Stephen Lawhead - Pendragon

And then, ringing high and strong, cutting like a sword-stroke through the tumult: the strident sharp blast of Rhys' battlehorn. Its ringing call sliced the air like a spearhead flung into the heart of the enemy. The horn sounded again – a piercing, insistent shriek, keen and angry.

Behind the ringing call came Arthur and the Dragon Flight, sweeping down the hillside and into the tumult. They appeared so suddenly, their flight so swift, the Black Boar had no time to order his forces to meet this new attack. The Vandal host, chagrined by this unexpected event, melted before Arthur's fresh onslaught.

The impetus of the attack carried the Dragon Flight deep into the enemy host, scattering foemen in all directions. By the time the Black Boar had regained control of his warriors, Arthur had succeeded in breaking the line in several places. The Britons were not slow to seize their freedom. Within moments the essential shape of the battle was transformed and the enemy wall began to crumble in disarray.

Seeing their advantage dwindling before their eyes, the Vandali lashed themselves to a frenzy. Screaming, wailing, shaking with fury, they threw themselves against the mounted Cymbrogi. They fought with hopeless courage, hurling themselves into the breach, trying to halt the British with their own corpses.

Even Arthur could not stand against such desperate determination. Rather than risk becoming encircled again and hopelessly enmired in a fight he could not win, Arthur chose flight; he quit the field.

Thus, when the Vandal host rose once more to the counterattack, they found the Bear of Britain in full retreat. Many another battlechief, encouraged by the fleeting success of his unexpected appearance, would have misjudged the moment – thinking his surprise manoeuvre had won the day. Arthur knew better. So, before the enemy had a chance to rally, the Cymbrogi were already riding away.

The High King turned from uncertain victory, choosing instead the sure saving of his men, using the momentary advantage gained by surprise to secure a safe corridor for their escape. It was, as I say, a circumstance decreed by dire necessity. Oh, but it exacted a terrible price.

I stared down into the bloody glen, horrified. Where the fight had been most fierce, I could not see the ground for the dead; they lay atop one another, toppled and stacked like felled wood. Limbs were strewn here and there; entrails coiled like bright-coloured snakes; heads also, salted among the bodies, gape-mouthed and empty-eyed. And the earth, Dear God in Heaven, the earth was stained deep, deep crimson-black with the gore.

The futility! The waste!

Sickened by the loathsome extravagance of death, I felt my stomach heave. I gagged, but could not keep it down. I vomited bile on the ground at my feet, then fell sobbing with the humiliation of having witnessed – nay, encouraged, aided, promoted! – such an evil. I wept, and cursed the blindness of my soul.

Great Light, how long must hate and bloodshed reign in this worlds-realm?

I closed my eyes and raised my voice in keening lament for the dead on both sides. When I finished, I saw that the last Briton had fled the field. The Vandali had withdrawn farther up the glen, and the battlefield lay very still and terribly silent. The only movement was that of carrion crows, hopping obscenely from corpse to corpse; the only sound their rasping croak as they gathered to their grisly feast. I felt the stain of death in my soul and in my heart. Aching with shame and grief, my hands shaking, I remounted my horse and made my way back to camp.

Warriors lay on the ground where they had collapsed. Exhausted, too tired to move, they lay gasping, hardly more alive than the dead we left in the glen. Some men sat slumped over wounds, contemplating the extent of their injuries as if they revealed the source of the world's sorrow. Women and boys hurried among the scattered warriors with jars of water to help revive the beaten war host.

Dull eyes watched me pass with little recognition. I did not pause, but made my way to Arthur's tent. The Bear of Britain was holding council with his battlechiefs outside the tent.

'We have fared poorly today,' Arthur announced. 'It was only by God's grace that we escaped.'

'It is true,' Cador conceded. 'The Vandali were ready for us today -'

'More than ready,' observed Bedwyr sourly. 'It was as if they knew each move we would make before we made it.'

This brought a chorus of agreement from the gathered chieftains. 'Aye,' said Cai, speaking up, 'the Boar is showing himself a fighter at last. The farther inland they run, the more fierce they become.' He ended, shaking his head wearily. 'I do not understand it.'

'We are losing this war,' I declared, taking my place before them. 'And if we persist on this course, we will lose it, and all Britain as well.'

Arthur drew a deep breath. 'We are tired,' he said, 'and we all have duties elsewhere. We will talk again when we have seen to our men and taken some rest." He dismissed them then and, as they departed, he said, 'Attend me in my tent, Myrddin. We must speak.'

As soon as we were alone, he turned on me. 'I cannot believe you would speak like that in front of the men, Myrddin! Are you trying to discourage them?'

'I spoke the truth.'

'You spoke of losing and defeat. I do not find that helpful – especially after such a battle as we fought today.'

'It was not a battle,' I replied. 'It was a disaster.'

'I was ambushed!' he declared. 'The sneaking barbarian had a warband lying in wait in the gully. It was a trap! God love you, man, it was a trap. I was anticipated and taken by surprise. It was unfortunate-a disaster, yes. But I cannot see what good it does to wallow in it.'

'I do not say this to grieve you, O king. I say this to open your eyes to the truth.'

'But it does grieve me, Myrddin. I am aggrieved! You speak of disasters and loss – as if I did not already know it. Well I know it! I am the War Leader, I own the fault.'

'No,' I replied, 'if fault is to be apportioned, I am mostly to blame. I have not served you as I should. I have failed you, Arthur.'

'You?' he wondered, surprised by this unwarranted admission. 'You have ever stood by me. You have been my wise counsellor and my best adviser.'

'You did not need another adviser,' I told him flatly. 'You needed a bard. Britain needed a True Bard – and was made to suffer a blind meddler instead. That is my fault and I own the blame.'

Arthur drew his hand through his sweaty hair. 'I do not understand you, Myrddin. I led good men into the most simple trap of all. I have chased Twrch Trwyth all summer, I should have known. I should have seen it straightaway. But why sit here moaning about the blame? Where is the virtue in that?'

'Great the virtue if it leads to salvation.'

'Our salvation is as close as the next battle,' Arthur contended. 'The Black Boar's ambush held me too long from the fight, or you would have seen a different ending to this day's battle. I will not make the same mistake again, believe me. And now that the Irish lords are soon with us – '

'You have not heard a word that I have said,' I snapped. 'This is not about a single battle, or even a war. This is about the failure of a vision! Are we better men simply because we have better warriors, or better weapons?'

'With the Irish here,' Arthur maintained, 'we will yet drive the barbarian from this land.'

'Hear me, O king: the realm is dying. Plague and war are bleeding us to death. If we persist, we will die.'

'It is not so bad,' Arthur said lamely.

'It is the ruin of the world!'

Arthur glared at me, sullen and annoyed. 'We will yet drive the invader from this land. That is the truth, I say.'

'And those dead on the battleground – what do they say?'