Pendragon

'Lady,' Arthur said gently, 'the sight of you whole is welcome enough. Are you hurt?'

'No,' Gwenhwyvar said, shaking her head, frustration and humiliation making her voice hollow. 'I am only sorry you were obliged to rescue us.'

'Not half as sorry as you would be if I had not,' Arthur replied. 'How did this happen?' He looked around, his relief quickly giving way to anger. 'Where are the other Irish lords?' he demanded.

The question was apt. I saw only those defenders we had left behind – and far fewer of those than before. Where were the others Conaire had vowed to rally?

'There are none,' Fergus shouted angrily. He lurched to where we stood, and leaned on his spear, breathing heavily. 'There are none because Conaire would not ask.'

Cai was mystified. 'For the love of God, man, why not?'

'Conaire thought to vanquish the Vandali unaided,' Gwenhwyvar explained, giving an involuntary shudder of disgust.

'He would share the glory with no one,' Fergus continued bitterly. 'Least of all a Briton.'

Arthur turned to confront Conaire, who stood glowering at us a short distance away. 'Is this true?' the Bear of Britain demanded.

The Irish king drew himself up. 'I will not deny it,' he growled. 'And I would have defeated them, too, but for the treachery of my own battlechiefs.'

'Treachery! Treachery?' cried Fergus. 'I call it prudence. We were being cut down like timber where we stood.'

'I counted on you to attack,' Conaire argued. 'Your thoughtless retreat cost us the battle.'

'It was retreat or be slaughtered!' Fergus insisted.

'Enough,' Gwenhwyvar snarled. 'Both of you!'

'Perhaps you did not see how many Vandali stood against us!' Fergus charged. 'Perhaps you thought the Black Boar would turn tail and run away when the Mighty Conaire Crobh Rua appeared!'

Conaire, growing red in the face, shouted, 'It was you who turned tail and ran away!'

'Mallacht Deair!' Fergus spat on the ground.

'Silence!' roared Arthur. The two sputtered and subsided. 'Never,' said Arthur, speaking deliberately and low so that only the chieftains would hear, 'disgrace yourself before men who must follow you in battle. We will speak of this in private. I advise you to gather your wounded and return to your stronghold before the Vandali recover their courage.'

Conaire turned on his heel and stalked away. Fergus glowered at him, and then moved off. Gwenhwyvar said, 'I am sorry, Arthur. It was against my will that we allowed ourselves to be party to this -'

'Calamity.' Arthur supplied the word for her.

Gwenhwyvar's eyes sparked quick fire, but she swallowed, bent her head, and accepted his judgment. 'I hold myself to blame,' she offered, shame making her meek. 'I should have prevented it.'

'Someone should have prevented it,' Arthur agreed curtly. 'We will rue the loss of these warriors,' he said, gazing around at the carnage, his mouth a hard, thin line. 'A cruel waste-the more since it was pointless.' He turned again to his wife and demanded, 'What were you thinking?'

Gwenhwyvar's head rose. 'I am sorry, my lord,' she whispered. There were tears in her eyes.

Only then did Arthur relent. He turned away from her and began ordering the Cymbrogi to bury the dead and remove the wounded. I stepped close to Gwenhwyvar. 'He is angry with Conaire, and he – 'I began.

'No,' she stopped me, pushing the tears away with the heels of her hands, 'he is right.' She drew a deep breath, steadied herself, and turned to the task at hand. She picked up her sword and asked, 'Is he always right?'

I offered her a smile. 'No,' I replied gently. 'But he is rarely wrong.'

The stronghold was an abandoned hillfort which Conaire had found in lands long neglected. Rock-bound and hilly, the soil thin and unproductive, it had been many years since any Irish lord had laid claim to the realm. There were few settlements, and those were not large. All the better for the Black Boar – it provided him a safe haven from which to raid more prosperous lands to the north. And this, Conaire's negligible presence notwithstanding, he had proceeded to do.

During our absence, the Vandal warlord had successfully carried off cattle and plunder from the nearby smallholdings, and had destroyed the strongholds of three noblemen as well. Most of the Irish had fled north and east, out of harm's way. This in itself was unfortunate, for if they had gone south, they might at least have alerted the southern lords to the invader. As it happened, the better part of twelve hundred Vandali warriors now lay between us and direct passage to the south, effectively cutting off communication with any support we might receive.

The rickety fort was not large enough to house the gathered British warbands, so they were forced to make camp outside the stronghold below earthen banks. While the kings of Ynys Prydein saw to the crude comfort of their men, Arthur held council with Fergus and Conaire in the ruined barn that passed for a hall in that place. Most of the roof thatch had blown off, and part of one wall was collapsed, but the hearth was intact and the board and benches were serviceable enough.

So, we sat over our cups in the hall listening to Fergus recount all that had transpired since we were last together. Arthur's face grew darker and his eyes harder by degrees as Fergus explained how the matter stood. After the debacle of Conaire's defeat, Arthur was in no humour to view our plight in any but the harshest light. The Bear of Britain scowled, taking the news in grim and prickly silence.

For his part, Conaire had grown suitably contrite. He wore his chagrin like a battered crown; his back bent under the weight of disgrace and his head drooped in sympathy with his shoulders. He had not breathed a word since returning from the battlefield.

'Tomorrow,' Arthur said, with controlled and quiet fury, 'we will undertake to hold the invader in the valley and prevent him from making any more raids or moving farther into the land. And you, Conaire Crobh Rua, will take three of your best men and ride to rally the southern lords.'

The Irish king nodded glumly, but said nothing.

'Go now,' Arthur commanded. 'This matter is ended.'

Conaire rose and, looking neither right nor left, walked slowly from the ruined hall.

'You crushed him, Bear,' Bedwyr said when Conaire had departed.

'He will recover,' Arthur grumbled. 'Which is more than can be said for many of the men who trusted him with their lives.'

'Better the slap of a friend,' observed Fergus, 'than the stab of an enemy.'

Arthur turned cold eyes on Fergus. 'And you,' he said in a tone of tight restraint, 'will ride to the settlements round about – if any are left intact – to raise tribute for us. We have had to come away with only what we could carry, and there is not enough food or drink to sustain us.'

'It will be done.' Fergus rose and walked out, pausing at the threshold for a moment to say, 'I never was so glad to see a man with a sword in his hand as when I saw you today, Arthur ap Aurelius. I thank you.' He ducked his head through the door and disappeared.

'My father is right,' Gwenhwyvar murmured. 'If not for you, we would all be dead now.'

'It is God you must thank,' Arthur told her. 'If the winds had been contrary, or a storm had raised the waves – or if I had chosen to spend the night in my bed rather than in the bottom of a boat…' He looked at his wife, considering the implications. 'I thank God you are alive,' he said. 'We are fortunate indeed.'

Gwenhwyvar leaned close, took up his sword hand and pressed it to her lips. 'Well I know it, husband,' she whispered. 'Well I know it.'

The British lords, having settled their men, began arriving in the hall just then. Gwenhwyvar kissed Arthur quickly, rose, and departed. Her fingers lingered along the line of his shoulders as she passed behind him.

Cador sat down beside Arthur. 'You did not tell us that there were so many barbarians,' he chided.