'Bretwaldal'

I heard the familiar voice and searched the melee for it. Not a hundred paces before me stood Arthur at the foot of the central mound, Caledvwlch streaming red in his hand. I ran to his side.

1Bretwalda, I challenge you!' the Duke called boldly.

From the earth mound above us came a great cry of rage. We looked up through the shining veil of smoke and flame and saw a knot of foemen clustered about the skull-and-bones standard of the Bretwalda. Out from the midst of his house carles roared Baldulf like a bull, his helm gleaming in the firelight, his axe shining dull red; blood drenched his sinewy arm to the elbow. Trampling without heed over the corpses of his kin, the battlechief plunged down the hillside straightway, so that the force of his assault might be the greater.

Arthur faced him unafraid. And when the Bretwalda leapt through the flame-curtain, his loathsome axe high in the air, the wily Arthur dodged aside, leaving only the sharp edge of his sword behind.

Baldulf s steel shirt saved him from the fatal thrust, but the frenzy of his attack carried him beyond Arthur. In trying to stop, his feet slid in the blood-soaked earth and he fell onto his back. Arthur was there and ready.

Caledvwlch sang in the air. The thirsty blade bit deep, and Baldulf s head rolled cleanly from his shoulders.

Seeing their mighty Bretwalda slain, the barbarians fled, howling in despair and anguish. Their flight to the forest became a migration. The hundreds, thousands – abandoning the field like dogs running from a scalding.

Arthur strode to the severed head of his enemy and lifted the helm from its face. The bulging eyes that stared at him were not those of Baldulf. The face belonged to another man: Boerl, the Bretwalda's kinsman.

'They must have taken one another's helms and weapons,' I observed.

Arthur nodded. 'It matters not. Baldulf has doomed himself.'

The Duke signalled Rhys, who raised the hunting horn to his lips and sounded the rout. The Britons pursued the fleeing foemen into the darksome tracks and game runs of Celyddon. The wood echoed with the screams of the unfortunate. It was the sound of miserable defeat. I do not know any warrior who likes hearing it.

But twilight comes early to the forest and we could not run the enemy to ground. Many escaped in the dark.

'We will camp in the meadow and continue the pursuit at dawn,' declared Arthur. 'I will have Baldulf in chains, or see his body in the earth before I put up this sword.'

He then ordered the care of the wounded and the plunder of the dead, and we worked steadily into the night, stripping the corpses by torchlight. The enemy dead were thrown into the earthwork ditches. The British fallen were wrapped in their cloaks, carried to the mound, and honourably put to the flame by the priests of Mailros. As the pyre tit the darkling sky the good priests prayed the souls of our sword brothers on their way. Thus the bodies of our kinsmen and Cymbrogi did not suffer the gross humiliation of birds and beasts.

When at last we staggered back across the river to the meadow, a pale moon shone through wisps of cloud. The camp fires had been banked high; hot food and cold drink awaited. The war host of the Island of the Mighty sank gratefully down upon the cool grass, too tired to stir. The Duke made certain his men were well supplied with all they needed before turning to his own refreshment.

The other lords did likewise, and I saw the clustered masses of our troops spread out along the river and across the meadow. Fewer, Dear God, than had marched out this morning – an age ago that was. I felt old and weak.

Arthur and I dragged ourselves to the place where Arthur's tent had been set up. Myrddin waited there before the fire, and rose when we came near. 'Sit you down,' he commanded. 'I will bring food.'

Without a word, Arthur collapsed into Uther's camp chair. He sat there too exhausted to move. We had washed in the river, but the blood stains on our clothing shone black in the firelight and we were speckled with dark, crusted blotches.

'It is a filthy business,' Arthur murmured, staring at his hands.

I nodded. ‘That it is, Bear, that it is.'

Myrddin returned with two stewards carrying meat and bread on a wooden tray, and beer in a huge jar. He quickly dismissed the stewards to other duties and began serving us with his own hand. Blind though he was, the Emrys moved quickly and without hesitation. When I asked him how he knew where to find us, he laughed and answered, 'By the smell of you, Most Fragrant Bedwyr! How else?'

It was meant to cheer us, and did not fall far short of the mark. But I was too tired to laugh, and could not even manage a suitable smile. I drank my beer in silence, and ate some bread, forcing my jaws to chew. I think I have never eaten bread so tough; although it came apart in my hands easily enough, it was all I could do to choke it down. The venison was no better.

While we ate, some of the other lords, having settled their men, joined us. Maelgwn and Maglos were first, and they were followed by Owain, Ogryvan, Idris and Ceredig. These were eager for the division of the spoils, which they thought should take place at once as they saw no reason to delay.

Arthur was not inclined to disappoint them, although I could see that his heart was not in it. 'Bring the plunder here before me, and I will divide it out.'

That is what they wanted to hear. Indeed, they were only waiting on Arthur's word, for all at once men bearing armloads of treasure appeared. They came before the Duke and placed their burdens before his feet. Others came with mealbags full of objects collected from the barbarian camp and corpses – gold and silver, brass, bronze and pewter, bright coloured, with gems and with clever inlay: cups, bowls, trays, tores, arm rings, bracelets, brooches, mead jars, pins, knives, swords, belts, finger rings and rings for the ear, necklaces, cauldrons, pots, fine furs, combs, hair ornaments, collars for dogs and for valued slaves, coins, mirrors, statues and idols of Woden, Thor and Freya, razors, discs and plaques, spoons, circlet crowns, ingots large and small in the shape of axe-heads… and on and on.

At first the gathered throng cheered to see the rich hoarding. Bag after bag and load upon load was brought forward and the pile rose higher and still higher – the heap was fully as tall as Arthur himself! But as the trove swelled the laughter and the cheering became less. The last trinket was placed upon the stack in total silence.

Awed and abashed, we gazed upon the wealth we had won. Then the shame of it stole over us and the sweet taste of victory turned bitter in our mouths.

The treasure was ours by right, but it was covered in blood – much of it British blood, since the barbarians had stolen it from those they had marauded all summer. We took back only our own, and there was little cheer in the taking.

It was slow going through the forest. And though we left at first light – as soon as we could read the trails through the tangled wood – our pursuit did not raise any of the escaping enemy, who by now must have reformed into warbands. But we kept at it, and by midday began making eerie and unusual discoveries: barbarian corpses drained white and hanging from the branches of trees.

At first only a few, and then more… by the scores…

I called off the pursuit and ordered the Cymbrogi to return to the Twide valley. 'Leave be,' I told the men, 'we will find none left alive. We ride for Mailros.'

It was early in the afternoon when we rejoined the main force. Arthur was surprised to see us return so soon. 'What is it, Bedwyr? Poor hunting?"

'Oh, aye,' I told him, swinging down from my horse. 'Spoiled, more like. Someone has poached the game from your hunting runs, Lord of the Hunt.'