Warriors of Camlann Page 12

  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.

  Taliesin walked over to stand beside Brother Frontalis, and all muttering ceased: ‘Let us pray for our land and all that is sacred in it. Let us pray by all that is sacred that a leader will be chosen, joined, wedded, made one with Britannia, our Island of the Mighty, and we its people.’

  After a long pause Taliesin spoke again.

  ‘I propose that Arturus Ursus, son of King Uther of Pengwern and Ygraine of Dumnonia, Dux Bellorum of Britannia, should be High King of Britannia. Who agrees?’

  Was it Ursula’s imagination or did Arturus look a little startled to be named as ‘Arturus Ursus’? No one commented as one by one the rulers spoke.

  ‘I, Meirchion of Rheged, Count of Britannia, agree and pledge my sword and my men to his service in the defence of Britannia.’

  ‘I, Medraut of Ceint, Count of the Saxon Shore, agree and pledge my sword and men to his service in the defence of Britannia.’

  It took a long time. At some point Larcius made his pledge. Ursula did not meet his eyes. She did not know if he had thought she would act otherwise for, indeed, it seemed to her that he would have made a better High King than Arturus, but who was she to stand against history?

  Ursula dared not relax her grip on Cerdic and she was relieved when Arturus stood to acknowledge their words – it was a sign that maybe the meeting might soon end.

  Arturus walked to the centre of the circle of men, and t
hen prostrated himself towards each quarter of the circle in turn.

  ‘As our Lord washed the feet of his followers, so I promise to be your servant, to act only for the good of Britannia and for her people. I thank you for trusting me, and I promise you I will not betray that trust.’

  Arturus stood up. Ursula was a little taken aback by his self-abasement, and by the startled expression she saw on some of the other faces, she was not the only one. She earnestly hoped that they had not made a terrible mistake in choosing Arturus over Larcius.

  ‘It saddens me that my first act as High King must be to stand in judgement over my mother’s eldest son, Gorlois Cerdic. I would not take up this sacred office with blood on my hands, so my judgement is this: King Gorlois Cerdic of Dumnonia is to sacrifice his lands and crown to the High King, and pledge to use his skills as a soldier and horseman to lead and train the Cavalry of Camulodunum and be their Commandant.’

  Many of those present looked displeased. It was not tactful of Arturus to have immediately added to his personal wealth and status by taking land from his brother.

  Arturus continued. ‘As a sign of the love and respect in which I held his father, I grant the title of King of Dumnonia to Larcius Ambrosius, for as long as he shall live, after which it shall revert to my brother’s heirs. As Larcius is the son of my lord, Ambrosius Aurelianus, whom I so deeply mourn, it is my dearest wish that we two might work together for the good of Britannia.’

  That was better. Ursula released her hold on Cerdic. In spite of her greater height there was something incongruous about seeing a comparatively slender woman restraining the heavily built warrior.

  Cerdic knelt before King Arturus. ‘I thank you for your clemency. I, Gorlois Cerdic, son of Tanicus Cerdic of Dumnonia and Ygraine, once of Calchfynedd, lay my sword and life at your service.’

  Ursula loosened the muscles of her arm and shoulder and took her place beside the new king. She was at the court of King Arthur, and it was not at all what she had expected.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The decision to choose Arturus as High King changed everything – fast. Bishop Petrus recovered sufficiently to officiate at a small formal oath-taking ceremony at which the High King’s status was confirmed, and Arturus and Gwynefa were married. There was surprisingly little fuss. Arturus was a practical man and too concerned with the coming campaign against the Aenglisc to permit himself to be distracted. The various kings and civic leaders left Camulodunum at dawn the day after the ceremony. They were escorted by their private retinues, their wagons and their men at arms, fully armoured and prepared for trouble. Camulodunum was close to the occupied territories and the risk of an ambush was high. Perhaps the other rulers of safer territories needed to be reminded of the imminent danger. Either way, none left before promising grain, cattle, horses, weapons and men to swell the ranks of the Combrogi. Arturus hoped to raise a force of more than a thousand men to occupy the fort at Mons Badonicus in readiness for the Aenglisc onslaught. It was not a large force by the standards of their ancestors but it was enough to pose considerable logistic problems. Such issues kept Arturus cloistered in the Commander’s room at the barracks, poring over maps and supply lists and the precious handwritten, vellum copy of the Roman military manual by Vegetius that had belonged to Ambrosius’s own father. Medraut spent long hours debating strategy, until it was agreed that he would stay with a minimal force, so that should the Aenglisc mount an opportunistic attack on Camulodunum or his own fort of Dumnoc neither would be left undefended.

  Taliesin was concerned. In his view, Arturus was not playing the role of Celtic High King sufficiently. He was failing to dispense gifts and hospitality – failing to spend time with the men, failing to win their loyalty.

  To compensate for Arturus’s absence Taliesin insisted that Ursula trained with the cavalry troops during the day and mixed with the military commanders at mealtimes and during the evening entertainments. He insisted that she learn the names of the men, their interests, and their strengths. It was not an arduous task. She enjoyed the training, riding with the long lance, learning how to fire an arrow at a target from horseback. She loved the feeling of fitness and strength that was Boar Skull’s inheritance. It was so different from the way she had felt at home. Larcius was often around, though she found his presence unsettling. Ursula had spent time enough with warriors to handle herself like one of the men. It was easier for them to look at her as some kind of precociously gifted boy rather than as a woman and she did nothing to make that more difficult. Larcius had the good sense not to treat her as he treated Gwynefa, with endless complicated compliments that made her laugh, but it was hard for Ursula to deny that she was a woman when he was near. She was not entirely sure that she wanted to. She missed Dan, though, all the time.

  Dan stayed out of everyone’s way, sequestered in the chapel with Brother Frontalis or talking with Taliesin. He had become a semi-nocturnal figure, sleeping in the small room at the back of the chapel for much of the day and only emerging after dark to talk to the night sentries. He also exercised in Combrogi fashion, silently, alone in the training ground when all but the watch slept.

  Ursula was hurt by his avoidance of her. She tried to meet his mind but it was closed to her, so instead she waited for him outside the chapel – a small ambush of her own. She waited a long time. When Dan finally emerged, she noticed that he moved heavily like a much older man, like a man in pain.

  ‘Dan,’ she said softly, ‘why are you avoiding me? Why are you hiding like some kind of freak in the shadows?’

  ‘You know why.’

  Ursula looked puzzled.

  ‘It’s not you, Ursula, but I can’t stand people anymore, not when I have to feel their fears, their bitterness – it’s all more than I can bear. And for a couple of nights now I’ve been sharing their dreams.’ He shuddered and lifted haunted eyes towards her.

  ‘I don’t think I can deal with much more of it, Ursula. I need to find Rhonwen and beg her to raise the Veil. She has no particular enmity towards me. I’ve got to get home – get back to normal.’

  ‘You’d try and get home without me?’ Ursula was shocked.

  ‘You seem happy and you’re important. All the soldiers in the camp hang on your every word. The Lady Ursa is everybody’s idol. There are men in the barracks who dream about you every night – you’d be shocked.’

  ‘And this makes you think that I wouldn’t want to go home?’ Ursula’s voice was dangerous.

  ‘Well, at least you’re having a better time than me.’

  Ursula could feel her temper flare. ‘You sound like a spoilt—’

  ‘What, Ursula? What do I sound like? Like you would know! You have no idea.’

  Her punch arrived at the speed of thought, but Dan dodged it anyway, and before he knew what he was doing he had bunched his own fist. His father had drummed it into him as a small child that he should never ever hit a girl, but he found that Ursula did not count. She had the power of a Celtic warrior in her fists. His own fury temporarily blocked out his awareness of her feelings, so he was taken by surprise when a second punch made contact. That was it. He attacked Ursula like a wild animal, kicking and punching – she was nowhere near as agile as he was and she took it for a while, until a blow from her right fist sent him reeling backwards into the wall of the chapel and Brother Frontalis.

  ‘My children! What in the name of our Blessed Lord is going on?’

  Ursula stood up, bruised and bleeding. She felt like a schoolgirl again – ashamed and awkward.

  ‘Not exactly a fight for heroes,’ Brother Frontalis said dryly.

  Dan stood up and shook his head.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ursula.’ He knew every place where he had hurt her, he could feel the sting of the abrasions and, worse still, he knew she felt betrayed. He looked up to see her eyes were no longer angry but moist and injured looking. He allowed himself to hear her voice in his mind.

  ‘You are my friend – you were oath-bound to help me. You wo
uld have left me – here alone – how could you?’

  ‘Ursula, I’m so sorry.’

  Dan did not know if the lump in his throat was because he’d hurt her and he was sorry or because he’d hurt her and he knew exactly how it felt for her, but when he went to hug her and she hugged him back, the tears flowed. It was a relief to hold on to Ursula and let all his fear and horror of the past few days wash away. She felt the same way and there was no shame among the Combrogi in showing emotion. Ursula clung to him as if he was the only stable thing in an unstable universe.

  ‘Dan don’t leave me – promise you won’t. I’ve hated not talking to you these last few days. I don’t want to be the Lady Ursa – I just want to be Ursula. I want to see my mum again. Please don’t even think of leaving me again!’

  ‘I won’t. I won’t. I’m sorry. It’s all wrong, all this feeling other people’s feelings makes me selfish – you wouldn’t expect that would you. I promise I won’t leave you.’

  Dan stepped away from her, though he kept hold of her hand as he wiped his streaming nose on the back of his other hand.

  Ursula pulled a face.