For three days, Meryn meandered in a southerly direction, doggedly crossing the
main forest path from east to west then back again. There were plenty of tracks
to follow, but so far, none of them leading away from the main path had been
made by man… or little girl. There was an abundance of deer, boar and rabbits,
and it was these animals' paths that he walked, all the while seeking some sign to
show where Nineve had gone.
Late in the third day, he was following a series of deer trails, still trying to
head south, when he noticed a lighter area ahead amongst the trees. As he got
closer, he could see there was a break in the forest canopy, a large patch of grey
sky hanging above what appeared to be a massive patch of brambles. It would
have been far simpler to go around, and he almost did, but a strong urge to seek
what he was sure would be an open centre suddenly consumed him and he began
forcing his way in.
The brambles were old and dense, crowding each other as they reached up
towards the light. As he hacked with his sword and forced his way through, they
tore at his clothing and scratched at any exposed skin. He spent as much time
untangling himself as he did cutting through the heavy, thick stalks; yet the
desire to continue only became stronger. Digging deep into his last reserves of
both energy and curiosity, he pushed on.
This was, in many ways, his final push. His determination to track Nineve
was fast losing a battle of wills with his stomach, having eaten little of any real
substance in days. If he didn't find anything after all this effort, he would stop his
search, return to the main path, and head south; his stomach rumbled as if in
agreement with his thoughts.
'Quiet down there,' he muttered, then seeing a few old blackberries still
clinging to the brambles, he snatched them from their thorny stem and crammed
them into his mouth. They were hard and shrivelled this late in the season and
tasted bad, but he swallowed them anyway, hoped they wouldn't sour his
stomach, and continued towards the clearing.
The sight that presented itself when he did eventually burst through,
carefully picking the last clinging stem away from his cloak, caused Meryn to
hesitate, and then think very seriously about turning round and fighting his way
back out. It almost did… but he didn't. There was indeed a clearing inside. It was
roughly circular, completely surrounded by the thick wall of brambles, and
overshadowed by some of the tallest trees in the forest. However, it was what lay
within that had unsettled him, lush green grass growing through a circle of
standing stones.
'Druid stones,' muttered Meryn in awe, as he cast about the clearing. He
quickly scanned the shadows, seeking the druids who must surely call this place
home, then finally exhaled the breath he had been holding when he realised that
he was alone. He wavered for a moment, his half-starved brain unsure of what to
do. It was dangerous to mix in the way of druids, but if they knew something of
Nineve's disappearance, then he needed to explore the circle. With a sigh, he set
off, skirting the perimeter while being careful not to cross into the circle itself.
The stones stood upright, were just over waist height, and looked as if in
some ancient time they had erupted from the bowels of the earth, pushed by
some immense force to point accusingly at the sky. He took his time to study
each one as he walked past, listening to the silence, allowing his senses to
explore the strange aura of the glade. What it was used for he had no idea, but he
knew as a certainty that it was some kind of doorway between this world and the
world of spirit, that was the way with druids.
Calm down, Meryn, he counselled, dragging his attention back to the stones.
They reminded him of huge jagged, rotten teeth. Still slick with the previous
night's rain, there was a stark contrast between the dark grey of the stone and the
moss that grew on each in a variety of colours and textures. As he slowly passed
each one, he noticed a tingling sensation. It was as if the stones were vibrating
slightly and transferring their energy across to him. He reached out, stopping his
fingers just short of the rough surface of the closest stone, and then thought
better of it and quickly walked on.
Within the circle stood a larger stone, roughly shaped with a flat top,
dominating the centre of the glade with its presence. The moment he saw it,
Meryn felt his concentration drawn forwards as all fear left him, and a feeling
that it was safe to enter within the circle overwhelmed him. He stepped
confidently past the stones onto the soft grass.
While his mind confirmed he was safe, he was vaguely aware of his ears
telling him the birds had stopped their singing and the wind was no longer
moving the leaves in the trees overhead, he was walking the soft grass of the
circle in almost complete silence. The only sound appeared to be coming from
the stones with their soft vibrating hum, and the loud beating of his heart as it
echoed in his ears. He approached the central stone and noticed for the first time
that an object lay upon it, a sword, old and tarnished, its leather sheath rotting
and decayed by the elements. He watched absently as his arm reach out
unbidden, and then saw his fingers wrap around the hilt and slide the sword free
of the crumbling leather.
Excalibur, the name echoed in his mind, as if attached to a thousand tiny
bells, and there came a momentary spark of connection between him and the
rusty blade. Trembling slightly, he laid the sword down and then, without really
knowing why, removed his sleeping fur and rolled it round the ancient weapon
before securely tying it with a bowstring.
Now, with the old sword slung across his back, Meryn felt exposed at the
centre of the circle, and a shiver travelled through him. It was almost as if the
stones had finished with him and were now trying to expel him. Fear once again
fluttered in his chest as he glanced anxiously about the glade trying to see a way
out. This was the strangest place he could ever remember being in and he was
ready to leave. It wasn't that anything was specifically threatening, but it wasn't
particularly welcoming either, it was all just so unsettling.
Running across the grass, he stepped outside the stones and found himself at
a small open area cut from the brambles on the opposite side of the circle from
where he had entered. The sounds of the forest filled the air again and the
memory of how things had happened in the circle had already started to fade. He
glanced around the little clearing, eager for distraction. Obviously, it was where
the druids made camp when they were here. In the centre, a fire area still had wet
grey ash and a few charred branches remaining in a black depression burnt into
the earth. Six sleeping places were set about the fire, and in three, freshly cut
grass and bracken formed comfortable-looking pallets. He bent down and felt
one. It was damp from the previous night's rain. Scattered at the head end were
herbs, their fragrant smell wafting up as his hand disturbed them.
A burning light of hope filled his heart as he crouched and studied the
ground. Footprints were everywhere, but they were hard to read. At last, after
some searching, he found what he thought was the footprint of a child. He traced
his finger around the edge to define it further and crouched staring at it from
various angles. It might well be Nineve's, but he couldn't be sure. What was
apparent, however, was that several druids had been here recently, and a child
may possibly have been amongst them, but why?
Completing a full circuit of the stones confirmed there really was no easy
way out of the glade. How the druids came and went was uncertain, but it wasn't
by any forest path that Meryn could see. He didn't like the idea of searching
further, and certainly didn't relish the thought of spending the night in their
glade, you never knew where you were with druids, and after him taking their
rusty old sword there was no telling how they would react. Checking his
direction by way of the sun, he forced his way back through the brambles and
into the forest to find somewhere to camp.
The rain fell incessantly above the trees for three days as Meryn wandered
utterly lost. It reached the forest floor in a misery of constant drips from the
dense layers of leaves and branches above him, it felt like it had been raining
forever. He was wet to the bone, tired, and almost delirious with hunger. It wasn't
that catching food was a problem. Several rabbits had fallen to his bow, but
finding wood dry enough to light a fire so he could cook them was impossible.
Worse still, he was beginning to think his sense of direction was faulty. He
couldn't find the main path and the trees of the Weald appeared to have no end.
His optimism, which had flared at the druids' circle after finding sign of Nineve,
was now ebbing, yet there was no alternative but to keep plodding. He was
forever expecting to emerge into open fields, always believing them to be just
beyond the next bit of forest. However, when he got there, all that ever greeted
him were trees, ferns, moss and more trees. Stumbling forever forwards, he was
soaked through, shivering and becoming convinced that the old druid had cursed
him back at the well. That he was doomed to remain wandering the forest
forever; or at least for several years until he staggered out in the mountains of
Cymru in the west, or to the sea in the east as an older broken man.
Muttering to himself without realising he was doing it, Meryn was tripping
along a narrow deer-path, slapping wet branches away as they reached out to
taunt him in passing, when a long drawn-out wail echoed through the forest. It
stopped him where he stood, one foot raised ready to set down… listening. He
gently placed his foot and waited, unmoving for another sound to follow the
first, and didn't have to wait long before it came. It sounded like a woman,
screaming in pain and anguish. With fresh purpose, he picked up his pace and set
off towards where he judged the sounds were coming from, glad now for the rain
as it covered his approach. Scanning the trees ahead, he felt the threat of danger
quicken his pulse and his mind became sharper than it had been in days.
Checking his sword at his belt, he hoped the spirits of the forest had allowed his
string to remain dry in its oiled pouch so he could use his bow, and then another
scream rent the air and he realised he was close. He slowed his progress, calmly
stringing the bow, as he crept forward, and glanced over a low rise.
At first he was puzzled by what he saw, a small group of people gathered at
the base of a large oak tree. He judged four in the group to be men, and he could
just make out the skirts of at least one woman standing with her back to him.
Another scream set the group in motion. The woman pushed one of the
attackers roughly aside, and a young boy broke from the group, ran some way
off and sat hugging his knees. Meryn could see the boy's eyes darting from side
to side in obvious alarm and agitation, and when yet another scream filled the
forest, he covered his ears, shut his eyes tight and began rocking back and forth.
Meryn had heard enough. Whoever that poor woman was he couldn't just pass
by and do nothing, not while she was being tortured. With a fluid motion, he
placed an arrow on the bow, drew back, and released, the arrow flew across the
distance and struck the tree, narrowly missing one of the men.
'Damp string,' he mumbled, then pulled his sword free and ran out at the
group, shrieking his battle cry in an attempt to appear as ferocious as possible,
but as he ran up the cry died on his lips and came to a stop, sword held high, it
was blatantly obvious they were all ignoring him.
'Wait, Elen my love. Please try and wait.' It was one of the men, appealing in
a whining voice to someone Meryn couldn't see. The speaker was crouched
down, desperately gripping the hand of whoever was lying against the tree.
Meryn lowered his sword and tried to comprehend what was happening; still
puzzled that none of the group was acknowledging him standing there with a
drawn blade.
'They've gone to fetch the old woman,' the man continued, 'she'll be here
soon, really. You just have to wait a bit longer and…' Elen, whom Meryn figured
to be the woman against the tree with her knees up, didn't wait for the man to
finish but screamed again, the shriek an inhuman sound that shattered the
stillness of the dripping forest. Screaming yet again, she reached out with both
hands and pulled the man and the other woman towards her with a savage show
of strength. They both struggled to get free, but she held on, continued heaving
herself forward, as she dragged them down, her face echoing the pain of her cry.
Everyone, including Meryn, gazed at the heavily pregnant woman and wondered
anxiously what they should do.
'Breathe Elen, just breathe and everything will be all right,' crooned the
woman standing at poor Elen's side. As she spoke, Meryn noticed she was
desperately trying to pry Elen's clenched fingers from her arm. 'Jared has gone
for the old woman, they'll be here soon and everything will be fine.'
'Fine, Tilly?' spat Elen. 'Do I look… like everything is… fine?' Her face
contorted as another wave of pain took her. 'Aaaahhh, help me… or a curse on
you all!'
'What do we do, Tilly?' whined the crouching man, thrusting his panicked
face out towards her. 'You're a woman, you should know!' The two other men
standing over them shared worried expressions and one even shook his head in
resignation. The boy who had fled earlier still had his hands over his ears and
was rocking back and forth even faster. He was now humming loudly, trying, to
block out the sound of Elen's screams.
'I don't know… I… I…' Tilly glanced about, her eyes finally resting on
Meryn. 'Do something, please. She's come early…we was gathering firewood,
her waters broke and… please, the old woman's coming but we don't know what
to do.'
Elen screamed again.
'Me, I don't know much, girl… hardly anything at all,' said Meryn, once the
scream cut off. He instantly realised that it might not have been the wisest thing
to say. Everyone who wasn't screaming was staring at the man who had just
professed some small knowledge of childbirth, each displaying similar
expressions of abject relief. The young father glanced back down to his wife.
'It's going to be all right, Elen. There's a fellow here who can help you!' Elen
answered with another scream and Meryn backed away.
'Listen, I said I don't know much, and I meant it.' Wiping a hand across his
face, he tried to think back to the time that he had indeed witnessed a child being
born. Back then, he had merely been an observer, more as support for the
expectant father than help for the mother. By the time the village woman had
handed the father the screaming infant, they had both been slightly worse for the
effects of the ale they had been consuming all evening to 'wet the baby's head.'
Meryn cast about the soggy glade and decided that, while there was nobody else
present with a jot of sense, he might as well try to do something.
'Very well, I'll do what little I can, but I warn you, it won't be much.' Eager
hands drew him forward as he hurriedly dropped his pack and the rolled-up rusty
sword.
He glanced across at the contorted face of Elen and tried to offer her a
reassuring smile. She was squeezing her husband's hand, the man's face
reflecting the pain of her grip along with the feeling of total inadequacy felt by
every father at the birth of his child. Of course, reflected Meryn, these poor souls
are going through all this in the middle of a forest on a rainy day with Meryn
Link as their only hope of salvation. How did I get in the middle of this? He
looked up at Elen, and then around at the others.
'Get something to put on the ground… for the baby when it comes.' He
clawed at his thoughts. What else had they done? 'How long has she been like
this?'
'Some time now, but the old lady should be here soon, she'll know what to
do.' The husband smiled up at him then whipped his head round as Elen
screamed again. Her legs drew up, her face went bright red, and she looked set to
explode.
'I don't think your young lady can wait for the old lady,' observed Meryn.
'This baby may well be here soon.' He crouched down and tentatively lifted
Elen's skirts.
'Hey! What are you doing?' The husband appeared shocked that Meryn
should do such a thing.
'He… has to… you…' Elen's face grimaced in pain as she spat out the last
word, '… fool… aaahh!'
Meryn glanced up from his quick surveillance of the situation. 'The baby's
head is showing. It'll be here soon.'
'Well get it! Help her,' the husband implored.
'I can't just get it! The baby will come when it's ready.' Meryn stared into
Elen's pain-filled eyes. 'Are you ready to give a big push?' She nodded, and bore
down, squeezing hard on both her husband's and Tilly's hands in the process, all
three screamed.
'And again,' instructed Meryn.
Elen pushed, her face contorting with the effort, and the three screamed out
into the forest once more.
'You're doing really well, Elen, I'm so proud of you.' Tears were tumbling
down the husband's face, but his words of comfort were answered with a look of
scorn and yet another scream.
'Push!' cried Meryn.
Another four monumental attempts and the efforts of Elen and the others
were rewarded with the howling cry of a newborn infant as it spilt with a rush
between Elen's legs. Meryn scooped the little blue bundle up, wrapped him in a
shawl that Tilly handed over, and then placed the baby boy on Elen's chest.
Stepping back, he gazed down at the group that was crowded round, cooing
happily at the wrinkled little face.
He was just realising that it was over, his presence no longer required, when
a bustling black shape shoved him roughly aside with a bony hand.
'Elen! Elen girl, don't you fret. I'm here now and ready to care for you!' The
little old woman crouched down, lifted Elen's skirt and then glanced up at the
baby. Without further comment, she began tying off the rubbery umbilical cord
that still attached mother to child.
Meryn picked up his things and, with a last glance back at the baby, walked
off in the direction the old woman had come from, more eager than ever to find
the village.
A cold wet drizzle was blowing in from the east as he emerged from the
trees. Above him, dark grey clouds tore past while even darker thunderheads
built up in the distance, threatening that an even greater drenching was to come.
Yet despite the threat of another storm, little could dampen Meryn's relief at
finally escaping the clutches of the Weald.
A short walk later past a few outlying roundhouses, and he was standing on
the edge of the village of Rudge, a larger community of maybe twenty dwellings
gathered loosely together. He waited patiently as a small flock of sheep were
encouraged along the narrow central lane towards a stockade, ready to be sold.
Moving in further amongst the buildings, he saw that a number of people were
doing their best to set up benches in the mud alongside the road. Some had even
thatched rain covers to shelter their owners while they peddled their wares to the
small crowd filtering by. As Meryn took it all in, relieved to be amongst his
fellow man once more, two small children dashed past him laughing happily, and
a moment later, an older girl appeared, calling out after them.
'Thea, Brom, come back, you little good-for-nothings!' As she pushed past,
she bumped into Meryn, who was forced to step back, almost tripping over his
own feet. She came to a halt.
'Sorry 'bout that… you all right?' She glanced after the fleeing youngsters
then, shaking her head, turned back to regard Meryn, taking in the sword and
bow.
'I'll be fine. At least, I will be, if I can find somewhere to dry out and get
something to eat,' said Meryn, offering the girl a weak smile.
'The warriors are gathering through there.' She waved a hand past the
market. 'Shouldn't wonder you'll find what you need with them.' The sound of
stifled giggling drew the girl's attention back to the children and she sped off
calling after them once more. Hoisting the sword and pack onto his shoulder,
Meryn walked on towards the bustling market.
A heavy traffic of sheep, cattle and people had churned the street into thick
mud and there was little escape from it even at the sides where the stalls stood;
Meryn quickly became coated to the knees.
'New knife, my friend? Needles, or some pins for your good lady?' Meryn
shook his head at the trader and pushed on, passing others making similar offers,
from benches laden with a variety of items. There were tools, some of which he
noted were poorly made, some items of clothing offered by two young girls who
gazed at him open mouthed as he passed, and a number of stalls heavy under the
weight of vegetables, pies, and pots. He stopped and watched with interest as an
older man bartered some sheep for three Roman coins, a sack of grain and a
short sword, and then moved on in search of the warriors' lodgings. Thunder
rumbled closer now and the rain began to fall in earnest. Around him, people
scurried for cover and Meryn picked up his pace, eager to get warm and dry. At
last, he saw three chariots outside a large barn and guessed he was at the right
place. A boy was leading two horses away from the closest chariot, and he could
hear raised voices coming from within.
Dragging open the door in anticipation of a warm fire, he was about to walk
inside, when a huge warrior came storming out towards him, forcing him to
jump back out of the way. It took a moment to realise the warrior wasn't simply
pushing past, but had been forcibly ejected by the small knot of fury and muscle
that followed him out.
'Don't yer ever take the name of the Iceni 'n' blacken it with yer foul tongue,'
spat the little man as he stood over his far larger opponent. He reached up and
straightened the band of polished bronze he wore round his brow to keep in
check a tangle of red hair, hair matched in its fiery colour by a long flowing
beard. His eyes, behind a myriad of wrinkles, flashed light blue as he began
menacingly shifting a large axe from one hand to the other, obviously waiting for
the right moment to plant it in the other man's head.
The aggressive little man was dressed in the manner of the eastern Iceni
tribe. Leather leggings, a heavy linen tunic and a coarse woollen cloak, pinned
with a decorated brooch. The torque at his throat was thick and heavy, and
looked to be made of some precious metal. The cloak, in comparison, appeared
to have been made for a man of larger stature, as much of it was trailing behind
him in the mud. Meryn decided that if the slurring of his words was any way to
judge a man, then he was heavily into his cups.
'I meant no disrespect, Samel,' the fallen man stammered, as he got to his
feet to tower over the bristling Samel. 'I's only said …' but the big man had no
time to finish as Samel noticed Meryn for the first time and promptly forgot his
present troubles.
'Meryn, Meryn Link!' He pushed the big warrior out of his way with the
edge of his axe and the man wandered back into the barn, muttering
incoherently.
'As I live and breathe,' continued Samel, beaming up at Meryn. 'Meryn Link,
and here ready to join with his oldest friend in battle.' He held out his arm and
Meryn gripped it. They stood like this for several moments, forearm to forearm,
happily slapping each other on the back in the pouring rain.
'Well met, Samel,' said Meryn, clearly delighted to have found the little man.
'It's been a long time.'
'It has indeed. Come. Drink with me,' said Samel, as they broke apart. 'You'll
know a few of the others inside and you're sorely needed if we're to hold our
heads high in battle over the coming weeks. Some among us still believe hulking
size is the only requirement of a great warrior.' His face creased into a grin as he
gazed up at Meryn, and tapped the side of his nose while lowering his voice to a
loud whisper. 'Sometimes I need to cut a few of those big oafs down a bit, just to
let them know who the real warriors are! Remind them that we're all the same
size when lying in the mud, eh?'
He turned for the door as thunder crashed overhead and the rain tipped down
in torrents, seemingly doing its best to remove the little hair left on Meryn's head
before they got inside.
Meryn had known Samel since they were young and foolhardy enough to be
part of a small raiding party that had regularly attacked Roman supply columns.
They had hunted and been hunted up and down the land for years, until Meryn
had judged he was too old to keep going, tried his hand at farming. To be back in
the little man's company was like revisiting the past, and the two friends spent
until late into darkness, drinking, talking and laughing together.
Meryn learned that Samel and his band were heading towards the growing
army of someone called Ambrosius, and that they were sorely disappointed not
to have found him already.
'It's confusing, to say the least,' moaned Samel. 'We'd set out to join with
Vortigern, when we heard tell of this Ambrosius, and that he has returned as our
true king, eldest son to old King Clarens, so they say. Anyway, now that you're
with us it'll be like old times again.' Samel beamed at Meryn, before tipping up
his leather tankard and then gazing about for something palatable with which to
refill it.
'I have to find my young friends before I do anything else. 'Tis a thing of
honour, a pledge of safety that I made and need to be able to keep, I have to find
them.' Meryn pushed a flagon of mead towards Samel. 'It's a strange thing, but
the spirits drew us together, and ever since then, there have been little things to
remind me that there's something special about these young people.'
'Like your meeting with the druid? Or perhaps the birthing in the forest?'
said Samel, grinning happily.
Meryn cringed. He had only just finished telling how he had finally found
his way out of the forest. 'Well, maybe not delivering the child, but meeting the
druid, yes, and then also finding that old sword. I mean, what would I want with
a rusty old sword?' He took a long drink then belched softly as he lowered the
tankard. 'Then there are those Picts that were taking such an interest in them. It
may have been coincidence the first time with the raid on their village, but the
same group catching up with them a second time?'
'They're rounding up children all over, or so we've heard. Looking for
someone special.' Samel drew a dagger and stabbed it down into the table and
his face took on a darker look. 'If my boys and me catch any, we'll put paid to
them; you can count on that.' He pulled the dagger free and returned it to his belt.
'So where do you think these kids of yours have got to?'
Meryn's face creased in a frown. 'I wish I knew. The druid sent us south, said
we'd meet a man and know him if we saw him.'
'That's just the sort of vague advice to be expected from a druid.' Samel spat
out the word 'druid' with obvious distaste. 'Maybe it's me yer meant to find!' he
continued happily, but Meryn shook his head.
'It's a pleasure to find you, Samel, but I think the druid was talking to the
boys. Apparently, my task is to save a king, but I think I was meant to stick with
them to do that.'
The little man's bushy red eyebrows rose in surprise. 'Saving a king is a
worthy task if ever there was one, and another reason for you to join with us. We
aim to join the army of a king, King Ambrosius. Maybe it's him you'll be
saving?'
Meryn shook his head. 'No, I've made too many mistakes. First sending
those poor boys away, and then losing the girl, they may all be dead for all I
know. I'll get no chance to save any king as the druid foretold, and who knows…
Britain may fall to the Saxons because of it.' He hung his head in his hands and
Samel looked on in pity, shaking his head.
'You poor ol' fool, but then, maybe the spirits have just nudged you back on
track, by pushing you into me? In my experience, that's just the sort of thing
spirits will do. Don't explain nothing clearly, but push and pull a man till he's all
messed up trying to figure them out, best to just let it all happen, I say.
Tomorrow, we'll ride to join Ambrosius and find yer that king to save, eh? Now
stop yer whining and find us another flagon of mead.'
It was late in the morning when the three chariots rode out of Rudge. The
rain was still falling without let and it didn't appear as if it was going to stop any
time soon. The chariots were heavy, uncomfortable contraptions that the horses
slipped and struggled to pull through the thick mud of the village. As they left,
they found slightly firmer ground, but it was still all Meryn could do to hang on
to the side of the bouncing frame, trying to control the contents of his stomach.
When they made it onto the main path beyond the village, the ride smoothed out
and they picked up speed, however, it remained a discomfort with three men in a
chariot designed to carry only two.
Samel appeared little affected by the previous night's drinking as his chariot
led the small group towards the Roman road and regularly cracked his whip over
the backs of the two dark brown mares; the powerful little horses drawing them
along at a smart pace. As the morning wore on, Meryn became accustomed to
the ride, his stomach settled down and he began to enjoy the experience a little
more. Even his worries were beginning to fade a little. He was still heading
south, and at this pace, his hopes began to rise that he might still catch up with
the boys before they got into any harm. He consoled himself with the knowledge
that he had seen the black Saxon and two of the Picts return to the forest camp
without captives, and that maybe the boys had actually won through. The fate of
Nineve, however, was still causing him concern. If she was with the druids, as he
suspected, then she would at least be safe from the Picts. However, if she had
somehow become lost in the forest… Meryn elected not to think like that, it
didn't do him any good and instead concentrated on the road ahead.
The rain set in and fell without let for three full days of travel. Thankfully,
the Roman road proved to be free of mud, unlike the local roads, and although
the journey was somewhat miserable, it at least allowed the chariots to continue
at a good pace. Towards the end of the third day, as the light was beginning to
fade from the slate-grey sky, they left the hard surface of the Roman road,
crested a rise, and saw the collection of huts and shelters that housed the hopes
of the Britons. They had finally found Ambrosius and the collected might of the
tribes.
* * *
Uther glanced up at the small group of chariots that had topped the rise
behind where he and Cal were practising weapon skills with Ambrosius and
some of the others. Groups of warriors from the various tribes had been drifting
in for days now so it was only a momentary distraction. Sometimes a large group
came in, but more often, it was smaller groups of two or three at a time, and then
chariots and cavalry like those he had just seen, coming from one of the larger
tribes or bands that had been part of the Roman army before it departed.
'Come on, Uther, concentrate!'
Uther snapped back in time to see the wooden sword flash towards him. He
stepped to the side at the last moment and deflected the blow as Ambrosius had
taught him, but his arms and shoulders were tiring. His guard dropped long
enough for Ambrosius to jab him in the ribs and he fell to his knees, waiting for
the pain to subside. As he crouched there, he wished he could go back into the
warm roundhouse and dry out, but the practice would continue as it did every
day while the army waited to do battle.
'You're doing better, little brother, but in battle, that sword would be real and
it would have killed you.' Uther nodded, stood up, and launched himself at
Ambrosius with a flurry of blows that drove the startled king stumbling back.
When he had recovered himself, Ambrosius smiled, acknowledging a good
combination of moves and some definite improvement from Uther.