The Bard
Once upon a time in the distant past when heroes walked the lands, when men spoke of honour and lived by their word , a bard of great renown would go from hall to hall and sing of their deeds. He was a master of words and song. Visions of splendour and great feats of arms were conjured by the magic in his voice. But that was yesteryear and days were dark now with few free men of hills to sit and listen to Aneirin. The great kingdoms of the north were in decline and the old bard, stooped and grey with age struggled across the old paths to diminished halls.
It was on a particular wet and cold day when old Aneirin came upon a small fort in the hills south of Dun Eiydn. That great fortress was his destination, but as he looked up at the gathering clouds, the bard decided to stop at the fort. The customs of the north were still strong and Aneirin knew that for a story he would be fed and bedded for the night. As he approached the small gate in the palisade that surrounded the fort, it opened and a tall figure stepped out holding a spear in front of him.
"Who goes there on this night?" the man called out, an edge of fear in his voice.
"It is I, Aneirin. You know of me?"
Slowly the spear was lowered and the man stepped closer. A smile began to spread across his face.
"Aye. It has being a long time since a bard has come this way. You are welcome to my home. My name is Mynddog."
"A kingly name and a honoured one," the bard replied, following the warrior into the fort.
It was a ramshackle place, with only three buildings. A large circular building stood at the centre and it was here that Aneirin was brought. The interior was smoke filled and stank of wet animal fur, burnt food and sweat. Aneirin chose to ignore the stench and smiled at the faces about him. Mynddog showed Aneirin to a place close to the central hearth fire and ordered drink and food. As the bard consumed the meal, poor fare of bread, a gruel of indescribable meat and sour ale, the family settled in an arc about him. He noted their drawn faces and the dullness of their eyes, an abdication of all hope in life. And this he understood. Their land lay in the disputed regions between Manau Goddidin and the Saxon kingdoms to the south. Every year these people would have to put up with raids from the south and retaliatory attacks from the north. Their allegiance and taxes would switch to whichever king held sway. Looking about Aneirin noted that Mynddog was the only male adult. A sign of tough times and it did not bode well for the future of this homestead. Come the summer Mynddog would be killed in one of those raids and his family would be carried off into slavery. It broke Aneirin's heart to think of this.
"Well, good people, what tale would you like to hear?" he finally said, having finished his meal.
The children looked up at Mynddog and he smiled down at them. It softened his features when he smiled.
"A story of Arthur and how he defeated the Saxons, I think," Mynddog said, to the loud acclaim of the children.
"A good choice. I will tell you of Badon, the great battle. Close your eyes, my friends and imagine yourselves in the mighty fortress of Caer Cam on the day Arthur heard that Aelle and Cerdic were marching to kill him. For I was there all those years ago and I saw it all with my own eyes"
Arthur was standing on the ramparts of Caer Cam. About stood his captains. Cai Hir, the fiercest fighter of them all. He stood a head taller than any other man and his temperament was hot. Few men crossed him and because of his temper he had few friends. Next to Cai stood Durstan and Bedwyr, Arthur's captains of cavalry. They feared no one, but where men were afraid of Cai, they admired and loved these two.
"Well! What is it to be?" he was looking out across to the hill north of the caer. It was known as the Beacon for on its summit fires would be lit to warn of trouble. Today such a fire a burned.
"The reports are that Aelle has at least three thousand men. A horde. We cannot fight them on open ground," Bedwyr answered, his handsome face taut with anxiety.
Cai cursed loudly.
"We have beaten him before and Cerdic. We should ride out and take them on the plains near the Stonehenge. It will give our cavalry room to manoeuvre."
Durstan smiled and shook his head at Cai's words. I was standing there too, a little ways back, and knew what the shake of Durstan's head meant. Cai was hot, he wanted to fight. He was at the time only twenty-four summers old. The height of his fighting prowess and also in love with his own legend.
Arthur turned to face his captains.
"You are right, Cai," he said, drawing gasps from Durstan and Bedwyr. "But not on the plains. We need height, a downward charge and most of all we need surprise."
Bedwyr was the quick one of the trio. A man always thinking ahead and planning something, whether it be an amorous conquest or a battle plan. He ran a hand through his long, luxuriant, raven hair. A sign that his mind was at work.
"A chase. We run before them, but not until we engage them in a minor fight. Give them the idea that we are routed. It will need to be a good spot, Arto. Somewhere that can conceal five hundred horsemen and it will need to be a valley," Bedwyr said, moving to the ramparts edge and looking north.
Arthur's eyes followed him. "Yes, I know. It will a long run and terrible for those caught in its path. There is only one place where we can fight and to do this we will need to lead these dogs across the kingdoms of the west. I tell you Marcus and Meurig will not be happy, but if we are to survive, this is how it must be."
"Where?" Durstan asked.
"Caer Badon."
A deep silence settled in the small hall as the bard's voice faded away. Mynddog had a puzzled look on his face as he watched the slumped figure of Aneirin. Slowly the old man raised his head and all could see the tears in his eyes.
"I am sorry," he whispered. "I cannot tell you this story. When I look at you here all I see is misery brought about by the likes of warriors such as Arthur and his band. They did not care for you or Britain. All they wanted was power and for men like Cai Hir it was fame."
Aneirin suddenly stopped speaking. He had broken the ancient laws of his brotherhood. Confusion lay open on the faces of the children and the women had bowed their heads so as not to allow their grief and anger to be shown. Mynddog crouched down by the bard.
"I know the truth, but I can allow my mind to wander for a few hours when you speak bard. It is the way of the world. I remember my father speaking of Arthur and how he would kill his own sons just win a battle. But that is not what my children need to hear. Tell them a story of hope, of what maybe. Tell them a tale of an Arthur who might have lived and of a king that might still come."
Aneirin caught hold of Mynddog's arms and for first time saw past the tiredness of the man and witnessed the strength in his eyes. He smiled.
"Once upon a time there was a boy and a sword in a stone"