Warriors of Camlann (25 page)

The younger rider was now almost puce with passion, as if their ignorance was an insult of the most outrageous kind.

Ursula and Dan exchanged a puzzled look. Were they in Arturus's world or in another very like it in which Arturus really had wielded Caliburn at Baddon Hill?

Dan managed to sound confident nonetheless. ‘Of course the High King is known to us and we well remember Baddon Hill. Is Cynfach of the Sarmatians or Taliesin still serving Arturus?'

The younger man blanched at Cynfach's name but the other glared at him so that he closed his mouth and merely looked uncomfortable.

‘I'll ask the questions here. You are our prisoners.'

Dan's voice regained something of its old confident timbre in his reply. ‘Really, I had not noticed that we were anybody's prisoners.'

The bigger rider glanced at his companion. ‘You want to show these ignorant fools a lesson, Nudd?'

The two men dismounted, rather foolishly in Ursula's view, as that threw away their only advantage. Dan warned Braveheart to wait, as it was not his intention to kill these men unless it was unavoidable.

‘
You take the big one and I'll deal with Nudd. Don't kill him if you can avoid it.'

Ursula nodded her understanding. Her arm still ached from the famous battle, scant hours earlier, but her opponent did not look like a man who had ever fought seriously in his life. His kit gleamed, but he moved clumsily with a swaggering gait that lacked balance. He had a long torso, which looked impressive on a horse, but on the ground he was a head and shoulders shorter than Ursula, a fact that seemed to take him by surprise. He drew his sword with a flourish. Ursula guessed that he was in his late twenties but he was a novice in single combat. With a weary internal sigh Ursula jolted her sword from its still sticky sheath and wiped a stray fleck of gore on her leggings.

‘We don't have to do this you know,' she said. She wanted to have a long soak in a bath and follow that with a long meal and an even longer sleep. Her opponent attacked her, slightly tentatively. The vibration as their swords met sent an uncomfortable jolt up her forearm, reminding her of just how tired she really was. She did not have the energy to humour him. She slashed back far more savagely than he had expected, and saw alarm widen his eyes. She aimed not for his body but for his sword, meeting his blade with a well-timed blow with the flat of her sword at his sword's weakest point. His sword flew from his hand and shattered. She kicked
him sharply and as he doubled up in pain she pointed her own blade at his neck. A quick glance round told her that Dan had stunned Nudd and was binding his hands with a length of rein.

‘You won't get away with this. The Tribune will be back soon.'

‘Thanks for telling us. We'll be expecting him,' said Dan with another of his almost forgotten grins, as he secured the hands of Ursula's opponent. The action seemed to have cheered Dan up. He looked less grey.

‘Where to now, Ursula? Which horse do you want?'

‘I don't mind,' said Ursula, ‘but we better choose quickly. I think the Tribune is riding this way.'

‘Should we wait?' Dan was clearly uncomfortable about leaving their prisoners in the middle of nowhere.

‘He'll find them.'

‘Yes, but if these men are on Arturus's side where else do we go? If we wait for the captain and explain that they attacked us we may not be marked down as Arturus's enemy. What else can we do?'

He was right, of course, though Ursula found the thought of mounting a horse and just riding enormously tempting. As if just by riding she might find herself somewhere she wanted to be, instead of wherever she was.

The captain was a tall man with a still, watchful face. He reminded Ursula of someone, though whether in Macsen's world, Arturus's world, or her own, she could not say. He took in the scene in a moment, his calm rather closed face revealing nothing. He noted his men'

sitting back to back with their wrists tied together on the dusty dirt road, Ursula and Dan and Braveheart looking at him warily. His face darkened and he looked almost shocked.

‘We have been away and—' Ursula began by way of explanation.

‘I know who you are,' he interrupted, shortly.

He held Ursula's eye for a long second. She struggled to put a name to his face. He knew her so she must have met him in this world – was he one of the Sarmatians? He was fair skinned and dark haired and there were not many of that colouring in the troop – surely she would have remembered. Suddenly, Braveheart left Dan's side and with a joyful bark rushed towards the stranger wagging his tail. The man's dour face creased into a warm smile and he vaulted from the saddle. He knelt and hugged the war dog, permitting him to lick his face, burying his face in the thick bloodstained fur of his neck. Ursula was confused. Braveheart never behaved like that except with Dan and Bryn.

Ursula peered hard at the man. He was tall and well built without being heavily muscled. He looked to be in his late twenties, maybe older, with the creased, weather-beaten face of a man much out of doors. He was clean-shaven with his hair cut in neat, Roman military style. He wore the characteristic ridge helmet of the majority of Arturus's men, but his was decorated with silver. His
clothing was plain and of earthy greens and browns. He wore no mail or scale armour though his horse was a fine black gelding. She looked at Dan, struck by a sudden unbelievable thought. Dan had blushed a deep scarlet as if evaluating the very same conclusion. It could not be Bryn – could it?

‘Do we know you?' Ursula asked haltingly, embarrassed. The man looked at her, when he turned he had screwed up his face against Braveheart's enthusiastic and undoubtedly smelly greeting. She knew – it was the same expression she had seen so many times.

‘Yes, long ago, I was Dan's squire. It's me, Bryn.'

Should she too have run to embrace him? He had lived to a fine, well-nourished manhood. She should be glad things had turned out so well. Instead, Ursula swayed in the saddle. She was not inclined to faint, but she felt a sudden heat and dizziness. She would have fallen but Bryn caught her.

‘I am so sorry,' she muttered, and then passed out.

She was not out for long. She woke to the sound of Bryn's quiet voice, filling in the lost years.

‘Larcius took me on as his squire. I studied a little with Taliesin but my heart was not in it. But all these years I wondered why? Why did you leave me alone?'

Bryn's voice was flat, without emotion. She tried to hear the boy in what he said, but even his accent had changed. He spoke Latin, Bryn who had scarcely
spoken a word of any language but his own when they first arrived in Arturus's world.

‘You found Braveheart's collar?' Dan sounded acutely uncomfortable.

‘Yes, Cynfach found it and told me what it said. He was always loyal to you and of course to Ursula. He tried to explain how it was for you, but you even took Braveheart away. I could not sleep for nights afterwards, though Gwynefa gave me a puppy when she found out what had happened. Poor Cynfach, a good man, he was killed soon after.'

‘Cynfach? No. Who by?'

Ursula heard the sadness in Dan's voice and felt tears threaten. She could not think of what they had done to Bryn. She could not believe what had happened to Cynfach. She had spoken to him, just before she went through the Veil. He had looked at her with such confidence, such pride. He could not be dead.

Bryn was speaking again, in the slightly peculiar Latin favoured by Larcius. ‘He died in a hunting accident, but there were those who thought his death too convenient.'

‘Whatever do you mean?'

Bryn cast a warning glance in the direction of his men still tied up in the road. They were trying to avoid his eye.

‘Cynfach knew who led the charge at Baddon and
never tired of praising you. It became ill luck to mention you, and Arturus always talked as if it were he who led the Sarmatian charge at Baddon. He presented himself as a war hero and those who mentioned remembering otherwise soon died. Taliesin has never sung about the Boar Skull and the Bear Sark in all the long years since the victory at Baddon Hill. These are peaceful times, or have been for most of us, but those looking for a fight can still find it. There are still Aenglisc and Pict and Scot around if you look hard enough. Cerdic found common cause with the enemy and now rules the small kingdom of Gewisse, with Aenglisc backing. Medraut sought another way to be king of his old lands and has made an alliance with Rhonwen and her old allies. She returned a couple of months ago. Arturus never managed to get the Saxon Shore back and Medraut did not believe he tried hard enough – or so it is assumed. Anyway, I have ridden out here regularly since Rhonwen's return – I wondered if you would follow Rhonwen back here – as I followed you from Macsen's land when I was a boy.' His voice was briefly coloured by some emotion, sadness, regret?

‘Taliesin won't speak of any of it – why you came and how you left – he won't ever discuss you except, sometimes, he used to mutter in his sleep.'

‘Used to? Taliesin isn't—?' Dan found there was a lump in his throat.

‘No. He is unchanged. He cares for Frontalis who is old now and half blind. His order disapprove of his involvement with the “Devil's Druid”. He's banned from Court, though Arturus still consults with him in secret.'

Dan met this further information with silence. It was very hard to take on so much change in what, for them, had seemed like no time at all. When Dan finally spoke, it was in a voice strained and roughened by acute embarrassment and shame. Ursula felt it too.

‘Bryn, I am very ashamed. I should not have run – I failed you.'

Bryn shrugged. ‘It happened a long time ago. It will be twenty-one years when the winter comes.' He indicated the silver cross he wore round his neck, over his tunic.

‘Brother Frontalis taught me that it's better to forgive.'

Dan said nothing. It was hard to equate this large, softly spoken man with the passionate child Bryn had been.

‘I'm sorry too, Bryn. I thought Dan would die if we stayed at Baddon, but we should never have left you behind. It was wrong.' Ursula blurted the words out in a tumble of remorse.

Bryn gave Ursula a long appraising glance. It made her deeply uncomfortable.

‘Is this how you looked after the battle?' he asked
abruptly, for no particular reason that she could see.

She wiped a dusty, weary hand across her already filthy face.

‘I still ache from that battle, Bryn. I am stained with the blood of men who, to me, died only hours ago at Baddon.'

His expression was difficult to read.

‘You were courageous.'

It was not a question, more an unequivocal statement, said without praise.

‘I would have died but for Cynfach. I can't believe he is dead.'

Bryn nodded. ‘Will you release my men?'

‘Of course. They tried to take us prisoner. We wouldn't have fought them otherwise.'

‘They're not the brightest,' Bryn said calmly. ‘Will you come with me to my Lord?'

‘Arturus?'

Bryn shook his head. ‘I have served Larcius for more than twenty years. You are not far from his seat at Caer-Baddon.'

Ursula felt a momentary panic at the thought of seeing Larcius. She had not seen much of him since their march from Camulodunum. She was more aware than ever of her disreputable state.

‘I would like to wash and clean up my armour before I have to meet anyone,' she began, but Bryn forestalled her.

‘It would do some people good to be reminded of who actually fought the Battle of Baddon Hill. It has brought us twenty years of peace, but the people who have gained most did not pay the price,' he said cryptically.

Ursula was too much in awe of this man who had once been Bryn to question what he meant.

Once his men were untied, Bryn made them walk behind the horses on the journey to Caer-Baddon. Ursula had dreaded the silence she expected between them but Bryn chatted easily about that and other matters: how Arturus had tried to restore Camulodunum to its former glory and reintroduce the rule of Roman law into the country; how he had given land and property to the church to set up schools for the education of the sons of kings and others; how Bryn himself had managed to overcome his fear of literacy and learned to write and read a little, much to Taliesin's disgust. Taliesin, it seemed, still believed writing damaged the mind. Neither Ursula nor Dan spoke much, other than to ask the odd question. They were not home nor were they any nearer to getting home. There was no magic. There was no respite from Dan's empathy. They had gained nothing in entering the Veil and lost something Ursula had not known was precious – the belief that they had acted from the right motives, the assurance that they had done their best. She had killed because she
had believed it was what she had to do, but she had also betrayed someone who had trusted her. There was no way of making up for that, for all that they had done to Bryn, and they all knew it.

The road was largely empty but for a few wagons loaded with foodstuffs. There were distinct signs of smoke from hamlets and sometimes, far from the road, a cluster of thatched structures which must have been Combrogi villages. Fields were well tended and the road was largely free of weeds but there were still guards at the Gate to Caer-Baddon, guards who regarded Ursula's bloodstained finery with frank suspicion.

Caer-Baddon still retained much of its Roman splendour though, as in Camulodunum, new and altogether cruder houses replaced many of the original stone buildings. There were market stalls and more permanent shops selling fruit, eggs, strong cheese, and souring milk in wooden pails. Butchered meat hung from hooks surrounded by a mass of plump bluebottles, and fish rotted rankly in the heat. There were stalls selling woven fabrics, leather goods and horse tack, iron goods
and even copper jewellery and beads – evidence of a way of life Ursula had never seen, a way of life that was not wholly taken up with the business of war. The warm, wholesome smell of baking bread reminded her that she had eaten little for the last few days as rations had been carefully regulated during the siege of Baddon, and the stench of the Aenglisc sickness had in any case put her off her food. She felt too guilty to ask anything of Bryn.