Winter's Blossom: The Seasons of Arthur

Chapter 48

It was Octha.

Why hadn't we anticipated this? I still think of how blinded we were to this day. The Angles and Saxons used their boats to cross the Saxon Sea and settle in the lands they now called Angleland and Sussex. From their ships they had raided almost the entire south coast of Britain and as far north that they had raided all of the Caledonian kingdoms too. Not even a year ago they had used their boats to try and take Lindum and secure their ability to flank the river that defended the border.

And yet we had been so busy clapping ourselves on the back for a significant victory against one of the hill tribes, and mourning the loss of a champion that we had forgotten the coast. We had defeated an enemy, held another in the Scots and thought that was enough. Coastal raids were little more than a nuisance in comparison to the other enemies Gododdin had faced down. Nobody expected an invasion while Gododdin seemed to stand victorious. Only Octha had seen them as vulnerable.

Octha was a cunning Angle princeling, heir to his father's title and probably as eager to earn his reputation as Owain was to secure his own right of inheritance as the atheling. He had failed before the winter through sheer bad luck. He could not have anticipated Owain's warband conveniently being in the vicinity marching northwards and broken his army. Octha was a master at spotting vulnerabilities though, and he saw Gododdin's now.

'How could this happen?' Dirandon growled. 'Why were there no beacons lit?' There were a line of coastal beacons set against the eastern shore of Elmet and Dumnonia to warn of raids. It was a system imposed by Ambrosius, with the lighting of the beacons the levy would begin to muster in predesignated points, either in the old Roman forts built in strategic places along the Saxon Shore, or the old British hilltop forts that Ambrosius had tried to restore. It meant that the raiders could only really effectively land on beaches not rivers, limiting their ability to penetrate far inland and their escape. Landing on beaches is not an effective method of invasion unless there are other moving parts, such as landing on the other side of the tidal lands that separated Angleland from Elmet and trying to march on Lindum in tandem with other parts of your army trying to cross a river.

Or if another Army is invading.

You could only sympathise with the messenger who sat in on the war council headed by Owain. The lad was 14 years old boy called Tor, tall for his age and fresh faced. He was the son of a nobleman; he had a lanky frame he would one day grow into. He had been the one sent south for help first to Elmet because he was a good rider, had a strong horse and importantly they could not spare a single man. Then Elmet had simply sent him onwards. Now famous warriors snapped questions at him and expected him to know the answers.

'It doesn't matter about why the beacons weren't lit.' Owain said wearily. He was at the head of the table that was serving as a war council. Ambrosius having slipped into unconsciousness from his fever. Owain, as heir apparent, had called the council and it seemed that everyone wanted their say as they grumbled, swore and blamed others for the crisis. 'It matters about what we do now.'

Dirandon grumbled though fell into silence. But we would discover later that it was nobody's fault the beacons weren't lit. Octha had merely risked sailing out of sight of land, and by sheer dumb luck had turned inland to come almost straight against the mouth of the River Tuedd, seizing the Roman for there as a safe anchorage and spewing forth to pillage. Once again, Octha had shown himself to be a canny planner and this time he seemed to have the most prized quality for a warlord: luck!

'Can Pellinore hold them?' Aglovale looked up.

'Of course he can.' Loyally, I supported my father in law to be, the doubtful fear gripped my belly like a frozen vice.

'He can maybe defeat the Angles.' Dirandon growled. 'But while his warriors are busy trying to win in the east you can bet your bollocks the Caledonians and those bastard Scots will wreak havoc in the north and west. Gododdin cannot fight this alone.' He looked expectantly up at Owain. He, Owain and I were all Votadini, descendants of men who had migrated from that mist-shrouded land. Surely, we would go to it's rescue.

'How many warriors does he have, boy?' A nobleman called Madog, his face like granite and his voice even harder demanded of the young messenger. Tor blanched and insisted that there were thousands.

'Impossible.' Madog snapped gruffly at him, then looked over at Owain. 'He can't have those numbers, especially not after the defeats you yourself inflicted last year.'

Merlin, ever the thinker, now chimed in. 'You forget the time of year, my Lord.' His voice rang out in it's clear, singing tones. 'Scores of ships will have landed on the eastern coast already. Many will have held men, eager for land and willing to fight for it. Where do you think the sheer number of ships came from for such an invasion north anyway?' Madog fell silent at this.

'Why do we care anyway?' Bishop Ieuan demanded suddenly. 'My lords, Gododdin is not part of our united kingdoms. They are an independent ally. They wanted to this arrangement. They are little more than foreigners who speak our tongue. They barely even follow God's teachings, still embroiled in pagan rituals and worships. Why should we spend honest Christian blood trying to help them?'

'Foreigners?' Dirandon echoed, looking gobsmacked.

'How about the times when Votadini warriors have pulled these united kingdoms' arses out of the fire?' My heckles were rising too.

'What about the time's we've pulled Gododdin's arse out of the fire?' Lancelot needled me, smirking the whole time. 'Haven't we just spent months of our lives doing just that?'

'Peace.' Owain interrupted everyone as the council threatened to erupt. 'Peace.'

He sighed, looked around the council, making eye contact with as many men there as possible as if trying to read their thoughts. Last of all his eyes locked on mine. 'You are right, Bishop. Gododdin is an independent ally, but they are an ally nonetheless. We have a duty to defend them.'

Owain stood and took a deep breath, seeming to steel himself. 'Muster the Army.' He instructed, and suddenly his nerves seemed to dissipate as he switched from his unsure authority into that of a warlord. 'Send riders to the other kingdoms, they are to each send warbands to muster here. In two weeks, we march north.'

'My lord,' Bishop Ieuan hesitated, looking nervously. 'Forgive me, but do you have the right to call the muster?'

'Send the muster in Ambrosius' name.' Merlin advised, shrugging indifferently. 'He is the High King, and we are mustering the High King's Army in his name.'

'But who is to lead the High King's Army when the High King is...' He cut off the end of his sentence, not wanting to say dying. 'Currently unable.'

'I am.' Owain said, his head held high and his gaze fixed and determined. 'Anyone who wishes to dispute that may come and see me. In the meantime, order the muster. This council is concluded.' And with that he turned and strode from the room with long purposeful steps. I stared after him, feeling goosebumps on the back of my neck to rival the cold knot of nerves in my stomach.