The horses were careening closer. I saw Gwalcmai leading a phalanx of warriors to turn the stampede. And above the tumult I heard voices strong and brave, lifted in a Cymry battle song. It was the Cymbrogi, driving the horses before them and singing as they came.

The battle was broken. I halted to catch my breath and watched the immense tide of barbarians flowing away across the Glein and into the hills. Some of the Cymbrogi continued the rout, riding them down as they fled, but the enemy escaped by the score. This I regretted, but I did not have it in me to give chase. I was exhausted.

As they did not require my help, I turned again to the task of finding Arthur. The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The mist cleared, and there he was before me.

He was on foot. His horse had been cut from under him, and he had been forced to lead his men on foot. The Bear of Britain saluted me when he saw me, raising his red-streaked sword.

'Hail, Bedwyr!' he called, and promptly sat down on a rock.

I tried to salute him back, but with the weight of the sword in my hand, my arm would no longer move. I slid from the saddle and leaned against my horse. 'God love you, Arthur,' I said, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my glove, 'I thought you were dead. If Cai had not arrived we all would be meat for crows.'

Arthur leaned on his sword, gulping air. 'Yes, and now we shall have to share the plunder with him, I suppose.'

'Share it! He can have it all. It is as much as my life is worth to see him driving those horses.'

Just then Myrddin appeared. 'Here you are.' He examined us closely, and, satisfied that we were alive and well, dismounted and slipped to the ground. 'What did you think of the mist?'

'A most excellent mist,' declared Arthur. 'Forgive me if I do not make more of it.' He made to rise, but could not manage the effort, so settled back on the rock with his elbows on his knees.

I shook my head in disbelief at Myrddin's indifference. 'Do you know we were almost massacred here? Those cursed Picti and their arrows very nearly slaughtered the war host of Britain.'

That is why I thought of the horses,' explained Myrddin placidly. 'The Picti believe horses contain the spirits of the dead and are reluctant to kill them lest they become haunted.'

'Listen to you, our sword brothers lie dead and you wag on about mist and horses!'

Myrddin turned to me. 'Look around you, Bedwyr the Bold. We have not lost a single man.'

Quick anger flashed up in me. I stared at him. 'What! Are you mad?'

'You have but to look,' Myrddin said, throwing wide a hand in invitation.

I turned my eyes to the fallen around us, and… it was true. Lord and Saviour, Blessed Jesu be praised! It was true!

Wherever I looked – the river, the glen, the hillsides, the rocks in the water – the dead were Irish and Angli. Not a single Briton could be found among them.

It was a miracle.

Dark came upon us. By torchlight we worked among the dead, retrieving gold and silver and the special treasure which we had quickly learned to value: the Angli war shirt.

The Angli had learned to make a singular kind of battle-dress. Forged of thousands of tiny steel rings, the shirts protected the wearer yet allowed free movement. Mostly, only Angli kings and nobles wore them, for they were highly prized.

I walked over the battleground, rolling corpses to inspect their limbs and clothing. Sometimes the barbarian carry gold coins or gemstones in their mouths and the jaw must be broken to get them; or they hide them in little leather pouches which have to be pried away. The dead do not mind, I kept telling myself as I cut rings from swollen fingers and stripped battleshirts from stiffening backs.

Searching corpses is a grisly business, but necessary. We sorely needed the plunder and the war shirts. The one to pay for the support of the warband, and to keep men like Idris and Maglos happy. The other for defence against sword cuts and arrows.

The Cymbrogi returned from harrying the enemy. Pelleas and Meurig greeted us with the report that the barbarians appeared to be regrouping and moving north.

'What are we to do about the dead?' asked Maglos. 'We would wear ourselves out digging graves for all of them.'

In the fluttering torchlight Arthur cast an eye to the sky. The clouds were breaking up and in the east the moon was rising fair. 'We will have light soon,' he said. 'Shallow graves would not tire us overmuch.'

Bedegran grumbled; mild Maglos sighed, and Idris snorted. For once I agreed with them. 'You may be able to toil both day and night like Weland's Smithy. But we have fought most of the day, and tomorrow we must pursue the enemy. We are fainting with hunger. We need food and rest.'

It went against him to leave the dead unburied, even enemy dead. But there was nothing for it. 'Let it go, Bear,' I told him. 'There is no dishonour in it.'

Still, he hesitated. Myrddin came forward and put his hand on the Duke's shoulder. 'They are right,' Myrddin said. 'Come, let us leave this place to God and his servants. Let the Cymbrogi go ahead of us and make camp, so that it is ready when we come.'

Arthur consented. 'I yield to your counsel,' he said. 'Give the order, Meurig.' Then he turned and moved off in the darkness.

It was late when we arrived at the camp, a short distance to the east along the river. But there was hot food for us and a dry place to lay our heads. We slept the sleep of Bran the Blessed that night. The next morning we moved north in pursuit of the enemy.

This region is well known to me, for it borders on Rheged, the realm of my fathers. Now that Cai and the Cymbrogi were with us we had horses for four hundred, and we moved much more swiftly, marching back along the Yrewyn the way we had come. At Yrewyn Bay we met King Lot and Gwalchavad, who had come in time to see the Angli passing north in retreat, and had stayed to guard die ships lest they be tempted to steal or destroy them in their flight.

They took no notice of the ships,' Lot told us upon joining us on the strand, 'but hastened themselves north.'

'It is as we thought,' remarked Cai. 'But in the dark we could not be sure.'

They are following the glen of Garnoch,' said Gwalchavad. 'We may yet catch them if we hurry.'

I had to look at him twice to be certain it was not Gwalcmai dressed in different clothing. Lot's sons were twins, each no more different from the other than a man and his reflection. Gwalchavad – his name means Hawk of Summer – seemed to me more cautious, or more deliberate than his brother. But that is the only difference I ever noticed between them.

'I would have you stay with the ships,' Arthur told Lot. They will try to reach the shore.'

'Let us move the ships, then,' advised Gwalchavad.

'Can you move so many?' wondered Arthur. For there were more than fifty ships in all now, not counting the Irish ships we had taken.

Lot laughed. 'You have much to learn of ships, Duke Arthur. Yes, we can move them with no more than the men I have with me.'

Then take them to the shipyards at Caer Edyn,' Arthur ordered. 'We will come to you there when this is finished.'

With no more parley than that, we turned at once to the north-branching Garnoch, and followed Garnoch Glen in the direction the barbarians had fled. The trail was easy – a blind man could have followed it. All the way I kept pondering why they had turned north. Why not take the ships and flee?

The only reason I could think of was that they did not consider themselves conquered, merely discouraged. In this, I was not far wrong. We had surprised them the first time. They had been waiting – I remembered talking to Arthur about this, and he said it had worried him. Now it worried me. What had they been waiting for?