Pendragon

'It is true,' Ciaran affirmed. 'All gave freely. But upon my life, I still do not understand how it is that those most reluctant in the beginning gave the greater share in the end.'

Fergus grinned. 'Ah, it is my winsome way. I find that once a man properly understands what is required of him, he is more than happy to oblige.'

'And the presence of armed warriors crowding the threshold had nothing to do with it, I suppose,' Gwenhwyvar remarked.

'Daughter, daughter,' Fergus chided, 'do you expect me to go scurrying through the land unprotected? Listen to you now. I rode with stout warriors – I freely confess it. How else was I to fend off the Vandali and bear away the supplies entrusted to my care?'

Everyone laughed, much amused by Fergus' explanation. 'Friend Fergus,' Arthur said, 'however you came by the meat and ale, it is more than agreeable. I thank you, and can but praise your diligence.'

'You are good to commend me so,' the Irish king replied. 'Still, I would rather I had been here last night with you. I missed a good fight, I think. If only I could have seen it.'

'Well, I was there,' Cai told him, 'And I tell you the truth, the foam in this cup is a far better sight to my eyes than any I saw last night.'

The day grew warm – another hot, cloudless day – and, after their meal, the men lay down to sleep, taking what shelter they could find under trees and bushes round about. In this way we passed the time, waiting for Conaire and Cador to return with word of the Vandal retreat.

It was not until dusk the next day that the awaited word arrived. The two lords and their scout appeared out of a crimson sunset, hungry and thirsty, having ridden far and fast to report that the barbarian horde had boarded their ships and sailed away.

TWO

'They know they cannot stand against us,' Conaire boasted. 'We have driven them away.' The nobles were inclined to agree with Conaire; most lords viewed the barbarian departure in an auspicious light. Arthur knew better.

'The Black Boar has not given up the fight,' the High King told the onlookers. 'He has merely gone to easier plunder elsewhere.'

'What do we care about that?' Brastias countered. 'He has left Ierne, and that is all that matters.'

'Is it?' Arthur turned on the unruly lord. 'Amilcar has left before – only to appear again farther down the coast.' He summoned the Irish lords. 'You know your island best,' he began, 'therefore you must ride the coasts to determine where the Black Boar has gone.'

'It will take time,' Conaire warned. 'There are more wrinkles in the shore than stars in the sky.'

'Then you must go with all haste,' Arthur bade him. After a short discussion it was determined that each king, leading a scouting party of six men, would search out a different portion of coastline, thus making a complete circuit of the island. They would then hasten back with the report. Meanwhile, Arthur's own ships would begin a sweeping search – some working north, around the headlands and then south, through the narrows, others sailing south down the west coast, then around to the east and up.

'It is a most inelegant plan,' Arthur observed as the first scouting party rode from the camp. He paused, his brow heavy-furrowed as he watched the riders depart. 'God knows, I can think of no other way.'

'There is no other way,' Bedwyr replied. 'You have observed the most prudent course, and there is nothing more to be done until the scouts return. Put it from your mind, Bear.'

But Arthur could not put it from his mind. The days passed – and how they creep with numbing slowness for those who wait. After six days had gone, Arthur posted sentries on the high ground to watch the approaches from the east, west, north, and south, charging them to bring word the instant they saw anyone returning.

While the rest of the camp settled back to wait, the High King prowled the perimeter-a most restless bear; he ate little and slept less, growing more irritable by the day. Gwenhwyvar and Bedwyr tried to pacify him, and when their own attempts failed, they brought the problem to me.

'Such anxiety is not good for him, surely,' the queen said. 'Myrddin, you must do something.'

'What do you suppose I can do that you cannot?'

'Talk to him,' suggested Bedwyr. 'He always listens to you.'

'And what would you have me tell him?' I countered. 'Shall I say: Do not worry, Arthur, all will be well? He is right to worry. Amilcar has placed us in perilous difficulty and Arthur knows it. Think, Bedwyr: we cannot move from here until we know where the Boar has gone. Meanwhile, the barbarians are free to strike where they will.'

'I know that,' Bedwyr said icily. 'I only meant that it does Arthur no good to fret about it.'

'He is the king! Should he not fret for his own?' I replied.

Bedwyr rolled his eyes. 'Bards!'

'It is no help to quarrel among ourselves,' Gwenhwyvar interposed. 'If we cannot calm Arthur, at least we need not add to his worries.'

In the evening of the ninth day, two riders under Fergus' command returned to say that the northwestern coast from Malain Bhig to Beann Ceann had been scoured. 'No enemy ships sighted anywhere,' the scout said. 'Lord Fergus presses the search north to Dun Sgeir.'

Four days later, scouts returned from the east coast. 'We ranged as far south as Loch Laern,' they said, 'and saw naught but your own ships working down the narrows, lord. The pilot said they had seen no sign of the Vandali either.'

Seven days more brought further news: no enemy ships anywhere on the west coast from Dun Iolar to Gaillirnh Bay. After that the reports came more rapidly – one or two a day – and all with the same account: no enemy ships; the Vandali were nowhere to be found. If any thought this information would cheer Arthur, they were mistaken. Despite the encouragement of his lords, he greeted these reports with deepest dread – as if each negative sighting confirmed a dire suspicion.

The only variation in the pattern came from the last of the parties led by Laigin, whose scouts had searched out the remote and sparsely populated finger-thin peninsulas of the south coast. 'There were ships, I believe; but we did not see them,' Laigin said. 'The people of the Ban Traigh say that many ships were there, although no invaders attacked.'

'When?' asked Arthur.

'That is the strange thing,' the Irish lord answered. 'It seems they were there when the Black Boar was fighting here.'

'That cannot be,' suggested one of the Britons; I think it was Brastias. 'They are in error. It must have been before the battle -'

'Or after, more like,' suggested Owain.

'What difference can it make now?' wondered Urien. 'They are gone, and that is what matters.'

Arthur glared at the man, but could not bring himself to answer such foolishness. He wrapped himself in his stifling silence and stalked off. Nor could he be persuaded to speak again until two days later when his own ships returned. Barinthus, having directed the undertaking, came before his king with the final report. 'We have encircled the island entire, and have seen neither hull nor sail in any hiding north, south, east, or west. The black ships have gone from these waters.'

'Say it loud!' cried Conaire, pushing himself forward. 'The enemy is defeated! What further proof is needed? We have won!'

Fergus, eager to offer his thanks, took up the cry. 'Hail, Arthur! Ierne is free! The barbarian is defeated!'

At this, the entire camp loosed a wild, heart-stirring cheer. The celebration, long denied, began then and there; the Irish kings called for their bards to compose victory songs, and the ale was poured anew. The campfires were built up and several head of fat cattle quickly butchered and set to roast on spits over the flames. The long, anxious wait was over: Ierne was free, the victory complete.

After days of inactivity, the lords and warriors leapt at the chance to release their anxiety in revelry. It was as if the entire camp had been holding its breath until now, and found, to its great relief, that it could breathe once more. While the meat roasted and ale splashed from skin to jar to cup, the bards began reciting their songs, extolling the virtues of the assembled warbands and their champions. At the conclusion of each recitation, the warriors applauded with noisy acclaim. The best efforts also had their material reward – the patron lords bestowing on their Chiefs of Song lavish ornaments of silver and of gold – inspiring ever more exalted feats of praise and wordplay.