'How many are left?' I asked, dreading the answer. But I had to know.
'More than you think.'
'How many?'
Two divisions – almost.'
'The kings?'
'Maglos and Ceredig are dead. Ennion is sorely wounded; he will not live. Custennin is dead.'
'Myrddin?'
'He is well. Do you know – when the battle began he climbed up on the wall and stood there the whole night with his staff raised over us. He upheld us through the battle, and prayed the victory for us.'
'What of Gwalchavad? He was near me when the battle began, but I lost him… So much confusion.'
'Gwalchavad is unharmed. He and Llenlleawg are searching the bodies.'
'Oh,' I said, though his meaning at the moment escaped me.
We walked a little down the hill and I saw others moving about, slowly, carefully, picking their way sombrely among the silent dead. As we approached the wall there came a shout from behind us up the hill. Gwalchavad and Llenlleawg had found what they were looking for.
We turned and made our way to where they stood. I saw the skull-and-bones standard lying beneath the body and knew what they had found.
Arthur rolled the body with the toe of his boot. Cerdic gazed up into the empty sky with empty eyes. His throat was a blackened gash and his right arm was nearly severed above the elbow. His features had hardened into a familiar expression: the insolent sneer I had so often seen on him – as if death were an insult to his dignity, a humiliation far beneath him.
He was surrounded by his Saecsen guard. All had died within moments of each other – whether in the first or last assault no one could tell; no one had seen him die. But Cerdic was dead, and his treachery with him.
'What are we to do with him?' asked Gwalchavad.
'Leave him,' said Arthur.
'He is a Briton,' Gwalchavad insisted.
'And he chose this place for his tomb when he made war against me. No one forced him to it – it was his own choice. Let him lie here with his barbarian kin.'
Already men were removing the bodies of our comrades for burning. As a witness and warning to all future enemies, the corpses of the barbarians would be left where they had fallen. They would not be buried. So Arthur decreed; so was it done.
The westering sun stretched our shadows long on Baedun's hillside as the funeral flames licked the wooden pyre on which was placed the bodies of our countrymen. Priests of Mailros Abbey prayed and sang psalms, walking slowly around the burning pyre with willow branches in their hands.
Myrddin walked with them, holding a thorned length of rose cane before him. The rose, called Enchanter of the Wood, signified honour in druid lore, the Emrys explained; and to the Christians it symbolized peace. Peace and honour. These brave dead had earned both.
The ashes were glowing embers and twilight softly tinted the sky when we finally left Baedun Hill. We did not go far for we were tired and sore, and the wagons bearing the wounded could not travel any great distance before dark. But Arthur would not stay another night beside that hill, so we went back through the wood to the lake where we had baptized our sword brothers and consecrated ourselves for battle.
There beside its placid waters we made our camp and slept under a peaceful sky in the Region of the Summer Stars.
BOOK THREE
ONE
In the day of strife, the heathen swarms gazed across the wave-worried sea to this green and pleasant land and coveted the wealth of Britain. Their oar-blades churned the bright water in their haste to forsake their wretched shores and despoil ours. Of bloodshed and battle, plunder and pillage, rape and ravage, death and destruction, flames and fear and failure, there was no end.
Great the disgrace, the lords of Britain were no better. Full many a petty king ruled in this worlds-realm, and ever waging war each upon the other wasted all the land – till Arthur came.
Scoff if you will! Mock me, viper's brood! But the Kingdom of Summer was founded on the rock of Jesu's holy name.
Do I not know the truth? Does a bard forget his tales? Well, I was a bard. I was a warrior, too. I am a learned man. Aneirin ap Caw is my name – though now I am known by a name of my own choosing.
I was bom in the year ofBaedun. Therefore I am a man of fortunate birth, for I began life in that happy time when all wars ceased and peace greatly abounded in this worlds-realm.
Baedun… a word for triumph in any tongue. At Baedun's summit, the Duke of Britain halted the slaughter in what the bards now deem foremost of the Three Great Battles of Ynys Prydein. I tell you the victory was not yet one day old when Arthur retired to the ruined chapel at Mailros to pray thanks for the Almighty Father's deliverance.
Arthur, High King of All Britain; Pendragon of Rheged, Celyddon, Gwynedd, Dyfed and the Seven Favoured Isles; Emperor of Alba and Lloegres, Bear of Britain; Arthur of the Double Crown, of whom perpetual choirs sing.
Not many alive today realize the significance of this: Arthur was crowned twice. The first time on a hill above his northern capital at Caer Edyn; the second time in the south at Londinium. Both crown-takings were conducted before God in a rightwise manner and in all holiness. But each was different from the other as gold from grain.
The reason for two king-makings? Simple necessity. 'I am king of all, or king of none,' Arthur declared. 'North and south have been separated too long. In me, they are united.' To prove his word he had himself crowned conspicuously in both regions so that neither could claim superiority over the other as had been done in elder times.
His king-making in Caer Edyn was all a prince could hope for. But his crown-taking in Londinium nearly incited a riot in that arrogant city. Alas, it was but the first of the troubles to come! Arthur, King of Summer, who bought peace for Britain with his own toil and sweat and blood, was not to know a moment's peace himself.
Listen well, you dull of hearing. Heed the truth, you slow of understanding. Here is a tale worth the telling, a true tale, The Song of the Summer Lord. Hear and remember! This is the way of it…
Coming up from the Vale of Twide and Baedun, Arthur and the remnant of the Cymbrogi rode to Caer Edyn. High summer it was; full-leafed, green and golden, blue and clear the sky, calm the sea. The dark smoke-clouds of war had dissolved and now only God's pure light shone upon Britain.
Of course, it would be some time before they realized this. All these battle-weary warriors knew was that the fighting had ended for the year. They did not know that Arthur had led them to their greatest victory; they did not ween it a victory for the entire world. They only knew there would be no more battles that summer.
Lord Ectorius feasted the victors at his table. Three days and three nights they tasted the firstfruits of peace. But even then Arthur's spirit was being revealed. In the presence of his trusted Cymbrogi, Our Lord the Christ showered his favour upon Arthur, and those around him marvelled greatly to see it.
On the shoulders of his warriors Arthur was borne out from Ector's fortress and carried up to the top of the rock that now bears his name. There he was given to sit on a throne of living stone and the remnant of his warband passed before him one by one and pledged their lives to him. The kings of Britain who had endured with him drew their swords and laid them at his feet; they stretched themselves upon the ground before him and Arthur placed his foot upon their necks and became king over them.
The Cymbrogi, also, brought their spears and laid them down before Arthur. They knelt and stretched forth their hands to touch his feet and swore fealty to him upon their lives. He took them to be his subjects and they took him for lord.