Scraps And Scribblings: The Night Before Battle - An Arthurian Tale the March 2021 story

by Richard Tearle

THE NIGHT BEFORE THE BATTLE

It turned out to be an auspicious night.

Darkness was already descending, cooling the late summer heat. The three day march from Glevum, long and arduous, was over. Too late now to employ plans and engage the enemy, our scouts informed us that their army was camped on the other side of the hill, so we kept as silent as possible. Though I had no doubts that they knew we were there. The hill top itself was populated with trees; I placed men at regular intervals just to ensure that we would not be surprised should they follow the bold strategy of a night attack. Had the men not been so exhausted I might have considered it for ourselves.

After all, it was that strategy which had helped us defeat Vortigern. The sun continued its descent, rendering the sky as red as a man's blood. Dark clouds swept in from the west. The moon, beginning its journey early, was full and its face seemed to be wreathed in smiles, as if it cared about any man's fate on the coming day. Purple and gold became the skies, the colours of kings.

I sat with Uther, my king, my lord and, dare I venture, my friend, as we sheltered from the night breeze and talked of many things: war, warriors. Women. Mostly the women we had known. Others of fabled beauty. Reminiscing. Comparing our beauties, the colours of their hair. Other attributes. It is what men do to keep their minds off the fact that this night might be their last.

There were camp followers, of course. And no doubt many of the men were availing themselves of their services. Again, because they may never indulge after tomorrow.

Which is why we drank wine or ale, laughed, told stories that no one questioned, no matter how ribald or spurious. And then we drank more.

Throughout the camp, men would be drinking and storytelling in much the same way. There would be those who would still be drunk in the morning, would rush into battle barely knowing what they were doing. Would die and neither see nor feel the blows that felled them.

'No woman for you tonight, Ulfius?' The question was accompanied by a knowing smile. He knew that I would be sleeping alone tonight. 'Not like the old days, eh?'

He was right. Before, prior to previous battles, it would have been the normal thing for us to to do. But I had Ioena now and I no longer sought the arms of another. Besides, I had promised her. And she had promised that she would be awaiting my return.

The wind had picked up somewhat. Strands of hair flicked across my face.

'They won't attack tonight,' Uther concluded.

'No', I agreed.

'But you thought about it for us?' Uther gave me a sidelong glance.

'Yes.' I explained my reasons for not attacking and Uther nodded. We sat in reflective silence. The fight tomorrow would be intense. No mercy would be the orders from both camps. Men would die and so would we if our concentration wavered for even one heartbeat. Kill and move on. Little time to think; instinct takes over. No thoughts of the widows and orphans that you had just created by the spilling of blood.

We do unto others before they do it unto us. It is our life in troubled times. And there would always be those.

Uther had risen to his feet, steady but swaying slightly. Head thrown back. 'Look, Ulfius!'

I turned and looked up at the skies but saw nothing unusual. Not then.

'Look,' he cried again, pointing. He staggered and I thought he would fall, so I scrambled to my feet and gripped his arm. I almost pulled us both over.

And then I saw what he was looking at: the clouds. They drifted in, swirling and then, suddenly were still.

'A dragon,' Uther breathed. 'See? Do you see it now, Ulfius?'

I did. A long tail of reddened cloud that swished briefly from side to side in the wind, wings beating slowly and a head like a horse, but elongated. The moon was its beaded, baleful eye.

And, just for a moment it seemed to be breathing out smoke.

And then the vision was gone.

'A portent,' Uther whispered.

'Of good, lord,' I reassured him, though without any real conviction; Uther was a great one for omens, good or bad.

'Yes. Of good. Or maybe not. I don't know.'

'A sign of force, Uther,' I tried again. 'Right is on our side, and so is the dragon, else why would it appear to us?'

Perhaps we were enchanted: in truth I know not. But the wonderment and awe left us both as suddenly as it came and, inexplicably exhausted, we embraced and bade each other a good and restful sleep.

Sleep I did. Heavily and with dreams. Dreams of dragons, fighting, good and evil, red and white. And also... also of a king. A king whose face I could not see, but I thought I knew who it was. Vortigern.

It could only be he, for dragons figured much in his life. Had not dragons fought for supremacy beneath the mound upon which he desired to build his fortress? And had he not the mysterious Myrddin who had conspired to defeat the dragons enabling the castle to be built? And death for Vortigern, of course, because we had defeated him with our version of dragon fire.

The message seemed plain: good would triumph over evil but a king would die.

Another face, one I had never seen before, yet I knew instantly who he was. A face that was neither old nor young, that exuded both deep hatred and great love.
'I send the sign of the Dragon. You will need me 'ere long, Ulfius. You will know where to find me'

Myrddin.

The vision, the dream, faded.

I awoke in a sweat, shivering nevertheless. I rose and went to empty my bladder. Uther was already up, garbed in his armour and I waved at him. And then I stopped: something had caught my eye.

Uther no longer had a plain black pennant; he'd had a red dragon painted on the ragged material. And dragons now adorned his shield and those of his captains.

The Pendragon was born.