Cadorius flushed. "Our crops are not yet safely in, for the season is more advanced here in the north than it is in the south, where the harvesting has just reached its peak. The weather is bad as well, unseasonably bad. The hay is already lost, rotting in wet fields, and the rye is thick with ergot from the rain, a total loss. If we don't salvage what we can from the wheat and barley fields and the orchards, the entire south will risk starvation this winter, leaving us weak and unable to defend ourselves at precisely the time the Saxons are threatening our borders. If we hope to keep our people at fighting strength, to hold the Saxons out over the long winter ahead, we must get what remains of the harvest in, leaving precious little in the way of manpower to work on fortifications. Even the toddling children are in the fields.
"My own brothers, Prince Justanus and Prince Solomanus, are strengthening every hill fort in Dumnonia, using women and half-grown lads where necessary to carry out the work, and Meliau, Prince of Cerniw, is rebuilding the walls of our coastal defenses from St. Michael's Mount north to Tintagel, where our cousin Artorius was born." He inclined his head to Artorius, who was frowning, deeply unhappy with the grim picture King Cadorius was painting. "Meliau has been charged with holding the Irish coast," he swept his hand across the oxhide map, indicating the entire western coast of Cornwall, "to prevent the Irish high kings from striking from the west while we are preoccupied with the Saxons to the east."
It was as good an arrangement as could be managed, under the circumstances. Even Idnerth could not find anything further to complain or needle Cadorius about and fell silent, darting dark and dangerous looks at his fellow kings and queens as King Dingad ap Einion of Dunoting named himself and his son, Prince Meuring ap Dingad, followed by King Aricol Lawhir and Prince Vortepor ap Aricol of Dyfed. The king of Ebrauc—modern York and, in several centuries to come, the heart of the Viking Danelaw—rose next.
"I, King Gergust Letlum ap Ceneu ap Coel Hen, and my son Prince Eliffer ap Gergust, will gladly field as large a force as Ebrauc can muster, for the Angles harry our seaports in growing numbers and already the Angles speak of alliance with King Aelle of Sussex, to strike in a pincer movement. Cutha may have mouthed pretty words about a Saxon-Briton alliance against the Angles, but that is all it ever was: pretty words.
"We have intercepted dispatches between them, giving us written proof of their planned cooperative ventures against Briton kingdoms of the eastern coast. Ebrauc will answer Dumnonia's plea for men to help with the fortification of Caer-Badonicus. And Ebrauc will send as many of its lads not yet old enough to fight as can be spared, to help bring in the southern harvest, our own being safely in the barns and granaries. Ebrauc will help and gladly, for if we fail to act together in this crisis, the Saxons and Angles and Jutland Danes will peck us to death like carrion crows, one at a time."
"I, King Masguic Clop ap Gergust of Elmet," the young man next to Gergust spoke up at once, "will also send men with those my father will raise from Ebrauc."
"As will I," the king of Ergyng agreed.
Every gaze in the room rested on Morgana. Brenna gulped nervously as Morgana composed herself to speak. "I, Morgana, daughter of King Gorlois, speak as sovereign queen of Galwyddel and Ynys Manaw. My sons, Prince Gwalchmai ap Lot Luwddoc and Prince Walgabedius ap Lot Luwddoc. With the death of my husband and the election of Ancelotis to the throne of Gododdin until my son Gwalchmai is of age, my responsibility lies with Galwyddel and Ynys Manaw.
"There are serious threats besides the Saxons, which must be considered by this council. Ynys Manaw is an island, very small and vulnerable to Irish invasion. Galwyddel's coast is but twenty miles from the coast of Eire and only a narrow portion of Strathclyde lies between Galwyddel's border and the Irish kingdom of Dalriada, another land which will certainly seek to spread its influence before long.
"Already, Irish raiders have struck the entire western coast of Britain, emboldened by the Irish Scotti clan's successes in Pictish territory. The Picts driven south have killed two of our kings in one week. And now we have insulted Cutha of Sussex, perhaps without meaning such a profound insult," she inclined her head toward Ancelotis in apology, "but the insult will be avenged, do not doubt this for one moment.
"But in our rush to strengthen defenses in the south, we must not forget the threats from the north and the west, as well. If we do not seek alliances to buy time, we will find ourselves fighting all-out war on three fronts, against three enemies, not even counting the raiders from Jutland and Frisia. With that threat added to the others, we find ourselves facing war from every cardinal point on the compass, with battles for survival on all four sides of this great island. I offer apologies to Cadorius, but Galwyddel and Ynys Manaw cannot spare the manpower to fortify Caer-Badonicus, when our own towns are in gravest danger of destruction. Not without seeking treaties of alliance to delay open hostilities long enough to deal with the Saxon threat."
The man next to Morgana spoke with deep bitterness. "I, Meurig ap Caradog, King of Glywssing, know the folly of alliance with pagan outsiders more than most. I rule the kingdom that Vortigern and his son Vortimer after him once ruled, a kingdom they held so cheaply they treated with Saxon swine and called them foederati, rather than the bandits and killers they are. I, for one, will tolerate no talk of alliance with godless heathens who look to our borders with greedy and bloodthirsty eyes. Glywssing faces threats from the Irish harassing our coast and from the Saxons, trying to push past our neighbors to the south. Which devil does Morgana ask that I crawl into bed with, to form this insane alliance of which she speaks?"
A roar of angry mutters, many of them directed at Meurig for the crudity of his question, erupted around the tables, throwing the council into chaos. Morgana turned to glare at Meurig ap Caradog. "I would sooner crawl into bed with a godless Irishman than some Britons in this room!"
The angry mutters exploded into violent arguments, women's shrill voices battling men's deeper ones. The thud of fists on wooden tabletops rattled like thunder in a canyon. Gwalchmai and Walgabedius huddled fearfully against Morgana's skirts, the younger boy whimpering aloud before she pulled them close. Artorius surged to his feet, drawing his sword to pound the tabletop with its hilt and shouted down the lot of them. "Silence! By God, silence I say and silence I mean! I'll have the ears of the next man to say a bloody word!"
The shouts died away, replaced by a shuffling of feet as Artorius glared from one table to the next. He growled, "Queen Morgana's fears are justified. I say this not as her stepbrother but as the Dux Bellorum who had to bring word of her husband's murder at the hands of Pictish bandits! Think you it was easy for Morgana to look into her sons' eyes and tell them why their father died? And in this same room stands a lad barely a man, who watched his royal father hacked to death by another lot of heathenish Picts. If Cutha and Aelle of Sussex and their minions of Wessex were the only threat we face, I would not have called a council of all the kings and queens of Britain! Morgana is right to say we face war on four fronts—for that is exactly what we face. If we do not exercise extreme care in the judgments we make this evening, all of Britain could bleed for our folly."
A few hangdog expressions replaced anger and strident rebelliousness. Ganhumara, delighting in the turmoil, looked like a well-fed kitten savoring the cream on her whiskers. Two seats down, Morgana's brother-in-law spoke into the momentary silence.
"I, Ancelotis of Gododdin, king until Prince Gwalchmai reaches his majority, speak for the people of Gododdin. We know only too painfully how serious the threat is from Pictish and Irish invaders along our northern borders. It was not my intention to draw the ire of the Saxons so quickly, but I am not convinced that anything would have prevented them from finding insult from some one of us, an insult that would give them an excuse to strike openly. What remains is for us to find a way to defend all our borders against all comers, when we have but limited numbers of men to do the fighting and run the patrols, not to mention bringing in the southern harvest. It might be less onerous than it first appears, to at least open negotiations with one of our northern enemies. We could then use those negotiations to buy the time we need, allowing us to shift resources without actually promising full alliance, since invasion on four fronts must be avoided at all cost."