Shadowland (23 page)

‘I will repeat to you what I have just told your
brother. We march on Ambrosius at first light. King Vortigern has decided to
end their threat before the weather worsens rather than wait the season out
through to the thaw. Have your men ready, we have a three-day march ahead of
us.’ He spun on his heels and strode off, disappearing into the darkness
without waiting for any reply. The black warrior shook his head, appearing
weary as he addressed the others. There was an angry dialogue of Saxon curses
when he had finished, and then without warning, all eyes turned to the shadows
where Cal was
lying and he heard a word he understood,
‘Wolf!’
 

A
chill fear struck him. Springing to his feet, he ran, heedless of any caution,
relying now solely upon his speed to put distance between him and the Saxons
and it wasn’t long before the angry
cries faded behind him. When he reached the forest,
the other wolves ran out to him, tails wagging, licking his muzzle, and lying
down in front of him, relieved and happy that he had returned. After dispensing
with the minimum of greeting rituals, he led them on a run through the forest,
taking them as directly as possible back to the caves where he could safely
leave the pack and awake in his human form.

‘Uther!’ Cal
sat bolt upright, his eyes wide reflecting the light from the hut’s flickering
fire. Drawing in a series of ragged breaths, he allowed his sleeping fur to
fall to the side as he rubbed at his face and tried to slow his beating heart,
momentarily overwhelmed with the shock of returning to his body. ‘Uther!’
Glancing to the side, he cursed the inability of his human eyes to see in the
dark. He could just make out the sleeping form of his friend, the furs drawn
tightly up around his face keeping the chill draughts at bay. ‘Uther, wake up!’
Leaning across, Cal
shook him roughly by the shoulder until his friend’s eyes flashed open.
‘They’re coming, Uther... the Saxons are coming!’
 

****

A
wet and rainy morning found the camp in a state of frenzy. Word had spread
quickly that the Saxons were marching and they would soon meet them in battle.

With nerves on edge, and a belly feeling as if it
were alive with bees and butterflies, Uther stood close to Cal and gazed about, wide-eyed as each
tribal chieftain barked commands, organising their men. The two friends had
become accustomed to the comfort and routine of the camp over the last few
weeks, and to see it in uproar like this was unsettling to say the least. All
about them people were loading chariots and wagons, dismantling shelters or
feverishly sharpening weapons.
Many were hurriedly
preparing food, passing it out as soon as it became ready, with warriors eating
as they worked.

‘Hey!’

They glanced round and saw the familiar figure of
Samel striding towards them. The little Iceni was crunching on the remnants of
an apple, turning the core over to see if there was a bite left that he had
somehow missed. With a momentary look of disappointment, he tossed it aside and
approached, cleaning his fingers through his beard.

‘We get to fight, I hear.’ He clasped each in turn
by the forearm by way of greeting. ‘About bloody time if you ask me!’ A broad
grin split his face. ‘Meryn’s
gonna
be sore if he
misses all the fun.’

‘He’s not come back then?’ Uther asked, and his
shoulders dropped as Samel shook his head. ‘I had hoped he would be here.’

‘He asked for one full cycle of the moon,’ said
Samel. ‘It’s been scarcely half that since he went off, but don’t you worry
about old Meryn, he’ll hear all the noise and come running soon enough, you
mark my words. Anyhow, I didn’t come to talk of him. I came to ask if you’d
like to join with me. I’ve two of my boys sick with fevers, so we have a
chariot free. I thought you might want the use of it?’

‘That sounds like a fine idea,’ came a voice, and
they turned to see Ambrosius and three of his men walking towards them. ‘We
travel today to Mount
Badon,’ continued
Ambrosius, ‘the site that has been chosen to meet with Vortigern.’ He placed a
hand on Uther’s shoulder and addressed them all. ‘I would be pleased if you and
your band would ride alongside me.’ Samel offered a nod of his head in
agreement and drew himself up as Ambrosius lowered his voice and addressed him
directly. ‘You may need to give my brother here a lesson or two on the finer
points of a chariot’s use, Master Samel, and I would ask you to look over them
both when the time comes for battle.’

‘We need no milk-mother,’ spluttered Uther, his face
reddening. ‘Cal and I will be just fine. We will, however, be looking out for
you, brother. If you need our help, just call, we’ll not be too far away.’
Ambrosius grinned and Samel failed to contain a burst of laughter.

‘I thank you for that, Uther. We shall all look out
for each other on the battlefield, and I for one will be riding with more
confidence knowing that you are both close.’ As Ambrose strode away, Samel
pushed Uther and Cal towards the waiting chariots.

‘Come on lads. A chariot isn’t so hard to handle,
I’ll soon show you how.’

However, the chariot was hard to handle, at least
for Cal it
was. After a brief attempt with the reins, he gave up and passed control over
to Uther, who, with some practice and shouted instruction from Samel, did fare
just a little better, and sort of managed to get the horses to do what he
wanted. Much of the problem was the mud within the camp. Branches, laid as
paths, made it easier for people to get about on foot, but the horses and
chariots were having trouble, moving sideways as often as they were going in a
straight line. That was, until they became caught in icy ground and one of the
many deep ruts making it impossible to do anything but go in a straight line.
The horses seemed happy enough, obviously more used to the conditions than
their passengers were.

‘I feel sick,’ shouted Cal, tapping Uther on the shoulder.

Uther glanced at him, and then quickly
snapped his attention back as the chariot slid to the
left and one of the horses lost its footing
. ‘You feel sick or you’re going to be sick? asked
Usher, raising his voice over the rumble of the chariot.’ His answer came as Cal hung over the side
of the bouncing wooden frame and noisily expelled the contents of his stomach
into the mud, much to the delight of the onlookers.

‘Hey! Mind the chariot, boy,’
shouted Samel, from his seat on a fallen tree as Cal glared at him,
wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Samel clapped his hands and let out a shriek of
laughter.
There
were four of them watching the spectacle of Uther and Cal’s efforts as charioteers. Sometimes offering
advice, but mostly, like then, just laughing.

‘You must have eaten something bad this morning, eh?
Well, don’t you worry, lad. There’s nothing like a good chariot ride to set you
straight. Take her down to the wood and back. Let them really stretch their
legs.’ He ran over and slapped the closest horse on its rear. Jumping with
shock, it gave a loud whinny and set off with Cal holding on as best he could
and Uther pulling them round towards the distant tree line. They had almost
made it to the trees before Uther managed to bring the horses back under
control and they came to a stop. Cal
slid from the back and lay in the wet grass panting and lifeless while Uther
looped the horse’s reins to the closest tree.

‘Are you all right?’

Cal
didn’t move. He lay with
his arm covering his eyes and his chest heaving as he drew in deep, ragged
breaths. ‘I knew I didn’t like riding horses, and now I know I don’t like
riding in chariots, either.’ He lifted his arm and glanced over towards the
trees. ‘Uther… don’t move.’

Uther glanced up to see what had startled Cal and stared into the
wood feeling his mouth fall open. His jaw began moving up and down slightly, as
if some part of him wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Cal
’s voice softly broke the
silence. ‘They won’t hurt us... at least I don’t think they will. I’ve never
been this close to wolves without being part of a wolf myself.’ Uther continued
to stare into the shadows between the trees where three pairs of yellow eyes
regarded him silently. Behind him, the horses suddenly pulled against their
reins, jumping in the traces as they caught the wolves’ scent.

‘Are they… your wolves? The ones you were with, I
mean?’ Uther began, edging back towards the chariot.

‘No… they’re not. I think we had better leave...
let’s get out of here.’ Moving slowly, Uther untied the panicking horses and
just managed to jump on beside Cal
as the pair turned and fled, dragging the chariot behind them.

They arrived back to find Samel sitting alone on the
tree trunk, grinning from ear to ear.

‘Look at the pair of you now, bred to the chariot
you are, the way you handled it coming back here. Now go gather your gear,
we’re leaving just as soon as you two are ready.’

The clouds parted late in the morning and the sun
made its first real appearance in days. Even Cal cheered up. The rest of the day went by
in quiet contemplation with thoughts left pondering the coming battle as the
great column of men, horses and chariots filed out of the camp and headed
north. By late afternoon, they had their first sight of Mount Badon.
From a distance, the peak appeared like a giant anthill as people worked
feverishly on fortifications and the construction of a triangular fort, the bare
bones of which were silhouetted against the pale pink sky of the setting
sun.
  

They rode in and were directed to an area on the
southern slope, close to the shelter that had already been erected for
Ambrosius. Samel and his men immediately began to unload the poles they had
dragged from their previous camp and started to assemble their own large
shelter. Cal and Uther joined in. D
arkness
came early as clouds brought back the rain, but the shelter was complete and
the sounds in the camp changed from the shouting and cursing of construction,
to the softer noises of warriors settling in for the night.
Three young children brought
bowls of greasy porridge laced with boar and some kind of root vegetable and
Uther sat staring absently into the dancing flames of the fire, struggling to
keep sleep at bay even while he ate. It had been a long exhausting day. Combined
with the rising tension as thoughts turned to the coming battle, he was ready
to rest. Lying down in their warm furs, it wasn’t long before both he and Cal
were asleep.

It
was a strange experience to fall asleep as a weary boy and then awake just a
moment later as a well-rested wolf, but Cal was getting used to it and took only
a few moments of peering round, sniffing the air to clear his thoughts. He
raised his head from between his paws and gazed about absently. Several of the
other wolves were close, still sleeping, lying in the mouth of the cave with
the cold rays of the half-moon painting them in its silvery light. Getting up,
he shook himself, and then bowed down, stretching his forelegs before standing
and shaking out each back leg in turn. A breeze ruffled his fur as he stared
down into the near darkness of the forest below and sniffed at the cool evening
air.

Thirsty, he trotted down to the small spring at the
edge of the forest and lapped happily at the sweet water. When his thirst had
been sated, he continued looking, watching as the ripples on the water settled
to a
smooth mirror-finish, allowing him
to stare, transfixed at his reflection in the moonlit surface as a silver wolf
gazed back at him.
Moving his head from side to side, he marvelled at the face that copied
him, and then with a jolt of shock, realised
the acrid smell encroaching upon his senses was smoke.

Raising his head, he sniffed at the breeze, trying
not to give in to the feeling of panic that tugged at him, smoke and people. He
tensed; his worst fears realised, and glanced around. Before he could decide
upon a course of action, a high-pitched
yelp
came from the rocks above him, followed by the angry snarling and barking of
dogs and wolves, the exchange ended abruptly after a series of terrified
squealing yelps.
Cal
ran back up the path, his
human consciousness at last urging caution as he neared the top.

The hunters had found them. They must have
approached from down-wind so the wolves wouldn’t smell them. Crawling through a
clump of bushes,
he stared out at two
wolves lying dead on the path, their eyes staring sightlessly past him. Cal’s world spun and he
fought
the urge
to vomit.
He looked up as a Saxon warrior
approached and tried to pull his spear free from the closest wolf. With his
foot placed on its lifeless chest, the warrior heaved on the shaft and cursed
angrily when it didn’t immediately come free. Next to him, a large black dog
was savaging the dead wolf at the throat, growling and shaking it from side to
side. At last, the warrior’s spear broke past the wolf’s ribcage, making a wet
sucking sound that made the warrior laugh.
With a parting kick to the lifeless carcass, he
cleaned the spear on its fur and moved away with the dog following, tail
wagging. Cal
crept after them.

Closer to the caves, three other wolves were
trapped, snarling and struggling under a heavy rope net. Cal stifled a whine, and then offered thanks
to the spirits that it was only three and that the others must have gotten
away. He could smell the wolves’ fear, but there was nothing he could do for
his three trapped pack mates so he turned away, intending to get into the
forest and find the remaining members of the pack. But instead, another wave of
panic hit him as he faced Horsa climbing up towards him with a spear in one
hand and a burning branch in the other that he was sweeping from side to side.