Three years later I still dreamed of killing Saxons. Some might have thought it odd that I, a Saxon youth with Saxon-coloured hair, was so fervently British in my loyalty, but since my earliest childhood I had been raised among the Britons and my friends, loves, daily speech, stories, enmities and dreams were all British. Nor was my colouring so unusual. The Romans had left Briton peopled with all manner of strangers, indeed mad Pellinore once told me of two brothers who were both black as charcoal and until I met Sagramor, Arthur’s Numidian commander, I thought his words were mere lunacy weaving romance.
The Tor became crowded once Mordred and his mother arrived for Norwenna brought not only her women attendants, but also a troop of warriors whose task was to protect the Edling’s life. We all slept four or five to a hut, though none but Nimue and Morgan were allowed into the hall’s inner chambers. They were Merlin’s own and Nimue alone was permitted to sleep there. Norwenna and her court lived in the hall itself, which was filled with smoke from the two fires that burned day and night. The hall was supported by twenty oak posts and had walls of plastered wattle and a thatched roof. The floor was of earth covered by rushes that sometimes caught fire and caused a panic until the flames had been stamped out. Merlin’s chambers were separated from the hall by an internal wall of wattles and plaster pierced by a single small wooden door. We knew that Merlin slept, studied and dreamed in those rooms that culminated in a wooden tower built at the Tor’s highest point. What happened inside the tower was a mystery to everyone but Merlin, Morgan and Nimue and none of those three would ever tell, though the country people, who could see Merlin’s Tower for miles around, swore it was crammed with treasures taken from the grave mounds of the Old People.
The chief of Mordred’s guard was a Christian named Ligessac, a tall, thin, greedy man whose great skill was with the bow. He could split a twig at fifty paces when he was sober, though he rarely was. He taught me some of his skill, but he became easily bored with a boy’s company and preferred to gamble with his men. He did, however, tell me the true tale of Prince Mordred’s death and thus the reason why High King Uther had cursed Arthur. “It wasn’t Arthur’s fault,” Ligessac said as he tossed a pebble on to his throw board All the soldiers had throw boards some of them beautifully made out of bone. “A six!” he said while I waited to hear the story of Arthur.
“Double you,” Menw, one of the Prince’s guards, said, then rolled his own stone. It rattled over the board’s ridges and settled on a one. He had only needed a two to win so now he scooped his pebbles off the board and cursed.
Ligessac sent Menw to fetch his purse to pay his winnings, then told me how Uther had summoned Arthur from Armorica to help defeat a great army of Saxons that had thrust deep into our land. Arthur had brought his warriors, Ligessac said, but none of his famous horses for the summons had been urgent and there had been no time to find enough ships for both men and horses. “Not that he needed horses,” Ligessac said admiringly, ‘because he trapped those Saxon bastards in the Valley of the White Horse.
Then Mordred decided he knew better than Arthur. He wanted all the credit, you see.” Ligessac cuffed at his running nose, then glanced about to make sure no one was listening. “Mordred was drunk by then,” he went on in a lower voice, ‘and half his men were raving naked and swearing they could slaughter ten times their number. We should have waited for Arthur, but the Prince ordered us to charge.”
“You were there?” I asked in adolescent wonder.
He nodded. “With Mordred. Dear God, but how they fought. They surrounded us and suddenly we were fifty Britons getting dead or sober very quick. I was shooting arrows as fast as I could, our spearmen were making a shield-wall, but their warriors were hacking in on us with sword and axe. Their drums were going bang bang, their wizards were howling and I thought I was a dead man. I’d run out of arrows and was using the spear and there can’t have been more than twenty of us left alive, and all of us were at the end of our strength. The dragon banner had been captured, Mordred was bleeding his life away and the rest of us were just huddling together waiting for the end, and then Arthur’s men arrived.” He paused, then shook his head ruefully. “The bards tell you that Mordred glutted the ground with Saxon blood that day, lad, but it wasn’t Mordred, it was Arthur. He killed and killed. He took the banner back, he slew the wizards, he burned the war drums, he chased the survivors till dusk and he killed their warlord at Edwy’s Hangstone by the light of the moon. And that’s why the Saxons are being cautious neighbours, boy, not because Mordred beat them, but because they think Arthur has come back to Britain.”