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paperlegends Story - Line of Dance, part 4
Aug. 11th, 2011 09:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thismazFor notes, see part one
Gilbert Drover could find some other willing hand to lead his team. Merlin made a half-bow, but Lord Isen was already striding away to his tent. Instead Merlin was confronted by a young boy, not much older than the lads who helped the cooks, but much better dressed. "I'm Lord Isen's squire," he announced. "I look after his armour and help him dress."
Merlin nodded solemnly. "I'll do as Hugh did and leave you to care of your lord." He smiled. "What's your name young lordling?"
The boy eyed him suspiciously. "I'm Bevyn. Hugh brought us our breakfast in the morning."
"Then I will do the same. Which tent should I bring it to?"
Bevyn pointed to the tent Lord Isen had just re-entered. "That one, with his pennant above the door." He studied Merlin for a few moments, every bit the young lord Merlin had named him. "I hope you're better with horses than Hugh," he said, before he too stalked away.
The horse Merlin was issued with was Lord Isen's spare pack pony. Tageth, Merlin's own mare, was famous for her calm complacency, but Bramble was placid to the point of sluggishness. Ajax, Lord Isen's spare mount, pranced and veered at the end of his lead rein and even the other two pack ponies seemed impatient with Bramble's ambling progress, although they were better behaved than Ajax. For the first couple of hours, persuading Bramble to pick up her pace proved impossible. Eventually, Merlin leaned forward and whispered a few words in her ear. She snorted and shook her head, but became noticeably more cooperative. After that, although Ajax was still a handful, the other two no longer seemed to want to pull his arm out of its socket.
Once he had established his understanding with Bramble, Merlin's morning improved, although the march that day was hard. The old Roman road led them across a large area of peat bog that threatened danger to anyone who strayed from the path, before ascending into the hills on the other side. Between the Dorn and the Bridewell the road was not much used, since traders avoided that treacherous stretch by transferring to the river for transport. As a result it was overgrown and broken in many places. At one point it disappeared entirely, where part of the hillside had fallen away and the army had to take up almost single file to skirt the edge of the drop. They paused there and Arthur split off a detachment of mounted knights to guard the supply train which was falling further behind with each mile they travelled.
It was with a sense of exhausted relief that, in the late afternoon, the army finally reached the ford over the River Bridewell, a few miles shy of Lord Broga's borders.
On the march, the knights' squires and grooms, the grooms with their strings of pack ponies, followed immediately behind the knights and the first company of men at arms. Riding so close to the front of the column, Merlin was witness to how, when Arthur declared a halt, the army moved into action like a well-oiled machine.
Arthur's supplies were unloaded first, under Alwin's watchful eye, and when Arthur returned from meeting with the local village elders, he stood in the middle of the chaos and watched as order asserted itself around him. As soon as his folding desk and stool were set up, near where his tent would stand when it arrived, he sat in the sun, studying papers that he retrieved from his saddlebags and accepting reports from his sergeants, as they brought their companies in.
While Merlin dealt with Romulus, Ajax, Bramble and the two pack ponies, other men were preparing cook fires and arranging the overnight positions of the various ranks of the army.
The camp was situated in a large field, on a gentle slope leading down towards a line of trees and the river beyond. The soil was dark and damp looking, but seemed to have grown a crop of rich spring grass, dotted with dandelions and daisies. A good supply of firewood was available from the forest, only half a mile away.
The sheep that had had sole possession of the field before the army arrived were herded over to one side and the next time Merlin looked, a major butchering operation was underway.
Dillon was one of the first recipients of a pair of carcases. "Roast lamb, tonight," he announced, holding them up by a hind leg in each large fist as Merlin walked by, leading the horses to the river. "The king said the skins are to be left for the villagers, but if you wanted one, I doubt anyone would mind."
"Nah," Merlin said. "I've no time to clean it and it'd smell by the time I got it home."
"Reckon that's what the king thought, too," Dillon replied. "Pity. Won't stop 'em all, but I hear the king paid the village for the flock, so it's not like we're stealing."
"You would though."
"'Course I would. All's fair in love and war."
Laughing, Merlin continued on his way to the river with Ajax and Rom on one side and the three ponies on the other. To get there he had to pass within fifteen feet of Arthur's table. Casting a quick glance in that direction, he was surprised to see that Arthur was neglecting his papers and maps and was, instead, staring straight at him. He quickly turned away and added a small limp to his step until he was down the slope and had found a large enough gap for him to lead the animals through the narrow band of trees that masked the river from the field.
One positive outcome of being volunteered into Lord Isen's service, in addition to the opportunity to keep watch over Arthur, was that the food was plentiful. The close servants of Arthur's inner circle, and on the march a groom counted as such, ate from the same spit and cook pot as the King and his companions. Later that night, he also got to sleep under a well-constructed cart that didn't leak.
Early the next morning, while Dillon prepared breakfast, Merlin and Alwin led their horses down to the river again, while most of the camp was still waking up.
They walked in silence, in step, but not really together, although Merlin had received a slight nod, which could have been approval, for having Romulus ready before the other grooms had begun to stir.
The ground in the lower field was damp with a heavy dew and the air was fresh with the promise of a bright day. When they approached the wide opening between the trees that gave access to the river, Alwin drew ahead. Under the trees, the thick layers of dead and rotting leaves that had covered the ground the day before had been trampled into a muddy path that dragged at Merlin's boots with every step. A patrol passed them and he exchanged a greeting with the leader. The sun made the large leaves of oak and sycamore glow luminous green overhead and occasionally broke through to dazzle the eye.
Beyond the trees and on the wide bank of the river, Alwin went straight to a stretch of sandy beach, just wide enough for his string of five to drink side-by-side. That was the privilege of the king's horses. Gaius always said to drink upstream of other people, so Merlin took his own group in that direction, to a place a few yards along the bank where they could get down and into the water to drink. He allowed them to draw away to the full length of their lead reins, alternating between keeping watch on them and examining the lay of the land.
With the trees masking the camp site and muting its sounds, the scene was tranquil and unspoilt. The broad curve of the river hid the ford and the village beside it. The water meadow was obviously being saved for hay, because there was no sign that it had been used for grazing. The air was fresh with the green smell of living things. Wild flowers dotted the ground among the tall grasses and along the bank. On the edge of the water, reeds grew in clumps with a few clear spaces between that looked like promising fishing spots. Bees meandered around the flower heads of cowslip, betony and yarrow. Above the grassy bank, at the edge of the trees, the usual storm debris lay scattered in the grass. The local villagers had obviously not come this way in their foraging for a while.
Ten yards away, Alwin was also looking around the scene and Merlin caught his eye, nodding in companionable silence. Alwin nodded back. Then his eyes shifted to something behind Merlin and widened. His mouth opened and Merlin spun around to see what had alarmed him.
A loose group of eight armed men on foot were rushing along the bank towards them. Alwin yelled and began to gather the lead reins of Arthur's horses. Turning his back to Alwin, Merlin raised his hand towards the attackers. They were too widely spaced for a single spell to catch them all, so he directed his attention at the nearest. He lowered his head and stared at the man from under his brows, concentrating on the meaning behind the word as he said, "Aflíegung!"
The man lifted off the ground and was thrown back, as if attached to a wire on a spring. He hit the trunk of a tree about ten feet above the ground and fell in a crumpled heap at its base.
The three behind him hesitated but, spurred on by a shout from their right, resumed their charge, yelling as they came.
Alwin, his horses now safely out of the river, pulled out his knife. Merlin switched the lead reins he was holding to his left hand and drew his own. He held it in front of him, using his stance to disguise his focus on another of their attackers. "Ahylte!" he muttered and the man tripped over his own feet and thereafter was unable to find his footing.
The remaining six were closing fast. The nearest carried a spear, with the point levelled at Merlin's chest. Merlin dodged the thrust, jumping back towards the river bank and swerving to the side. He threw his knife, ensuring it flew true with another muttered word and the spearman fell to the ground.
Two of the attackers splashed into the water after the Lord Isen's horses. Merlin looked around. Alwin was circling with a man who held a sword, hampered by the horses whose reins he held and who were pulling and rearing in response to the chaos.
Deciding that Rom and Ajax were the priority, Merlin released the pack ponies and coaxed the war horses out of the water and onto the bank. They milled around him and he struggled to get them both facing in the same direction, whilst avoiding getting his feet trodden on. Rom pushed forward and knocked Merlin off balance. He stumbled and inadvertently dragged on the reins in his hands. Ajax neighed in alarm and Rom reared, pulling himself free. Merlin scrambled after the rein and failed to catch it, losing hold of Ajax in the process. Rom was turning in tight circles. Ajax bolted away from Merlin, back into the river.
Alwin's attention was divided between his opponent and his charges. A vicious swipe from the sword caused him to concentrate on survival and all his horses were free. One bolted up the slope, back towards the camp. Another reared and swung around, galloping upstream along the bank where the two remaining men attempted to intercept it. Arthur's second mount, Algar, bolted into the river although he came to a stop when the water reached to his knees.
Merlin held out his arms and whispered, "cumaþ!" His knife pulled itself free of his late assailant's neck and flew to his hand. A fallen branch of suitable club size came to his other and he tossed it towards Alwin's adversary. It spun end-over-end as it flew through the air, connecting with his shoulder and neck and knocking him down. Alwin, who had a long red gash along his left forearm, closed with the man and finished him, grabbing his sword as he got to his feet again. Shouting, "Get Bran safe!" to Merlin, he stumbled into the water to stop the attacker who had captured one of Lord Isen's ponies and was trying to mount her and go after Algar.
One of the two attackers who had failed to capture the bolting horse, earlier, had grabbed Bran's reins, while his remaining companion had caught Romulus and was attempting to lead him off. Merlin shouted to Romulus and to Bran, who both reared. Bran pulled himself free, but Rom knocked his captor to the ground and brought his front hooves down squarely on the man's chest, silencing him.
The other man, scrambling after Bran's reins, cast a startled glance at his fallen comrades and abandoned his attempts. He started to run back along the river bank, apparently intent only on escape. Letting him go, Merlin caught Rom's and Bran's reins and dragged them with him when he jumped into the river after Bramble and Ajax.
It took a while to get them all back in hand, but although he kept looking, none of the unaccounted for attackers came near him. It was not until he was leading the horses back to the bank that he saw why and stopped to stare.
Sir Huw was engaged with a man at Merlin's watering site. One of Lord Isen's pack ponies was in the care of a man at arms, near the trees. The body of the man Merlin had tripped up earlier was lying at his feet.
Further up-stream, Arthur and Lord Isen were in pursuit of the robber who had run. From his place, five yards into the river, Merlin had a clear view when the man turned to fight. Arthur barely paused. He fell into his 'at ready' position and, all his movements suddenly measured and balanced, kept advancing. Lord Isen stopped running to watch.
Arthur sprang forward, swinging his blade in a sharp upward stroke as he did so. His opponent's sword flew from his hand. Arthur brought his own blade back around and the man staggered, bringing his hands up to his neck as a burst of arterial blood sprayed across Arthur's face and chest. The man fell. Arthur stepped up to him, planted his sword into his throat and pulled it free.
Merlin looked around at the rest of the scene. Alwin was bringing Algar and Lord Isen's other pony back to the bank. The man Alwin had followed into the river was lying face down in the water, his legs caught in the reeds while his arms floated out into the stream. Merlin splashed towards the bank with Bran, Rom, Ajax and Bramble.
Sir Huw dispatched the last standing attacker while Merlin was struggling ashore. He spun around at the sound behind him and levelled his sword at Merlin. "Who are you?" he demanded.
Meanwhile, Lord Isen had gathered up the bolted pony and was walking him back.
Arthur wandered over, inspecting his blade as he did so. "Don't worry, Huw," he said. "I know this man. He's Isen's groom. Half witless, but has a magic touch with horses." With a totally straight face he added, "He has a fascination with Bran. I think he's in love."
Lord Isen handed his charge over to Merlin and Sir Huw relaxed. Lord Isen walked up the slope to the very first attacker, who Merlin had sent crashing into a tree, and slit his throat.
Arthur nodded in approval and turned to Merlin. "My horse?" he asked.
Merlin handed over Bran's reins. There was a wicked gleam in Arthur's eyes when he looked Merlin up and down. "Myrddin?" he said. "That's a version of the name 'Merlin', isn't it?" Merlin nodded dumbly. Arthur's smile widened. "I'll see you later, Myrddin," he said, emphasising the first syllable, and he led Bran away, up the bank, back towards the camp.
That morning they marched south-east, with the sun directly in their eyes, through country that had escaped all the ravages of Cenred's previous hostility. By midday, they were inside Lord Broga's borders and in the early afternoon they reached the village of Brenholm. The road they were on continued up the Bridewell Valley, to Compton, at the mouth of Freydale, and beyond that, eastward to Cenred's kingdom of Escetia.
At Brenholm, the river ran sluggishly between its banks, heavy with silt carried down from the hills. A man stood knee deep in the water and cast a net out into the stream. Women knelt on the bank, beating clothes on the rocks, while their daughters hung clean clothes over the bushes to dry. A group of young children, gathering elderflowers into large baskets, paused to wave.
After the excitement on the riverbank that morning, when all the grooms were gathered around the porridge pot, the rumour had been that the army would head to Freydale. Freydale branched south from the Bridewell Valley and led directly to Broga's fortress. The common wisdom had been that they would meet Broga's army on the main road. Instead, they turned south, a mile beyond Brenholm, into the smaller Crybrookdale.
As they marched through the village, Merlin spotted Leon standing with his horse in hand, talking to a group of men. A young boy took the reins from him and Leon started to dig around in the large satchel he wore. Merlin dug his heels into Bramble's sides, in an attempt to push ahead to where, through a gap between the houses, he could see Arthur on Bran at the head of the troops.
Crybrookdale was a shallow, sparsely populated valley, running up to a line of low crags at its head. The road was little more than a wide path, bordered by dry stone walls. There was pasture on either side, but the fields were also divided by walls, so there was no advantage in breaking away in an attempt to catch up with the vanguard by riding cross-country, unless Merlin crossed the strips of fields to the rough hill pasture above.
After nearly three miles of being trapped behind the men on foot, the army pulled off into a large field and began to climb the eastern slope. Off the road, Merlin was able to pull away to one side and he was not far behind the vanguard when they topped the rise and paused. The command was immediately passed back to the column to set camp.
It was barely past mid-afternoon when Merlin slipped around the back of Arthur's newly erected tent, put his ear close to the canvas and listened. Earlier, after he had groomed the horses and taken Lord Isen a late, mid-day meal of bread, cheese and jam, he had walked up from the camp to the top of the slope, to survey the valley of Avarldale beyond.
The hill top pasture was rough and the grazing was sparse. Merlin had to push through thigh-high bracken that crackled underfoot to reach the top, but from the crest he had an unimpeded view over the valley.
It was more an undulation in the high grassland than a true valley, although a brook ran down its centre. There was no sense of gentleness in the terrain; it was too exposed and bleak for that. As in Crybrookdale, the soil was thin and too poor for cash crops, so it was given over to livestock. The open grazing of the hill tops extended down the slope to a narrow band of enclosed pasture on either side of the Avarl Brook. The few cotters who lived there would spend their summers herding their lord's flocks and hoping to grow enough in their vegetable patches to last them through the winter.
It was not a place where anybody would choose to make their home, if an alternative offered itself. On this particular May day, however, the thing that caught the eye and arrested the attention was the small group of knights on horseback standing silhouetted against the sky on the opposite ridge. They flew the banner of Escetia and, even while Merlin stood taking in the scene, they were joined by a company of armed men on foot. Merlin turned and made his way back to the camp.
Half an hour later, when he walked past Arthur's tent, leading Rom and Ajax to the area of fresh grazing designated for the use of the knights' horses, Arthur, Leon and Kay were sitting around Arthur's campaign table in the open entrance. When he returned and was hauling hay to the pack ponies, he saw a number of other knights arrive to join the conference. Since he had finished work, he had been trying to find the best spot from which to eavesdrop, whilst not attracting the attention of the soldiers still setting up the rest of the camp.
Standing slightly hunched in the narrow gap between Arthur's tent and the one occupied by Lancelot and Gwaine, he could hear snatches of the discussion inside - the occasional question or comment, devoid of any of the context that would have helped his understanding. He hadn't been able to make out anything said by the man who had been doing most of the talking for the past twenty minutes. From the tone, it sounded like Leon, but each time he considered moving around to a different place, something would come through clearly, a question from Arthur or Brolin, a comment by Dagonet that would often raise a laugh; just enough to keep him in one place, in the hope of hearing more. The little he did hear, he managed to piece together into some sort of picture. By dint of an aching back, he learned that one of the council, an older voice, favoured a single pronged attack, while someone else advocated a flanking action from the south, where the approach was relatively clear. These two approaches were discussed at some length. It also appeared that the proposed deposition of the hospice tents was cause for dissatisfaction.
Arthur had not said much, but his voice abruptly cut through the rumble of conversation and debate. "Isen, would you be so good as to find someone to bring us something to wet our throats while we talk?"
Merlin didn't wait to hear Lord Isen's reply. He had just enough time to jump up from his hiding place, sprint five yards, spin in a turn and walk slowly back, as if he were simply passing by the tent, before Lord Isen appeared.
He spotted Merlin immediately. "Ah, Myrddin, well met," he said. "Go and fetch some ale and bring it to the king's tent. Do you know how to serve?"
"Yes, My Lord. I've done so before."
"Good. Be quick about it then." He waved a hand towards the supply cart and turned to go back to the council, adding, "There are ten of us."
When Merlin got back to the tent, fifteen minutes later, carrying a four gallon keg on one shoulder and a leather belt strung with pewter tankards over the other, he saw that Arthur and Leon were still sitting, but Kay had given up his seat to Lord Connal. Kay, Brolin, Lord Isen, Lancelot, Dagonet, Bors and Lionel were crowded around, where they had a view of a map spread out across the table.
Arthur looked up as Merlin came in and caught his eye for long enough for a smirk to threaten at the corner of his mouth. Turning back to the map, he waved his right hand towards his war chest against the wall of the tent and said, "Put it down there and serve, will you?"
Merlin did as he was told, laying the cask on top of the chest. He fished the chocks, to keep it from rolling, out of a couple of the tankards where he'd put them for convenience. With them wedged against the keg's sides, he held the first tankard under the spout of the wooden tap, filled it and took it over to Arthur. One by one, he filled the others and handed them out to the knights. Then he went to stand next to the keg and tried to look both inconspicuous and ready to serve, at the same time.
Arthur sat back on his stool and from where he stood Merlin could see the map. It was big enough to be made from an entire sheep skin and depicted the whole of Avarldale. Merlin mentally rotated it, so he could picture it overlaid on his remembered view.
Arthur looked over at Leon, saying, "Lead us through the geography again."
The positions that Arthur and Leon obviously expected the two armies to take up were marked on the map by blocked squares, blue for Escetia and red for Camelot's forces. It was a good spot for Broga - inside his own borders, so he could claim Arthur was the aggressor, with little cover to limit the scope of the action and giving him a good view of Camelot's advance.
That Arthur would attack was never in doubt. Broga was on his home ground and his force was supplemented by Escetian troops. Arthur had called his fighting men away from their farms, upon which the whole kingdom relied. He had brought ample stores, but he was still dependent on an expensive supply route. He couldn't afford to waste time on threats and posturing.
The stream that gave Avarldale its name ran down to the north to join the Bridewell and then westward to Brenholm, five miles away. From there it eventually joined the Cama which flowed down to Camelot itself, on its way to the western sea.
Sir Leon swept his hand across the southern end of the map, saying, "I expect the scouts back shortly with better descriptions of this area, then I can fill in the detail, but I judged it doubtful the battle would spread so far south and there is no route for retreat. For that reason, this area was my lowest priority." He sat back and studied the map dispassionately. "The villagers of Brenholm rarely come this way, since the valley leads nowhere, in itself, and Freydale, beyond Broga's current position, holds the main road to his fortress at Garsbury.
"Cottages?" Arthur asked.
"A few, but none directly between our positions. As soon as we saw that Broga had-"
"Cenred," Arthur said, interrupting him. "Broga has little to do with this. The speed with which they responded to our attempt to out-flank them is all Cenred."
Bowing his head to acknowledge that point, Leon said, "As soon as we heard that Cenred had managed to turn to meet us, I sent men ahead to scout the cots for ambush and to fire them. The few people who live here have already taken their animals and fled."
"Good." Arthur gestured for Leon to continue with his description of the terrain and Leon went on to describe elevations, gradients, the depth and width of the brook and where there was some tree cover or obstacle in the path of an attack.
"This is interesting," Arthur said, indicating a small stream to the north of Broga's and Cenred's position and close to where their army was making camp. "How steep are the banks on either side of this stream and how wide is it?"
"I have sent John Carpenter to check it, Sire. It was Alfred the Drover who described it to me, as you see it here, but he admitted it is a few years since he came this way. He reported a brook that a child could jump over and good cover from the trees that follow the flow. But there was rumour of felling and clearance to open up the grazing." He shrugged. "John's a good man with an eye for the land."
"Have him sent in, as soon as he returns," Arthur said with a glance at Brolin, who nodded and slipped out to deliver that message to the guards.
Over the next hour a number of men arrived to report minor corrections to the map. Each one was carefully questioned by Leon, who drew in the new details and used his penknife to scrape away the errors, before carefully adding the corrections, each annotated with the surveyor's name.
Dagonet nudged Lancelot and pointed at something on the map, leaning over to whisper in Lancelot's ear. Kay took a sip of his beer, frowning down at the map, his brows drawn together. Brolin moved around behind Leon for a better view. Merlin's left foot had gone to sleep and he shook it, gritting his teeth when it started to tingle.
Even with the flaps pulled wide, inside the tent it was warm and stifling, with not a breath of breeze and ten large men standing between Merlin and the dead air of the hillside. Although he was vitally interested in the discussion around the table, it was becoming difficult to concentrate. He shifted and wiped his brow. Arthur signalled for more beer for himself and Kay followed suit.
John Carpenter arrived and made his report, which largely supported the initial description from Alfred the Drover. Arthur joined in Leon's questioning about distances and sightlines, and Leon drew in the trees as John described them. Once he had left, Arthur sat back, took a drink from his tankard and contemplated the map in silence. Kay asked Leon a question about the apparent width of Cenred's front, as depicted on the map, and Dagonet muttered something that set the knights all laughing and made Arthur's lips twitch. The atmosphere in the tent loosened and the younger knights began to debate what Cenred would do and how he would react to different moves on their part.
Lord Connal was the only member of the old guard present and he didn't contribute much, seeming content to allow the younger men to speculate and theorise. Only when Arthur asked for his particular opinion did he suggest that the lay of the land favoured neither party. "Since neither we nor they chose it, that's fortunate. Your Majesty's early move south has indeed spoilt Broga's plan to make his stand in Freydale, but his rapid response has prevented us from cutting him off from his rear. As to our current position, the slope of the hill is not great and will not slow down a well marshalled charge. "
Since Lord Connal had been at Camelot since before the Coronation, apart from a brief journey home to call up his men, he should have known Arthur's basic strategy and the skin around Arthur's eyes tightened, but then he drew a breath and said, "We have our spies tracking their movements. It would be unreasonable not to expect them to do the same. This knoll." He pointed at a circle drawn on the map. "It has a good view across the valley. I will set up my position there. Cenred holds his knights back, relying on his foot soldiers to fight for him, as the stories say the Roman legions did. But his men don't have the discipline of Rome." He looked around the gathering, as if expecting to be contradicted. No one rose to his challenge and he continued, "They will, however, hold their lines with their shield bases dug into the earth. We need to break through and divide them."
He stood up and his knights tensed as they awaited their orders. "Lord Connal," he said. "You will lead the centre, with Lamorak, his son and their followers. Brolin, take Bailoch, Oran and Maddoc, with their men, to the right. Kay, with Lords Kenzie, Moren and Blane, you will lead the attack on the northern end of their line."
He rapped the knuckles of his left hand thoughtfully on the edge of the map a couple of times while his eyes scanned back and forth over it, then leaned forward, bracing himself on that arm. With his right hand he pointed at the northern end of the Escetian line. "That is where I expect to break them. Cenred and Broga will be stationed here, if they wish to view the whole field." He pointed at a position opposite the knoll he had claimed as his own. "Kay, your attack is slightly further from there than Brolin's and, most importantly, it is near this side valley." He moved his hand to trace the stream that had caught his attention earlier. "His men will have less room to manoeuvre." Looking up he caught Lancelot's eye and grinned. "Lancelot, I want you to take Gwaine and a small group of hand-picked men, and circle around to approach Cenred's troops from that valley. You will leave tonight and I want you in position and ready to attack by dawn. They will have pickets out well beyond the trees, if they are wise, so you must silence them. Can you do that?"
Lancelot nodded. "Of course, Sire, if the men will follow me."
"You are too modest, Sir Lancelot," Arthur said. "Camelot remembers your bravery in the past; they will follow you." He looked around the gathering. "Kay, would you call in the Sergeant Marshal, who should be waiting outside. We need his counsel."
Lord Connal spluttered then. "Sire," he protested. "A common soldier?"
Kay ducked outside and returned a moment later with the Sergeant Marshal of the army, who entered cautiously but without hesitation. Arthur looked around again, pointedly not fixing on Lord Connal and said, "We are all going into this battle, so we all have places around this table on its eve."
The sergeant immediately straightened his back and stepped up smartly to make a formal bow.
Arthur nodded acknowledgement. "Marc Thurston," he said. "Tell us how you have deployed the troops who joined us in the last few days?"
Marc bowed again. He cast a quick look around the gathering. Merlin caught his eye and smiled encouragingly. Marc frowned. Looking across the table to Arthur, he said, "I've spread them about, Sire, and appointed an old hand to each group of three." He stopped and it wasn't clear if he had run out of confidence, or information. Arthur made a rolling gesture with his hand and he continued more hesitantly, "Well, I figured they've not got the training, Sire. I thought the best we could do was to try and talk them into an understanding, over the cook fires." Arthur smiled and Marc relaxed. He took a deep breath and added with a smile of his own, "I believe the result is variable, Sire."
"I'm sure it is," Arthur agreed. "Can you find me thirty good woodsman who can move silently at night, no questions asked?"
Back on what was obviously more familiar ground, Marc nodded eagerly. "Yes, Sire."
"They are to go with Sir Lancelot, tonight. This is very important, so I want only the best hunters and poachers in the army. And only men you would vouch for, yourself."
His expression thoughtful, Marc's lips moved silently, while Arthur waited. After almost half a minute his eyes focused again. He blinked and said. "Yes, Sire, I can pick you twenty-five or thirty who will serve your needs."
"Good. After dark, send two or three groups of men to dismantle parts of this wall," Arthur said, indicating a field wall that cut straight across the line of attack. "Three or four breaches, at the very least."
This wall," he said, indicating the matching field wall on the far side of the brook, "will be more difficult."
Marc spoke up. "I have a couple of lads who could creep across the brook and pull that down, too, Sire. The scouts say the enemy is still bringing up his troops. They'll have a watch, but they'll be busy most of the night, getting into position."
Marc and Arthur exchanged a smile that was almost conspiratorial. "While our men will be rested," Arthur agreed.
Standing back from the table, Marc asked, "Will that be all, Sire?"
Arthur shook his head. "No, you should hear what comes next. And if you have any thoughts, any at all, that you think we have missed something, you must speak."
Marc appeared as taken aback by this command as some of the knights obviously were, but he composed his face into one of grim determination, nodded and said, "Yes, Sire." He moved across to the end of the table, behind Leon's shoulder and opposite Lord Connal, allowing Kay to get closer. Kay slipped into place but, by somehow fitting his large bulk into a small space, didn't force Marc back to where he would not be able to see. Marc didn't seem to notice the consideration. He was staring down at the map, as if he could wrest the best plan from it by the force of his gaze. Kay's lips twitched in a private smile.
"The enemy will have knights scattered along their line," Arthur said, pulling Merlin's attention back to the more important matter at hand. "Each will be commanding his own men. Tomorrow they will attempt to be the immovable object." He flashed a smile around the group. "We must be the irresistible force.
"Connal, Brolin and Kay, you will set off first, with a standard line attack. Dagonet will take Tor, Gareth Goodhands, Daniel and their companions, and do as we have practiced." Looking straight at Dagonet, he said simply, "You will ride as a spearhead and break the line for Brolin." Dagonet nodded and Arthur turned to look at Bors. "Bors and Isen, take Elyan, and Erec's son, Alfred, and his friends, to support Kay." Bors made a slight bow and Lord Isen nodded. Leaning over the table Arthur ran his finger across the map, tracing the field wall on the far side of the brook. "You will wait until the men on foot have reached this second wall before you start the charge. Cenred can see you from the position he'll adopt, here." Picking up Leon's pen, he marked the spot he had identified earlier as Cenred's most likely position, behind the centre-left of the enemy's lines, with an X. "Until you move, he will not question an infantry charge against his line. Nor will he suspect anything from a mounted charge down each side. He will assume you are acting as belated out flankers."
Reaching for his tankard he took a gulp, using the movement to mark the end of that instruction and the start of the next. "Formal tournament tactics have no place on this field. Once you start your charge, you will stop for nothing. Camelot's men know how to clear a path for you. Any who aren't quick enough..." He looked at Marc who nodded grimly. "They will have to be quick enough, because you must stay together and in formation. You will become the vanguard. When the enemy's line is broken, you will turn along their rear. Any men on foot who can follow, will do so. Marc, do your Sergeants at Arms understand that?"
"They will do, Sire. And their men will follow them." At his end of the table, Lord Connal spluttered again. He garnered swift, but fleeting, glances from Kay and Brolin, but the rest of those present were concentrating on Arthur.
Arthur picked up his tankard again and sat down. "Marc, that will be all for now. I thank you for your diligence. Will you go now and select your best men to accompany Sir Lancelot?"
Marc bowed and left. The small group of knights waited in unnatural silence until he was gone, then Lionel shifted uncomfortably and pushed forward until he was standing in front of the table, his shadow falling over the map. He looked behind him and waited until a groom leading three horses had passed. Merlin did his best impression of invisibility. Once the immediate vicinity was clear of uninvolved ears, Lionel turned back to Arthur. "Sire," he said. "We are your elite. This deployment..." Apparently unable to find the words to object without outright criticism, he trailed off and started again. "Our place is with you."
Arthur shook his head. "It is because you are my elite that I must split you. If I can't trust you, who can I trust?" He directed an assessing glance in Lord Connal's direction. "This is what we have been practicing since last summer." Taking a breath, he sat back, staring up at the standing company. "When Cenred besieged Camelot," there was an uncomfortable shifting of shoulders and shuffling of feet which Arthur ignored, "he wasted his knights, keeping them back and relying solely on his infantry. When we were holding the gates on foot, one concerted charge on horseback would have broken us." Under Arthur's level gaze no one voiced any objection, although there was a breath of a half formed protest from someone. With a faint smirk of cynical amusement, Arthur said, "We are lucky that Cenred is poorly read; a study of the classical texts would tell him far more about how the Romans fought than the bedtime stories of his childhood nurse." More seriously he added, "I am relying on you. Tomorrow, the true glory of the day will be yours and the fate of Camelot will be in your care."
Lionel shifted uncomfortably and did not appear wholly satisfied, but he said nothing. Arthur nodded to himself. Glancing back over his shoulder, he caught Merlin's eye and held out his tankard.
Having refilled it and given it back, Merlin looked around the rest of the company and was handed three more to fill, while Lord Connal and Brolin lifted theirs to their mouths, as if they had forgotten they held them until reminded. Arthur took a swig of his beer and put his tankard down on a corner of the map. "However, my kingship will not rob me of a share in your glory," he said. "You, Lionel, with Leon, will hold back." he held up a staying hand and Lionel subsided, "until the enemy has been met. From here," he pointed at the knoll again, "it will be clear where the second charge must be targeted. You and your friends will then join my charge."
Looking at Bors, Isen and Dagonet, he said, "You are my spearhead." Turning to Lancelot he smiled and added, "While you are my dagger. Between you, you must break their line and roll them back." To Lord Connal he said, "You must engage them fiercely, in order to prevent them turning."
He nodded to Kay and Brolin and they nodded back. "Any of Cenred's foot soldiers who break and run, are to be allowed to flee. Make room for them to escape. But any knight who leaves the field, I want him marked."
His men nodded grimly. "And Cenred himself?" Leon asked.
"By the time we reach his position, I expect it to be vacant," Arthur replied, which raised a laugh.
Dagonet turned on the spot, taking them all in. He raised his tankard. "To that, then, if nothing better offers," he said. Arthur stood and he and his company all raised their tankards in reply to the toast. They gulped the beer down and, as one, turned and threw the empty tankards out through the open flaps into the thoroughfare beyond. Merlin squeezed past Brolin's back to run and gather them up before they got trodden into the ground, or borrowed by passing soldiers.
He stood aside while the knights left and slipped back inside the tent to collect the half-empty keg and string the tankards back on their leather belt. His attempt to stay longer was thwarted by an admonitory jerk of the head from Lord Isen, which sent him back out into fading sunlight with his load.
"Have Ajax ready as soon as we leave camp tomorrow," Lord Isen said. An unnecessary instruction to which Merlin made a small bow, keeping his mouth shut.
Lord Isen didn't move, as if he still had something to say, but before he could open his mouth with some invented instruction or question, Gwaine wandered over. "Isen," he said. "You grew up out here in the wilds of nowhere; come and help Lancelot and me inspect these men, will you?"
Lord Isen turned, an easy grin slipping into place. "Of course," he said. "I'm at your service, if you don't trust your own judgement..."
As they walked away, Gwaine threw an arm around Isen's shoulders and the last words Merlin heard were Gwaine's laughing protests that it was impossible for a man raised in civilisation to judge the merits of a wild man.
Merlin went to deliver his cargo and search for his supper. Dillon would be happy to swap his boys' time to wash the tankards, in exchange for the remains of the beer. The chances were good, it would also earn Merlin an extra helping of meat and maybe enough to give Bevyn some. It was doubtful Gwaine would allow Isen to be alone for some time, so Gwaine's man would no doubt look after them both.
By the time he had seen to the horses and eaten, it was getting close to dark and Merlin went in search of Arthur. Slipping between the piles of supplies, wagons, horses and tents, with ease, he proved to his own satisfaction that he could be stealthy when he needed to be. The fact that he had started inside the perimeter guard helped. The fact that no one saw him dodge behind Arthur's tent was due all to his own skill, honed over years of not getting caught doing magic around Uther. Lying down he pushed his head under the bottom of the tent wall. He was right where he'd been standing earlier, next to Arthur's war chest.
Arthur was still sitting on his folding stool, leaning forward with his forearms resting on the table, a single candle standing between them. The tent flaps were drawn down to protect the flame from the evening breeze and he was comparing two sheets of parchment that he was holding up, side by side to catch the meagre light. A goblet and a flask of wine stood at his elbow.
Merlin was about to push through the gap he'd made when a disturbance outside heralded a voice asking, "Sire, may I enter?"
Arthur placed his papers down and glanced towards where Merlin's head and shoulders protruded from under the canvas wall. Merlin pulled his legs in behind the chest and wriggled behind it so he was hidden in its shadow. Arthur gave a small nod and said, "Come in."
The flap was pushed open and Lord Connal entered. He was hesitant, even nervous. He bowed to Arthur. "Sire," he said.
Arthur stood up and walked around the table, drawing Connal's eyes with him, away from the corner between the wall and the chest where Merlin hid. "Connal," he said, his voice cautious. "You have something of import to tell me?"
Next part
Gilbert Drover could find some other willing hand to lead his team. Merlin made a half-bow, but Lord Isen was already striding away to his tent. Instead Merlin was confronted by a young boy, not much older than the lads who helped the cooks, but much better dressed. "I'm Lord Isen's squire," he announced. "I look after his armour and help him dress."
Merlin nodded solemnly. "I'll do as Hugh did and leave you to care of your lord." He smiled. "What's your name young lordling?"
The boy eyed him suspiciously. "I'm Bevyn. Hugh brought us our breakfast in the morning."
"Then I will do the same. Which tent should I bring it to?"
Bevyn pointed to the tent Lord Isen had just re-entered. "That one, with his pennant above the door." He studied Merlin for a few moments, every bit the young lord Merlin had named him. "I hope you're better with horses than Hugh," he said, before he too stalked away.
The horse Merlin was issued with was Lord Isen's spare pack pony. Tageth, Merlin's own mare, was famous for her calm complacency, but Bramble was placid to the point of sluggishness. Ajax, Lord Isen's spare mount, pranced and veered at the end of his lead rein and even the other two pack ponies seemed impatient with Bramble's ambling progress, although they were better behaved than Ajax. For the first couple of hours, persuading Bramble to pick up her pace proved impossible. Eventually, Merlin leaned forward and whispered a few words in her ear. She snorted and shook her head, but became noticeably more cooperative. After that, although Ajax was still a handful, the other two no longer seemed to want to pull his arm out of its socket.
Once he had established his understanding with Bramble, Merlin's morning improved, although the march that day was hard. The old Roman road led them across a large area of peat bog that threatened danger to anyone who strayed from the path, before ascending into the hills on the other side. Between the Dorn and the Bridewell the road was not much used, since traders avoided that treacherous stretch by transferring to the river for transport. As a result it was overgrown and broken in many places. At one point it disappeared entirely, where part of the hillside had fallen away and the army had to take up almost single file to skirt the edge of the drop. They paused there and Arthur split off a detachment of mounted knights to guard the supply train which was falling further behind with each mile they travelled.
It was with a sense of exhausted relief that, in the late afternoon, the army finally reached the ford over the River Bridewell, a few miles shy of Lord Broga's borders.
On the march, the knights' squires and grooms, the grooms with their strings of pack ponies, followed immediately behind the knights and the first company of men at arms. Riding so close to the front of the column, Merlin was witness to how, when Arthur declared a halt, the army moved into action like a well-oiled machine.
Arthur's supplies were unloaded first, under Alwin's watchful eye, and when Arthur returned from meeting with the local village elders, he stood in the middle of the chaos and watched as order asserted itself around him. As soon as his folding desk and stool were set up, near where his tent would stand when it arrived, he sat in the sun, studying papers that he retrieved from his saddlebags and accepting reports from his sergeants, as they brought their companies in.
While Merlin dealt with Romulus, Ajax, Bramble and the two pack ponies, other men were preparing cook fires and arranging the overnight positions of the various ranks of the army.
The camp was situated in a large field, on a gentle slope leading down towards a line of trees and the river beyond. The soil was dark and damp looking, but seemed to have grown a crop of rich spring grass, dotted with dandelions and daisies. A good supply of firewood was available from the forest, only half a mile away.
The sheep that had had sole possession of the field before the army arrived were herded over to one side and the next time Merlin looked, a major butchering operation was underway.
Dillon was one of the first recipients of a pair of carcases. "Roast lamb, tonight," he announced, holding them up by a hind leg in each large fist as Merlin walked by, leading the horses to the river. "The king said the skins are to be left for the villagers, but if you wanted one, I doubt anyone would mind."
"Nah," Merlin said. "I've no time to clean it and it'd smell by the time I got it home."
"Reckon that's what the king thought, too," Dillon replied. "Pity. Won't stop 'em all, but I hear the king paid the village for the flock, so it's not like we're stealing."
"You would though."
"'Course I would. All's fair in love and war."
Laughing, Merlin continued on his way to the river with Ajax and Rom on one side and the three ponies on the other. To get there he had to pass within fifteen feet of Arthur's table. Casting a quick glance in that direction, he was surprised to see that Arthur was neglecting his papers and maps and was, instead, staring straight at him. He quickly turned away and added a small limp to his step until he was down the slope and had found a large enough gap for him to lead the animals through the narrow band of trees that masked the river from the field.
One positive outcome of being volunteered into Lord Isen's service, in addition to the opportunity to keep watch over Arthur, was that the food was plentiful. The close servants of Arthur's inner circle, and on the march a groom counted as such, ate from the same spit and cook pot as the King and his companions. Later that night, he also got to sleep under a well-constructed cart that didn't leak.
Early the next morning, while Dillon prepared breakfast, Merlin and Alwin led their horses down to the river again, while most of the camp was still waking up.
They walked in silence, in step, but not really together, although Merlin had received a slight nod, which could have been approval, for having Romulus ready before the other grooms had begun to stir.
The ground in the lower field was damp with a heavy dew and the air was fresh with the promise of a bright day. When they approached the wide opening between the trees that gave access to the river, Alwin drew ahead. Under the trees, the thick layers of dead and rotting leaves that had covered the ground the day before had been trampled into a muddy path that dragged at Merlin's boots with every step. A patrol passed them and he exchanged a greeting with the leader. The sun made the large leaves of oak and sycamore glow luminous green overhead and occasionally broke through to dazzle the eye.
Beyond the trees and on the wide bank of the river, Alwin went straight to a stretch of sandy beach, just wide enough for his string of five to drink side-by-side. That was the privilege of the king's horses. Gaius always said to drink upstream of other people, so Merlin took his own group in that direction, to a place a few yards along the bank where they could get down and into the water to drink. He allowed them to draw away to the full length of their lead reins, alternating between keeping watch on them and examining the lay of the land.
With the trees masking the camp site and muting its sounds, the scene was tranquil and unspoilt. The broad curve of the river hid the ford and the village beside it. The water meadow was obviously being saved for hay, because there was no sign that it had been used for grazing. The air was fresh with the green smell of living things. Wild flowers dotted the ground among the tall grasses and along the bank. On the edge of the water, reeds grew in clumps with a few clear spaces between that looked like promising fishing spots. Bees meandered around the flower heads of cowslip, betony and yarrow. Above the grassy bank, at the edge of the trees, the usual storm debris lay scattered in the grass. The local villagers had obviously not come this way in their foraging for a while.
Ten yards away, Alwin was also looking around the scene and Merlin caught his eye, nodding in companionable silence. Alwin nodded back. Then his eyes shifted to something behind Merlin and widened. His mouth opened and Merlin spun around to see what had alarmed him.
A loose group of eight armed men on foot were rushing along the bank towards them. Alwin yelled and began to gather the lead reins of Arthur's horses. Turning his back to Alwin, Merlin raised his hand towards the attackers. They were too widely spaced for a single spell to catch them all, so he directed his attention at the nearest. He lowered his head and stared at the man from under his brows, concentrating on the meaning behind the word as he said, "Aflíegung!"
The man lifted off the ground and was thrown back, as if attached to a wire on a spring. He hit the trunk of a tree about ten feet above the ground and fell in a crumpled heap at its base.
The three behind him hesitated but, spurred on by a shout from their right, resumed their charge, yelling as they came.
Alwin, his horses now safely out of the river, pulled out his knife. Merlin switched the lead reins he was holding to his left hand and drew his own. He held it in front of him, using his stance to disguise his focus on another of their attackers. "Ahylte!" he muttered and the man tripped over his own feet and thereafter was unable to find his footing.
The remaining six were closing fast. The nearest carried a spear, with the point levelled at Merlin's chest. Merlin dodged the thrust, jumping back towards the river bank and swerving to the side. He threw his knife, ensuring it flew true with another muttered word and the spearman fell to the ground.
Two of the attackers splashed into the water after the Lord Isen's horses. Merlin looked around. Alwin was circling with a man who held a sword, hampered by the horses whose reins he held and who were pulling and rearing in response to the chaos.
Deciding that Rom and Ajax were the priority, Merlin released the pack ponies and coaxed the war horses out of the water and onto the bank. They milled around him and he struggled to get them both facing in the same direction, whilst avoiding getting his feet trodden on. Rom pushed forward and knocked Merlin off balance. He stumbled and inadvertently dragged on the reins in his hands. Ajax neighed in alarm and Rom reared, pulling himself free. Merlin scrambled after the rein and failed to catch it, losing hold of Ajax in the process. Rom was turning in tight circles. Ajax bolted away from Merlin, back into the river.
Alwin's attention was divided between his opponent and his charges. A vicious swipe from the sword caused him to concentrate on survival and all his horses were free. One bolted up the slope, back towards the camp. Another reared and swung around, galloping upstream along the bank where the two remaining men attempted to intercept it. Arthur's second mount, Algar, bolted into the river although he came to a stop when the water reached to his knees.
Merlin held out his arms and whispered, "cumaþ!" His knife pulled itself free of his late assailant's neck and flew to his hand. A fallen branch of suitable club size came to his other and he tossed it towards Alwin's adversary. It spun end-over-end as it flew through the air, connecting with his shoulder and neck and knocking him down. Alwin, who had a long red gash along his left forearm, closed with the man and finished him, grabbing his sword as he got to his feet again. Shouting, "Get Bran safe!" to Merlin, he stumbled into the water to stop the attacker who had captured one of Lord Isen's ponies and was trying to mount her and go after Algar.
One of the two attackers who had failed to capture the bolting horse, earlier, had grabbed Bran's reins, while his remaining companion had caught Romulus and was attempting to lead him off. Merlin shouted to Romulus and to Bran, who both reared. Bran pulled himself free, but Rom knocked his captor to the ground and brought his front hooves down squarely on the man's chest, silencing him.
The other man, scrambling after Bran's reins, cast a startled glance at his fallen comrades and abandoned his attempts. He started to run back along the river bank, apparently intent only on escape. Letting him go, Merlin caught Rom's and Bran's reins and dragged them with him when he jumped into the river after Bramble and Ajax.
It took a while to get them all back in hand, but although he kept looking, none of the unaccounted for attackers came near him. It was not until he was leading the horses back to the bank that he saw why and stopped to stare.
Sir Huw was engaged with a man at Merlin's watering site. One of Lord Isen's pack ponies was in the care of a man at arms, near the trees. The body of the man Merlin had tripped up earlier was lying at his feet.
Further up-stream, Arthur and Lord Isen were in pursuit of the robber who had run. From his place, five yards into the river, Merlin had a clear view when the man turned to fight. Arthur barely paused. He fell into his 'at ready' position and, all his movements suddenly measured and balanced, kept advancing. Lord Isen stopped running to watch.
Arthur sprang forward, swinging his blade in a sharp upward stroke as he did so. His opponent's sword flew from his hand. Arthur brought his own blade back around and the man staggered, bringing his hands up to his neck as a burst of arterial blood sprayed across Arthur's face and chest. The man fell. Arthur stepped up to him, planted his sword into his throat and pulled it free.
Merlin looked around at the rest of the scene. Alwin was bringing Algar and Lord Isen's other pony back to the bank. The man Alwin had followed into the river was lying face down in the water, his legs caught in the reeds while his arms floated out into the stream. Merlin splashed towards the bank with Bran, Rom, Ajax and Bramble.
Sir Huw dispatched the last standing attacker while Merlin was struggling ashore. He spun around at the sound behind him and levelled his sword at Merlin. "Who are you?" he demanded.
Meanwhile, Lord Isen had gathered up the bolted pony and was walking him back.
Arthur wandered over, inspecting his blade as he did so. "Don't worry, Huw," he said. "I know this man. He's Isen's groom. Half witless, but has a magic touch with horses." With a totally straight face he added, "He has a fascination with Bran. I think he's in love."
Lord Isen handed his charge over to Merlin and Sir Huw relaxed. Lord Isen walked up the slope to the very first attacker, who Merlin had sent crashing into a tree, and slit his throat.
Arthur nodded in approval and turned to Merlin. "My horse?" he asked.
Merlin handed over Bran's reins. There was a wicked gleam in Arthur's eyes when he looked Merlin up and down. "Myrddin?" he said. "That's a version of the name 'Merlin', isn't it?" Merlin nodded dumbly. Arthur's smile widened. "I'll see you later, Myrddin," he said, emphasising the first syllable, and he led Bran away, up the bank, back towards the camp.
That morning they marched south-east, with the sun directly in their eyes, through country that had escaped all the ravages of Cenred's previous hostility. By midday, they were inside Lord Broga's borders and in the early afternoon they reached the village of Brenholm. The road they were on continued up the Bridewell Valley, to Compton, at the mouth of Freydale, and beyond that, eastward to Cenred's kingdom of Escetia.
At Brenholm, the river ran sluggishly between its banks, heavy with silt carried down from the hills. A man stood knee deep in the water and cast a net out into the stream. Women knelt on the bank, beating clothes on the rocks, while their daughters hung clean clothes over the bushes to dry. A group of young children, gathering elderflowers into large baskets, paused to wave.
After the excitement on the riverbank that morning, when all the grooms were gathered around the porridge pot, the rumour had been that the army would head to Freydale. Freydale branched south from the Bridewell Valley and led directly to Broga's fortress. The common wisdom had been that they would meet Broga's army on the main road. Instead, they turned south, a mile beyond Brenholm, into the smaller Crybrookdale.
As they marched through the village, Merlin spotted Leon standing with his horse in hand, talking to a group of men. A young boy took the reins from him and Leon started to dig around in the large satchel he wore. Merlin dug his heels into Bramble's sides, in an attempt to push ahead to where, through a gap between the houses, he could see Arthur on Bran at the head of the troops.
Crybrookdale was a shallow, sparsely populated valley, running up to a line of low crags at its head. The road was little more than a wide path, bordered by dry stone walls. There was pasture on either side, but the fields were also divided by walls, so there was no advantage in breaking away in an attempt to catch up with the vanguard by riding cross-country, unless Merlin crossed the strips of fields to the rough hill pasture above.
After nearly three miles of being trapped behind the men on foot, the army pulled off into a large field and began to climb the eastern slope. Off the road, Merlin was able to pull away to one side and he was not far behind the vanguard when they topped the rise and paused. The command was immediately passed back to the column to set camp.
It was barely past mid-afternoon when Merlin slipped around the back of Arthur's newly erected tent, put his ear close to the canvas and listened. Earlier, after he had groomed the horses and taken Lord Isen a late, mid-day meal of bread, cheese and jam, he had walked up from the camp to the top of the slope, to survey the valley of Avarldale beyond.
The hill top pasture was rough and the grazing was sparse. Merlin had to push through thigh-high bracken that crackled underfoot to reach the top, but from the crest he had an unimpeded view over the valley.
It was more an undulation in the high grassland than a true valley, although a brook ran down its centre. There was no sense of gentleness in the terrain; it was too exposed and bleak for that. As in Crybrookdale, the soil was thin and too poor for cash crops, so it was given over to livestock. The open grazing of the hill tops extended down the slope to a narrow band of enclosed pasture on either side of the Avarl Brook. The few cotters who lived there would spend their summers herding their lord's flocks and hoping to grow enough in their vegetable patches to last them through the winter.
It was not a place where anybody would choose to make their home, if an alternative offered itself. On this particular May day, however, the thing that caught the eye and arrested the attention was the small group of knights on horseback standing silhouetted against the sky on the opposite ridge. They flew the banner of Escetia and, even while Merlin stood taking in the scene, they were joined by a company of armed men on foot. Merlin turned and made his way back to the camp.
Half an hour later, when he walked past Arthur's tent, leading Rom and Ajax to the area of fresh grazing designated for the use of the knights' horses, Arthur, Leon and Kay were sitting around Arthur's campaign table in the open entrance. When he returned and was hauling hay to the pack ponies, he saw a number of other knights arrive to join the conference. Since he had finished work, he had been trying to find the best spot from which to eavesdrop, whilst not attracting the attention of the soldiers still setting up the rest of the camp.
Standing slightly hunched in the narrow gap between Arthur's tent and the one occupied by Lancelot and Gwaine, he could hear snatches of the discussion inside - the occasional question or comment, devoid of any of the context that would have helped his understanding. He hadn't been able to make out anything said by the man who had been doing most of the talking for the past twenty minutes. From the tone, it sounded like Leon, but each time he considered moving around to a different place, something would come through clearly, a question from Arthur or Brolin, a comment by Dagonet that would often raise a laugh; just enough to keep him in one place, in the hope of hearing more. The little he did hear, he managed to piece together into some sort of picture. By dint of an aching back, he learned that one of the council, an older voice, favoured a single pronged attack, while someone else advocated a flanking action from the south, where the approach was relatively clear. These two approaches were discussed at some length. It also appeared that the proposed deposition of the hospice tents was cause for dissatisfaction.
Arthur had not said much, but his voice abruptly cut through the rumble of conversation and debate. "Isen, would you be so good as to find someone to bring us something to wet our throats while we talk?"
Merlin didn't wait to hear Lord Isen's reply. He had just enough time to jump up from his hiding place, sprint five yards, spin in a turn and walk slowly back, as if he were simply passing by the tent, before Lord Isen appeared.
He spotted Merlin immediately. "Ah, Myrddin, well met," he said. "Go and fetch some ale and bring it to the king's tent. Do you know how to serve?"
"Yes, My Lord. I've done so before."
"Good. Be quick about it then." He waved a hand towards the supply cart and turned to go back to the council, adding, "There are ten of us."
When Merlin got back to the tent, fifteen minutes later, carrying a four gallon keg on one shoulder and a leather belt strung with pewter tankards over the other, he saw that Arthur and Leon were still sitting, but Kay had given up his seat to Lord Connal. Kay, Brolin, Lord Isen, Lancelot, Dagonet, Bors and Lionel were crowded around, where they had a view of a map spread out across the table.
Arthur looked up as Merlin came in and caught his eye for long enough for a smirk to threaten at the corner of his mouth. Turning back to the map, he waved his right hand towards his war chest against the wall of the tent and said, "Put it down there and serve, will you?"
Merlin did as he was told, laying the cask on top of the chest. He fished the chocks, to keep it from rolling, out of a couple of the tankards where he'd put them for convenience. With them wedged against the keg's sides, he held the first tankard under the spout of the wooden tap, filled it and took it over to Arthur. One by one, he filled the others and handed them out to the knights. Then he went to stand next to the keg and tried to look both inconspicuous and ready to serve, at the same time.
Arthur sat back on his stool and from where he stood Merlin could see the map. It was big enough to be made from an entire sheep skin and depicted the whole of Avarldale. Merlin mentally rotated it, so he could picture it overlaid on his remembered view.
Arthur looked over at Leon, saying, "Lead us through the geography again."
The positions that Arthur and Leon obviously expected the two armies to take up were marked on the map by blocked squares, blue for Escetia and red for Camelot's forces. It was a good spot for Broga - inside his own borders, so he could claim Arthur was the aggressor, with little cover to limit the scope of the action and giving him a good view of Camelot's advance.
That Arthur would attack was never in doubt. Broga was on his home ground and his force was supplemented by Escetian troops. Arthur had called his fighting men away from their farms, upon which the whole kingdom relied. He had brought ample stores, but he was still dependent on an expensive supply route. He couldn't afford to waste time on threats and posturing.
The stream that gave Avarldale its name ran down to the north to join the Bridewell and then westward to Brenholm, five miles away. From there it eventually joined the Cama which flowed down to Camelot itself, on its way to the western sea.
Sir Leon swept his hand across the southern end of the map, saying, "I expect the scouts back shortly with better descriptions of this area, then I can fill in the detail, but I judged it doubtful the battle would spread so far south and there is no route for retreat. For that reason, this area was my lowest priority." He sat back and studied the map dispassionately. "The villagers of Brenholm rarely come this way, since the valley leads nowhere, in itself, and Freydale, beyond Broga's current position, holds the main road to his fortress at Garsbury.
"Cottages?" Arthur asked.
"A few, but none directly between our positions. As soon as we saw that Broga had-"
"Cenred," Arthur said, interrupting him. "Broga has little to do with this. The speed with which they responded to our attempt to out-flank them is all Cenred."
Bowing his head to acknowledge that point, Leon said, "As soon as we heard that Cenred had managed to turn to meet us, I sent men ahead to scout the cots for ambush and to fire them. The few people who live here have already taken their animals and fled."
"Good." Arthur gestured for Leon to continue with his description of the terrain and Leon went on to describe elevations, gradients, the depth and width of the brook and where there was some tree cover or obstacle in the path of an attack.
"This is interesting," Arthur said, indicating a small stream to the north of Broga's and Cenred's position and close to where their army was making camp. "How steep are the banks on either side of this stream and how wide is it?"
"I have sent John Carpenter to check it, Sire. It was Alfred the Drover who described it to me, as you see it here, but he admitted it is a few years since he came this way. He reported a brook that a child could jump over and good cover from the trees that follow the flow. But there was rumour of felling and clearance to open up the grazing." He shrugged. "John's a good man with an eye for the land."
"Have him sent in, as soon as he returns," Arthur said with a glance at Brolin, who nodded and slipped out to deliver that message to the guards.
Over the next hour a number of men arrived to report minor corrections to the map. Each one was carefully questioned by Leon, who drew in the new details and used his penknife to scrape away the errors, before carefully adding the corrections, each annotated with the surveyor's name.
Dagonet nudged Lancelot and pointed at something on the map, leaning over to whisper in Lancelot's ear. Kay took a sip of his beer, frowning down at the map, his brows drawn together. Brolin moved around behind Leon for a better view. Merlin's left foot had gone to sleep and he shook it, gritting his teeth when it started to tingle.
Even with the flaps pulled wide, inside the tent it was warm and stifling, with not a breath of breeze and ten large men standing between Merlin and the dead air of the hillside. Although he was vitally interested in the discussion around the table, it was becoming difficult to concentrate. He shifted and wiped his brow. Arthur signalled for more beer for himself and Kay followed suit.
John Carpenter arrived and made his report, which largely supported the initial description from Alfred the Drover. Arthur joined in Leon's questioning about distances and sightlines, and Leon drew in the trees as John described them. Once he had left, Arthur sat back, took a drink from his tankard and contemplated the map in silence. Kay asked Leon a question about the apparent width of Cenred's front, as depicted on the map, and Dagonet muttered something that set the knights all laughing and made Arthur's lips twitch. The atmosphere in the tent loosened and the younger knights began to debate what Cenred would do and how he would react to different moves on their part.
Lord Connal was the only member of the old guard present and he didn't contribute much, seeming content to allow the younger men to speculate and theorise. Only when Arthur asked for his particular opinion did he suggest that the lay of the land favoured neither party. "Since neither we nor they chose it, that's fortunate. Your Majesty's early move south has indeed spoilt Broga's plan to make his stand in Freydale, but his rapid response has prevented us from cutting him off from his rear. As to our current position, the slope of the hill is not great and will not slow down a well marshalled charge. "
Since Lord Connal had been at Camelot since before the Coronation, apart from a brief journey home to call up his men, he should have known Arthur's basic strategy and the skin around Arthur's eyes tightened, but then he drew a breath and said, "We have our spies tracking their movements. It would be unreasonable not to expect them to do the same. This knoll." He pointed at a circle drawn on the map. "It has a good view across the valley. I will set up my position there. Cenred holds his knights back, relying on his foot soldiers to fight for him, as the stories say the Roman legions did. But his men don't have the discipline of Rome." He looked around the gathering, as if expecting to be contradicted. No one rose to his challenge and he continued, "They will, however, hold their lines with their shield bases dug into the earth. We need to break through and divide them."
He stood up and his knights tensed as they awaited their orders. "Lord Connal," he said. "You will lead the centre, with Lamorak, his son and their followers. Brolin, take Bailoch, Oran and Maddoc, with their men, to the right. Kay, with Lords Kenzie, Moren and Blane, you will lead the attack on the northern end of their line."
He rapped the knuckles of his left hand thoughtfully on the edge of the map a couple of times while his eyes scanned back and forth over it, then leaned forward, bracing himself on that arm. With his right hand he pointed at the northern end of the Escetian line. "That is where I expect to break them. Cenred and Broga will be stationed here, if they wish to view the whole field." He pointed at a position opposite the knoll he had claimed as his own. "Kay, your attack is slightly further from there than Brolin's and, most importantly, it is near this side valley." He moved his hand to trace the stream that had caught his attention earlier. "His men will have less room to manoeuvre." Looking up he caught Lancelot's eye and grinned. "Lancelot, I want you to take Gwaine and a small group of hand-picked men, and circle around to approach Cenred's troops from that valley. You will leave tonight and I want you in position and ready to attack by dawn. They will have pickets out well beyond the trees, if they are wise, so you must silence them. Can you do that?"
Lancelot nodded. "Of course, Sire, if the men will follow me."
"You are too modest, Sir Lancelot," Arthur said. "Camelot remembers your bravery in the past; they will follow you." He looked around the gathering. "Kay, would you call in the Sergeant Marshal, who should be waiting outside. We need his counsel."
Lord Connal spluttered then. "Sire," he protested. "A common soldier?"
Kay ducked outside and returned a moment later with the Sergeant Marshal of the army, who entered cautiously but without hesitation. Arthur looked around again, pointedly not fixing on Lord Connal and said, "We are all going into this battle, so we all have places around this table on its eve."
The sergeant immediately straightened his back and stepped up smartly to make a formal bow.
Arthur nodded acknowledgement. "Marc Thurston," he said. "Tell us how you have deployed the troops who joined us in the last few days?"
Marc bowed again. He cast a quick look around the gathering. Merlin caught his eye and smiled encouragingly. Marc frowned. Looking across the table to Arthur, he said, "I've spread them about, Sire, and appointed an old hand to each group of three." He stopped and it wasn't clear if he had run out of confidence, or information. Arthur made a rolling gesture with his hand and he continued more hesitantly, "Well, I figured they've not got the training, Sire. I thought the best we could do was to try and talk them into an understanding, over the cook fires." Arthur smiled and Marc relaxed. He took a deep breath and added with a smile of his own, "I believe the result is variable, Sire."
"I'm sure it is," Arthur agreed. "Can you find me thirty good woodsman who can move silently at night, no questions asked?"
Back on what was obviously more familiar ground, Marc nodded eagerly. "Yes, Sire."
"They are to go with Sir Lancelot, tonight. This is very important, so I want only the best hunters and poachers in the army. And only men you would vouch for, yourself."
His expression thoughtful, Marc's lips moved silently, while Arthur waited. After almost half a minute his eyes focused again. He blinked and said. "Yes, Sire, I can pick you twenty-five or thirty who will serve your needs."
"Good. After dark, send two or three groups of men to dismantle parts of this wall," Arthur said, indicating a field wall that cut straight across the line of attack. "Three or four breaches, at the very least."
This wall," he said, indicating the matching field wall on the far side of the brook, "will be more difficult."
Marc spoke up. "I have a couple of lads who could creep across the brook and pull that down, too, Sire. The scouts say the enemy is still bringing up his troops. They'll have a watch, but they'll be busy most of the night, getting into position."
Marc and Arthur exchanged a smile that was almost conspiratorial. "While our men will be rested," Arthur agreed.
Standing back from the table, Marc asked, "Will that be all, Sire?"
Arthur shook his head. "No, you should hear what comes next. And if you have any thoughts, any at all, that you think we have missed something, you must speak."
Marc appeared as taken aback by this command as some of the knights obviously were, but he composed his face into one of grim determination, nodded and said, "Yes, Sire." He moved across to the end of the table, behind Leon's shoulder and opposite Lord Connal, allowing Kay to get closer. Kay slipped into place but, by somehow fitting his large bulk into a small space, didn't force Marc back to where he would not be able to see. Marc didn't seem to notice the consideration. He was staring down at the map, as if he could wrest the best plan from it by the force of his gaze. Kay's lips twitched in a private smile.
"The enemy will have knights scattered along their line," Arthur said, pulling Merlin's attention back to the more important matter at hand. "Each will be commanding his own men. Tomorrow they will attempt to be the immovable object." He flashed a smile around the group. "We must be the irresistible force.
"Connal, Brolin and Kay, you will set off first, with a standard line attack. Dagonet will take Tor, Gareth Goodhands, Daniel and their companions, and do as we have practiced." Looking straight at Dagonet, he said simply, "You will ride as a spearhead and break the line for Brolin." Dagonet nodded and Arthur turned to look at Bors. "Bors and Isen, take Elyan, and Erec's son, Alfred, and his friends, to support Kay." Bors made a slight bow and Lord Isen nodded. Leaning over the table Arthur ran his finger across the map, tracing the field wall on the far side of the brook. "You will wait until the men on foot have reached this second wall before you start the charge. Cenred can see you from the position he'll adopt, here." Picking up Leon's pen, he marked the spot he had identified earlier as Cenred's most likely position, behind the centre-left of the enemy's lines, with an X. "Until you move, he will not question an infantry charge against his line. Nor will he suspect anything from a mounted charge down each side. He will assume you are acting as belated out flankers."
Reaching for his tankard he took a gulp, using the movement to mark the end of that instruction and the start of the next. "Formal tournament tactics have no place on this field. Once you start your charge, you will stop for nothing. Camelot's men know how to clear a path for you. Any who aren't quick enough..." He looked at Marc who nodded grimly. "They will have to be quick enough, because you must stay together and in formation. You will become the vanguard. When the enemy's line is broken, you will turn along their rear. Any men on foot who can follow, will do so. Marc, do your Sergeants at Arms understand that?"
"They will do, Sire. And their men will follow them." At his end of the table, Lord Connal spluttered again. He garnered swift, but fleeting, glances from Kay and Brolin, but the rest of those present were concentrating on Arthur.
Arthur picked up his tankard again and sat down. "Marc, that will be all for now. I thank you for your diligence. Will you go now and select your best men to accompany Sir Lancelot?"
Marc bowed and left. The small group of knights waited in unnatural silence until he was gone, then Lionel shifted uncomfortably and pushed forward until he was standing in front of the table, his shadow falling over the map. He looked behind him and waited until a groom leading three horses had passed. Merlin did his best impression of invisibility. Once the immediate vicinity was clear of uninvolved ears, Lionel turned back to Arthur. "Sire," he said. "We are your elite. This deployment..." Apparently unable to find the words to object without outright criticism, he trailed off and started again. "Our place is with you."
Arthur shook his head. "It is because you are my elite that I must split you. If I can't trust you, who can I trust?" He directed an assessing glance in Lord Connal's direction. "This is what we have been practicing since last summer." Taking a breath, he sat back, staring up at the standing company. "When Cenred besieged Camelot," there was an uncomfortable shifting of shoulders and shuffling of feet which Arthur ignored, "he wasted his knights, keeping them back and relying solely on his infantry. When we were holding the gates on foot, one concerted charge on horseback would have broken us." Under Arthur's level gaze no one voiced any objection, although there was a breath of a half formed protest from someone. With a faint smirk of cynical amusement, Arthur said, "We are lucky that Cenred is poorly read; a study of the classical texts would tell him far more about how the Romans fought than the bedtime stories of his childhood nurse." More seriously he added, "I am relying on you. Tomorrow, the true glory of the day will be yours and the fate of Camelot will be in your care."
Lionel shifted uncomfortably and did not appear wholly satisfied, but he said nothing. Arthur nodded to himself. Glancing back over his shoulder, he caught Merlin's eye and held out his tankard.
Having refilled it and given it back, Merlin looked around the rest of the company and was handed three more to fill, while Lord Connal and Brolin lifted theirs to their mouths, as if they had forgotten they held them until reminded. Arthur took a swig of his beer and put his tankard down on a corner of the map. "However, my kingship will not rob me of a share in your glory," he said. "You, Lionel, with Leon, will hold back." he held up a staying hand and Lionel subsided, "until the enemy has been met. From here," he pointed at the knoll again, "it will be clear where the second charge must be targeted. You and your friends will then join my charge."
Looking at Bors, Isen and Dagonet, he said, "You are my spearhead." Turning to Lancelot he smiled and added, "While you are my dagger. Between you, you must break their line and roll them back." To Lord Connal he said, "You must engage them fiercely, in order to prevent them turning."
He nodded to Kay and Brolin and they nodded back. "Any of Cenred's foot soldiers who break and run, are to be allowed to flee. Make room for them to escape. But any knight who leaves the field, I want him marked."
His men nodded grimly. "And Cenred himself?" Leon asked.
"By the time we reach his position, I expect it to be vacant," Arthur replied, which raised a laugh.
Dagonet turned on the spot, taking them all in. He raised his tankard. "To that, then, if nothing better offers," he said. Arthur stood and he and his company all raised their tankards in reply to the toast. They gulped the beer down and, as one, turned and threw the empty tankards out through the open flaps into the thoroughfare beyond. Merlin squeezed past Brolin's back to run and gather them up before they got trodden into the ground, or borrowed by passing soldiers.
He stood aside while the knights left and slipped back inside the tent to collect the half-empty keg and string the tankards back on their leather belt. His attempt to stay longer was thwarted by an admonitory jerk of the head from Lord Isen, which sent him back out into fading sunlight with his load.
"Have Ajax ready as soon as we leave camp tomorrow," Lord Isen said. An unnecessary instruction to which Merlin made a small bow, keeping his mouth shut.
Lord Isen didn't move, as if he still had something to say, but before he could open his mouth with some invented instruction or question, Gwaine wandered over. "Isen," he said. "You grew up out here in the wilds of nowhere; come and help Lancelot and me inspect these men, will you?"
Lord Isen turned, an easy grin slipping into place. "Of course," he said. "I'm at your service, if you don't trust your own judgement..."
As they walked away, Gwaine threw an arm around Isen's shoulders and the last words Merlin heard were Gwaine's laughing protests that it was impossible for a man raised in civilisation to judge the merits of a wild man.
Merlin went to deliver his cargo and search for his supper. Dillon would be happy to swap his boys' time to wash the tankards, in exchange for the remains of the beer. The chances were good, it would also earn Merlin an extra helping of meat and maybe enough to give Bevyn some. It was doubtful Gwaine would allow Isen to be alone for some time, so Gwaine's man would no doubt look after them both.
By the time he had seen to the horses and eaten, it was getting close to dark and Merlin went in search of Arthur. Slipping between the piles of supplies, wagons, horses and tents, with ease, he proved to his own satisfaction that he could be stealthy when he needed to be. The fact that he had started inside the perimeter guard helped. The fact that no one saw him dodge behind Arthur's tent was due all to his own skill, honed over years of not getting caught doing magic around Uther. Lying down he pushed his head under the bottom of the tent wall. He was right where he'd been standing earlier, next to Arthur's war chest.
Arthur was still sitting on his folding stool, leaning forward with his forearms resting on the table, a single candle standing between them. The tent flaps were drawn down to protect the flame from the evening breeze and he was comparing two sheets of parchment that he was holding up, side by side to catch the meagre light. A goblet and a flask of wine stood at his elbow.
Merlin was about to push through the gap he'd made when a disturbance outside heralded a voice asking, "Sire, may I enter?"
Arthur placed his papers down and glanced towards where Merlin's head and shoulders protruded from under the canvas wall. Merlin pulled his legs in behind the chest and wriggled behind it so he was hidden in its shadow. Arthur gave a small nod and said, "Come in."
The flap was pushed open and Lord Connal entered. He was hesitant, even nervous. He bowed to Arthur. "Sire," he said.
Arthur stood up and walked around the table, drawing Connal's eyes with him, away from the corner between the wall and the chest where Merlin hid. "Connal," he said, his voice cautious. "You have something of import to tell me?"
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