Excerpt from King of the Lordless Country
We had won a peace for our people; we had won a place for our justice, our love and our everything; we had given the Cymry a victory to remember, a story to hand from generation to generation. The name of Aruthr will not easily be forgotten. Perhaps Arthur may live even in barbarian memory, and foreign bards -- if any there be -- make the warriors of The Circle into alien poetry. We had won a great battle at Caerfaddon. Now it could be Baddon Hill again, and know a gentle summer in the country of Gwlad-yr-haf -- for we had paid a full price.
The sun was settling towards the west, where it should go; and those who wandered on the battlefield sought not foe, but friend. Cei was sullen and Aruthr as if dreaming . . . "Eang," said Cei, moving a shape with his foot. And Aruthr nodded.
A little earlier we had found Urien's broken bow, and now I paused for a moment. You could not tell the face any more, but I recognized the supply boy's carefully bound thigh. Now Cei clambered over a grotesque muddle of fallen warriors and mounts. I moved to follow him and he waved me back, shaking his head. "There are no great friends of yours here," he said, walking in an entirely different direction. His pace was quicker than before.
"Are there not?" I said, and went to see for myself.
Briallen might still have been alive but for the ants on her face and the arrow in her breast. The bowman's aim had been quite true, so she had known little suffering. I pulled the arrow and, since it would not come out, I snapped it at the point of entry. I brushed the ants from her lips with its flight feathers, and I claimed a last kiss of her . . . "Take no risks," I whispered . . . "Wherever you journey . . . take no more risks."
I threw the broken shaft away, and I think a part of me went with it.
Aruthr and Cei were waiting for me, and we went a little further before returning to the village. There we learned that March had also been victorious. As I said, the Cymry had a victory to remember. And Eirian had wept a long time for me, for men had died in her arms. Her clothing was as stained as mine or Gwenhwyfar's -- or Aruthr's -- or Cei's -- or Peredur's -- or Owein's -- or Meirig's -- or Urien's -- or Eang -- or Briallen's -- or Baldulf's. But whose clothing is not stained with something? Eirian had Briallen's sons to bear, in a pleasant and honourable land, which I had lived to guard.
Myrddin called for wine. The wise go mad without it.
The sun was settling towards the west, where it should go; and those who wandered on the battlefield sought not foe, but friend. Cei was sullen and Aruthr as if dreaming . . . "Eang," said Cei, moving a shape with his foot. And Aruthr nodded.
A little earlier we had found Urien's broken bow, and now I paused for a moment. You could not tell the face any more, but I recognized the supply boy's carefully bound thigh. Now Cei clambered over a grotesque muddle of fallen warriors and mounts. I moved to follow him and he waved me back, shaking his head. "There are no great friends of yours here," he said, walking in an entirely different direction. His pace was quicker than before.
"Are there not?" I said, and went to see for myself.
Briallen might still have been alive but for the ants on her face and the arrow in her breast. The bowman's aim had been quite true, so she had known little suffering. I pulled the arrow and, since it would not come out, I snapped it at the point of entry. I brushed the ants from her lips with its flight feathers, and I claimed a last kiss of her . . . "Take no risks," I whispered . . . "Wherever you journey . . . take no more risks."
I threw the broken shaft away, and I think a part of me went with it.
Aruthr and Cei were waiting for me, and we went a little further before returning to the village. There we learned that March had also been victorious. As I said, the Cymry had a victory to remember. And Eirian had wept a long time for me, for men had died in her arms. Her clothing was as stained as mine or Gwenhwyfar's -- or Aruthr's -- or Cei's -- or Peredur's -- or Owein's -- or Meirig's -- or Urien's -- or Eang -- or Briallen's -- or Baldulf's. But whose clothing is not stained with something? Eirian had Briallen's sons to bear, in a pleasant and honourable land, which I had lived to guard.
Myrddin called for wine. The wise go mad without it.
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