M. K. Hume [King Arthur Trilogy 04] The Last Dragon (31 page)

‘In my opinion, we should build the dyke from the hill fort at Maes Knoll to the Savernake Forest. The valley that lies between those two points is sealed off at both ends by large hills and forested areas that would be difficult for large parties of infiltrators to traverse, so the valley itself is the obvious route by which to penetrate the British defensive lines. The ditch would be built in two sections, one nine miles long and the other twelve miles, on either side of the River Avon. If we can seal off access to the stream we could slow down the Saxon advances for at least a generation – perhaps longer.’

‘It’s a wonderful idea, Master Taliesin,’ Arthur breathed, his eyes glowing with excitement and commitment. ‘I’d happily labour on such an undertaking, as would most of the young tribal warriors. We’d be building for our own future.’

Bedwyr considered the logistics of seconding young warriors to such a labour-intensive task under the supervision of older, more experienced leaders, and quickly decided that the concept was both workable and useful. Additional labour for the project could be recruited from the peasant classes, and the financial costs could be funded from the treasure chests of the British kings, including his own.

As he watched Arthur’s brightly shining eyes, Bedwyr began to give serious consideration to the project. At least this plan would give the people some hope.

‘Let those young men who are approaching manhood give a year or two of their lives towards building the Warriors’ Ditch,’ Arthur continued. ‘No one would be lost from those troops who are currently defending the frontiers, and if the young men from all the British tribes came together they would soon have a good knowledge of each other’s attributes and forge friendships that would last down the years. I remember Father Lorcan telling me of Myrddion’s long view, and I’m certain that the great healer would have approved of Taliesin’s plan.’

‘Aye, boy, you have the right of it,’ Lorcan agreed. ‘Like father: like son.’

Bedwyr noticed how a red flush surrounded the harpist’s neck at Lorcan’s words. Taliesin needs to be reminded that there are other intelligent men in these lands, the Master of Arden thought with a sly grin of impish enjoyment. But, aloud, Bedwyr was determined to give credit to his son, although he knew Taliesin had fleshed out the concept for him. ‘We’d have to convince Bran and Ector, who’ll then have to convince the kings of the other tribes, but I think you’ve found a project that’s worthy of you, Arthur. The Warriors’ Dyke – yes, I like the idea.’

And so Taliesin saw his concept come into existence as an agreed plan, even though Arthur was given most of the credit. The harpist’s one great regret was the status given to Germanus and Lorcan, who would have the task of protecting Arthur while he was labouring with the working party. Most of the kings agreed that their much-loved sons or grandsons should join the group, together with their own protectors, and so the plan for the Warriors’ Dyke was set in motion. The project would bind together all the young aristocrats of their generation, with a supporting contingent of warriors, servants and peasants to care for them and assist with the manual labour involved in the actual construction of the defensive barrier.

Taliesin was amused. ‘Well, Father,’ he whispered softly to himself. ‘I’m sure you’d be pleased at the outcome of my machinations to bring my little plot to fruition. I know you’d have told me in no uncertain terms that I’ve outsmarted myself. But Arthur will be forced to work with his peers, a role at which I am convinced he will excel. In years to come, Father, we may have many reasons to be thankful for the Warriors’ Dyke.’

Spring had returned to the land once more when the young men of the tribes gathered, with much excitement and pleasurable anticipation, at a camp outside Abone where the hills met the skies in soft, downy pillows of white. Twelve months had passed, during which Taliesin had laboured to bring the tribes together in a common endeavour. He had copied his father’s maps, especially those that related to the deep forests at the headwaters of Aquae Sulis’s river and the line of low hills that marched across the entry to the softer, flatter lands of the west of Britain. The terrain was heavily wooded, much as the gods had made it, except for low hills that formed stepping stones for the deities who still traversed the river valleys. Here, where pilgrims had entered the golden land, Taliesin would build the Warriors’ Dyke.

A holiday spirit prevailed as the young aristocrats settled into their bright tents, which had been painted and dyed in vivid colours. The fallow field chosen for the base camp looked as if a huge flock of butterflies had settled there.

By virtue of his long legs and extra height, Arthur stood out among the laughing, indolent throng. He had never had friends before, being the oldest boy in Bedwyr’s forest nest, so the whole enterprise was hugely exciting for him. Now nearly fifteen and still growing, he towered over his peers, and several resentful young aristocrats took pleasure in grinding his nose into the ground over his inferior birth.

‘What have I done to upset them? Mareddyd of the Dobunni tribe doesn’t know me at all, but he seems to think he is permitted to insult my father and myself with impunity.’ Arthur sought the wise counsel of Lorcan and Germanus. ‘I can hardly thump him, can I? He’s two years older than me, but he’s a foot shorter, so I’d be labelled a bully. What should I do?’

The two men conferred, and Germanus finally offered their joint advice. ‘Accuse him of cowardice because you’re not permitted to fight with him for the very reasons you’ve just described. You must never lie – especially if the truth works better. Mareddyd expected to lord it over everyone who answered Taliesin’s call, which is a form of bullying in itself. He expected to be one of the oldest and best trained youths in the camp. He was wrong, so we think he’s frustrated and angry. Speak the truth and watch him back down. If he does attempt to attack you, offer to meet him in combat using only one hand. Then use your height as an advantage, and beat the shit out of him.’

Lorcan added his own mite. Since the Dobunni prince was used to throwing his weight around and thrusting the younger aristocrats out of his way, he suggested that Arthur should make a habit of protecting the smaller boys.

‘That won’t be difficult,’ Arthur said ruefully, pointing towards a group of three smaller lads sitting on their heels at the edge of the field. They were obviously waiting for their hero to finish speaking to the adults before clustering round him once again.

‘You don’t really mind them, do you, Arthur?’ Lorcan asked, observing Arthur from under his shaggy brows.

‘Apart from Rab, I never had a friend, Father Lorcan. I never had someone I could talk to, except for my younger brothers. Eamonn, Fiachra and Kieran are just like my siblings, so I don’t mind having them underfoot at all. They’re all thirteen and small for their age, so they aren’t used to making decisions about anything.’

‘Off you go then, and don’t give this Mareddyd any opportunity to fight you unless you can turn the confrontation into a joke. Whose boy is he anyway? Is he the scion of someone important?’

‘He says his great-aunt is the famed Wenhaver, the Queen of the Britons,’ Arthur muttered. ‘She could be, too. He’s cruel enough. He likes to hurt the younger boys, but he’s the only one of us who is likely to rule in his own right. All the rest of us are younger sons, or born on the wrong side of the blanket . . .’ Suddenly Arthur grinned as the absurdity of the problem became obvious. ‘He’s like a half-grown rooster crowing over a motley collection of ducks, drakes, robins, chickens and turkeys.’

‘And one peregrine,’ Germanus added, his face set in serious lines.

‘Don’t be silly, Germanus. Peregrines are the birds of kings,’ Arthur joked. ‘There’s no one here who fits that description. We’re just a group of over-indulged young men.’

Lorcan and Germanus exchanged knowing glances with those guards from Arden who shared the knowledge of Arthur’s heritage. ‘It’s so typical of the great folk,’ one ageing warrior muttered to his mate. ‘They think we have no eyes. I stood at the ford, shoulder to shoulder with the Cornovii troop, and watched the Dragon King as he rode across, flanked by his loyal warriors and those who loved him unto death. At the end, he’d lost all hope for the future and only his own bastard sons could be sufficiently trusted to guard him.’

‘Aye,’ the other guardsman, a younger man, agreed. ‘I saw those fine boys and it’s sad that so many of them are now dead. All of them, I suppose, for fate isn’t kind to the bastards of kings. No one could mistake a son of Artor, not even Wenhaver if she stirred off her fat rump to see what had been going on over the years.’

‘I heard she died,’ Lorcan replied vaguely, and the guardsmen remembered their positions and prudently held their tongues.

Meanwhile, Taliesin was kept busy with the myriad administrative details of the fledgling project. With the help of his brother Rhys, he was kept fully occupied assembling materials and designing building plans. Discipline and the rules necessary for the efficient management of the encampment became an urgent prerequisite, for the task would absorb all the manpower from the nearby villages, as well as the warrior guards and any able-bodied volunteers who cared sufficiently for the west to offer their time and labour. A host of camp followers and prostitutes appeared out of nowhere, so the provident Taliesin put them to work on washing and hygiene duties, while the tinkers and hawkers of small trifles who came to fleece the princes were given a simple choice. They could work, or leave with a guardsman’s boot to the backside. As these human leeches were planning to sell raw liquor to the young men or provide ‘clean’ girls for their enjoyment, Taliesin felt no qualms in confiscating their goods and sending them packing.

Feeding the workers and their guards, plus the peasants and tradesmen, was a major undertaking in itself, so the prostitutes were conscripted into performing many of the domestic duties within the encampment. Myrddion Merlinus had told his boys often enough that most girls in the trade were happy to leave it and work at almost any other occupation available to them, providing their pimps could be removed from their lives. These girls were very young, having been selected to cater for a youthful clientele, and most of them had been sold to their pimps by families who had fallen on hard times. Taliesin believed that the girls deserved a second chance and their pimps deserved none, for he considered the provision of children for sexual gratification to be an abhorrent crime. When asked, the girls agreed with alacrity to serve in the kitchens, and happily gave up the dirty, tawdry clothing of their trade without a second thought. At heart, these children of farmers were still babes.

The spring days were sun kissed in these pleasant regions of Britain, which rarely felt the full bite of winter. Arthur continued to study in the mornings, and arms practice with Germanus took place in the afternoon. Stripped to the waist, Arthur’s body was beginning to show evidence of the long hours of exertion. Muscle ridged his abdomen and bulked out his shoulders so that his waist and hips seemed impossibly narrow. He stood head and shoulders above his peers at the encampment, and even Germanus felt short in his pupil’s presence. The kitchen girls made every possible excuse to watch him as he practised the use of sword and knife in the complicated patterns that were more dance than violence, so that the afternoon light kissed his amber hair, covered his warm golden skin with a dusting of gilded freckles and danced along the honed edges of his weapons. The younger lads were mesmerised and took to copying Arthur’s practice routines, so that Germanus soon found himself tutoring a good half-dozen striplings, all eager to win favour in the eyes of their hero.

Yet Arthur did not succumb to vanity, which would have been quite understandable, given the admiration that was lavished upon him. When one of the smaller lads, Eamonn of the Dumnonii tribe, was found weeping with frustration because he couldn’t manipulate the short Roman sword that his father had given him, Arthur took the time to realise that the boy was naturally left-handed. Eamonn was distraught to discover that he favoured the sinister hand, for many men believed that such a trick of nature was the work of the devil, but Arthur explained that there was no shame in being left-handed, and the ‘affliction’ could actually be used to advantage.

‘I’m speaking the truth, Eamonn. Most warriors train to fight right-handed opponents, so it’s easy for a left-handed warrior to break through our guard if we lose concentration.’

Eamonn had brushed his forearm across his eyes to hide the tell-tale, shaming leak of tears. ‘But I’ve seen you changing hands at will, Arthur. You can use right
and
left, but I don’t have any choice in the matter.’

‘Then it’s better for you to stick to your left hand until such time as you become able to use your weapon with both. Your enemy will have to take greater care if he is to defeat you. I would feel much better going into battle with you at my back to protect my left side, Eamonn.’

‘I’ll always protect your back, Arthur. I swear to be your man until I die.’

Arthur didn’t laugh, as many young men of his age might have done if confronted by a serious, tear-stained lad who promised lifelong fealty. With the generosity of a great man, he was able to accept the offer of everything that Eamonn had to give with the seriousness that such a holy gift entailed. He also possessed the imagination to see a future where such an oath could become a valuable asset. Coming from a younger son, the vow was worth little, but Arthur was so humbled by it that he agreed to remain friends with Eamonn forever. Within hearing distance, Taliesin managed to conceal a knowing smile.

Germanus missed nothing. ‘This is what the harper intended all along,’ he told Lorcan when they ate together that evening, free at last from the intrusive high spirits of the young men in the encampment. ‘He wants Arthur to possess a corps of dedicated young peers from good tribes who have given him their personal loyalty. In many ways, Taliesin’s planning smacks of treason: I know how Bran will react if he hears rumours of Eamonn’s oath.’