“And if they don’t?” Sagramor asked.
“Then we will probably lose,” Arthur admitted calmly, ‘but with my death will come Gorfyddyd’s victory and Tewdric’s peace. My head will go to Ceinwyn as a present for her wedding and you, my friends, will be feasting in the Otherworld where, I trust, you will keep a place at table for me.”
There was silence again. Arthur seemed sure that Tewdric would fight, though none of us could be so certain. It seemed to me that
Tewdric might well prefer to let Arthur and his men perish in Lugg Vale and thus rid himself of an inconvenient alliance, but I also told myself that such high politics were not my concern. My concern was surviving the next day and, as I looked at Morfans’s crude model of the battlefield, I worried about the western hill down which we would attack in the dawn. If we could attack there, I thought, so could the enemy. “They’ll outflank our shield-line,” I said, describing my concern.
Arthur shook his head. “The hill’s too steep for a man in armour to climb at the vale’s northern end. The worst they’ll do is send their levies there, which means archers. If you can spare men, Derfel, put a handful there, but otherwise pray that Tewdric comes quickly. To which end,” he said, turning to Galahad, ‘though it hurts me to ask you to stay away from the shield-wall, Lord Prince, you will be of most value to me tomorrow if you ride as my envoy to King Tewdric. You are a prince, you speak with authority and you, above all men, can persuade him to take advantage of the victory I intend to give him by my disobedience.”
Galahad looked troubled. “I would rather fight, Lord.”
“On balance,” Arthur smiled, “I would rather win than lose. For that, I need Tewdric’s men to come before the day’s end and you, Lord Prince, are the only fit messenger I can send to an aggrieved king. You must persuade him, flatter him, plead with him, but above all, Lord Prince, convince him that we win the war tomorrow or else fight for the rest of our days.”
Galahad accepted the choice. “Though I have your permission to return and fight at Derfel’s side when the message is delivered?” he added.
“You will be welcome,” Arthur said. He paused, staring down at the piles of grain. “We are few,” he said simply, ‘and they are a host, but dreams do not come true by using caution, only by braving danger. Tomorrow we can bring peace to the Britons.” He stopped abruptly, struck perhaps by the thought that his ambition of peace was also Tewdric’s dream. Maybe Arthur was wondering whether he should fight at all. I remembered how after our meeting with Aelle, when we made the oath under the oak, Arthur had contemplated giving up the fight and I half expected him to bare his soul again, but on that rainy night the horse of ambition was tugging his soul hard and he could not contemplate a peace in which his own life or exile was the price. He wanted peace, but even more he wanted to dictate that peace. “Whatever Gods you pray to,” he said quietly, ‘go with you all tomorrow.”
I had to ride a horse to get back to my men. I was in a hurry and fell off three times. As omens, the falls were dire, but the road was soft with mud and nothing was hurt but my pride. Arthur rode with me, but checked my horse when we were still a spear’s throw from where my men’s campfires flickered low in the insistent rain. “Do this for me tomorrow, Derfel,” he said, ‘and you may carry your own banner and paint your own shields.”
In this world or the next, I thought, but I did not speak the thought aloud for fear of tempting the Gods. Because tomorrow, in a grey, bleak dawn, we would fight against the world.
Not one of my men tried to evade their oaths. Some, a few, might have wanted to avoid battle, but none wanted to show weakness in front of their comrades and so we all marched, leaving in the night’s middle to make our way across a rain-soaked countryside. Arthur saw us off, then went to where his horsemen were encamped.