Stephen Lawhead - Pendragon

Arthur glanced at the resolute expressions on the faces of his friends. 'Very well. Let it be so. We will go out together.'

The three of us walked with Arthur to meet the Black Boar and I determined to do what I could to ensure the fairness of the contest. We met the Vandal War Leader in the centre of the plain and halted a few paces away.

The Black Boar was even bigger and more heavily muscled than I remembered him. Stripped for battle, he presented a fierce and wildly savage aspect. He had smeared his face and limbs with lard, blackened with soot. Naked to the waist, his torso was a mass of scars from old wounds; stout thighs bulged below his leather loincloth. He was barefoot, and carried the heavy shield, short wide-bladed sword, and thick-hafted spear, or lance, favoured by his kind. Around his thick neck he wore a triple-stranded band strung with human teeth and knuckle bones. His hair, too, had been greased, and hung in thick, heavy black ropes from his head.

There was indeed something of the wild boar in his aspect. He stood easily, regarding Arthur with mild contempt, no fear at all in his fathomless dark eyes. Amilcar seemed eager to meet Arthur face to face at last. In all, he appeared a supremely confident warrior, profoundly secure in his prowess.

The Vandal chief grunted a stream of words in his guttural tongue, which his captive priest rendered intelligible to us.

'Amilcar says he is well pleased that Arthur has not run away from this fight. He would have you know that he considers it the utmost honour to kill the British king. The head of such a great lord will bring him much renown.'

Arthur laughed. 'Tell Twrch I may not be parted from my head so easily as he thinks. Many have tried but all have failed.'

Hergest enjoyed repeating Arthur's words to Amilcar, who made a quick reply, lifting his necklace as he spoke, and rattling the bones. 'Twrch Trwyth says it is the same with him. Nevertheless, he will be most happy to add the teeth and knucklebones of a Briton king to his battledress.'

Amilcar spoke again. 'Twrch is ready,' Hergest repeated. 'There has been talk enough. It is time to fight.'

'Not yet,' I said, holding up my hand. 'Before the combat begins, I would hear the warrior's vows.'

'What vows are these?' asked Amilcar through his learned slave.

'That you will observe the threefold law.'

Hergest relayed the reply, and the Vandali warlord asked, 'What is this law?'

'The law is this: that no man from either camp shall intervene, or impede the contest; that the appeal for mercy shall be granted; that combat shall continue only so long as a man has breath to lift his weapon.'

Amilcar glared at me as Hergest interpreted my words for him, and delivered himself of a mocking reply. 'Twrch says your laws are the bleating of sheep in his ears. He will have nothing to do with them.'

'Then neither will this combat take place,' I replied firmly; Cai and Bedwyr squared themselves, hands on sword hilts, unafraid. 'For unless you agree to honour this law,' I continued, 'the war will continue and the British lords will hound you from one end of this island to the other. You will be hunted down and ground into the dust.'

Amilcar heard this with a scowl on his face. He spat a word of reply. 'It is agreed,' Hergest told me. 'Amilcar makes this vow.' I turned to Arthur. 'Agreed,' he said, giving a sharp downward jerk of his chin. 'I will be bound.'

'So be it!' I stepped away from the two combatants. 'Let the battle begin!'

Cai and Bedwyr, steely and determined, took their places at my side. 'Keep your hands on your sword, brother, and watch his every move,' Bedwyr hissed to Cai. 'Amilcar is a liar and cannot be trusted.'

Twrch Trwyth, grinning savagely, raised his sturdy lance and placed the short blade against his naked chest, drawing the finely honed weapon across his flesh. A thin trickle of blood dripped from the shallow wound down his black-greased torso.

This I had seen before. The barbarians believe that drawing first blood ensures victory through the spirit of the weapon thus awakened. While the Vandal thus occupied himself, Arthur drew Caledvwlch and dropped to one knee. Gripping the blade in both hands, he raised the hilt before him to form the sign of the cross, whereupon he offered up a prayer to the Saviour Lord.

Amilcar watched him narrowly. As Arthur knelt to pray, the barbarian king moved to stand over him, gazing down with an expression of deepest loathing. He drew a deep breath and spat in Arthur's upturned face.

'The animal!' growled Cai. 'I will -'

'Steady,' warned Bedwyr, putting his hand on Cai's sword arm.

Arthur opened his eyes and regarded Amilcar with icy indifference. Not so much as a muscle twitched. Closing his eyes once more, he finished his prayer, then stood slowly. Nose to nose, not a hand's breadth between them, they confronted one another. I could almost feel the heat of their anger.

'Tell Twrch Trwyth I forgive the insult to me,' Arthur told the priest softly. 'And when he is dead, I will pray that Jesu will forgive the insult to God, and have mercy on his soul,'

Hergest repeated Arthur's words, whereupon the barbarian turned and swung out, catching the slave priest with the back of his hand. The monk's head snapped back and a livid handmark appeared on the side of his face.

'The barbarian will regret that most bitterly,' Cai muttered beside me.

As Amilcar strode to his position a few paces away, Arthur gestured behind him. Rhys, alert to the signal, blew a long, shimmering blast on the horn. The sound startled the waiting Vandali host. Twrch glanced towards the British line.

Seizing the moment, Arthur darted forth: 'Die, Twrch Trwyth!'

Bedwyr, Cai, and I retreated a few paces; Mercia, Hergest and the barbarian lords removed themselves to a position opposite, which placed the combatants between us. Arthur and Amilcar began circling one another warily. It is the way of men who would learn the measure of one another. Both used the spear, grasping the weapon easily mid-shaft. Amilcar probed with his spear, swinging the blade restlessly back and forth, searching for an opening, a momentary lapse to exploit. Arthur, however, held the weapon still, poised for either thrust or throw.

I watched them edging around one another and weighed them both in my mind: neither man gave away anything in height. Arthur was more broad in the shoulder, but Amilcar was thicker through the torso. Where Arthur was surefooted and steady, the Black Boar was agile. Arthur, big-boned, strong and sturdy, possessed a strength born of the wild northern hills; the Vandal chieftain possessed the considerable stature and hardiness of his race. Both men, I concluded, were roughly equal in strength and stamina, though Amilcar, used to fighting on foot, might have held a slight edge over Arthur, who waged combat from the back of a horse.

But a warrior is not proved on the strength of his sword arm alone. If raw power were all that mattered, a warrior queen like Boudicca or Gwenhwyvar would never have stood a chance. Women are not gifted with heft of shoulder and arm of the average man; but they are clever, and craftier by far. As warriors their brains are quicker, more nimble and more shrewd. In battle, cunning easily outreaches the strongest arm. Truly, a warrior's brain is first among all attributes; the heart is second.

And here, Arthur had no equal. Although he may not have enjoyed Llenlleawg's rare gift of the battle awen, he owned a distinct advantage: he was fearless. Nothing daunted Arthur. Whether he faced a single spear or a thousand, it made no difference to him. Whether Arnilcar fought alone or with the entire Vandal war host at his side, I do not believe it would have dismayed the Bear of Britain in the least. He might not have survived the encounter, but fear would have had no part in his death.