Warriors of Camlann by N. M. Browne

‘Petronax went to track this man’s companions. Tell the Druid I have brought one of the men he sought.’
    Two of the mounted men turned the horses round and spurred them back the way they’d come, the third man listened as Bedewyr spoke in a low voice, with rapid frightened glances in Gawain’s direction. The war dog’s teeth were bared.
    Gawain spurred his horse forward, determined not to be excluded from a conversation that might bring him trouble. ‘I fear that I have not my true name to offer you but for now I am Gawain. You are?’
    Gawain spoke good Latin to Bedewyr’s evident surprise. His companion’s face remained closed, unreadable. He was a big man, broad shouldered and heavily muscled. His face was wide and his nose, broken more than once, gave him the pugnacious air of a boxer. A thin scar that ran down one side of his face from temple to chin – a knife wound by the look of it – gave his mouth a slightly twisted look.
    â€˜I am Medraut, rightful King of Ceint and Count of the Saxon Shore. I believe you are a friend of the Druid.’ The man’s eyes were grey and cold, but he made no move to draw a weapon.
    Gawain felt his heart pump faster. There was dangerhere and he was unarmed. This man had the eyes of a killer.
    â€˜I was attacked and sadly my memory of the Druid, as of all else, eludes me. But I am grateful to Bedewyr, for he helped me when I was wounded. I am in his debt.’
    Medraut gave him a bold, appraising stare. ‘I see you are unarmed.’
    â€˜But for my dog.’
    The dog’s teeth were still bared and he gave a low growl.
    â€˜A fine specimen,’ said Medraut.
    Gawain made his gaze as uncompromising as Medraut’s own. It was a kind of challenge, as blatant in its way as the dog’s warning growl.
    Medraut seemed to accept it as such, but continued: ‘Welcome to Camulodunum, the seat of Arturus Urbicus, War Duke of Britain.’
    Gawain inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement of the reluctant welcome and signalled for the war dog to cease his growling. Keeping a close eye on Medraut he rode on beside him.
    It was dark by the time they reached Camulodunum proper. The great Roman walls of stone were mixed with layers of red tiles; clear even in the flickering light of the braziers that lit the walls. The stone structure was topped by a well-manned wooden palisade. To Gawain it seemed that the whole area thrummed with nervoustension, with the anxieties of many men at battle readiness. It made his own stomach churn with nerves. The gate to Camulodunum was massive and heavily guarded. It swung open to admit them and Gawain found himself facing a small cluster of strangers, all armed, he noted warily, and all were staring at him expectantly. A soldier took his horse and Medraut indicated that he should dismount. Gawain laid a warning hand on the war hound and stood to a kind of attention, though in truth he felt dizzy from the head wound, the long ride and the after-effects of the bloody battle.
    One man stepped forward from the waiting throng. He was wearing a dark hooded cloak that covered most of his face and body, but there was something familiar about his movements, something that hovered on the very edge of Gawain’s memory. The man clasped him in a warm embrace.
    â€˜
Daniel
, by Lugh, it is you and you are safe.’
    â€˜Do I know you?’ Gawain’s voice was hesitant.
    The man by way of answer threw back his hood and fixed him with a searching look. It was the bard, Taliesin. He looked older and his beard was greyer than the last time Dan had seen him, standing at Macsen’s shoulder, saluting him in farewell, but it was unmistakably Taliesin. He did not think to wonder at the change in him for in that one instant Gawain felt his personal universe tilt and realign. He moved from being Gawain,the unknown soldier, to Dan, schoolboy and former Combrogi warrior. It was a strange and