought a blade into this sacred gathering, the Council of Britannia. What is to be his punishment?'

Cerdic struggled under Ursula's grip. She tightened it
and he grimaced with pain.

Dan, too, looked distressed. ‘
Thanks, Ursula, but please, you're holding him too hard – it's hurting me!'

Ursula loosened her grip marginally and was warmed by Dan's swift smile. Then quite unexpectedly amongst all the muttered chants of ‘Kill him!', Dan spoke.

‘Honoured kings and rulers of Britannia, I would beg for this man's life. I am neither priest nor druid, nor even the Bear Sark any more, but I know that this man's heart is full of remorse – he is shamed and will be loyal to whoever is chosen High King this day. I ask you for mercy.'

There was much mumbling at this. One man, Dan did not know his name, asked, ‘What says the Lady Ursa?'

Once, in Macsen's land, Dan had granted Ursula status by making her the keeper of his sword; here it seemed the tables were turned and she had the opportunity to repay that debt.

Ursula cleared her throat. ‘I will do whatsoever my lord Gawain desires.' She turned to look at Dan with what she thought was an appropriate expression of humility.

‘Perhaps we should leave the final judgement for the High King when he is elected. Is there anyone else who wishes to speak?' Arturus said.

‘It seems from their actions that our heroes support Duke Arturus – is this so?' one of the assembled dignitaries asked.

Dan glanced at Ursula who was once more looking at Larcius, her usual expression altered by some other emotion. He could not bear for her to choose Larcius; he had disliked the man on sight. Dan had not intended to do Taliesin's work for him but the words suddenly came to him.

‘Yes, I support the claim of Duke Arturus to be the High King of Britannia. He bears my sword, Bright Killer, now known as Caliburn, as a sign that he is the one with the strength to defeat the enemies of this land.'

All eyes turned to look at Ursula who was still holding Cerdic in a bone-breaking grip. Her arms were beginning to tire. Larcius was looking at her with a curiously direct gaze. Had he not said that he had some claim to be High King? She remembered that he was the son of the last High King, Ambrosius. Dan looked resolute. She could not contradict him and, more than that, if Arturus were the Arthur of legend he had to be King. Under Larcius's scrutiny she felt her mouth go dry. She licked her lips and hoped that her voice would not squeak.

‘It is as Gawain says. I gave the sword, once Bright Killer, now Caliburn, to Duke Arturus for the defence of this realm. How can he not be High King if he can rid us of the scourge of our enemies?'

There was silence.

Brother Frontalis broke it. ‘In the absence of our
bishop, who is still sick, it is left to me to remind you that we stand at a crossroads in the life of Britannia. Let us kneel and pray that we may be guided in our choice by he who reigns in heaven and by the Holy Spirit.'

Some of the assembled, the pagan elements, started to mutter at Frontalis's words, but most, including Arturus, struggled devoutly to their knees.