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"Anything to slow them down will help," Myrddin explained, pointing out places in the looping approaches where thorny branches could be piled atop walls—leaving Covia
Elidor was frowning. "Won't wooden stakes be useless against armor?"
"One thing Artorius has gained experience of is the strength of Saxon arms and armor. Most of the soldiers they send to battle have nothing but a bit of quilted leather. Even amongst their nobility, thegns, they call them, armor is usually of limited quality and quantity. They are not wealthy, these Saxons, and their chieftains make gifts of weapons and mail shirts to their favorites, to be returned to the 'king' when the thegn dies, for such gifts are mere loans, wealth returning to the leader whenever he demands it.
"A Saxon thegn ca
"Indeed," Elidor nodded. "I am twice enlightened. We had begun to fear these Saxon dogs were unstoppable, the way they've gobbled up the southern kingdoms of Britain and seek constantly to expand their borders."
"Oh, they're quite stoppable," Myrddin assured him with a nasty grin. "You would have enjoyed seeing that verminous little Cutha knocked flat on his backside by Ancelotis of Gododdin. He put to rest a fair number of unfounded rumors of just that sort. Bested him with bare hands, sent him skulking out of Caerleul like a scalded dog. The realization these bandits can be defeated, coupled with Cutha's ill-tempered slaughter afterward, showing us precisely what we may expect with Saxons to rule us, has sent the entire northern half of the Britons rushing to take up arms to stop these beasts for good."
The monks duly added notations on where to dig pits, to be lined with narrow, sharp-ended pole stakes. When their journey through the grounds led past well after holy well, springs gushing up from the depths of the Tor, Myrddin frowned thoughtfully. "There seems to be an immense amount of water pouring out of this hill."
"Oh, yes," Father Elidor nodded, "they flow like this year round. I've never seen them run dry, not even during a drought." He cupped his hand into the well they had paused beside, dipping up a palmful to sip, scattering droplets that lost themselves amongst the spatters of rain falling.
"A pity we can't harness it, somehow," Myrddin murmured.
Covia
He grimaced, then gave her a rueful smile. "No, I don't suppose they would. Has anyone ever tried to find the source of the Glaste
Covia
Covia
The abbot was smiling. "Vivie
Vivie
"No, no," he laughed, "nothing serious. Just playing games, hiding and seeking, treasure hunts, exploring in the dead of night with a guttering candle, daring one another, all the typical games we played as children ourselves."
Covia
They shared a laugh, then the fitful gusts turned to a steady downpour, effectively ending the excursion. The labyrinth's walls cast long shadows down the flanks of the hill as they hurried toward shelter.
"You may wish to impose upon Father Elidor for a bed tonight," Vivie
"I am honored," Myrddin inclined his head graciously.
"You are most welcome as well, Elidor."
The abbot smiled. "I, too, would be honored. Myrddin, I'll show you where to find your room tonight, in case I retire earlier than you choose."
They parted, with Myrddin and the abbot kissing both Vivie