Legacy: Arthurian Saga (238 page)

Arthur bent over him. "How is it with
you, nephew?"

The pale lips gaped. In a while Gawain
whispered: "My evil luck. Just as the war starts."

The war he had wanted, had almost
worked for. The King put the thought aside, and stooping lower,
moistened the dying man's lips from his wine flask.

The lips moved again.

"What's that? I didn't
hear."

"Bedwyr," said Gawain.

"Yes," said the King, wondering.
"Bedwyr is well enough. They say he is recovering fast."

"Bedwyr..."

"Gawain, I know that you have much to
forgive Bedwyr for, but if you are asking me to take any message
other than one of forgiveness and friendship, you ask in vain,
dying or no."

"Not that. Bring Bedwyr back now.
Needed. Help you kill... the traitor... Mordred."

Arthur made no reply to that. But in a
few moments he could see that none was needed.

So, still counseling murder and
strife, died the fourth of Morgause's sons. Leaving only the one,
Mordred, his own son.Mordred, the traitor?

8

Mordred was back in Camelot when the
news reached him of fighting on the south coast. No details were
given. Mindful of his commitment to Cerdic, he gathered what troops
were available and hastened southward, falling in with the West
Saxon army just as a second messenger came panting with a fuller
but strange-sounding version of what had happened.

His story was this: King Arthur's
troopships had been sighted by the Saxon shore-dwellers, appearing
soon after the longships, unable to reach the harbor at the mouth
of the Itchen, had discharged their cargo of immigrants in the
shallow, sheltered water behind Seal Island. Then a flying scud of
cloud and mist had blotted out the fleet. The Saxon incomers,
nervous, and not knowing what to expect from the approaching ships,
had hurried their women and children inland away from the shore,
and gathered in a defensive crowd within reach of signals from the
lighthouse. The shore-folk who had come down to receive them gave
them quick reassurance. They were safe now. The High King's ships,
whether or not the King himself was on board, would not come into
the shore ports, which were by treaty ceded to the Saxons these
many years.

But hard on the reassurance came the
runner from the lighthouse, gasping. The ships had turned under
cover of the squall, had come inshore, and were even now landing
armed men on the beaches only a short way to the west. It was
apparent that, having been warned of this fresh influx of Saxon
immigrants, Arthur had hoped to stop them by sea, but having
failed, had sent his troops ashore to kill them or take them
prisoner. To those who expressed doubt of this -- these were the
citizens of long standing, and Cynric himself was among them -- the
newcomers would not listen. The risk was too great. If the British
meant business, and were allowed time to get their horses ashore...
Everyone knew the reputation of Arthur's cavalry....

So the Saxons, unorganized and weary
as they were, had charged to the beaches and closed with Arthur's
men. There they had met slaughter and defeat, and now, exhausted,
were straggling inland with the frightened inhabitants of the shore
villages, with Arthur and his cavalry in pursuit. And, the
messenger concluded, with a sidelong glance of mistrust at Mordred,
the Saxons -- men, women, and little children -- cried to their
king for help against Arthur the breaker of treaties, the invader
of their rightful kingdom, the slayer of lawful and peaceful
incomers.

The distressful tale came pelting out,
in the rough tongue of the Saxon peasant. It is doubtful if Mordred
understood more than one word in three. But he grasped the central
fact, and, rigid at Cerdic's side, felt the cold creep over him as
if the blood drained from his body down into the chalky earth. The
man stopped speaking, Cerdic began a question, but across it
Mordred, for once heedless of courtesy, demanded harshly: "The High
King? Is that what he is saying? That Arthur himself is
there?"

"Yes. It seems," said Cerdic, with
fierce self-control, "that we have moved too soon, Prince
Mordred!"

"This is certain?"

"Certain."

"This changes everything." Mordred,
with an effort, made the under statement calmly, but his mind was
whirling. What had happened could lead -- had already led -- to
complete disaster: for himself, for the Queen, for the future of
Britain.

Cerdic, watching him closely under
those fierce brows, merely nodded.

"Tell me exactly what has happened,"
said Mordred quickly. "I hardly understood. If there could be any
possibility of error... ?"

"As we go," said Cerdic. "Ride beside
me. There is no time to waste. It seems that Arthur is not content
with taking the shore villages, but he has driven their people
inland, and is gathering his cavalry for pursuit. We must go to
defend them." He spurred his pony, and as Mordred brought his own
mount alongside, the old king repeated the rest of the messenger's
tale.

Almost before he had done, Mordred,
who had been biting his lips with impatient fury,
exploded.

"This is absurd! Room for doubt,
indeed! It is simply not to be believed! The High King break his
own treaty? Is it not patent that his ships were driven ashore by
the storm, and made landfall where they could? For one thing only,
if he had intended to attack, he would have landed his cavalry
first. It sounds to me as if he had been forced to go ashore, and
that Cynric's people attacked on suspicion, without even an attempt
at parley."

"That much is certainly true. But
according to this man they knew only that the ships were British;
the royal ship flew no standard. This in itself was
suspicious--"

Mordred felt a sudden leap of the
heart: shame and hope together; the chance that all, still, could
be well. (Well? He did not pause, in that shame and hope, to
examine the thought.) "Then it is possible that Arthur himself was
not there? Was Arthur seen? Recognized? If his standard was not
flying--"

"Once the British gained the beach,
the Dragon was raised. He was there. This man saw him himself.
Gawain as well. Gawain, incidentally, is dead."

The horses' hoofs beat softly on the
sodden ground. Rain drove in their faces. After a long silence
Mordred said, his voice once more cool and steady: "Then if Arthur
lives, his treaty with you still stands. It cancels the new
alliance, which was made on the assumption of his death. What's
more, it is certain that he would not break that treaty. What could
he stand to gain? He fought only because he was attacked. King
Cerdic, you cannot make this a cause for war."

"For whatever reason, the treaty has
been broken," said Cerdic. "He has advanced, armed, into my
country, and has killed my people. And others have been driven from
their homes. They have called to me for help, and I have to answer
their call. I shall get the truth from Cynric when we meet. If you
do not wish to ride with us--"

"I shall ride with you. If the King is
indeed bringing his troops ashore through Saxon territory, then it
is of necessity. He does not want war. This I know. There has been
a tragic error. I know Arthur, and so, king, should you. He favors
the council chamber, not the sword."

Cerdic's smile was grim. "Lately,
perhaps. After he got his way."

"Why not?" retorted Mordred. "Well,
ride to join Cynric if you must, but talk with Arthur, too, before
any further follies are committed. If you will not, then you must
give me leave to talk with him myself. We can come out of this
storm yet, king, into calm weather."

"Very well," said the old king
heavily, after a pause. "You know what you must do. But if it does
come to fighting--"

"It must not."

"If Arthur fights, then I shall fight
him. But you -- what of you, Prince Mordred? You are no longer
bound to me. And will your men obey you? They were his."

"And are now mine," said Mordred
shortly. "But with your leave, I shall not put their loyalty to the
test on this field. If parley fails, then we shall see."

Cerdic nodded, and the two men rode on
side by side in silence.

Mordred, as events were to prove, was
right in his judgment of his army. The main body of his troops were
men who had trained and served under him, and who had accepted him
willingly as king. If a new Saxon war was to be started, the people
-- the townspeople, the merchants, the now thriving farmers in
their lands made safe by the old treaties -- wanted none of it.
Mordred's recent announcement of his decision to ratify the treaty
and, more, close an alliance with the powerful West Saxon king had
been welcomed loudly in the halls and market-places. His officers
and men followed him loyally.

Whether they would take arms against
Arthur himself, for whatever reason, was another matter. But of
course it would not come to that...

Arthur, leaving a picked force of men
to guard the beached ships while the storm damage was repaired, led
the remainder of his army fast inland, hoping to avoid the Saxon
stragglers, and reach the border without further trouble. But soon
his scouts returned with the news that Cerdic himself, marching to
his son's rescue, was between the British and home. And presently,
through a gap of the high downland, they could see the spears and
tossing horsehair of Cerdic's war-band, with in the rear, dimly
glimpsed through the rain, the glitter of cavalry massed and
orderly under what looked like the Dragon of Arthur's own standard.
Less mistakable was Mordred himself, riding beside Cerdic at the
head of the Saxons.

The troops recognized him first.
Mordred, the traitor. The mutter went through the ranks. There were
men there who had heard Gawain's dying words, and now at the sight
of Mordred himself, approaching with the Saxon army, conspicuous on
the glossy black horse that had been Arthur's gift, a growl went
round, like a wind-borne echo of Gawain's final breath.

"Mordred! Traitor!"

It was as if the cry had burst in
Arthur's own brain. The doubts, the accumulation of exhaustion and
grief, the accusations leveled by Gawain, whom in spite of his
faults Arthur had loved, weighed on the King and numbed his powers
of thought. Caught in his unguarded confusion, in the aftermath of
so much grief and loss, he recalled at last, as if the winds had
blown that, too, out of the past, the doom foretold by Merlin and
echoed by Nimue. Mordred, born to be his bane. Mordred, the
death-dealer. Mordred, here on this dark battlefield, riding
against him at the head of the Saxons, his ancient
enemies...

The canker of suspicion, biting with
sudden pain, became certainty. Against all belief, against all hope
of error, it must be true. Mordred, the traitor.

Cerdic's army was moving, massing. The
Saxon king, his arm thrown up in command, was speaking to Mordred.
In the throng behind the two leaders there was an ominous shouting
and clash of shields.

Arthur was never one to wait for
surprise. Before Cerdic could form his war-band for battle, his
cavalry charged.

Mordred, shouting, spurred forward,
but Cerdic's hand came down on his rein.

"Too late. There'll be no talking
today. Get back to your men. And keep them off my back. Do you hear
me?"

"Trust me," said Mordred, and,
wheeling his horse, lashed the reins down on its neck and sent it
back through the Saxon ranks at a gallop.

His men, some way to the rear of the
Saxons, had not yet seen what was happening. The regent's orders
were curt and urgent. "Flight" was not the word he used, but that
was the essence of the order. To his officers he was brief: "The
High King is here, and joins battle with Cerdic. We have no part in
this. I will not lead you against Arthur, but nor can I take
Arthur's part against a man whose hand I have taken in treaty. Let
this day come to an end and we will sort things out like reasonable
men. Get the troops back towards Camelot."

So, with unbloodied swords and fresh
horses, the regent's army retreated fast towards its base, leaving
the field to the two ageing kings.

Arthur's star still held steady. He
was, as Merlin had foretold, the victor in every field he took. The
Saxons broke and yielded the field, and the High King, pausing only
to gather the wounded and bury his dead, set off towards Camelot,
in pursuit of Mordred's apparently fleeing troops.

Of the battle at Cerdices-leaga it can
only be said that no one celebrated a victory. Arthur won the
fighting, but left the lands open again to their Saxon owners. The
Saxons, gathering their dead and counting their losses, saw their
old borders still intact. But Cerdic, looking after the British
force as, collected now and orderly, it left the field, made a
vow.

"There will be another day, even for
you, Arthur. Another day."

THE DAY CAME.

It came with the hope of truce and the
time to achieve sense and moderation.

Mordred was the first to show sense.
He made no attempt to enter Camelot, much less to hold it against
its King. He halted his troops short of the citadel, on the flat
fields along the little River Camel. These were their practice
grounds, and an encampment was there, furnished ready with
supplies. This was as well, for already the warnings of war had
gone out. The villagers, obedient it seemed to words carried on the
wind, had withdrawn into the citadel, their women, children and
cattle housed in the common land to the north-east within the
walls.