Yseult: A Tale of Love in the Age of King Arthur (61 page)

It was a long night. Torches in hand, they picked through the bodies, trying to find those still alive. Judging by the bobbing of lights a few hundred yards away, it appeared the Saxons had melted back onto the battlefield and were doing the same thing.

Drystan wondered where the battle would continue — it wouldn't be here. No one could fight on this field before the dead were buried, or they would be tripping over carcasses to reach their enemy.

They made camp down the valley close to Aquae Sulis, sleeping on the ground rolled in their cloaks, cold and exhausted. They woke the next morning to the blare of horns warning them of the enemy approach.

It was not pretty. Another full day they fought, between the walls of Aquae Sulis and the hills north of the Abona, until darkness fell again and both sides crawled back to their camps, neither a victor.

When the second day's injured had been brought into Aquae Sulis where they could be cared for, Arthur met with the commanding officers in Pasgen's town house within the safety of the city walls.

"We need to create an advantage for ourselves," Arthur said, pacing.

Bedwyr shook his head. "How?"

Next to Drystan, Cador sat unmoving, not even watching his cousin and hero. His hero worship had died on the battlefield, days ago now.

"They have more men, but we have horses, and we have fortifications. How can we use that?"

"We already did, Arthur," Cai said. "Now we simply have to beat what is left of them back."

"No, we have to use it again," Arthur said and stopped pacing. Drystan repressed a smile — their commander had come to a decision. "We could make it look as if we have retreated behind the walls of the city, but instead, we will return to Caer Baddon under the cover of night. If they believe us inside, the Saxons will surely attempt to lay siege to Aquae Sulis. And then we attack from the hill-fort."

Pasgen rose. "You want to use my seat as bait?"

Arthur turned to him. "If we do not, it will no longer be your seat," he said brutally. "With each day of battle, the front moves closer to the walls of Aquae Sulis. Tomorrow, it will be here, with or without subterfuge."

"I can send to my brother," Pasgen said. "He will provide more troops."

Arthur glanced at Manawyd, who led the troops from Powys. Manawyd shrugged. "Perhaps he would, but would they get here in time?"

"I will send a messenger to my father tonight," Owain said. "He is the closest. But we still must go with Arthur's plan."

Pasgen crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Good. But I will take my own troops into the city for its defense. It must look as if we are here, after all, enough soldiers stationed on the walls to be realistic."

"Half your troops," Arthur said.

"Done."

Drystan was so tired he was only glad he would be sleeping in a tent on a pallet again.

* * * *

Apparently, the cover of night had not hidden them enough. By dawn, the Saxons were deployed at the base of Caer Baddon, as well as around the walls of Aquae Sulis. They were trapped.

Once again, Drystan joined Arthur on the ramparts of Caer Baddon, but the sun was rising rather than setting this time, and it seemed as if more than a mere three weeks had passed.

Drystan pulled his cloak tighter against the chill. Morning mist rose up in the valley below, giving the scene an eerie quality. "Our strategy didn't work," he said, gazing down at the amassed enemy forces.

Arthur shook his head. "On the contrary, Cousin. This is almost better — the Saxons have divided their forces."

"So have we."

"But we are the ones behind walls and ramparts."

Drystan glanced at his cousin, wondering at his optimism after two full days of fighting, after two long nights of trying to bring the injured and dying from the battlefield by torchlight. But there it was, Arthur was smiling. Just a slight turning up of the corners of his mouth, admittedly, but Arthur had never been one for grins that spread all the way across his face.

Looking at Arthur, a smile began to tug up the corners of his own mouth. "We are behind ramparts," Drystan repeated. Yes, Arthur was right. For the time being, there would not be as much dying. There was something to be said for that.

"And from here we can weaken the enemy while we get our own strength back." Drystan followed Arthur's gaze to where the Saxons were beginning to build ladders from tree branches. "But now we must begin."

The horns were sounded and archers took up position on the earthwork ramparts above the deep ditches. At the first rain of arrows, the Saxons moved out of range. Even then, Arthur was not discouraged, and his optimism seemed to work its way down through the ranks to the rest of the men. A small group of cavalry led by Cai left the protection of the hill-fort to harry the enemy, killing a dozen with their unexpected attack before galloping for the protection of the ramparts, enraged Saxons in pursuit. The archers killed another dozen before the Saxons gave up the chase and retreated back out of range.

The small success had them all cheering, and the morale went up another notch.

Drystan and his men were assigned water duty; at regular intervals along the ramparts, they dug fire pits, started the fires blazing, and put large cauldrons of water on to boil. It suited him just fine after the last two days. Watching water boil was a nice change from watching friends cut down by Saxon spears. He sat on an overturned log next to one of the fires, his hands dangling between his knees, staring at the flickering flames, the ever-changing mosaic of orange and red and white and blue, and tried to empty his mind. The emptiness felt good; his thoughts were as exhausted as his muscles.

Cador pushed over a log and sat down next to him. "Just imagine, Drys, I don't have a favorite battle."

Drystan chuckled. He could still remember when Cador put the question to Arthur so many years ago, an enthusiastic boy on the brink of manhood, his cheeks smooth, his eyes bright. "Strange, that."

"What keeps you going, Cousin? What do you think of?"

Drystan sighed. He could hardly tell Cador what he thought of — Yseult's white-blond hair and moon-bright eyes, her strength and intelligence. Almost he could wish he had her next to him in battle, but then he would have to worry about someday seeing her too struck down. "What do I think of? A meal of duck stuffed with walnuts and orange sauce. A fire in the hearth and a goblet of wine fitting into the palm of my hand. A bath."

Cador laughed. "I think of my mother and my sister, how someday I will be able to help them run things, when this is over." He was quiet for a moment, and then he rushed ahead. "Can I tell you something? Sometimes — sometimes I think of your step-mother, Yseult of Eriu."

Drystan stared at him, unable to answer.

"I know it's wrong," Cador continued, his words tumbling over each other. "But she's not happy, is she?"

How very odd that Cador confessed to him what Drystan could not. He shook his head. "No, I don't think she's happy."

Luckily, the horn saved him from this strange conversation, followed by the call, "Cauldrons to the ramparts!"

Drystan rose at the order, and he and Cador grabbed the huge pot on either side with gloved hands.

"Here!" Aircol called out as they approached. At the bottom of the defensive ditch, Saxons were just pushing up one of their makeshift ladders. Together, the three of them tipped the boiling water over the side, scalding at least four of the enemy. A man wearing a metal helmet tore it off his head, screaming, the skin of his face and arms turning blistering red as they watched.

The Saxons were having no success getting their ladders up, but near the gate where defenses were of wood as well as earthwork and stone, flaming arrows had found their mark, and Arthur's men were trying to put out the fire. Nearby, a rock wall in the earthworks provided some handhold, and two or three Saxons had made it over the side without being picked off by archers or brained by rocks and boulders.

And one of them was fighting hand-to-hand with Kurvenal.

Drystan ran, sword drawn, jumping over stones and buckets and dodging bodies. Just before he could come to Kurvenal's assistance, he saw him slip in a puddle. The Saxon's sword plunged into his friend's side.

"Kurvi!"

Drystan's cry echoed in his own ears, followed by a long, drawn-out bellow of rage.

The Saxon barely had time to turn around. Their swords clashed, sending shuddering, stinging pain down Drystan's arm.

Drystan fought like a madman, aware of nothing more than the necessity of murder. His opponent wore a short war cap with only a guard for the nose which left much of his neck bare. Drystan concentrated on that, thrusting his blade through the other man's defenses and nearly severing his head from his body.

As soon as the Saxon fell, Drystan knelt down and swept Kurvenal up into his arms, carrying to their tent him through hordes of running, shouting men. Blood soaked his tunic and breeches and dripped into his shoes, and he felt tears running down his face. In the tent, he laid Kurvenal on the pallet and tore apart the first piece of clean cloth which came to hand. He pushed up his friend's shirt and saw that the wound was just above his hip, not in the stomach as he had feared, and he cried even harder in relief. Wadding up the linen, he stuffed it into the wound and bound it tight with long strips from the tunic.

Yseult would have been proud of him.

There was a gentle pressure on his forearm. "Drys?"

Drystan looked up, wiping the tears from his face with a bloody hand. "Thank the gods that you're alright!"

"Thank yourself," Kurvenal said with an attempt at a smile. "Now go win the war for us."

Drystan nodded and rose. The dizziness and feeling of unreality would soon pass — they had to.

He returned to the ramparts, his tunic and breeches growing stiff with Kurvenal's drying blood. Cador stared at him, but Drystan shook his head. "Not mine."

After an hour of fighting, the Saxons apparently decided that they were not strong enough to take Caer Baddon, and they retreated back beyond the range of the archers.

"They're weakened now," Arthur told the men gathered at the southern tip of the fortifications. "We must find a way to use that."

"Charge again, only more this time," Cai said simply. "They won't expect it."

"Charge," Arthur repeated, his expression thoughtful.

Before noon, half of the forces stationed on Caer Baddon were sitting their mounts behind the gates of the hill-fort.

"It looks as if the Saxons are eating their midday meal, Dux," one of the guards called down from the ramparts.

"Good," Arthur said. "Open the gates."

They poured down the hill, reaching the Saxons before many had a chance to react. They cut them down still chewing their bread, making a swath through the enemy ranks. Those that did not die by the spear were trampled by the horses' hooves.

After slashing a trail of destruction along the line of besieging troops, they whirled around to face an army that was now ready, ranks closed, shields up, and spears angled for a cavalry charge.

"Back to the protection of the walls?" Bedwyr said.

"Look! Coming from the Corinium road!" a voice cried towards their rear.

"Madoc has sent more troops!" someone else called out when the banner came into view.

"My father," Owain said beside Drystan. "He's leading them himself."

Drystan felt a brief pang of envy at the pride in his voice.

"The Saxons, they're bolting!"

"Men, forward!" Arthur called out. "Britannia patria!"

They chased the Saxons down the slopes of Caer Baddon, slaying them as they ran. What had been meant to be another demoralizing distraction became a full-fledged attack, and the remaining cavalry in Caer Baddon thundered out of the gates of the ramparts to join the chase.

With the reinforcements from Madoc attacking the Saxons from the east, the slaughter was complete before they reached the road to Aquae Sulis. Drystan felt as if he would never get the smell of blood off of him.

"On to Aquae Sulis!" Arthur cried out.

They galloped along the Roman road, now at least eight hundred strong. When they came around the bend in the Abona River, the Saxons saw them and began to pull men away from their siege of the city walls.