• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 481 0

wry face. They had long since ceased to treat her as anything other than a fellow warrior, and as such, she shared in their jibes and bawdy jests—and again, an unmaidenly reaction merely helped to reinforce a position she had to fight to hold in their eyes. Only Lancelin seemed abashed. “There are many rites that the priests of the White Christ are demanding,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “Arthur must conform to them before they will let him have his new queen. Greidiawl, King Gwythyr’s father, was a great patron of those priests, and all his household was brought up in that service. Greidiawl brought to the last battle with the Saxons a banner that was said to be holy, and it is true that the Saxons broke and ran when it was brought on the field. When the queen died of grief, Gwenhwyfar the Golden, who was one of her ladies, strove to comfort the High King—”

“Oh, aye, comfort,” Urien chuckled, and the other men roared with laughter. Lancelin squirmed.

“There’s fine comfort to be had between a pair of white legs,” someone said loud enough to be heard, and even Gwen had to chuckle at that, shaking her head.

When the laughter faded, Urien came around to where Lancelin stood and slapped him on the back, staggering him a little. “We mean no harm, lad, and no disrespect to the High King either. The old queen followed her boys to the Summer Country, and alas for that, but she was a follower of the Good Goddess and knew as well as any that Arthur could not mourn her forever. Better he find himself a new queen quickly, before the thaw, in time for the seedling time. As the king, so goes the land. He was mateless for too long, and the land suffered for it. There is not a man here that begrudges him a new queen, nor looks through his fingers at the notion that you are here instead of he.”

Lancelin coughed a little. “I make no excuses—”

“Nor need you. Look you, he sent with you full eighty of the best of the best of his cavalry.” Urien nodded his shaggy head. “And I’ve been on the Saxon campaigns; I’d as lief have you here as Arthur. The companions may be all equals, but in strategy you have no peer.”

Now Lancelin flushed, but he held his head high, as a warrior should. “By your leave then, sir, lady? Since the lady has seen and scouted the ground herself with her men, I’ve need of her counsel and memory.”

She hid her relief. The battle had been won again. He took her seriously. Now they all gathered around the map table, while Lancelin examined the maps, asked Gwen highly intelligent and detailed questions about the terrain, asked the others equally intelligent and detailed questions about the temper and skills of their men, and he and Urien moved counters about.

And now Gwen saw exactly why Urien valued him so highly. There were two reasons. The first was that while this was Roman strategy indeed, it was Roman strategy adapted to the much more volatile men of the tribes. If a war chief or general said that he did not believe his men could do such-and-so, Lancelin immediately changed the strategy to something they could do. Some could, and would, hold the “Roman Square.” They had fought under Arthur, they understood how the thing worked, and they would overcome their own battle spirit to stand and not respond to the Saxon taunts. Some would not. Those, Lancelin appointed to places in the lines where it would do no harm, and much good, for them to follow the standard battle practice of running up by ones and twos, casting their spears at Saxons who had done the same, and perhaps engage in single combat.

And as for the cavalry . . .

“I know what my men will do,” he said with confidence. “They will be here, and here, and at my signal, they will close in around the rear of the Saxons and harry them onto the spears and javelins and archers of the Square.”

In his hand were the few counters that represented Gwen and her scouts. He juggled them, looking from the map to her and back again. She answered the unspoken, and very awkward, question.

“My men are like me, small, light of limb. We are horse archers, mainly. But we have