Pendragon and the Traitor's Menace

by C J Brown

  As she looked to him, Arthur released his crimson cape, folded it in high ceremony, bent his left knee and rested on his right, before placing the folded Roman cape on the floor. He then removed the clasp that secured his breast plate. Polished to a high shine, the ceremonial breastplate was emblazoned with the Pendragon crest. Laying that neatly on the floor, he stood and proceeded to remove the other ceremonial attire of the Roman general and lay it out for the king. The court was in shock. He then finally removed his sword from its sheath, bent one knee and knelt on the other. This time he bowed as he laid the sword on the ground.

  “May this be the gift of all gifts that I give to you. May it also be the token of a solemn promise that we mean no harm or malice. You have my word that we are not here to exact war or disrupt the peace between you and your neighbors in the south.”

  King Fergus sat silent. Olivie suspected he was unwilling to reveal the pleasure that the young man before him had offered. The gifting of his armor and the promise of peace was indeed an auspicious start. Olivie could not help but smile. Arthur had read the situation and reacted properly.

  “Your gifts please us,” King Fergus finally said. “Now, pray tell. Who are you, and what gives you the authority to enter into peace with us?”

  “I am Arthur Pendragon, heir to the leadership of the Pendragon Clan, son of Uther Pendragon, leader of the Pendragon clan, and once heir to the throne of the Roman Empire.”

  “Well Arthur Pendragon, I find your credentials acceptable. But I find your intentions unclear. Why do the Romans seek to return to Britannia after leaving here during the time of my ancestors just over one hundred years ago?”

  “We do not seek to return as Romans. We do not represent the Roman government, the senate, or the emperor, Lucius. We come here as the clan of the Pendragons only,” Arthur replied, knowing full well where this conversation would lead. He had already had a similar conversation with Olivie when she had visited the encampment.

  “How is it the heir to the throne of Rome comes here with no intention of conquering it?” King Fergus asked, but before Arthur could answer, Olivie interjected and explained that Uther had been exiled.

  This seemed to upset the king. “We cannot be seen to harbor an exile,” he replied, suddenly wanting no part of the relationship with the Pendragons.

  “The Romans are not in pursuit of us. My father, Uther Pendragon, son of Constantine III, is the rightful heir, but the usurper, Lucius only wants to see my father and me away from Rome so that we do not become a threat to his illegitimate rule of the empire. He does not plan on chasing us this far north.”

  King Fergus nodded, pensively.

  “However,” Arthur added, “The Huns have been pursuing us up and down the peninsula and all across the continent. They were last in Paris. There is a chance that they could mount an attack. But only if they are stupid. Though I believe they are, I do not expect the Hun army to cross the Narrow Sea. One ship followed us, but we sank them. The rest are currently in a battle with the Franks. Whether they cross the sea will depend on who wins that battle,” Arthur answered, being as transparent to his host as possible but speaking without knowing the latest news from the continent.

  “I have heard of these Huns and their king, Attila. Savages. If there is a chance they will land here, then we have to prepare for war,” he said. “However, our posture of battle is not in defense of the Pendragons. It is in defense of the Highlanders. We do not wish the Huns to make Britannia a wasteland once they have picked our bones clean.”

  “I understand, Your Grace. But for now, we have no indications that they are coming, and if they do, we will expend what few men we have in defeating as many of them as possible. Even if we have to give up the breath in every last man’s chest.”

  King Fergus nodded. having evaluated he bravery of the visitor and found it to be up to his expectations.

  “I do have one request,” Arthur said, now standing in nothing but his tunic and sandals.

  “You have explained your plan for peace between us and the neutrality between the two original kingdoms of the isles. You have assured us you will fight against invaders. What else is there to talk speak of, Arthur Pendragon?” King Fergus boomed.

  “The plan for peace I offered as a representative of the clan. The promise to fight invaders I made as the general of a small but valiant army. But this request I make as Arthur, the man.”

  “Proceed with your request, Arthur,” the King said, the tone of his voice softening as he was beginning to like this man that was in front of him.

  “Your Grace, if my request offends you, allow me seek your magnanimity in forgiving me. I wish to court your daughter, and if she will have me, I hope to unite with her according to the customs of Britannia and the Highlanders.”

  Olivie’s eyes peeled open. She had not expected the request to her father to include the possibility of matrimony. Magi Ro Hul, the commander of the army that accompanied Olivie was shocked at the brazen request, but not shocked that Arthur had taken an interest in the princess. He had seen the thunderstruck face of the young man when he first saw Olivie. It was clear that his intentions were sincere.

  Fergus, a simple man, used to the art of the simple tongue was impressed by the gallantry of the newcomer and the sincerity of his intentions. He was more impressed that the young man had sought his permission and by the look of this daughter’s face, he could tell two things. First, that she was surprised by the young man’s request, meaning she was not aware and could not have advised him of it. The second, she was pleased, albeit, secretly. While no smile graced her face, he could see it was because she was holding it back. Her usually rosy cheeks were now a darker shade of red.

  “What are your intentions for my daughter, young Arthur?”

  “I would like to spend the rest of my life with her,” he said, knowing that he sounded puerile and audacious.

  There was an audible sound that reverberated across the court that witnessed the king’s affairs. The king, seeing that his daughter was pleased, and noting the look on his commander’s face and the general feeling he got from the man before him, King Fergus gave his assent.

  ***

  The captain had failed to keep his promise. It was an impossible one to keep, Bishkar knew. The sun had just passed its zenith when they arrived at their destination. Without hesitation, Bishkar mounted his seasick horse and began nursing it back to its former self. Before long, man and steed were in a fast gallop toward Pittentrail.

  At his current pace and taking into account the necessary stops to water his horse, he figured he would arrive at the Highland town just after sunset.

  ***

  The ride south, toward the royal forest in Demetia moved at an enhanced pace. Igraine was not just a lady of the palace, but also an established rider. The men and women who accompanied her were mostly within her employ even when they were in Rome. Husbands who fought in Arthur’s army followed their wives on the trip, disenchanted by the revelation of Bishkar and the chaos that had ensued. If they were there to witness Uther’s instructions to incarcerate Igraine, there would surely have been a revolt. They would not have been able to tolerate further mistreatment of Igraine and her son.

  Igraine felt the pain of loss, but it did not distract her mind from all she had to do in the immediate future. She was of the Demetians but had not been a part of their family for a long while, since before she had arrived in Rome and before she had been united with Uther Pendragon.

  “Why do we travel this far south, my lady?” Methula, riding beside her mistress, asked.

  “We are going home, Methula.”

  “I don’t understand, my lady.”

  “I was born here a long time ago,” Igraine answered, allowing her voice to trail away as her thoughts reached back into decades, past. “It was a time of chaos and promise. Arthur’s grandfather ruled the continent and had hopes
to bring Britannia back under the rule of the Roman empire. When Constantine III ascended to the throne, one of the first things he did was send an emissary here to study the people and the land. The emissary did a thorough job of surveying the land and its people. Detailed maps are still in the archives below the imperial palace,” she continued before stopping for a moment to let her mind remember the details.

  “When the surveyor returned, he had cataloged the sixteen tribes that were spread across the island, from the Highlands in the north to Land’s End in the south. And at the time, the sentiment against the Romans, who the islanders once thought were their friends, was poor. No islander would ever trust a Roman because of the betrayal they had committed.”

  “What did the emperor do, my lady?”

  “Well, he decided that the best way to unite the two realms was to unite the heirs to the two realms.”

  “Who were the heirs?”

  “Uther and I,” Igraine answered. “Uther was the emperor’s son, and I was the king’s daughter. Together, we were supposed to bring the two realms together.”

  “So, your marriage was arranged, my lady?”

  “Yes. And, in time, I learned to love him. But I just found out, that he never learned to love me. While I stood in front of him, he envisioned another,” Igraine said, her eyes welling with tears.

  “So, who ascended to the throne in your place?”

  “My brother, Megolin.”

  8

  Three Hundred

  “I come in peace to seek an audience with the king of the Highlanders,” Bishkar said sitting at the gate and shouting his intentions of to the large Highlander on the guardhouse above.

  “It is late. All business with His Grace and the Court of Caledonia have ceased for the day. Come back tomorrow,” said the guard.

  “It is urgent. I am heir to the Pendragon clan, and I bring news of a war that approaches this land. It is urgent I meet with him and his war council before they arrive. Once they make land, it will be too late.”

  “Heir to the Pendragon clan?” he the guard said, shocked. He had heard that the heir to the Pendragon clan had been at the castle and that he had received the King’s permission to court the princess. “If this man needs to see the king, I am certain the king will want to see him,” he whispered to himself.

  Deciding that it was the right thing to do, he dispatched a messenger to the inner court, letting them know that the lone rider was approaching. As the messenger made haste, the gates were opened, and Bishkar was allowed to enter.

  A guide led Bishkar to the inner sanctum where he was led to the king’s court. No one populated the otherwise busy venue. Bishkar waited. The guard’s response was odd, and he was not certain what had just happened. It should not have been that easy.

  The bolts fell open with the loud noise of iron falling on iron before the creaking of the large doors echoed through the chamber. Twelve men entered and lined up across the throne and around Bishkar. There was a chatter amongst the men who were now in full confusion. The confusion of the men and the chatter struck Bishkar as odd.

  The king entered and cast his gaze upon Bishkar.

  “Guards. Surround this man.”

  “What is my crime, sire?”

  “You will address the Highlander king as ‘Your Grace,’” said the prime minister.

  “I apologize,’ he replied. Then he turned to the king. “What is the meaning of this? I am the heir to the Pendragon Clan.”

  “I have met the heir to the Pendragon clan. You are not he.”

  “You met Arthur.” Bishkar quickly surmised that after the Highlanders had arrived at the camp, Arthur must have made his way here and left before he arrived. “Your Grace, I am the older of Uther Pendragon’s sons. You met my younger half-brother.

  “Summon Magi Ro Hul at once, and send for my daughter,” the king commanded.

  Both arrived within moments as the rest of the court held their collective tongues.

  “Commander Magi Ro Hul, do you recognize this man?”

  The commander looked at Bishkar for a moment and nodded. “He was at the Roman encampment.”

  “Princess Olivie, do you recognize this man?”

  “No, Your Grace. I do not.”

  “Yet, he claims to be the heir to the Pendragon clan. He says he is the older of the two brothers.”

  “He was not at the meeting of the two sides, Your Grace. Uther Pendragon, his wife, Igraine, and their son, Arthur, were the only ones there.”

  “What do you say to that?” King Fergus asked.

  “I was preparing for an important journey, Your Grace,” Bishkar replied. “That journey discovered troubling news and that is the reason I have come to seek your audience. I have just returned from the continent and have found that a flotilla is preparing to come against you. They will be here by tomorrow.”

  The news took the king by surprise. “Is it those filthy Huns?” the king asked.

  “Your Grace is well versed in the matters of the region, I see. Yes. It is the army of the Huns, led by a man named Lispania,” he replied.

  “How many men will arrive?”

  “They are preparing ten thousand men, but I know how to vanquish them,” Bishkar replied.

  King Fergus turned to his daughter. “Of what mind are you of concerning this development?”

  “Arthur did say that the Huns would consider an attack. He also said that the Pendragons would defend the land with every last man they have. Why do they come to us now?”

  “That’s a good question, daughter,” the king said, shaking his head and rubbing his chin. “Why do you not fight them like you promised? Why do you come to us first?”

  “Because they are not coming to attack us, they are coming to attack you. That is the first reason. The second is that I haven’t mentioned this to my father yet. I did not have time. If I had, he would have sent what small number of men we have to vanquish them.”

  “How would you be able to do that? You are no more than three hundred men, and the Huns number ten thousand. I do not believe you can say do what you will say you will do.”

  “If I had time to play games, Your Grace, I would show you how I would vanquish those barbarians. But right now, they sail as we speak.”

  “Are you saying you can vanquish Attila’s army with just three hundred men?”

  The sound of his King’s name sent a shiver up his Bishkar’s spine. The momentary realization that he was committing treason crossed his mind. But it was gone as quickly as it had come. He was not betraying Attila, he was vanquishing Lispania.

  “Yes, I am. But I do not have time to ride back to Inver Ridge and assemble my men. And they have been traveling all day. Most of them would not be fresh enough to complete my strategy.”

  “So, if your men were fresh and you had time to get to them, you could vanquish ten thousand Huns with just three hundred soldiers?”

  “Yes,” Bishkar answered.

  Turning to his daughter, King Fergus said, “This odd- looking Roman thinks he can make a fool of me.”

  “I believe he is correct about the invading Huns, but I do not trust him about being able to handle ten thousand of them,” Olivie said.

  “I am of the same mind as you, Olivie. So let us throw this court-jester a challenge,” he countered.

  Olivie nodded in agreement.

  “Very well, heir to Pendragon, we will loan you three hundred men. You will take command of them in the courtyard. Show us what you can do,” the king commanded. Then, turning to Magi Ro Hul, he said, “Select three hundred fresh men, yourself excluded, and hand control to this man. He will lord over their actions and their lives for the next twenty-four hours.”

  “As you command, Your Grace,” the commander answered and vacated the court to execute the king’s order.

  The king and the prin
cess were the next to leave followed by the twelve men of the court. The fourteen of them returned to the inner chamber to discuss the attack while Bishkar was left standing alone.

  A few moments passed, and Bishkar could hear commands being hollered outside and a company of men performing the orders that were shouted. A young soldier rushed in to convey instructions for Bishkar to follow him. The two moved swiftly and arrived at the courtyard, and as the king had commanded, three hundred men stood in attention.

  At the head of the three hundred men was Commander Magi Ro Hul, tired from the long day he had endured, but still very much in command of his troops.

  “Men, Magi Ro Hul shouted. “For the next day, until sunset tomorrow, this man, the heir of Pendragon, shall be your commander. Your life is in his hands. You will do as he says and die if he wishes. You do this for your king. Understood?”

  “Yes, commander,” they shouted in unison.

  “All right, Heir to Pendragon,” the commander mocked. “Here are your men. They will die for you if you command.”

  From the inner room where the elders and the king had gathered, along with Princess Olivie, they watched as Bishkar took command of the Highlander company.

  Moments after handing over the company, Magi Ro Hul made his way to the inner room where the rest had assembled. “What will you have me do now, Your Grace?”

  “Ride to the coast, mount ten thousand men on ships, and have them sail to the inlet. But do so behind the incoming Hun fleet. I will ride to the ridge above Dornoch and watch. If this Mehmet fellow fails, I will send the signal, and you can land the men from the ships and stick a pike in the kidneys of the savages,” King Fergus declared.

  Then, whispering to himself, King Fergus let out a sigh. “I am beginning to really despise these Romans. They have hardly been here a fortnight, and they are already causing so much trouble.”

  The king’s trusted commander left with urgency and gathered his captains. There wasn’t a moment to lose. If Mehmet was right, Magi Ro Hul calculated, the Huns would land by dawn. Reaching the army barracks, he sounded the gongs and assembled the captains. The briefing was short, and the message clear. An invasion army of the Huns was on its way, and this was not a moment to hesitate or nurture fear. The Huns had a horrendous reputation across the content and beyond. Even lands as far as the orient were aware of the Huns. The disdain for them was unanimous and unambiguous. They were universally reviled.