Gwenhwyfar (Tale of King Arthur) by Mercedes Lackey

Author:Mercedes Lackey
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Penguin USA, Inc.
Published: 2012-11-16T17:39:36+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

If Lancelin had not been so modest and self-effacing away from the war table, Gwen would have been hard put to restrain her jealousy of his instant prominence among the war chiefs. He had overleaped her and the position she had spent seasons, years, achieving, and he had done so overnight.

But he was, in fact, a quiet and astonishingly modest man outside of the tent, and when she was honest with herself, she had to acknowledge that he must have spent just as long a period among Arthur’s Companions to get that same position. So jealousy was not what she was really feeling. It was envy. And she had to admit that he was a genius at strategy.

Every man in the oddly assorted army fielded by her father was perfectly placed to take advantage of his strengths—or, at the very least, to take advantage of what he would do no matter what had been planned.

Those who were going to charge no matter the orders had been put in the front lines of the flanks, so at least when they charged, it would be across the hill rather than down it. After that initial planning session, Lancelin had made a round of the fires, using charm, honesty, or, occasionally, a skin of strong mead to find out what each commander knew of his mens’ behavior in battle and what he thought the others would do. Then he had revised his plans to account for what he learned.

When he spoke to Gwen, it had been with respect and honesty. She and her scouts—for the scouts had seen much more of how the others fought—answered him with the same frank candor. The result was that their disposition remained the same: to sting the Saxons until they charged, then hold back and harry the outliers, watching for an effort to flank.

She sat her horse easily, looking down the shallow slope to the Saxon army spread out in their rough battle line at the bottom.

There was a great deal of noise: challenges being shouted on both sides, weapons beaten on shields, insults, catcalls. It didn’t matter that most of them didn’t understand each other’s language; the tone made the content clear enough. And if they had been fighting with traditional tactics, eventually one man or another would break from the lines, run forward, and throw a spear into the enemy nearest him. Unless he was extraordinarily strong or lucky, the spear would glance off the shield, fall short, break, or bury itself in the wooden shield. Then the man attacked would wrench it out, pick it up or take his own spear, run forward, and return the favor. Then the two would fight, one on one, while the rest of the armies cheered them on. The victor would taunt the enemy, return to his own lines, or remain for someone else to challenge him. Perhaps another fighter from his own side would join him. This would continue, with the number of single combats increasing until the tension broke and one side or the other would charge.

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