Kolbyr, who’d seen both his brothers ridden down by Arthur’s captains, got heavily to his feet. ‘My heart is with you, my Lord Wulfweard, and I would sooner die in battlefield mud than a vassal’s bed, but how can we wage such a war? The Bastard sits secure in Camelot with a hundred captains who will leap into action at the flick of his little finger.’
‘Truth, truth,’ said Ehrin, whose jaw had been so broken his words slurred in his mouth. ‘Strong of purpose we may be, but we are not so strong of arms and warriors.’
‘Our course is simple,’ said Wolfget. ‘Does the Bastard think us divided? Divided we will appear. In our separate lands we will strike here, there, take this town and that. He will respond with men and arms, as he must to preserve the peace that so boldly bears his name. We will harry those men, wear them down, kill all we can and withdraw. Soon, the Bastard’s forces will be weakened by so many small cuts, they will not be able to defend themselves when we are ready to give the death blow.’
Harrik frowned. This was not the brash, heated Wolfget he knew from the wars. This stranger was a calm-hearted strategist. With a beautiful woman at his shoulder. Harrik glanced at her again. Had he been a young man, he would have stood up and made some fearless speech about rushing into battle, not for Wolfget’s sake, but for hers.
Which was a point to be considered closely.
‘Harrik you sit as silent as stone.’ Wolfget’s soft voice broke Harrik’s reverie. ‘What are your deep thoughts?’
‘My thoughts are of Badon,’ he said, looking into the depths of the guest cup. ‘My thoughts are of lands, and of my son, hostage in Camelot to my word. And he is not alone there.’ Let me see your eyes, ‘brothers’, how many of your sons does Arthur hold? ‘I am thinking of the thousand thousand ways Arthur is entrenched on this island. I am thinking of the kings who are his neighbours and who pay him tribute.’ He gave them all a grim smile. ‘I am thinking we could have more easily bested all the Roman legions than this king.’
To Harrik’s surprise, Wolfget nodded. ‘Your words are sound, Harrik, and they should be weighed carefully. But think of this. Does the Bastard have neighbours and friends? Yes. But so do we. The terms of Arthur’s peace have been hard on many, and many would be glad to see it broken. We have our secret friends in every town and fortress. Do arms and men flow from Arthur? They will flow into our hands.’
Harrik looked around and saw how the eyes of the men on the floor shone with eagerness. He knew then how it would be. There would be hours of talk, some close questioning of Wolfget, perhaps even a few words of wisdom spoken. But in the end, they would all pledge their lives on Wolfget’s naked sword.
Feeling like an old man, Harrik got stiffly to his feet. It would be better if he stayed, of course, if he lied and flattered and foreswore himself. But he could not. He would not.
‘What ails you, my Lord Harrik?’ asked the woman softly.
‘Old wounds, my lady.’ Harrik bowed to her. ‘This assembly will do as it will. We have been brothers in arms before this. I have been proud to say so. But I myself must consider carefully whether the peace that came when we laid down those arms has not benefited our people as it has the Britons.’
He left the tent amid a stony silence. Out in the open air he called for his horse and his sword. The animal was brought to him by a sour-faced man with Wolfget’s blazon on his tunic. Harrik mounted and urged the horse into an easy canter until he was well out of earshot of the assembly encampment.
When he judged he had gone far enough, he pulled up on the reins. The horse halted and Harrik climbed down. Looking sharply about him, he led the animal into the thick of the forest. There, he tethered the horse loosely to an elm tree. He did not want the animal trapped if he did not come back. He tightened the laces on his scabbard so his sword would not jingle. Then, one careful step at a time, he made his way through bracken and fern back to the camp.
He had been uneasy when Wolfget sent his messenger with the invitation to this secret council. He had grown more uneasy each time he contemplated it. It was folly, this idea that the handful of Saxons who remained on the Isle of Britain could defeat Arthur. Worse, it was suicide.
But is it enough for what I do now? Harrik glimpsed the fabric of the tents and the sparkle of studded leather through the trees. Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground. Trying not to rustle the carpet of leaves beneath him, he crawled forward on his hands and knees. Is it truly enough to turn spy on your own people?
Apparently, it was, because he lay prostrate on the ground with fern leaves tickling his brow and nose, watching the camp carefully.
And we’ll see who stays and goes, and when and how. If I am wrong about how it will go, so much the better. But if I am right…
He composed himself to patience. To keep his mind from the incessant itch of the ferns, he set about studying the sentries, thinking how he would have posted and armed them in Wolfget’s place.
Men came and went. Servants brought wine and meat into the tent. The guests came out to relieve themselves or check on their horses. The sentries paced, or lounged about. The lounging became more frequent as the time wore on. Harrik shook his head minutely. Wolfget was not well served.
The tent’s flap lifted again. This time, it was the woman who came out. In the full daylight she was even more shatteringly lovely than he had thought. His heart and loins both began to ache with an urgency he had thought himself past.
The woman looked about her. Evidently, she saw nothing that displeased her. She raised one hand and spoke a word Harrik could not understand. In the next breath, he heard the flapping of heavy wings. A raven glided down from the trees and came to rest on the woman’s waiting wrist.
She brought her wrist down until the bird’s eyes were level with her own. She contemplated the raven for a long time, and it stared back unwinking, which a beast should not have been able to do. At last, the woman opened her mouth.
The raven thrust beak, head, and neck well down her throat.
Harrik jerked backward, forgetting the need for silence. The woman and the bird stood still, its head in her mouth, like some foul statuary. He realized the muscles of her throat swelled and contracted. Not swallowing, but pushing something out.
Harrik’s own throat clamped down around his breath.
The raven pulled its head free of the beauty’s mouth. She smiled broadly and lifted her wrist again. The bird spread its shining wings and flew away.
She watched her pet vanish into the sky, turned, and went back inside the tent.
Harrik, struggling to keep his breathing under control, crawled back into the woods on his hands and knees. He moved as far and as fast as he could, but finally, he had to stop and vomit at the roots of a birch tree.
What manner of secret friends have you, Wolfget? He raised his head and wiped a shaking hand across his mouth. What alliances have you made for us?
He sat and listened for a moment. No sound of pursuit cut through the small rustles of wind and the forest life. Harrik forced himself to get to his feet and take his bearings. As soon as his knees had stopped shaking enough that he could be sure of his footing, he made his way back to his horse.
The animal was still there, chewing thoughtfully at the undergrowth. Harrik led it back to the road and slung himself into the saddle. To his shame, he found he had to work to keep himself from taking the horse to a gallop to escape as quickly as possible from what he had seen.
You are a fool. A fool! He admonished himself. You have seen far worse things in battle.
But the truth was, he had not. He had heard stories of such horrors, of course, and told a few himself, with great relish.