Warriors of Camlann Read online

  Dan closed his eyes again to test a growing suspicion. His mind was assaulted by unfamiliar sensations. His left leg ached with an old wound. He stretched muscles that were ox-strong but aching with the stiffness that afflicted them each winter. The hand that held the sword was huge and gnarled by the harshness of an outdoor life. He tested the weight of the blade, a little light but it would serve. The mail shirt and the two layers of clothing he wore underneath it was heavy but comforting. The familiar weight of his helmet made him feel invincible. He felt confident and yet there was fear too. He was glad of it. Living with fear made him what he was. There was no way that a pup, scarcely on the road to manhood, could beat him – Medraut, Count of the Saxon Shore – in a fair fight, and it would be a fair fight, he had promised Arturus.

  Dan opened his eyes, and almost lost his balance with the sudden abrupt change of perspective. His own heart pumped faster, he felt the steely strength of his own youthful limbs, his own lightness and his own explosive energy, barely contained. He was afraid now. He may no longer be a berserker but he had a whole new strain of madness to contend with: he could feel his enemy’s thoughts.

  ‘Gawain? Dan? Are you all right?’ Bedewyr’s face was wrinkled with concern.

  ‘I am well, Bedewyr. Wish me luck!’

  ‘May Cunedos and Mithras grant you victory this day!’

  Dan strode to the centre of the circle of men to face Medraut. He had to get a grip of his hectic fear. He could not fight in this unfocused state. He sought his place of stillness and to his profound relief found it – still and calm and unpolluted by his opponent’s thoughts.

  Medraut was a big man, no taller than Dan himself, but broad and very intimidating. Medraut’s helmet protected his face and skull and even offered some protection to the back of his neck. The mail shirt protected his torso and the leather of his under-tunic protected his upper arm and groin. At first glance Dan stood very little chance at all. He knew from experience that Raven helmets fitted snugly; there was no chance of removing this one without also removing the head that wore it. He did not want to take that option. He also doubted that the poorly fabricated sword was up to such a task – it took a sharp and heavy blade to behead a man. Medraut was circling him warily, his body lowered into a fighting stance.

  Dan prayed that he would not see himself again through this enemy’s eyes – he could not deal with such a dizzying dual perspective. He dropped his right shoulder and adopted the familiar fighting stance, which offered the enemy the least access to his vital organs and the greatest access to his sword. Medraut stabbed forward with his sword and Dan parried it, lightly stepping backwards. He wanted to tire the older man till his joints ached. He was reluctant to attack. He was afraid of feeling the man’s pain. He let Medraut make all the moves, defending himself easily. Dan’s reflexes were lightning quick and in any case he could not quite blot out all awareness of his enemy’s thoughts. He was always aware of Medraut’s next move a heartbeat before it happened.

  The audience were bored. The soldiers started to bang their spears against the ground and shout. Dan longed for the madness, which had always let his unconscious take over. He was not used to thinking in a fight. He had never fought defensively in his life before. He had to make a move. Medraut’s face was red with anger and effort. Dan needed to finish it. He could not be the Bear Sark but he could still be Gawain. He had to forget himself and let his battle-honed instincts take over. He urged himself to let go, to stop thinking. Suddenly, he found the knack of it. It happened in an instant as if someone had flicked a switch and the whole pace of the battle changed. Dan suddenly started to attack. His speed was devastating, the sudden change in pace confused Medraut whose anger was beginning to cloud his judgement as surely as the sweat now dripping into his eyes clouded his vision. Medraut found himself stepping back from the relentless thrusting of Dan’s sword. Twice, Dan almost got through Medraut’s defences. Twice, he was stopped by the older man’s blade at the last moment. The third time Dan sliced through the protective leather tunic and drew first blood. A sharp, stinging sensation reminded him of what he already knew to be true. He would feel every blow in this contest – those he dealt and those he received. He backed off and wiped the sweat from his eyes. Medraut was bleeding freely from his upper thigh but it was a scratch, nothing more, though it initiated a new round of more enthusiastic spear thumping from the crowd. Dan wiped his right hand on his tunic, switching the blade to his left hand. Medraut rushed forward, eager to take him at a disadvantage, except that it was no disadvantage. Medraut thrust forward at his undefended right side as Dan sliced through the exposed under-arm of his opponent with a left-handed thrust and slash. Blood welled and Dan bit his lip against the pain. Medraut swayed but did not fall. Dan knocked the sword from the man’s strong right hand, twisted, and had his own blade to Medraut’s throat. Their eyes were level. Dan experienced another strange moment of double vision: he saw Medraut keeping the fear from his eyes, defiantly refusing to yield to the pain and the recognition of defeat; and he also saw his own eyes, dark and ferocious, staring back. Dan shook his head to dislodge the unwelcome awareness.

  ‘Be sure I can rip out your throat before you can knock the blade from my hand.’ Dan made his voice loud and threatening, but he knew Medraut believed him because it was true. Medraut’s strength was no match for Dan’s swiftness.

  ‘Duke Arturus, I do not want this man’s death on my hands. Do you now believe my claim?’

  The Duke crossed the arena to stand alongside him, and in a very public gesture accepted Dan’s sword and proclaimed, ‘You are very welcome, Daniel Bear Sark. You are all that Taliesin promised.’

  Dan longed to deny that, longed to explain that his old berserker self would never have had to fight so hard for victory. How could he explain that even now as blood dripped down Medraut’s side, Dan felt the man’s wound in his own flesh? He needed to talk to Taliesin. There was too much he did not understand.

  Chapter Nine

  Dan had been guided to the bathhouse; they were not unlike Macsen’s Roman-style baths at Craigwen. Taliesin joined him there. The blue, spiralling, druidic tattoos on his aging, too-thin frame made him resemble some strange exotic lizard. His hair grew long now and like his beard was streaked with grey; only his eyes were unchanged. These differences like so much else in his new situation troubled Dan. Still, it was good to feel the cleansing heat and to wash the bloodstains from his body, which ached with the effort of the fight and hurt where he had hurt Medraut. It was difficult to accept the evidence of his own eyes that his own flesh was whole and uninjured. He felt battered, confused, and more than a little afraid. Only some of the tension left his body in the warmth and quietness of the baths. Taliesin had sent the servants away and had been granted privacy, as a boon of Dan’s victory. Or so it seemed.

  Dan knew he needed to find Ursula but had been assured that a man with the unlikely name of Petronax had been sent to look for her. Dan had not the strength to argue. Bedewyr seemed to believe that Petronax could be trusted. Dan, bone-weary and bewildered, accepted his judgement. Dan would have no chance of finding anyone in the state he was in, of that one small thing he was certain. He had reached the limits of his strength. But it was good to stop for a moment, to rest. He relaxed a little more. Taliesin said nothing but watched Dan with that strange, still intensity of his, and Dan knew he would have to ask, knew that the older man had always been miserly with his secrets. Dan was afraid of what Taliesin might tell him and yet he hated to be ignorant. He tried to keep his tone light as if nothing mattered.

  ‘So, how did you do it then?’

  Taliesin looked at Dan, his expression inscrutable. Dan thought he was afraid, felt it strongly, but could not understand why. What had Taliesin to fear from a question – less, surely, than Dan had to fear from the answer?

  ‘What do you mean, Daniel?’

  ‘How did you leave Macsen’s time after me and end up here before me – wherever here is? It doesn
’t make sense.’

  There was a long pause, several heartbeats, and Taliesin sighed. Dan knew he was gathering his internal resources, fighting his fear. He still did not know why.

  Taliesin’s voice was quiet, undramatic, as if he deliberately eschewed his bardic skill to tell the bald truth. ‘After you left Craigwen, things went well with us. Macsen managed to consolidate his position and there was peace. The loss of Rhonwen played on his mind – whatever else she was and is, she remains his sister and he loves her. He begged me to find a way to get her back and to learn more about the Veil – it had after all proved useful to him, to us. Years passed for me while you and Ursula were outside time, inside the Veil where there is no time. I travelled in search of the remaining druids, to find the secret of raising the Veil. I learned what I could of the fading magic of the druids and their link with the Veil, their knack of calling it and guiding it. I used it to travel to many places in times very different from Macsen’s and my own.’

  Taliesin’s eyes seemed very dark and old to Dan as he listened, excited in spite of himself.

  ‘I saw things – I couldn’t tell you.’ Taliesin gave him a quick glance from under bushier eyebrows than Dan remembered.

  ‘At last, I found a man who could help me – Igris, a philosopher, wiser than any druid, from a people who had explored the potential of the Veil over the ages. He found Rhonwen for me. She was at what he called a “turning point” – a moment in time when big changes depend on small events. He said that the descendants of my people, the Combrogi, were fighting for survival and that Rhonwen was hastening our end.’

  Taliesin looked at Dan again with appeal in his eyes. ‘The prophecy you heard me speak of – that was real. Igris talked in terms I rarely understood, but one night we sat in something like a sacred grove and he explained quite clearly that if no leader emerged to guide us, all that the Combrogi had been, all that we had loved and fought for would not just die, but vanish as if it had never been. That our land, Island of the Mighty, that I love, would be possessed by others. The Bear is the key to our survival but he could not or would not say who The Bear was.’

  ‘What was the prophecy? I heard you say it but I didn’t understand.’

  ‘Igris told me, “As the bear on the high hillside protects the cubs, so The Bear of Ynys Prydein, the Island of the Mighty, protects its own. Remember The Bear and cherish it, for when The Bear is gone the hillside falls.”’

  ‘Well, that could mean anything!’

  Taliesin’s smile was brief and humourless. ‘I don’t think members of his order were supposed to interfere in the ways of the worlds revealed to them through the Veil, though they were allowed to comment – as long as they did it poetically and—’

  ‘Uselessly?’ Dan finished for him.

  Taliesin’s smile was still wan and troubled. ‘My first responsibility was to find Rhonwen and send her back to Macsen. I knew from what Igris had said that she was advancing our destruction by allying herself with our people’s enemies. I found her, begged her to return with me to Macsen. She laughed in my face.’

  His expression was momentarily unreadable but Dan could sense Taliesin’s deep shame. ‘I did not intend to remain here but discovered that I could not leave. I do not understand why but each world we visit through the Veil changes us. There were worlds I visited where my limited and hard-won journeyman magic was very strong, where I could shape-shift as easily as think; while here, I have little gift and that which I have is a strange, fey, capricious thing – different from anything I have ever known.’ Taliesin spread his hands expressively.

  Dan found himself nodding – it was his own experience. He was no longer a berserker here, and Ursula no longer a sorceress. Thinking of Ursula, the anxious knot in his stomach tightened.

  ‘But how – I mean, where were we during all this time?’

  ‘You were caught like a fly in amber, in the Veil. Time only starts again when you are free of it – and I got free while you were still trapped in the timeless Veil. Eventually …’ Taliesin hesitated and Dan could feel his trepidation. ‘I called you here.’

  It took a long moment for Dan to understand, then he felt his face flush hot with fury as the implications of this quiet statement sunk in.

  ‘Wait! Hear me! Let me explain!’ Taliesin reached out to touch his shoulder but Dan jerked his arm away.

  ‘I cannot call the Veil anymore – that power is lost to me, but Igris spoke sometimes about ways in which those who had stepped outside time could always find each other again. I thought I could husband my magic to influence your destination – influence Ursula. I have touched her mind – when we helped her return from her shape-shifting. I knew her and I knew I could find her again, though it took me years to do it.’

  Dan turned away from the bard, not wanting to hear more. He had trusted Taliesin and yet it was he who had prevented them from going home, he who had deliberately brought them to this place. Because of Taliesin he might never see his sister Lizzie or his father again. He was too angry to speak.

  ‘It was not just that I thought Ursula would get me home – after Rhonwen refused to help me. When I thought about what Igris had said I thought I knew what the Combrogi needed. I wanted – still want – to help them.’ Taliesin was pleading with Dan to listen, to understand, to forgive.

  ‘Rhonwen has great influence here with the Aenglisc, and I believe her influence could destroy this island. She plays old games – making alliances with her people’s enemies, as if she had learnt nothing from Macsen. The Combrogi are fragile here, a shadow of what they once were. They were ruled for generations by those we might call Ravens or Romans. When the Roman armies left and many of their senior people were kicked out, the people who remained were Romanised Combrogi, neither one thing nor the other, somehow lacking the strength of either. There were those who rejected Roman ways and wanted to be true to their ancient roots but they lost their influence a generation ago. Their heritage is weakened but these Combrogi are still my people. I feel it and I know Igris was right – there is a turning point here. All they need is a leader to believe in – to revive their spirit.’ Taliesin paused, his eyes alight with sudden passion. ‘I thought Ambrosius might have served to unite them but the hill people, those who clung to older ways, would not follow him and Arturus – well, you have seen him. He is a good general but not a hero. So I tried to rekindle their pride and I did what I had once lived by doing – I told them heroic tales.’

  Dan thought he knew what was coming next. ‘Of Boar Skull and the Bear Sark?’ He couldn’t keep the sneer from his voice.

  ‘Yes, and of Igris’s prophecy because I thought that one of you might be The Bear. Ursula’s name means little bear – while you, Bear Sark, what could be more obvious?’ Taliesin glanced quickly at Dan. ‘And, yes, I admit it, I wanted you to be the answer, for then Ursula might be able to get me home. I know my own weakness and am wise enough to know I’m a fool. I was able to find her in the timeless, frozen moment when you entered the Veil and I called her to me. I sent men to wait for the coming of the Veil. I did not want to work magic too close to Arturus and his bishop, as there are many here who do not think he needs the company of even an apprentice druid like myself. It was a mistake because my men got to you too late. I fear that Rhonwen, sensing the closeness of the Veil, sent men of her own to investigate. Her magic here is all trickery but her affinity with the Veil remains.’

  Dan’s face contorted with horror. ‘Rhonwen! You think Rhonwen has captured Ursula?’

  ‘I don’t know, Dan. I hope not. I’m so sorry. It has all gone wrong, and how could it have gone right when I went against all that I have ever believed in to bring you here. I’ve brought trouble on you, lad, and I never meant for that to happen. I wanted to help these people; I wanted to get home. I was desperate and I was wrong. Can you forgive me? I knew I was wrong as soon as I saw you.’

  Dan was struggling to digest this new piece of information. Rhonwen hated Ursula and Ursula w
ithout her magic was vulnerable. Dan remembered how anguished Ursula had been in the moments before they’d been attacked. He should have had his wits about him, should have paid more attention. He spoke in a terse, hard voice.

  ‘Your plan didn’t work, Taliesin. Ursula has no magic. She can’t raise the Veil, and I’m no longer the Bear Sark. We’re trapped here, all three of us. We none of us can get home.’ Dan was angry beyond reason and in danger of thumping Taliesin who was now an old man. Worse than that he was very afraid he might shame himself by crying tears of fury and frustration. What the hell did Taliesin think he was doing, interfering in all their lives?

  Taliesin let out a low groan of anguish and prostrated himself on the floor. ‘By all that is sacred and holy, by the One, and by my own vows as a bard, I beg your forgiveness, Daniel.’

  Dan looked at him without really seeing him; he had no time for histrionics. ‘Oh get up, Taliesin. As if that is going to make any difference.’

  Taliesin raised his head from the hot floor, and scrambled to his feet. The hypocaust was directly beneath the mosaics of the floor and even for penance it was too hot a place to lie for long. Dan could feel Taliesin’s anguish, feel his guilt as if it were his own. Dan’s empathy was a curse, for he did understand exactly why Taliesin had done what he’d done, just as he knew exactly how earnestly Taliesin now regretted it. There was little point in recriminations. It was done now.

  ‘This is giving me a headache, Taliesin. I can’t forgive you now. Maybe, if Ursula is safe, I will try, but Taliesin, please, leave me out of any of your future schemes for saving whatever world you find yourself in.’

  Taliesin clapped his hand on Dan’s shoulder and forced him into unwilling eye contact. Taliesin’s eyes blazed with fierce conviction.