The hawks were gone; all his early companions were gone, long before he joined Legion. Now, overweight and suspicious, he was not regarded well by the brash, youthful men who rode beside him.
Three of them had served the previous leader of Legion, the hero Kylhuk. When Christian had found Legion, he challenged Kylhuk, who had come to regard him as a friend.
Kylhuk had departed the death world by what was regarded by many as ‘the cheating blow’ from Christian - a strike made when the opponent had signalled for a moment’s truce. That Christian had not been challenged himself was because Kylhuk had not fought fairly either.
That had been then.
Christian’s act of spontaneous cruelty earlier, when he had been questioned by the more arrogant of his commanders, had resulted in a silence that he found difficult to deal with. The man he had stabbed would no longer meet his gaze. The wound was healing, but he was in pain, and he brooded quietly as he sat among the others. It had been a mistake. Christian knew that they felt their leader was out of control; but that ghost! That echo of Guiwenneth. He had been so shocked by the apparition that he had become blind to reason for a while.
Lost in thought, he did not notice the younger of his commanders walking towards him, stooping under the canopy and crouching down. The man took off his sword belt and placed it, hilt away from his hand. This was Peredur.
‘I haven’t been with you long,’ the young rider said. ‘Long enough to know that something very deep is troubling you, though.’
Christian met the steady, icy gaze. Peredur was clean-shaven, his hair hanging to his shoulders, simply combed, two slender golden clasps tying a single lock on each side of his face. Like his decoration, his armour was simple too, just leather stitched with ivory tusks, and striped flannel trousers with a leather kirtle. Christian judged his age at no more than twenty-five.
Words from his school days came back to him, a memory of a play. ‘The head lies uneasy.’
‘Very clear to see. That was an unfortunate blow you inflicted on Maelin. If you had killed him, matters would be worse.’
‘I will make amends to Maelin. Perhaps you will be able to advise me, since they no longer communicate with me.’
Peredur bowed his head. ‘If I can, I will.’
Christian regarded Peredur coolly. It was the man’s calm, his certainty that was disturbing. He wasn’t used to it. Christian was conscious that he trusted no one now; perhaps he would always find a reason for mistrust. There was madness in the thinking. He asked, ‘How long had you ridden with Legion before you came to me to offer your services?’
‘Not long.’
‘Where were you recruited? What battle?’
‘It was not a battle. I was shot by an arrow while trying to save my daughter from being stolen from her mother’s arms. All the memory of it happened in a dream. How I came to be here, I don’t know. I was alive. I took on the form of an eagle to save my child. I almost succeeded, then the arrow struck and I was at unwelcome liberty and in the world of the dead.’
‘You took on the form of an eagle? You can shape-shift?’
Peredur smiled but shook his head. ‘It was a briefly received gift. The gift did not last. I had to pay a high price for it. Well, as you see! The price was my life.’
‘And we collected you recently.’
‘I remember your passing. That great, dense cohort of men at the head, and the backwards-walking army that guards the rear. I simply entered the body of the beast and rode.’
There was a brief pause in this soft conversation. Peredur asked suddenly, ‘Who is the ghost you talk about when you’re half asleep?’
Christian was startled by the question. ‘I talk about a ghost?’
‘Yes. A ghost that terrifies you.’
‘I use those words?’
‘You do,’ Peredur agreed, and whispered, ‘It’s hard to stop a dreaming man speaking, but these words do not sound good to the hearing of the men, your personal guard, who might want to challenge you.’
‘I agree. You don’t have to tell me.’
After a moment, Christian decided to open his heart a little to this confident young man. He said, ‘The ghost is no more than that. She is someone I once knew. Do you never have bad dreams?’
Peredur laughed. ‘Oh yes.’
‘And what do they consist of?’
‘I told you: losing my infant daughter to a Roman. Legion is full of Romans, and I avoid them. Losing my daughter, yes. I was carrying her and I dropped her as the arrow struck; but a kindly goddess was watching over me and my friends caught the child.’
‘What was her name? The child.’
‘My lord: I hold that child in my heart. I will hold her name there too. Forgive me.’
Christian raised a hand: nothing to forgive.
‘Peredur,’ he said, thinking hard. ‘I turned this army round because I saw a woman I once . . . loved. She was alive again. And yet - this is difficult to explain - she was not the woman I had known. The same, but different. When I first met her, under strange circumstances, I was drawn to her at once, attracted to her very powerfully; though in the end I was denied her, which was heartbreaking. But now I’m drawn again. Can you understand this? I feel she is close again. I turned Legion round. Yes, yes, yes! For my own ends. But when I find her, we will return to the task. How do I convince this vast army to follow me on such a personal quest?’
Peredur laughed and stroked the bristles on his chin. ‘Well, I’m not sure that you can. Therefore perhaps it would be better to say nothing. Is she here, then? This woman. Where are we?’
‘Lavondyss. Avilion. Call it what you like. When we crossed the void, we entered a different world.’
Peredur nodded sagely, still half smiling. ‘I think we’d all realised that. Let me ask again: is she here? This woman? This ghost?’
‘She has copper-coloured hair, eyes as green as oak leaves in spring, a pale complexion, and a smile and a laugh to take your breath away. And yes: I believe she is here. Quite how, I don’t know. But she is close. Peredur, find her for me. I need to be rid of the ghost.’
‘She sounds beautiful.’
Christian turned away, staring into the past. ‘She was.’
And the young rider asked, ‘If you find her, will she know you?’
With a wry laugh, Christian answered, ‘I imagine she will remember me. Yes.’
A while later, one of the young ‘gatherers’ walked slowly towards the awning, and the grouped men who commanded Legion. She was almost ephemeral. Peredur had slipped away, and though Christian was puzzled by his absence he put it down to the young man’s agreement to look for Guiwenneth, though he would not have known the name.
The gatherer was dressed simply in green and black, the lower half of her face covered with a veil. Christian didn’t recognise her. There were hundreds of such entities in Legion. Scourers, recruiters, gatherers, alert to the loss of life and the importance of bringing in the best of any broken forces to be a part of the army.
‘Those who called to us for help are now dead,’ she said simply. ‘They called many times. The siege was fierce. The walls were broken and the besieging army took the town, and took all life that had not at that time taken itself, all but the women, who are now without family or home and are in chains. The last call was a dirge of despair. They had seen us, summoned us, put hope in us, and too late realised that we had abandoned them. You should know this. You turned Legion around. I hope there was purpose in the action.’
‘Thank you.’
The woman’s eyes were angry, perhaps because of Christian’s dismissive words, his lack of explanation. Her gaze was unblinking. ‘There is another call. It is from Time future. When you are ready, my father and I will describe it to you.’
She turned without bowing and walked away, a stiff and angry creature, betrayed in her talent by the man who led her.
The three men who crouched with Christian stared at the ground, hardly breathing. The hilts of their swords were pointed towards him. He wished the young rider was here. This would be a difficult time.
Maelin said, ‘My lord, I will not consider the consequences of your wound to me if you tell us why we have turned around. Tell us what you have come to find.’
Christian considered the statement, but shook his head. ‘I have nothing to say on the matter. In due course, Maelin, we will discuss your grievance in the company of the others. And in due course we will turn round and resume our duty. For the moment, we rest.’
‘While you search for a ghost,’ said Aelroth bitterly.
Christian rose to his full height and pulled his sword belt round his waist, bringing the sheathed blade to his right hand. Staring down at the man he felt a flush of blood and anger. His skin sharpened and his vision cleared. ‘Yes! Yes! While I search for a ghost.’
Aelroth stood and faced the warlord. Hard gaze met hard gaze, uncompromising, challenging; there was no friendship here, no sense of respect.
‘And this ghost is? Describe the ghost, and we’ll search for her. We’ll bring its flimsy carcass to you. Throw it at your feet. Let it become dog feast. Anything for you, my lord. Anything that will help us get to war.’
The others stood, picking up their swords, holding them by the scabbard. Christian decided that he had no choice.
‘Her name is Guiwenneth.’
He repeated the description he had given to Peredur. ‘I do not wish her harmed if you find her.’
They backed away, each bowing briefly and without sincerity. Christian summoned his personal guard, watching through the thin rank of men as the warlords on whose support he counted, and which he was losing, talked briefly among themselves, then went away in different directions.
When he thought he was at a safe distance, Peredur stopped and looked back at the guarded but open-walled camp where Christian lay, brooding and angry. He was puzzled. The description of Guiwenneth was not a description of the woman he knew. Then again, Christian might have been remembering the past.
He found his horse and rode the long way across Legion to where he had last seen the woman. His two comrades were there, restless after being abandoned for so long, and they greeted Peredur with sullen smiles. ‘You’ve been gone a long time.’
‘I’m a commander. It took some persuasion, but the man at the head of this army is open to persuasion.’
‘In what way?’
‘He’s desperate to feel protected. It would be a simple matter to challenge him, but there is something - I can’t define it - something that keeps him in charge of his own life, and of this army. He’s an outsider. That probably accounts for it. Guiwenneth? Don’t tell me she’s abandoned the place.’
One of Peredur’s men jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘There’s a lake. The women and children are bathing. Don’t try to get past the guard if you value your masculinity.’
‘And please cease this charade of not knowing each other’s names! We’re tired of pretending. It’s tiresome, especially for not knowing the reason for it.’
‘You’re right.’
The lake was beyond a narrow defile. Peredur could hear the laughter of children as they swam and jumped into the fresh water. Four women crouched at the entrance, playing a game of dice and shouting with each throw. As Peredur approached, they looked up, two of them standing and gripping short fish-hook spears. Their eyes narrowed, one of them holding his gaze, the other looking him quickly up and down, assessing him.
‘The men bathe later. This is the time for the children and their mothers.’
‘You don’t pass.’
He smiled and raised placatory hands. ‘I’m looking for a friend. Red and white hair, a leather band stuffed with hawk’s feathers, bone-scale cuirass, blue tattoos or paint all over her arms. Unmistakable.’
‘Who is she to you?’
Peredur wondered what to say, then decided: ‘My mother. Guiwenneth.’
‘Leave your weapons here. Call to her.’
He walked through the defile. The lake was below a high wall of rock, shaded by overgrowing trees. The water was so churned by the pleasure of the youngsters who travelled with Legion that it might have been the frenzy of a fishing expedition. Peredur saw Guiwenneth and beckoned to her. She was dressed, drawing a wide-toothed comb through her hair. When she saw him she gathered up her belongings and walked towards him; there was irritation in her look.
‘I’d thought you’d abandoned me. Do you know how long you’ve been gone?’
‘You look refreshed. I could do with a swim myself.’
She glanced back. ‘I hadn’t realised there were so many children with this army. And these are just a handful. Here.’ She squeezed water from her hair and smoothed his cheeks, smiling impishly. ‘The lake is very deep. And cold? It’s freezing!’
As they passed the guard, one of the women looked up from the game and said, ‘If your son’s available, he’ll know where to find me.’ There was laughter. The young rider bowed. It was not like him to feel flattered. A moment’s weakness, manipulated by the guile of his peers.
As they drew away from the lake, Guiwenneth looked up quizzically, not necessarily without amusement. ‘My son?’
‘A small lie to allow me to find you.’
She shook her head, a half-smile on her lips. ‘Strange to say, I do feel an affinity with you. But my son is Jack.’
‘It was a lie.’
Guiwenneth was very quiet as they walked through the wood, and through the groups of waiting men at arms. Eventually she said, ‘I wonder who you are. I don’t know your name. You don’t know mine . . . Or do you?’
They had stopped. The older woman, not much shorter than Peredur, engaged his look powerfully. ‘You know who I am,’ she stated.
‘Guiwenneth.’
‘I’ve known it all along. I’ve known it all along,’ she repeated. ‘From the moment you surfaced, that strange conversation: the crossing place. Strange poetry from the mouth of a young rider; you were so knowing.’