Supporting their
injured comrades and surrounding the one horse and its precious cargo, these
doughty men pressed on hard across the valley before them and climbed the
wooded hillside, praying that this was the last one. As they crested this
forested hill, the rocky north-western coast and the great glittering Sea of
Atlantis lay before them, now less than a mile away.
Within half an
hour, they had rediscovered the head of the pathway which had led up from the
rocky shelf overlooking the curving gravel beach they had landed at that night,
which seemed so long ago now to all these men. The barren and inaccessible,
stubby little promontory down to their left which thrust out into this vast
ocean, protected their one means of escape, which had been secreted at its rock
and boulder-strewn tip. It would have been useless mooring any ship in the
water off this small and rugged finger of land, or anywhere in the open on this
coast, as it would have been discovered by the passing Iweriuan sailors who
scouted this channel, or dragged away and destroyed by one of the great storms
which come howling in from that mind-bogglingly vast Atlantean Ocean to
regularly assault this inhospitable coast, especially at this time of year.
In the stygian depths
of a moonless and starless night, Ederus’ marine engineers had cleverly tied
the stern of a single-masted trading ship to two huge oak trees, which
overlooked the fingertip of this peninsula before them. With the mast stowed
and using cut trees for rollers under the hull, they had hauled the boat
backwards up the shingle slope beneath the two great oaks, which now supported
the weight of the vessel in its steep downhill position. When the tide was at
the correct height, the two ropes could be cut at the stern and the ship
launched back into the sea.
Hidden beneath
the hanging branches of the two great oaks, their little trader awaited them,
its cubbyholes packed with everything they might need, including medical
equipment, food, water and even a big pot of honeyed liquor awaited them in the
promise of its seasoned timbers. All they had to do now was move left along
this ridge and scramble over the jagged rocks of the peninsula to its point,
clamber aboard, raise and wedge the mast and wait for the tide, in the most
perfect hiding place and poised for a fast escape when the time was right.
The tide was
rolling in from a dense bank of sea mist, which was beginning to ghost around
the rocky tip of the isthmus before them, adding to their cover and the conditions
it seemed couldn’t be better. The end; Eirwen’s fraught rescue and their
freedom and safety, their escape from this wild and ungovernable land was in
sight and it enervated each of them, bolstering their spirits and firing their
hopes. All felt that they may yet achieve this glorious accomplishment, and the
lifetime of everlasting bri which
this particularly stellar success would undoubtedly bring with it.
“Let’s go.” Cadwy
said quietly breaking the spell and Eirwen nudged the horse, who obeyed her smartly
and plodded forward.
“Black bull’s
bollocks!” Brith cursed with a low growl and they were all brought up short by
the horrifying sight which materialised ahead of them on the rocky,
seaweed-strewn beach below. Two long lines of spearmen had drawn this curse
from the grimacing Gadwyr, jogging into view below in a big arc, coming from
the trees at either side of the beach to join in the centre. With a resounding
crash, they locked their shields into a tight-fitting wall and their access to
the peninsula and their escape was effectively barred.
The harsh battle-cry
of these enemy reached them on the wind now, as did the rattling of their
spears against the steel-rimmed lime wood of their shields. Cadwy’s spirits
plummeted at this unholy racket and his teeth bared as he grimaced down at this
force blocking their escape, knowing there was no chance of fighting their way
through them, even as the Gadwyr declared them all dead men and were at this
moment preparing themselves for the reckless downhill rush to death or glory.
Cadwy looked to
his left, past this small peninsula and along the coast to the west and their real destination, toward Porth Talar and
Ederus’ fleet, but it was easily four of five miles through that dense forest
in the distance and although he knew in his heart their chances now were slim
to none, there was no quit in him. Against all the odds they had rescued Eirwen
and he wasn’t going to throw all that away and negate the glorious efforts they
and their lost comrades had invested into this mission. There was a far more
pressing assignment now and if there was a chance, even the slimmest most
inconceivable chance of getting to his father in law and warning him, they had
to take it, or all their endurance and courage will have been for naught. If
they had to battle their way through that forest and run the five miles to the
coast, being harried by the enemy every step of the way then so be it, as to
Cadwy’s furious mind the die was cast.
“Brith!” He
called the man who was grinning terribly and preparing himself for slaughter,
as were his nine surviving huge warriors, two of whom were injured. Each
clearly relished their obvious last battle in this world as the lights of death
danced in their pale eyes, which blazed from their red hair and beards. Catching
the man’s animated and brutal gaze, Cadwy shook his head decisively. The Gadwyr
chieftain screwed up his murderous eyes at him, surveying him coolly as he
hefted his enormous axes. Cadwy held the giant’s gaze but said nothing, as
there was nothing to say, they had a higher calling and Brith knew this as well
as he did, as did every person here.
Looking bleakly
back down at the force of over a hundred-armed men, who clashed their long
spears against their round black shields and were clearly beckoning the Gadwyr
to come down for some beachside fun, Brith conceded and spat to the ground. Barking
a monosyllabic, guttural order, Brith caused the shoulders of his men to slump
and they turned away from the raucous challenge on the beach below, but it was
clear they were half-expecting it and they assembled behind their
barrel-chested leader without a word.
“It looks like a
cross-country hike gentlemen of about five miles that way and….” Cadwy was
pointing to the west but stopped in mid-sentence and his eyes closed in
despair, his arm falling to his side and his shoulders slumping.
A long row of
armed enemy warriors had emerged from that distant treeline and it stretched
the whole width of the forest. This unbroken front-line led several ranks of
similarly clad Iweriu tribesmen, all appearing from the trees behind them and
there were hundreds of them. They carried a forest of long spears, whose
bright, freshly-whetted edges glinted in the sunlight, flashing their steely
warnings. Cadwy looked around himself once more, at the grim faces of the
stalwarts who had followed him all this way and he caught Brith Fawr’s gaze
again and the man’s smile had returned, in that oh-so dangerous way of his.
Cadwy had-to laugh, a terse bitter laugh and he nodded, his own tension
releasing.
“Very well my
irreplaceable friend and battle-brother Brith Fawr, it has been an honour and
it looks like you’re going to get your last mad dash into glory after all!” He
said with a grin and was rewarded with a similar grimace in response. “Olwydd,
my esteemed friend and colleague, it has been an honour and a privilege to know
you too sir and it seems, to die alongside you!” Cadwy turned to inform the
towering ghost-warrior beside him seriously with a bow and was honoured in
return with a deep and respectful bow.
These Galedonians
were men of few words and they turned to their duty, with fire in their eyes
and coursing through their Brythonic veins and Cadwy wondered how on earth his people could have considered these
amazing individuals enemy for so
long, as they were among the very finest men and women he had ever met. He
wouldn’t replace one of them with any Albion man he could name and was
extremely glad that Albion and Galedon were now allies and was determined to
keep them so, as long he had any say in the matter. Their two northern nations
had proved without doubt that together they were virtually unstoppable, as that
vainglorious gwain Caesar had
discovered to his everlasting shame and failure last year. Together they had
achieved so much this time too and although it now seemed that this perilous
gambit had failed, that their hair-brained rescue attempt was finally over, and
they were all about to fall at the last ditch, his pride at risking everything
alongside these elite warriors was unbounded. Cadwy’s eyes glittered with these
emotions which crowded him, when he turned to Eirwen and looking up at her he
grasped her hand.
“It’s just you
now my darling. You must give us our glory and seal our everlasting bri, by escaping and reaching your
father.” Cadwy told her, his eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed but dry now and he
gripped her hand tightly, expecting perhaps the collapse and the flood of
tears, for which indulgences there was precious little time. He was amazed at
what happened next and, in some way, it was harder to bear. Eirwen sat up in
the saddle with a sniff, her bottom lip trembling and her terror shining clear
from her beautiful emerald eyes, but she didn’t weep. Eirwen looked at him with
the most tragic and forlorn look and it almost broke him.
This empirical,
irreplaceable woman he had found and for some reason still a mystery to him,
the Gods had seen fit to make her love him, as deeply and unfathomably as he
loved her and yet now, he must lose her, and he found it hard to breathe,
having no words to describe the pain he was in.
Eirwen was
bone-white and rigid in the saddle but she too knew the import of the message
and warning she carried, as the aristocracy of all Galedon were in dire threat
of being wiped out and their lands invaded, and she alone had one last chance.
A precarious, last-ditch chance it may be but Cadwy’s heart was overflowing as
he watched her come to terms with her duty and the inconceivable weight of
responsibility, which visibly settled on her shoulders at that moment. Over and
above the tragedy playing out here and around her, Eirwen his amazing wife bore
it and so he was remorseless.
“You must run
west my love and don’t spare this horse, run it to its limit if you must but
get to your father!” Cadwy drew her attention back to him, pointing at the
slowly advancing line of troops. “That way, straight at them my love but when
you get to there!” Cadwy pointed again, showing her a break in the ridgeline.
“Cut right there and head down to the beach at an angle and you should clear
that shield-wall. When you do, head around the peninsula quickly as the tide is
coming in and then sprint down the coast and don’t stop for anything!” Cadwy
growled, the emotions catching in his throat and Eirwen bent to him and took
his filthy face in both her trembling hands. She kissed him hard, before gazing
deeply into his eyes.
“I love you more
than life itself Cadwy Fawr and I always will, until my last breath in this
world and when I pass from it, I will seek you out in the Underworld and we shall
continue this discussion and a few others.” She told him gravely but with that
familiar arch to her eyebrow, sitting up again and gathering the reins. “Go and
deal with that shower on the beach darling and I shall see you down the coast
in an hour or so.” She instructed him with a smirk and Cadwy couldn’t help the
chuckle that escaped him, but her face returned to a thoughtful seriousness.
“Please convey my love and everlasting gratitude to the men Cadwy and tell them
I will make sacred sacrifice in all their names if I don’t see them in Porth
Talar in about an hour from now! Oh and if our child turns out to be a boy,
please tell him that I plan to call him Olwydd.” She finished more brightly,
even as the tears now broke and coursed down her alabaster face. Taking one
huge but tremulous breath, Eirwen took a last look down to the garrulous enemy
shield-wall on the rocky shore below, who barred them from the misty ocean
beyond and their freedom. Tearing her eyes away from the small, rocky and now
inaccessible outcrop of their salvation and with its unattainable treasure at
its tip, with a deep sigh of resignation she spat the bitter taste of lost
freedom to the snow.
Looking away from
the promontory to her left and glancing to the east from some prickle of female
intuition, Eirwen stared at the white, swirling blanket of fog and what she saw
there made her gasp and her red-rimmed eyes fly open.
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