Winter's Blossom: The Seasons of Arthur

Chapter 51

It was strangely terrifying, marching out through the gate in the old Roman wall. The wall was lined with people, warriors from Rheged guarding the wall but it seemed that the populace had also taken to the parapet to watch us go forth to our doom. It was the silence that was terrifying though. There was no cheering. There were no warnings. Nobody even wished us luck for our return, they just watched us as we marched towards our deaths.

For our part, we kept our heads high and was determined to show no fear in front of these people who we felt had abandoned us. I felt pity for those few men of Dumnonia who had accompanied us as people complained bitterly about the other kingdoms being cowards. Percival had stood up and loudly reminded that some Dumnonians were here too, and men from Kernow too.

It's not until you're strung out in a column that you realise how small a thousand men can look, especially in open countryside. To those watching it must have seen such a forlorn hope in which we marched, a stoic walk to our doom. We were a reasonably sizeable force of numbers though for most battlefields, and especially as almost everyone was a trained warrior. We had not used the levy and, apart from many of the volunteers who had come over the hills in defiance of the Pendragon, almost all of them had armour of some sort. Owain had, at least, ensured through promise of a heavy payment of silver, acquired a shield and spear for every one of the volunteers without one.

It all depended on what armies we faced now.

Owain, I knew, wanted to bring the Scots to battle first. They were ferocious warriors, but they had had as little time to mobilise a force so there was a possibility we may be able to catch a smaller army on the hop. What's more, they had probably successfully looted a number of Gododdin settlements and be weighed down with booty. If we could get early momentum in a battle, it was quite probably they would break and run with their loot all the way back to Scottiland.

Gaheris had taken charge of the scouts, and local warriors on fast horses ranged ahead of us and to our flanks searching for a hint of the enemies but there was nothing.

The first day felt weirdly anticlimactic. It felt like, crossing with such force into a territory we were assumed was just full of enemy warriors we would immediately encounter something. But there was nothing, just pillars of smoke on the horizon.

'March towards the smoke.' Aglovale growled much later over the fire that our small war council sat around. Dirandon sat on Owain's right hand side as his second in command, and Lancelot sat to his left. Surrounding the fire also were Aglovale, who was commanding the Powysian troops, Percival the Dumnonian, Gaheris who was commanding both the Scouts and the war band he had gathered from the refugees. Cei commanded the volunteers from Gwynedd and a man named Dagonet who appeared at more like a king's fool than a warrior, laughing in a thick Kernow accent that few of us could understand. Too many generations of mothers and sisters being one and the same, Aglovale had remarked on the march up, much to the mirth of those around him. But now Dagonet sat humourless on one side of me while Aglovale sat on the other. I was deliberately opposite Owain so I could watch his face over the firelight, attempting to read his thoughts as he remained silent as others spoke their minds. 'Once you get there, we'll find someone.' Aglovale carried on.

'Or someone will find us.' Dirandon pointed out. 'We need to catch them, not just follow them as they run away.'

'How did you get to Rheged, Gaheris?' I asked, a thought nagging in the back of my mind.

Gaheris looked at me quizzically for a moment, clearly wondering why I was asking such a random question in the war council. 'I came through the Disputed Lands.' He said. 'The Scotti have avoided the north, not wanting to bump into the clans raiding down from the hills. So I tried to find a route between them and then made for the south.'