Free Hawk of May by Gillian Bradshaw

standard, and he without a clan. Lot commanded us to charge, and we were ready enough. We raised the war-cry splendidly and ran at them. All the other kings in the valley—for we were all in the valley, the hills being too steep to fight on properly...”
    â€œFool!” snapped Morgawse. Connall stared at her uncomfortably. “What idiocy, to allow himself to be trapped by such a…continue.”
    Realizing that she had been addressing Lot, not himself, Connall went on. “At all events, we attacked. They put up a good fight. They are strong men in the shield-wall, those men of Less Britain. But there were more of us, and we are no weaklings ourselves. Your son and your husband, Lady, fought gloriously, side by side, thrusting with their spears almost as one, their shields locked together, laughing. They carried everyone before them. And that Urien of Rheged is a fine war-hound, a lion indeed. The men of Rheged…”
    â€œI said, continue!” said Morgawse intensely. Her dark eyes narrowed on the messenger. Connall swallowed, looked away from her, and continued.
    â€œArthur’s forces retreated, slowly. We pressed after them down the valley. It was a hard struggle. About noon, though, they began to falter—at least they seemed to—and we redoubled our attack. They broke. Their shield-wall collapsed inward, and they started running as fast as they could.
    â€œWe cheered as loudly as we had the breath for—which wasn’t very loud, for we were wearied by such fighting in that miserable heat—and ran after them.” Connall’s face lit a little as he recalled the elation of the moment, then shadowed suddenly. “And then Arthur brought out his horsemen.”
    Morgawse groaned, threw away her wine-glass. “From the hills.”
    â€œFrom the hills. They came down, so fast…on horses. One does not ride horses into battle, not against spearmen. They can be spitted so fast that…well, no matter. They rode the horses down, hurling their throwing spears, breaking the shield-wall before they reached it—it was breached along the flanks anyway because of our haste after the rest of the army. And then they were among us on those horses, riding us down, stabbing with spears and striking with swords. We had spent all our throwing spears long before, and we did not know how to fight them. We could not reform our shield-wall, because they were inside it. Arthur was with them—he had only sent someone else to the others with his standard—and he was laughing and shouting the war-cry of the High Kings. The men of Less Britain and Dumnonia, who had been fleeing from us, picked up the cry and rushed back at us. We couldn’t hold them, for the horsemen broke our shield-wall and the horses were trampling us underfoot. We broke. Lot kept shouting at us to hold, to regroup about him, but we couldn’t. We couldn’t. We went running away. Our shield-wall was broken, and we threw away our shields to run faster. Lot stood, Lady, weeping for rage, and your son with him. Some of us remembered our vows to him, and the mead he gave us in this Hall, and we returned to preserve our honor. We tried to retreat slowly, and some others joined us, or came back—but we couldn’t hold, even for a little while. Our shields were hacked to pieces, and we were retreating across the bodies of our comrades who were killed while they fled. Lot said—I was by him—“‘I will die, then, fighting with my warband.’”
    Morgawse laughed harshly. “Die! Would that you had. But Arthur had no desire for your death, Lot of Orcade. He wished no more war with the Orcades.”
    Connall nodded miserably. “Constantius came up with his warband and asked us to surrender. I…I…”
    â€œAnd you surrendered!” shouted Morgawse. Her face was flushed with anger. “You surrendered and swore the Threefold Oath never to fight