Clear and high, Arthur's hunting horn sounded; short blasts cutting through the tumult: the rallying call. I looked to the sound and saw Arthur – his white shield a gleaming moon in the darkness; Caledvwlch flashing as his arm rose and fell in graceful, deadly arcs; crimson cloak streaming in the wind, muscled shoulders heaving as he leaned into the maelstrom… Arthur.

I could not see his face, but there could be no doubt. He fought like no other warrior I had ever known. Such controlled ferocity, such deadly grace; the dread purity of his movements, spare and neat, each flowing into and out from the other, became a dazzling litany of praise to the fearful hand that had framed him.

It came into my mind that it was for this Arthur was born; this was why his spirit was given. To be here, now, to lead the battle in just this way. Arthur had been created for, and summoned to, this moment. He had heard his call and he had obeyed. Now all was delivered into his grasp.

I wanted to be near him, to pledge faith to him with my blade and with my life. But when I fought to his side, he was gone.

I also saw Llenlleawg. He had taken up a Saecsen torch and now became once more a whirling firebrand of a warrior: torch in one hand, short sword in the other, he danced in his mad battle ecstasy. The enemy fell before him and on every side, scattering like the sparks that flew from the flame in his hand.

Garish faces came at me out of the darkness – tattooed Picti and blue-painted Cruithne, fair-haired Saecsen and dark Angli, all of them writhing and grimacing with hatred, livid with blood-lust, inflamed with death.

The blood ran hot in my veins, drumming in my ears, pounding in my temples. My sides ached and my lungs burned. But I struck and struck again and again and again, sword rising and falling in deadly rhythm: falling like judgement from the night-dark sky, falling like doom upon the heads of the unheeding.

With each stroke I grew stronger – like the ancient hero Gwyn, who increased in strength as the day wore on. I felt the ache leave my muscles, melting away in the rain that drenched me. My hands were no longer stiff on the grip of my sword and shield. My head cleared. My vision grew keen. I felt the heat of life rising in me, the battle glow which drives out all else.

My men pressed close beside me; shoulder to shoulder we hewed at the enemy. To be surrounded by brave men faithful through all things is deeply to be wished, and my heart swelled within me. We laboured in combat as we had laboured on the wall, matching thrust for thrust, and stroke for stroke. I felt their spirits lift with mine. No longer were we being driven back. We had somehow halted the advance of the enemy and now stood against it.

Though the darkness round about was filled with the howls of barbarians and the shrieks of berserkers and the dire blast of Saecsen battle horns, we did not give ground. The enemy became the sea surging angrily against us as against the Giant's Steps. Like the sea they battered the rock, washed over it and whelmed it over, but when the waves broke the rock remained unmoved.

Wild the night, wild the fight! Buffeted by wind and battle roar, we stood to the barbarian host and our swords ran red. I killed with every thrust, every blow stole life. My arm rose and fell with swift precision, and at each deadly stroke a soul went down into death's dark realm.

The foemen fell around me and I saw all with undimmed clarity. I was fierce. I was cold as the length of steel in my hand. Jesu save me! I slaughtered the enemy like cattle!

I killed, but I did not hate. I killed, but even as they fell before me I did not hate them. There was no hate left in me.

Dawn drew aside the veil of night and we saw what we had done. I will never forget that sight: white corpses in the grey morning light… thousands, tens of thousands… strewn upon the ground like the rubble of a ruin… limbs lifeless, bodies twisted and still, dead eyes staring up at the white sun rising in a white sky and the black blurs of circling, circling crows…

Above, the keen of hawks. Below, the deep-stained earth. All around, the stink of death.

We had won. We had gained the victory, but there was scarcely a hair's breadth of difference between the victors and the vanquished on that grim morning. We leaned upon our spears and slumped over our shields. Wide-eyed and staring, too tired to move. Numb.

Anyone coming upon us would have thought that we were one with the dead. Though we lived, it was all we could do to draw breath and blink our swollen red eyes.

I sat with my back to a rock, my sword stuck in my unbending fingers. My shield lay beside me on the ground, battered and rent in a hundred places. 'Bedwyr!' A familiar voice called out my name and I looked and saw Arthur striding towards me. I drew up my knees and struggled to rise.

Grey-faced with fatigue, his arms criss-crossed with sword cuts, his proud red cloak rent to rags and foul with blood, the Duke of Britain hauled me to my feet and crushed me to him in his bear hug. 'I have been searching for you,' he whispered. 'I feared you must be dead.'

'I feel as if I am.'

'If all the barbarians in the world could not kill you, nothing will,' Arthur replied.

'What of Cai? Bors? Cador?'

'Alive.'

I shook my head, and my gaze returned once more to the corpse-choked field and the glutted crows swaggering upon the pale bodies. My stomach turned and heaved; I vomited bile over my feet. Arthur stood patiently beside me, his hand upon my back. When I finished, he raised me up and led me aside with him.

'How many are left?' I asked, dreading the answer. But I had to know.

'More than you think.'

'How many?'

Two divisions – almost.'

'The kings?'

'Maglos and Ceredig are dead. Ennion is sorely wounded; he will not live. Custennin is dead.'

'Myrddin?'

'He is well. Do you know – when the battle began he climbed up on the wall and stood there the whole night with his staff raised over us. He upheld us through the battle, and prayed the victory for us.'

'What of Gwalchavad? He was near me when the battle began, but I lost him… So much confusion.'

'Gwalchavad is unharmed. He and Llenlleawg are searching the bodies.'

'Oh,' I said, though his meaning at the moment escaped me.

We walked a little down the hill and I saw others moving about, slowly, carefully, picking their way sombrely among the silent dead. As we approached the wall there came a shout from behind us up the hill. Gwalchavad and Llenlleawg had found what they were looking for.

We turned and made our way to where they stood. I saw the skull-and-bones standard lying beneath the body and knew what they had found.

Arthur rolled the body with the toe of his boot. Cerdic gazed up into the empty sky with empty eyes. His throat was a blackened gash and his right arm was nearly severed above the elbow. His features had hardened into a familiar expression: the insolent sneer I had so often seen on him – as if death were an insult to his dignity, a humiliation far beneath him.

He was surrounded by his Saecsen guard. All had died within moments of each other – whether in the first or last assault no one could tell; no one had seen him die. But Cerdic was dead, and his treachery with him.

'What are we to do with him?' asked Gwalchavad.

'Leave him,' said Arthur.

'He is a Briton,' Gwalchavad insisted.

'And he chose this place for his tomb when he made war against me. No one forced him to it – it was his own choice. Let him lie here with his barbarian kin.'

Already men were removing the bodies of our comrades for burning. As a witness and warning to all future enemies, the corpses of the barbarians would be left where they had fallen. They would not be buried. So Arthur decreed; so was it done.