'Things might be worse,' I told him. 'At least it is not raining. I would hate being killed in the rain.'

The Ouse is deep-set and good fording-places few. We had camped near enough to one of the best – the site of numerous battles in the past – and made our way to it now, each of us holding green willow branches in our hands. The Saecsen used this sign themselves: they recognized it when it suited them. I prayed it might do so now.

At our approach, the war host raised their ear-splitting shriek. This went on for a good while, but when they saw it was just three men with willow branches, they quieted and waited to see what we would do.

Arthur rode to the centre of the river ford and halted, Cai and I on either side. 'Now,' he said, 'we will see what sort of men they are.'

I could have told him what sort of men they were!

'Aelle!' called Arthur. 'Come, Aelle! I would speak to you!'

I surveyed the host arrayed against us – there were a thousand if there were ten, and none of them with glad welcome on their lips. They remained silent, and in a moment a single warrior stepped away from a throng gathered round one of their hideous skull-and-horsetail standards. He was a huge brute, with hair the colour of new thatch hanging in two long braids, and he walked with such arrogance, such insolence in his gait, I knew him to be Aelle in the flesh.

He came down to the water's edge, his great war axe in his hand. 'I am Aelle,' he said, not bothering to conceal his conceit. 'What do you want?'

Oh, yes, he spoke our tongue. This is not as surprising as you might think, for many of the Saecsen had lived longer on our shores than ever they stayed on their own. Britain was the only home they knew.

'Peace,' replied Arthur, just like that.

I nearly fell off my horse. It is foolish enough to try making a treaty with the Saecsen, but you must be cunning about it. They respect nothing but the sharp edge of a sword and the strength behind it. Everything else is weakness to them, and is despised. We were lost.

'Arthur! Think what you are doing!' I whispered harshly. 'I know what I am doing!' he replied. Aelle stood at the river's edge blinking. Then it started to rain.

The Saecsen battlechief glared at Arthur with one eye, and at the rain clouds with the other, and decided that neither was going to go away very soon. Under the circumstances, he could at least escape the one by talking to the other. 'Come,' he called across the water, 'I will talk to you.' With that, Arthur lifted his reins and his horse moved forward. Cai and I followed, and together we three crossed over into Saecsen-held land.

Upon reaching the far shore we were immediately surrounded by Aelle's house carles – twenty enormous hulking savages, chosen for their size and courage to protect their leader to the death. I could read nothing but loathing in their cold blue eyes.

'Who are you – WealasT sneered Aelle. He had been about to say something rude, and I swear he would have got a boot in the face for his insolence. But he showed at least that much sense.

'I am Arthur, War Leader of Britain. I have come to offer peace to you and your people.'

Aelle considered this as he scanned our camp across the river. We were less than two hundred, for aside from Meurig none of the British kings deigned to ride with us. Aelle did not fail to grasp this fact, and it did not argue well for us.

'Are you so powerful?' It was a strange question. And it came to me that Aelle was genuinely confused. He did not know what to make of Arthur.

I began to see the matter through his eyes. Here was a British lord who rode to meet a host many times larger with only a small force, unarmed, and offering peace – it was madness, surely. Unless the lord before him was a very, very powerful man indeed – a man so powerful that he had no need of a larger force, no need of the support of the other British lords. But who possessed such might?

'I am as you see me,' replied Arthur. This confused the Saecsen even more. What did that mean?

The rain fell, running down our faces in rivulets. The barbarians seemed not to notice it.

'Come, let us go where it is dry and we can talk.'

Aelle gazed at Arthur for a long moment, making up his mind. Then, with a sharp nod, he turned to his men and barked a harsh command in their repulsive tongue. The carles turned as one and hastened away. In a moment, the whole war host began moving back, retreating from the river.

'We will go to my camp,' Aelle said, and began leading the way.

The Saecsen camp lay but a short distance away – just a valley and a hill east of the Ouse. We passed through the charred ruins of a small settlement on the way, and that was hard. Cai did not look at the fire-blackened remains, nor did Arthur. But I saw his hands tighten on the reins.

As I say, a Saecsen camp is a wretched place. They despoil everything they touch – including the earth where they squat. A few crude skin tents and huts made of grass and branches formed a loose circle, in the centre of which burned a fire. The hacked carcasses of butchered cattle and sheep lay on the ground near the fire ring, among the scattered bones of others. The place stank of excrement and refuse.

The foremost dwelling belonged to Aelle, and he entered it. We dismounted outside, and followed him in. It was a dark, damp, filthy, fetid hole, but it kept the rain off. We sat on the bare earth – Aelle sat on an ox-hide – and waited while a slave fixed torches to the tent poles on either side of Aelle. The slave, I noticed, was Gaulish, but I did not doubt there were Britons among the slaves in Aelle's camp.

'What have you to say to me?' asked Aelle.

This is how it began. The Saecsen leader did not deem it necessary to include any advisers in the proceedings. Except for their omen readers, by which they set great store, Saecsen rulers rarely consulted their minions.

'I have this to say to you, Aelle,' said Arthur, speaking with an easy authority. 'These lands you now hold do not belong to you. They are British lands. You have killed our people and burned our settlements to get them.'

Aelle frowned defiantly at this, and opened his mouth to speak. But Arthur held up a hand and continued.

'I could demand your Itfe and the lives of all your people in repayment for the wrong you have done us. I could raise the entire war host of Britain and attack you, and we would win. You would be killed.'

Aelle's frown deepened to a scowl. 'Others have tried. I am not so easy to kill, I think. Maybe I will kill you.'

'Perhaps. Perhaps we would both be killed, and all our warriors with us. And then what? Other lords and battlechiefs would rise up against you. The war would continue until there was no one left to fight it.' 'We are ready to fight,' muttered Aelle stubbornly. 'But we do not have to fight,' Arthur said. 'There can be peace between us, and between our people. The bloodshed can end now, and you can keep the land you have taken from us.'

'How can this be?' asked the Saecsen warily. 'I will grant it,' replied Arthur. 'I will give the land to you in return for your promise.' 'What is this promise?'

'Your word, your vow never to make war against my people again. That is first,' said Arthur, making a stroke with his finger in the dirt before him. 'Then you must agree to stay on this side of the Ouse water.' He drew another mark, and Aelle watched him. 'And then?'

Arthur made a third mark, saying, 'And then you must give back those of my people you have taken as slaves.'

Aelle stared suspiciously at the three marks in the din – as if they were a ruse by which Arthur meant to trick him somehow. 'What if I do not agree?' he said at last. 'Then you will be dead before Beltane.' The Saecsen bristled at this. 'I am not afraid.' 'I am the War Leader of Britain,' Arthur reminded him, 'and I have conquered all who rose against me. I will see this land at peace, Aelle. I offer peace freely from my hand today… tomorrow I will win it with my sword.'