Skirting the mountains of North Cambria (having learnt that Artorius was campaigning in the north-west, near the great Vallum Hadriani), they had walked in fine spring weather through the ‘kingdoms’ of Dyfed, Ceredigion and Gwynedd, to the port of Bangor. Here, they had met a holy man of great repute, one Deiniol, who was in the process of setting up a monastery-cum-centre of learning. Deiniol was able to tell them the whereabouts of Artorius, who, he assured them, was accompanied by Myrddin. On his advice, they had taken a ship to the mouth of the Deruuentis river in Reged,* in order to avoid raiding-parties of the North Angles which had recently begun to trouble the intervening coasts. From the estuary, they had travelled eastwards through a most beautiful region of tall mountains, waterfalls and silvery streams, studded with tarns and lakes.
Descending to the lakeside, Connal and Cella approached the settlement they had spotted earlier, and, after affirming their credentials (emissaries of Theoderic, king of Italia and vicegerent of the emperor, status confirmed by a sealed royal statement of authorization), were admitted by gate guards into an extensive enclosure. It was thronged with men-at-arms, artisans at work, grooms attending to horses, and was dominated by a massive timber fort overlooking a scatter of lesser buildings — stables, workshops and storehouses. They were escorted to the fort’s upper storey; it was furnished as a military headquarters, with maps set out and tables loaded with documents and writing paraphernalia, at which clerks sat working. At the room’s far end, deep in discussion with a ring of aides, towered a giant of a man, upright and robust-looking despite being advanced in years, as betokened by a mane of silver hair. He projected authority and confidence.
‘Visitors from Italy, my lord,’ announced the escort. ‘The Dux Britanniae,’ he murmured to Connal and Cella, then withdrew.
‘So, gentlemen, you’re here to convey greetings from Theoderic to Myrddin,’ said Artorius, when the pair had introduced themselves and explained their mission. ‘The King of Italy must think highly of my medicus to have sent you all this way. Your timing could be better: we’re expecting a major push by the Angles any day.’ He shot them an appraising glance. ‘It’ll get nasty. Once you’ve seen Myrddin, you have two choices. Either stay and help, as orderlies behind the lines when battle starts; or head for home. I’d strongly advise the latter. You’ll probably find Myrddin in the infirmary, mixing up his potions. Now, if you’ll excuse me. .’ With a nod, he rejoined his aides.
In an annexe off the infirmary (empty save for one unfortunate who had severed a tendon in his foot while chopping wood), they found, grinding something with a pestle and mortar, a spare elderly man with a gentle face below a cliff of forehead. Introductions over and business stated, Myrddin led them to the refectory, after ordering a meal from the outdoor kitchens.
‘King of Italy!’ he said when they were seated and his visitors were gratefully demolishing bowlfuls of game stew. He smiled and shook his head. ‘When we met — in sad circumstances, at the death-bed of holy Severinus — I sensed that Theoderic would make his mark in the world, but I never dreamt that he would rise so high. Even here, in far-off Britannia, his fame has come to our ears. I’m truly sorry to hear that fortune has treated him less than kindly of late, and that he’s in poor health.’
‘What news should Cella here take back to him regarding yourself?’ asked Connal. ‘He’ll be travelling alone, as I shall be returning to my home in Dalriada.’
‘His message will be brief, I fear. I’m really no more than an extension of Artorius — my function is to help maintain his men in good health, and to tend their wounds sustained in battle.’
‘Tell us of Artorius, then.’
‘Without Artorius — and before him Aurelianus — by now all Britain would have fallen to the Saxons and their kinsmen the Angles.’ Myrddin’s face had lit up, his voice become charged with warmth and admiration. ‘True, we have given ground, but only slowly, making the enemy pay dearly for every yard of British soil. In West Cambria, North Cambria, Cumbria and Lothian, we hold the line, thanks to Artorius’ example and great leadership. Here, the Kymry* are still strong; with the dragon standard at their head, our forces hold their own against the blue-eyed German heathens.’ Myrddin smiled and spread his hands self-deprecatingly. ‘Forgive me — I got carried away. I was forgetting that it was a “blue-eyed German”, Theoderic no less, who suggested we adopt the red dragon as our emblem.’
‘That was good,’ boomed Cella, pushing aside his empty bowl. ‘My congratulations to your cook.’ He shot the medicus a keen glance. ‘The Dux said something about an imminent attack.’
‘Correct. The Angles are concentrating their advance on the north and north-west. Already, they’ve pushed far beyond the Humbri river as far as the Uure,* from where they’re mustering their host for a push westward to Reged here in Cumbria,† where we, of course, intend to stop them.’
‘The Dux offered us a choice,’ rumbled Cella, ‘said that if we wanted we could stay and help. I have some skill as a leech, and my friend here is a fighting man.’ He looked hopefully at Connal. ‘What do you say?’
‘I’d say you’ve made an excellent suggestion,’ replied Connal with a grin.
‘Well, I won’t deny that any extra help is more than welcome, said Myrddin. ‘But it’s only fair to warn you that the coming battle is bound to be a hard-fought, bloody affair. The Angles are ferocious warriors, also stubborn and determined.’
‘I’m not averse to a good scrap myself,’ declared Connal. ‘If you can use us, we’d be glad to help.’
‘Welcome aboard, then.’
Mounted on a grey stallion, and accompanied by his standard-bearer carrying the great red dragon flag, Artorius rode out before the Exercitus Britanniae, the Army of Britain. He raised aloft his sword: the short Roman gladius that had been the weapon of Aurelianus and before him of his ancestors — back to when the dynasty of Severus had ruled an undivided empire.
‘Comrades, fellow Britons,’ Artorius called in a deep, strong voice which carried clearly to the waiting ranks, ‘here is where we stop them. The mountains of Cumbria shall be a wall on which their heathen host will break and shatter like a wave upon a cliff. Fight now as you have never fought before, and we shall ensure that the western lands of this island will remain for ever — Britannia!’
A moment’s silence, then a great cheer arose. It grew in volume to a thunderous roar of acclamation, then slowly died away.
To confront the Angles’ advance, Artorius had marched his army from Dacore round the fringes of the Cumbrian mountains to a great lake on the south-east edge of the massif. Here, on a great plain called Camlan, he had drawn up his troops — infantry in the centre, cavalry and archers on the wings. Behind, on the lake shore, a field hospital had been set up under the supervision of Myrddin, assisted by orderlies (now including Cella) and a group of nuns, whose convent was situated on the largest of the islands with which the mere was dotted.* Heavy horse — the riders clad in ancient imperial-issue mail and helmets (many times patched and repaired) — formed his main strength. The site, level and open, was good cavalry terrain, with wooded rising ground on either side affording security against being outflanked. However, these features, combined with the lake to the rear, ensured that, should the battle go against the Britons, there was no avenue of escape. They must prevail — or die.
In the front rank of the infantry, a mail-clad Connal, his Celtic blood racing at the prospect of the coming battle, leant on the shaft of the great battle-axe he had chosen from the stores; it was a fearsome weapon, whose heavy iron head was welded to a cutting edge of razor-sharp steel. Scouts galloping in gave warning that the Angles were approaching; soon the van came in sight, a dense throng of warriors on foot, big, fair-haired men, most of them unarmoured, bearing spears and shields. With a savage roar, they quickened their pace and rushed to meet the British line. Came a tremendous clash as the battle closed, then the two sides swayed back and forth, each striving to break the other’s front.