by J A Cummings
Augustine thought it over, then nodded his hoary head. “If we name him Dux Bellorum instead of king, then his knighting will be as you have described.”
“Excellent.”
Merlin turned to leave, and the old man said, “If I learn that you have lied to place a puppet on the throne, I will have you burned at the stake as a witch.”
The druid turned and faced him with a raised eyebrow and a crooked smirk. “I wish you luck with that.” He left the room, slamming the door in his wake.
After storing her precious spell books away, Ganile went to the main hall of the longhouse and presented herself to King Hengist. The Saxon king was sitting on his throne, squinting, caught in the talons of the aftereffects of too much drink. His brother and co-regent, Horsa, snored in his own throne, slumped with his drinking horn still in his hand. Hengist waved her forward.
“Tell me what you’ve learned,” he rasped.
“The sword in the stone was pulled by a boy. Merlin claims that he is the legitimate son of Uther Pendragon, hidden away in some corner of Cambria until he came of age.”
“A boy?” he repeated. “How young?”
“Fifteen. A beardless stripling.”
Hengist stroked his mustache and said. “Did the other kings accept him?”
She smiled tightly. “They did not. Lot has planned to take the kingship by force, and he has agreed to accept us as his allies. He will swear his vassalage to you in return for keeping his kingdom north of the Roman wall.”
He cracked a crooked smile. “Is this boy truly the son of the dragon?”
“I don’t know. The entire time I watched Queen Igraine at Aquae Sulis, she never mentioned any boy child. The rumor is that she suffered a stillbirth, but Merlin claims this child is the one she bore. I can’t say whether it’s true or not.” She glanced at Horsa, who gave a hog like snort. She shook her head. “I do know that Constantine of Armorica has accepted him as his king, and his numerous followers have done the same.”
“So the boy is accepted, but weak, and there is division among the Britons,” Hengist mused. “Good. Then it’s time to begin. Cerdic will march on Venta Belgarum, and I will take my army north toward Londinium. I will send Colgren and his ships to Lindum. We will see how mighty this new High King is.”
Ganile smiled and bowed. “Yes, my king.”
She turned to walk away, but Hengist stopped her. “And what of your Briton bitch?”
“Discarded,” she said, answering over her shoulder without turning around. “She has served her use.”
If Hengist heard the hollow tone of pain in her voice, he did not react to it. He waved a hand at her. “Go, then. Prepare your spells. You will ride with me.”
“Yes, my lord.”
She strode away, grimly determined to punish all of Britannia for Morgana’s faithlessness.
Arthur sat with his companions in the basement of the cathedral, grateful for the respite from the crowd outside. He held the sword across his lap, his hands resting lightly on the blade. The cool steel was soothing, the only point of reality in this surreal day.
The hallway where he sat was filled with raised voices. Merlin had brought the news of his agreement with the archbishop, and the knights were arguing about the terms.
“Unacceptable,” Ector said angrily. “Is he trying to get Arthur killed?”
“Why can’t he just be crowned quickly and have the banquet later?” Kay asked.
“It’s not done that way,” Illtyd said. “The coronation must be a grand affair to reflect the power of the king. To have a half-hearted coronation is to say that the new king is weak. It will attract the attention of our enemies.”
“And declaring a fifteen-year-old boy the Dux Bellorum won’t?” Brastias spat. “This is absurd.”
“It may be the only acceptable course of action,” Bedivere objected. “There are many kings and lords who have not taken Arthur as their king. They will need to be forced to come to heel anyway. Better sooner than later.”
“This is madness!” Ector fumed.
Arthur spoke quietly. “I accept the terms.”
“Isn’t there a way to negotiate them into the fold?” Kay asked. “Maybe some sort of payment?”
“Bribe, you mean?” Ector snorted. “Bribe them with what? Arthur may be Uther’s heir, but he doesn’t have any lands to give right now.”
“I accept the terms,” Arthur repeated.
“He’s the High King,” Brastias grumbled. “He has all of Britannia at his disposal.”
“Be he hasn’t been crowned yet.”
Arthur rose. “I said,” he repeated loudly, interrupting the arguments, “that I accept the terms.” The knights fell silent and stared at him in disbelief. Merlin smiled and nodded at him, pleased. “If the only way to prove that I’m king is by feats of arms, then so be it. If I’m truly destined to be king, then I will succeed. If I’m not, then I will fail. I leave it to the Fates and God to decide.”
“But -” Illtyd began.
Arthur fixed him with a hard look. “Are you with me or against me? Do you accept me as your king or not?”
The priestly knight demurred. “Of course I am with you.”
“Then show it.”
The tattoo around his wrist burned, and he rubbed at it. When he touched it, the memory of his vision of the Morrigan rose in his mind’s eye, and he blinked it away. The Goddess was on his side, and had chosen him. The Macha, too, had come to him in a vision, bidding him to reap for her. The omens were strongly in his favor, and he could feel their power behind him. He took a deep breath.
“I will accept the title of Dux Bellorum, and I will call for volunteers to march with me. I will not force anyone to come to my side. If Constantine and his army agree to join me, then that is well. I trust that you will all fight with me.”
Ector rose and went to his foster son. He put his good hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “It would be my honor to ride into battle at your side.”
Arthur embraced him tightly. “Thank you.”
His father whispered, “I will never turn from you.”
Kay stood. “I will fight for you, as well.”
In their turn, all of the knights gave their assent and swore their loyalty. Merlin was the last to speak. “I have been with you since before your birth,” he said. “And I shall continue to be at your side, come what may.”
Arthur smiled, relieved. “My thanks to you all. Now… you are all land holders. What forces can you bring?”
Ector said, “As you know, my holdings are small. I can muster perhaps fifty men-at-arms, mostly infantry, with a few archers.”
Bedivere considered the question. “I can bring you the weight of the Cornovii. That will be three hundred archers, a thousand infantry, and fifty-seven knights.”
“I have no such forces,” Illtyd said, “and I have no lands. I bring only myself.”
“I can bring five hundred knights and two thousand men-at-arms,” Brastias said, “with the permission of my chieftain.”
“Who is your chieftain?” Arthur asked.
“Cornovus.”
“Was he here?”
“No.”
The young king sighed. “And will he agree?”
“I do not know, my lord, but I believe that he will. He is an honorable man, and he is a supporter of Prince Constantine. If you give me leave, I will ride to him today.”
“Go, and quickly,” Arthur nodded. “Our enemies will not delay, I fear, so we must not delay, either.”
Griflet, who had been sitting quietly in the corner with his sister, said, “My lord, if you need a valet or some other servant, it would be my honor. I was brought to Caer Gai to serve you, and I would like to do it.”
Arthur turned in surprise. “I have no need of servants, Griflet, but there is always need for friends.”
“I am that, my lord, and always shall be.”
He smiled at the earnest tone in the young man’s voice. “I know. And that is enough.�
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Brastias went to Arthur and bowed to him. “May God protect you, sir.”
“Thank you. Be safe on the road. Illtyd, please ride with him. I don’t want any of us to travel by ourselves.”
The knight nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
The two men left, intent upon their mission. Merlin smiled at Arthur with pride. “You are already what I knew you would be,” he said. “You wear this mantle easily.”
Arthur let out a short laugh. “There is nothing easy about this.”
Kay looked up. “Does anyone know what strength of arms Constantine can bring to bear?”
Ector shook his head. “I’m not certain, but he can draw from the majority of Armorica.”
“Kings Ban and Bors accepted me as well,” Arthur said. “They should be asked to join us, if they will.”
“I will speak to them,” Merlin said. “You have an army, Arthur.”
“I need to speak to Constantine,” he said. “Does anyone know where he’s staying?”
“No, but I’ll find out,” Ector said. “Kay, come with me.”
The room was quiet after the four knights’ departure. Arthur looked down at his sword and said, “I need a sheath and belt for this.”
“You will receive them at your knighting,” Merlin told him.
He nodded, feeling suddenly weary through to his bones and anxious to the point of nausea. “Thank you. If you’ll pardon me…” Without waiting for a response from his companions, he went into his borrowed monk’s cell and closed the door.
He sat on the bed and held the sword in his hand, considering it carefully. It was beautifully made, the weight perfectly balanced. The blade was inscribed with an interwoven dragon motif, and a rampant dragon was emblazoned on the cross bar. He shook his head.
“Pendragon,” he whispered to himself. It was his true name, and yet it was alien, an ill-fitting cloak that someone else had pinned to his shoulders. He rested the sword across the scriptorium and lay back on the bed with his arm across his eyes.
He had never felt more uncertain. He wanted desperately to do the right thing, to be a good king and a good man, but he felt more like a boy than ever. His inexperience was a heavy burden, and he felt it keenly. How was he supposed to command an army when he’d never seen warfare before? He was moderately comforted that the knights he had gathered into his closest circle, with the exception of Sir Kay, had all seen combat and were veterans of the ways of war. He would need their counsel and their support.
There was a soft knock on his door, and he sat up with a sigh, swinging his feet back onto the ground. “Come in.”
Merlin entered the room and closed the door behind himself. He looked at the young king with sympathetic eyes. “Are you all right?”
“No,” he answered honestly. “I’m overwhelmed.”
The druid sat beside him on the bed. “It’s an overwhelming task that’s been set before you. I would be surprised if you were feeling anything else.”
“Merlin, can I do this?”
“You can, and you will. I have the utmost faith in you. I believe, and I have foreseen, that you will be the greatest king that the Britons have ever known.”
Arthur shook his head. “That’s a lofty prediction.”
“Perhaps, but I feel comfortable making it.”
“Thank you for your faith in me.”
Merlin smiled. “Believe me, it is not misplaced.” He patted Arthur’s knee. “Get some rest. There will be many demands for your time and attention, and you will be worked to the bone soon enough.”
Arthur sighed and clasped his hands between his knees. “Will you arrange for the knighting ceremony with the archbishop? We should probably see to that as soon as possible.”
“I will do that.” Merlin rose. “Don’t worry, Arthur. All will be well.”
He watched the druid leave and took a steadying breath. He wished he could be so sure.
Morgana hesitated at the edge of the quay, looking at the ships from Lothian. Her sister Morgause was aboard one of them, and while she hated to ask for help, she had nowhere else to turn. Ganile had abandoned her, her master had not yet taught her how to travel with magic, and she would rather be chopped apart with axes than present herself to her husband again. She had considered going to Merlin, but he would only have taken her back to Aquae Sulis, which would have been a fate worse than death. She steeled herself for a possible pauper’s welcome and went to the gangplank.
A mountain of a man with yellow beard and hair stood there, his helmet obscuring most of his face. He had a halberd in his hand, and he held it across the gangway when she stepped forward.
“Halt!” he said. “State your name and your purpose here.”
“I am Queen Morgana of Rheged, your lady’s sister, and my purpose is to see Queen Morgause.”
He hesitated, then beckoned to a sailor. He spoke to him quickly in the language of the Norse, and the sailor scurried up to the main deck, where he relayed the message to a guard standing at the door to the king’s berth. The guard ducked inside, and after a moment, he emerged and nodded to the man barring Morgana’s way.
He removed his halberd from her path and said, “My apologies, Your Majesty. Her Majesty will see you now.”
Morgana gathered up her skirts and swept past him, boarding the ship as if it was her own. The guard at the cabin held the door for her, and she stepped inside.
Morgause met her with a ferocious embrace before she had taken more than two steps across the threshold. “Morgana! Oh, look at you! A grown woman now, and last time I saw you, you were just a little girl.” She took her face in her hands. “And you have our father’s eyes.”
Morgana smiled. “You are beautiful. Queenship and motherhood suit you.”
They embraced again, and then Morgause said, “Boys, come and meet your aunt.” Her children dutifully lined up. “These are Gawain, Agravaine and Gaheris,” she said proudly.
Although she truly hated children, Morgana smiled for her nephews. “What fine boys you all are,” she said. “You must be very proud, sister.”
“Beyond words.” She went to a cradle and picked up an infant. “And this is little Gareth.”
She put the squirming monster into Morgana’s arms, and it was all she could do not to fling it to the floor. She forced herself to smile. “He is charming.”
“He likes you.” Morgause sat on the bed and patted the mattress beside her. “But come, sit and talk to me. It’s been too long, and you haven’t sent any letters in the longest time. Whatever became of you? The last I heard, you were taken to the convent where Mother is hiding.”
Morgana pushed the baby back into her sister’s arms and said, “Yes. That was torture. I cannot tell you how I loathe the nuns and all their Christian piety. They are an illness that will make all of Britannia sick.” She glanced at Gawain, who was listening to her intently. She saw a ready intelligence in the boy’s blue eyes, and she disliked that he understood so much and said so little. “Can we talk without your sons here?”
Morgause seemed surprised by the request, but she said, “Gawain, take your brothers to the top deck and see what the men are doing, and if they have a use for you.”
“Yes, Mother.” Gawain bowed to Morgana. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.”
“No formality,” Morgause chided. “This is my sister, not some foreign queen.”
“Forgive me, Mother, but Queen Morgana is both.” He opened the door, and Agravaine and Gaheris walked through it ahead of him. “I would rather be too polite than not polite enough.”
Morgana waited until the door was closed before she spoke again. “What an odd child.”
“He has his own mind, that’s certain.” Morgause put Gareth back into his crib, then said, “Tell me what you need to say, sister. What has happened to you?”
She meant to be aloof and reserved, but all of her woes came out of her in a rush. “Uriens is a monster, and every nine months I was with child. I bore one son w
ho lived and the rest were misshapen and dead. I even gave birth to dead twins. It was enough to make a woman mad.” She shook her head. “After the last, Merlin told Uriens that I had to leave, that he was killing me, and it was true. One more child will be my last, I know it. That is why he took me to Aquae Sulis, to keep me safe from my husband.” She spat the word out of her mouth as if it was poison. Morgause took her hands, concern on her face. “I met a Saxon sorceress while I was at the convent, and she began to teach me. I learned that there is so much more to life than being shackled to a man. I left with her, and she was my teacher, but then she abandoned me. I have nowhere to go, because I would rather die than return to the convent, and going back to Uriens would be death indeed. Sister, please - let me come with you. Let me live with you in Lothian. I cannot bear this life alone.”
Morgause wrapped her arms around her younger sister’s narrow shoulders and pulled her into an embrace. “Of course you can come and live with me. There is more than enough room in our castle at Din Eidyn, and I would benefit from your company.” She hesitated. “As for sorcery, I have learned some of that myself, and we can see about punishing Uriens for his excesses.”
“I want him to suffer as I have suffered,” Morgana wept. “I cannot bear it.”
She had not cried in years, but now that she had started, she was unable to stop. Her sister rocked her like a child, and she sobbed into Morgause’s shoulder, wetting her velvet with her tears. She was just recovering herself when the door to the cabin opened, admitting King Lot.
She had seen Morgause’s husband before, on the day that they were both married and again at the pulling of the sword from the stone. In this enclosed space, though, he seemed much larger and more terrifying than he had ever seemed before. She cringed back from him, and Morgause rose to meet him.
“My lord,” she said. “Welcome back.”
He wrapped an arm around her still-slender waist and pulled her close, pressing a deep kiss upon her mouth. Morgause happily returned it, her arms around his neck. When they separated, Lot smiled at her.
“You do know how to make a man feel welcome.” He turned to Morgana. “And who is this?”