Hengist stared balefully at the men outside the walls. He had lost everything; his sons, his men's respect, and now the battle. Arthur, his nemesis, still dressed in his trademark white enamelled armour strode around what had become Hengist's prison; organising, issuing orders, and making sure he was in control.

"Bastard!" swore Hengist under his breath.

"We were lucky." A voice interrupted his thoughts, and Hengist turned to look at the warrior who had moved alongside him, glaring at the other man for a moment, before turning to look back over the walls at the enemy.

"We did the right thing at the time cousin, had we done anything else but attack we would be food for the crows," said Kurs. "The formation of the fighting wedge was the only choice we had, but it surprised me Arthur reacted as fast as he did. He attacked at the critical point, fighting through to the new forces, enabling them to recover and then aid him. The man is a born warrior."

"You sound like you admire him," said Hengist, bitterness lacing his voice.

"I do. We have been forced to retreat, despite having superior numbers. This is our only sanctuary, and potentially our final resting place. Arthur has turned an almost certain defeat into a complete rout. Our men now cower behind these walls, dreading the return of the dragon. Our spies tell us we will soon be surrounded by more men coming from the south: with Morgause gone we have no counter to Merlin's magic, and we are in no condition to attack." Kurs paused and then delivered his conclusion. "You know we have to surrender."

"I know Kurs, and it shames me." Hengist spat.

"He is an honourable man, cousin. He laid Oeric out in a manner fitting of his station, and even gave him his own dagger. That is a sign of respect, and the reason I let him live."

Kurs stopped abruptly as Hengist turned on his advisor, moving in close and shouting at him in sudden anger. "And you are lucky to still be alive, I should kill you where you stand! You let him win! You should have ordered his death as soon as Oeric hit the ground."

"No cousin. You let him win." Kurs retorted hotly. "He outsmarted and outfought you, and you are right to be ashamed. You were taken in by a witch, and beaten by the bastard son of a heathen king. You have killed your sons, and more than a thousand of your men. You have no treasure, and have failed utterly to lead the Saxon horde to glory as you promised."

Kurs paused, holding his cousin's eyes with his own. "As for killing me, why don't you try?" Although spoken softly, the last few words were delivered with an almost feral menace as Kurs stood toe to toe with his younger cousin.

Hengist glared at Kurs for long seconds but finally looked away, Kurs calming himself as his cousin backed down.

"Do you want me to deal with Arthur?" said Kurs, the harshness leaving his tone.

"Do as you think you must, he will not trust me," said Hengist with bitter finality, and walked away from the ramparts. Kurs turned and leaned on the wooden palisade, shaking his head ruefully. He looked out over the killing fields, the dead and dying littering the grass like so many broken toys. Even now Arthur was among his men, helping find those injured and dying, ministering to them, applying a few kind words here and there, calling the fat churchman who had fought so well to administer succor to those who required it. He sighed. "Now there's a man to follow," he muttered to himself.

~

Arthur, Grayle, Gawain, and David moved among the fallen outside the fort. The High King had stationed the men such that the slightest movement from within the fort would result in immediate retaliation. And now, as Arthur walked among the fallen, his mind whirled, seeking to understand how he could extricate himself and his men from the battlefield without further bloodshed.

Grayle moved into the area where the Saxon force had initially encountered Ecrivain's men. Ecrivain himself had fallen towards the end of the battle, a relatively minor wound, but he was still unconscious which left Arthur still trying to ascertain the exact number of fallen. Most of the recent dead and wounded were mounted troops who had borne the brunt of the wedge Hengist had driven into them, casualties high due to the desperation of the Saxons to escape from the battle, superstitious awe driving their fervour.

A noise from a downed man stopped him in his tracks, and he moved towards the faint sound, water flask clutched in his hand as he went to minister to yet another fallen warrior. A young knight was lying on his side facing away from Grayle, blood pooling on the scorched grass around him, his breath coming in short gasps. Grayle braced himself to confront the horror of another dying soldier and moved around the man, only to drop to his knees with a cry of pain as he saw his face.

"Gawain!" The other young knight heard the agony in his friend's voice, and ran over as fast as he could, skidding to a halt near Grayle, who was sobbing and frantically trying to remove the bloodied and torn chainmail shirt from the man on the ground, blood reddening his hands.

"Grayle, gently, what's going on, I... oh, dear God."

As Grayle pulled the shirt buckles free, Gawain finally got a good look at the man, and he too sank to his knees next to the barely breathing form of Daniel.

"David!" shouted Gawain, panic filling his voice.

Grayle was desperately trying to hold together a massive rent in his friend's chest, blood bubbling from the open wound as Daniel breathed in and out, the rasping suck providing a horrifying counterpoint to the pain in his eyes. Grayle placed his hand over the bubbling wound, giving some relief, and allowing an easier breath to be taken for a few moments. He leaned in close as Daniel tried to speak.

"I came back." The whisper barely made itself heard above the noise of David's arrival.

Grayle nodded mutely, his eyes filling with tears.

"I'm sorry my friends, I ran."

Gawain turned to David who had just moved to stand next to them, sadness aging his face. "You said you'd sent him away."

David sighed. "It was a lie needed at the time, it would've hurt you both too much to consider your friend a coward. This day, he has certainly proved he is not one, and that he is still your friend. His actions saved us."

Daniel whispered out words, seeming desperate to communicate with his friends, despite the obvious pain he was in. "Ecrivain... my uncle, ... church knights use his estate.... for training, thought I might redeem myself... brought them here..." Daniel paused for breath, coughing up a bloody froth before continuing even more quietly than before. "Year of non-violence... ended yesterday... wanted to prove... to myself... not a coward..."

"Oh dear Lord," said Grayle as Daniel clutched at his arm in pain. "You are no coward, but why, why did you have to start fighting today, could you not have been used as a messenger? Oh my friend, why..."

Tears flowed down Grayle's face as Arthur joined them, laying a hand on his nephew's shoulder, Gawain and Grayle holding Daniel's hands, not able to do anything else to help him.

"Came back to help... my friends... glad I saw you... will see you again..." Daniel gave a last flickering smile and looked past them at the sun, drawing a last shuddering breath as his eyes closed.

Bishop David solemnly gave the last rites, intoning the bible passages as the young men laid their friend on the blackened soil. Grayle bowed his head in prayer as the last vestiges of life left Daniel's body.

"We need to finish this," said Arthur to David as Gawain walked away with Grayle, the two friends consoling each other. "Now. No more bloodshed."

There was a brassy note from a horn, and two mounted knights appeared around the far side of the fort, Arthur waving an arm to get their attention.

Arthur looked at the Bishop. "I think we may have just been given a way out," he said.

"Sir Bedivere, and Sir Bors," introduced Arthur, as Bishop David bowed to the new arrivals.

"Welcome Sir Knights, what news?"

"Our apologies for arriving late to the battle, my liege." Bors spoke in a deep and sonorous tone. "Nice to meet you, Your Grace.

"We have moved ahead of the main force from the south, my King. Bedivere and I command a troop of fifty mounted knights; Sir Leodegrance is about half a day behind with the foot soldiers."

"Good news Sir Knights, and thank you for pushing ahead. I believe you may well have just saved us from having to do any more fighting which is always a good outcome. Please make your way up to the top of the hill, Queen Guinevere is there and will make you welcome. I will join you shortly."

~

Hengist and Kurs met Arthur and Mark at the lower edge of Silbury Hill. The remnants of the Saxon army sat sullen and uncomfortable inside the confines of the lower fort where they had been waiting, brooding, and licking their wounds for most of the day.

Following the arrival of Bedivere and Bors, Sir Leodegrance had, as promised, shown up with the remainder of the forces from the south a few hours later.

Percival had been pleased to see Bedivere, having served with the taciturn knight in the northern border wars. There had been little time for any reunion though as Arthur was determined to put an end to the bloodshed once and for all.

A line of warriors encircled the fort, mounted men sat their horses in the waning light, and many of the soldiers from the upper fort had descended to the mid-point of the hill. They had formed an intimidating defensive line sporting the intermingled shields and insignia of Exeter, Camelot, and Tintagel, the recently arrived standards of Leodegrance, Bedevere, and Bors adding to the display.

Arthur and Mark sat on two wooden chairs: the Saxon king and his advisor sat opposite them. A small table between them bore a pitcher of water and some wooden mugs. Behind them, a short flagpole sporting a hastily made white flag was supported by Elyan, who stood proudly behind Arthur, his overly large chain mail shirt brushing his knees, his arm bound following the knife attack by Morgause.

"You will surrender." Arthur made the statement, there was no request.

"May I, my King?" asked Kurs. Hengist nodded his agreement, remaining tight-lipped and controlling himself with a visible effort. "We agree, although there will obviously be conditions to that surrender."

"There certainly will, and I don't think that you are in any position to dictate them," muttered Mark, resting the stump of his left hand on the table in a somewhat pointed fashion, his mace resting against the table leg.

"You are a man of honour," started Kurs, directing his speech at Arthur, "I saw this when you fought Oeric. I place myself at your mercy once again, in the hope you will treat my men with honour, and allow us to leave this place without any more fighting."

"Your men?" questioned Hengist hotly. "You dare to challenge me?"

"Do you dare fight me?" replied Kurs in a dangerous tone, standing suddenly to loom over his cousin. Hengist leapt to his feet in order to confront Kurs.

"I think we might want to move," said Mark, under his breath, "Elyan, move back a bit please lad."

Arthur started laughing softly, prompting an instant cessation in the argument between the two Saxons who turned to look at him incredulously.

"You laugh at us?" demanded Hengist.

"I do. You prove why you are not worthy to rule this country by your actions. Even here you bicker and bemoan your fate. You have lost. Both of you will place your swords on the table in front of me, and then you will sit down and shut up. Then we will talk through the terms of surrender. If you do not agree to this we will allow you to withdraw to your fort, and then my troops will attack."

Kurs moved a few steps back from Hengist and drew his sword with his left hand, ensuring he gave no indication of handling the weapon as if he was going to use it to hurt anyone. He placed it on the table in front of Arthur, hilt pointing towards the High King. He then moved to retrieve his chair which he had knocked over in his earlier haste to confront his cousin.

As he lifted his chair, grabbing it by the raised back, a flicker of movement caught his eye, and he watched in horror as Hengist ripped his blade from its scabbard, moving threateningly towards Arthur, who remained seated calmly at the table. Without thinking, Kurs swung the chair in a tight circle, smashing it into Hengist's body, and sending him staggering backward from the small gathering. As Hengist stumbled, Arthur leant back, his arms folded across his chest. Mark reached down to grab his mace as Kurs stood facing his cousin, the splintered remains of the chair still held in one hand.

"Traitor!" roared Hengist and, having recovered his balance, he turned towards Kurs, anger darkening his features.

"Kurs!" Mark snapped at the Saxon and tossed his mace at him as Hengist charged towards his cousin, sword raised.

Kurs snatched the mace from the air and used the metal-clad shaft to parry the incoming blow. Following up the attack, he smashed the handle into his cousin's stomach, prompting a whoosh of exhaled breath as he winded him. Hengist doubled over and Kurs kicked him solidly in the back of the knee. As the man sank to the ground on one knee, Kurs swung the mace in a short but brutal arc to the back of the man's head.

Breathing heavily, Kurs carefully cleaned the mace using Hengist's shirt and hefted it thoughtfully, silence pervading the air following the short and brutal fight. "An efficient weapon," he observed as he passed it, handle first, across the table to the Cornish King. "Thank you for your assistance, King Mark."

Kurs bowed his head to Mark, who returned the gesture. "Efficiently used sir, and thank you for cleaning it."

Arthur had remained seated throughout the fight, his dark eyes intent on proceedings.

"You knew that was going to happen, didn't you?" Kurs' tone was mildly accusatory, but without rancour, as he addressed Arthur. He picked up the undamaged chair, rolled Hengist's corpse out of the way with a foot as he did so, and sat opposite Arthur, waiting for the king to speak.

"I had a feeling he might do something hasty. He had nothing to lose. He had brought shame on himself, and was angry."

"You read men well Arthur. So how do you read me?" Kurs sat back in his chair, eyes expectant, and a small smile twisting his face.

"I judge you a man of honour, by word and deed. You are now King of the Saxon people. I judge you worthy of trust, and have no wish to fight you or your men further." Arthur paused and looked long and hard at the man, staring into his ice blue eyes. Abruptly he seemed to come to a decision, and spoke his conclusion into the morning air, leaning forward intently.

"If you are willing to shake my hand now on this, there will be no further repercussions. I propose you form your men into a column and march them back to your territory. The borders previously agreed with Hengist will be the extent of your lands. No further bloodshed or tribute is required. My knights will escort you to your borders. You will be allowed to keep your weapons, but must promise not to draw them unless attacked. My men will not attack you unless they, in turn, are attacked. Do you agree, King Kurs?"

"I do," said Kurs leaning across the table and shaking Arthur's hand. "While I draw breath, there will be no fighting between us."

"So be it," said Arthur.

A ragged cheer went up from the men nearest the kings, quickly spreading through both forces as word of the agreement was passed on, and Arthur and Kurs stood up, still shaking hands and smiling.

Percival and Morholt, standing shoulder to shoulder some fifty yards up the hill, sighed in relief, some of the tension leaving their faces. Percival looked over his shoulder at Grayle who had remained hidden behind them. One of the last remaining arrows was nocked and ready on the string of his bow. Percival spoke, his quiet words almost lost in the cheering.

"You can unstring your bow son, I think your grandfather and Arthur are safe for now."

Grayle nodded, also relaxing, he hadn't been looking forward to taking down the Saxon leader if, as Arthur had so accurately predicted, Hengist had got out of hand, but now Kurs had interceded, the point was moot. "An unshot arrow is always a good one," he muttered.

"So what now?" asked Iseult walking over to him.

"Now? Well, now we go home."