by C J Brown
With time already short, Arthur had no time to ponder the consequences or the possibilities of the current challenge. They were paces away from gaining entry into the complex that held Uther. It suddenly occurred to him that the three dozen men were part of an opportunity. It was certainly an issue, but they could harvest some food from it. His decision to fight was spontaneous and the men, all thirteen of them, charged a company of the thirty-six Roman prison guards. He only had one order: “Keep one man alive. Kill the rest.”
By the time they were done, it was exactly what the men had accomplished. A fight that had lasted a good part of an hour, now way past daybreak, had yielded the only break of the mission. They now had one guard in custody.
“Where is Uther Pendragon?” Arthur insisted.
With a blade at his throat, his feigned loyalty to the emperor seemed to vanish, but not quick enough for the men who were worried about what would happen in the event the signal to cease the attack was not given in time.
As the guard hesitated, Arthur swung his blade and cut off the prisoner’s right wrist, throwing the man into severe pain and shock. It was, however, enough to elevate his sense of urgency and make him point them in the direction of the cell that contained Uther Pendragon.
“Carry him. If he lies, sever his other hand,” Arthur commanded in a sudden display of brutality that his men had seen only under rare conditions.
As they made their way toward the cell which was located at a higher location, their fears began to materialize. Light began to pierce the gaps in the stone walls. A cold shudder ran through Arthur. He turned to look at his men who could see the light beyond the walls of the prison.
“Where is he?” Arthur asked once more.
“Continue up the tower. Uther Pendragon is in the highest cell.”
“You six, stay with him. You six, come with me,” Arthur commanded and began racing up the stone steps that circled up the tower, passing cells that lined the passage. Within moments, they found Uther and liberated him from the prison that held him. He was in no condition to travel, requiring the men to carry him.
But from the tower, they could see the edges of the city that had already begun rioting. Fires burned in the French Quarter, at the southernmost extent of the city, and the melee was spreading.
“We have to leave. Now!” Arthur shouted as they began down the steps to meet the rest of the men.
***
Meanwhile back at the Imperial Palace, Titus had received word of the chaos that was unfolding across the southern part of the city and moving north.
“Sire, there is a problem outside the Circus Maximus that demands your attention,” Titus said, his voice shaky and his words in a jumble.
“Leave me alone, Titus. What do I care about the street disturbances? An emperor has bigger things to think about,” Lucius replied, busy attending to his figurine soldiers.
“Yes, sire. But the problem is not limited to the streets surrounding the area. It is popping up in various areas south of Capitoline.”
“What do you mean?”
The southeast quarter seems to be having street demonstrations and numerous houses and government offices have been burnt. The same in the southwest. Outside Circus Maximus, the tax collector’s office has been burnt, and many of the dungeon cells under the Colosseum have been unlocked and the prisoners have been freed.”
“Prisoners? What about Uther Pendragon?”
Titus fell silent.
“Well, what about that vile man?”
“He is no longer in his cell, sire.”
“You didn’t tell me this? This is the one news that would have made a difference and you did not tell me this?”
“I didn’t want to anger you, sire.”
By the time Lucius had come to know about the rescue, Arthur, Uther and the twelve men that accompanied him had raced to the coast. They were to rendezvous with their men, almost ten thousand of them, who had instigated riots, started fires, disrupted commerce, and damaged roads. But, not a single Roman was killed by the hand of Arthur’s men.
13
Bishkar’s Rise
“Bishkar,” King Attila beckoned.
“I am here, sire.”
“We will camp outside the next hamlet and pause our journey.”
“Yes, sire. I will make it happen.”
“I have a task for you, my young apprentice.”
“Anything, my lord. My will is yours to command.”
“I want you to go to Verona disguised as a trader. Find out who planned the attack on my troops. Find out who killed my general. I want names.”
“Yes, sire. And, where will you be?”
“Waiting for you in Patavium.”
Patavium stood at the crossroads. Attila knew that if he waited there he could do one of two things when the right moment presented itself. He could proceed to Verona where his troops had fallen or he could head directly for Rome, although the latter was less plausible with the culling of his army. The sudden blow to his numbers had set Attila back by months. Raising an army of equal strength would take at least two years—sooner if he had an able general, and with Adolphus gone, raising an army would be difficult at best. But Attila wanted to attack now. He could not wait any longer to avenge his family and now, Adolphus.
“Yes, sire. I shall leave at once.”
“One more thing, Bishkar.”
“Yes, sire?”
“If you are successful in this mission, I will announce you as the replacement to General Adolphus.”
It was the opportunity Bishkar had been waiting for all his life. A new bounce in his step characterized his departure from Attila’s side.
It would take an army two days to reach Verona but a single rider could make it in less than one. With enthusiasm fueling his stride, the sharp-witted apprentice set off. Dressed in traveling clothes, trading in his armor for fur, he departed west.
***
“I know of Arthur,” Attila murmured, as Bishkar stood before him reporting the details of his mission. He had succeeded in finding out all that had happened in Verona. It only took three days for him to ingratiate himself with the town’s fold, lavishing them with money and tales of trade in the exotic east. Within a short period, he had gained all that he needed to know and a good idea of where the legion had gone.
Bishkar listened.
“He is Uther’s oldest son, and heir,” Attila continued, suddenly seeing opportunity inside the chaos. After a moment’s consideration, he looked up and chose silence as his initial response. “You have done well. Beyond expectation, in fact. As promised, you will now lead my forces, General Bishkar.”
“Thank you, sire. I shall work tirelessly to see the aspirations of my king come to fruition.”
Attila nodded.
“What would you do now? Should we proceed to Rome and lay waste to it, or should we proceed to Verona?” Attila asked.
“There is nothing for us in Verona. It would be a waste of time to go there. We now hold a strategic advantage here. We should keep it. The fact that the emperor sent the legion from Ostia to attack Uther’s men, means that there is an opportunity we can exploit,” the new general replied.
“What if we captured Uther from prison?” Attila inquired, seeing opportunity in the situation.
“No, sire. We will not be able to succeed there and we will not be able to win a battle with our diminished forces. I suggest instead a temporary alliance,” Bishkar advised.
“Never. Bishkar, you have spent a long time by my side. Do you not see that I would never forge an alliance with the Romans?” Attila was furious at the prospect.
“Yes, sire. I know you very well. But your hatred should be directed at the man who wronged you—Uther. He is now vulnerable.”
“He is, and he is most vulnerable while he sits in that Roman prison.”
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“You can be certain that Arthur is on his way to rescue him. We should wait. Arthur has fallen so far outside the emperor’s favor that he had sent an entire legion to kill him and wipe out his men. Lucius sees Arthur as a bigger threat than he sees you, sire.”
“So your idea is to make use of this momentary opportunity.”
Bishkar went on to outline a plan that would exact the revenge Attila wanted on Uther. The plan was more vicious and vindictive than Attila’s own.
14
Black Moon Rising
Riding hard, with his father in his saddle, Arthur moved swiftly to the coast. Ostia would no longer be a safe haven, Arthur knew. Heading south of Rome would be a poor tactical decision as the emperor’s armies could push them south until there was nowhere to run, but into the Adriatic Sea.
North was the only way out, Arthur calculated. With this plan, the men pushed their horses to the brink of exhaustion. Knowing that Uther was in grave condition, they had to reach a safe haven and tend to him. A fortnight without food and water left him barely clinging to life and the repeated jolts of a galloping horse was not the best way to aid his recovery.
With enough distance between them, Arthur made the decision to stop at the farm of an old ally. It was run by a loyalist to the true emperor’s line from Constantine. The inn had not been in the plan but would have to do for now.
They had ridden for a day and Uther, the general of the two most powerful legions in the Roman military was frail and becoming more fragile with each gallop. The innkeeper arranged for the horses to be tended to, then hidden, and the guests were shown to the basement in the barn.
“Where did you begin dragging the horse blankets?” the old man of the inn inquired. Having been a master tracker for Uther’s father when he was emperor, the innkeeper knew the tricks of the trade.
“Ever since we crossed the stream,” Arthur replied.
Arthur and his men had trailed the rear of their horses with horse blankets so as to drag the dust and obscure the tracks the horses made when they made their way. It was an old trick to throw off those in pursuit. But a master tracker could still read the gravel if he was even worth half his salt.
“Good, but that would not be enough. I will take care of the rest. Go and tend to your father. I will have food and water sent. Under no circumstances must you come out. Even if they burn the house down, you stay inside. They will not be able to find you in here.”
“I owe you a great deal, Cassius. You have been loyal to my family for many years.”
“I am loyal to the true heir of the throne, Your Highness,” he said, referring to Arthur as the rightful heir to his father’s throne.
“No. Please. Do not call me that. I am but my father’s son, and the farther I can run from the sin of Rome, the better of a man I will be.”
“And that is why, young Arthur. It is your family that needs to take back the throne and raise it up to the height it once occupied.”
“I can’t think of that right now, old friend. For now, I have to nurse my father to good health before leaving this place.”
“So be it. We will have the opportunity to talk again. Where will you go once he is well?”
“We have allies in the north. For now, we will have to ride deep into Visigoth territory.”
“We fought the Visigoths under your grandfather. They will remember your father well. I do not think they will take kindly to his presence.”
“I know, but I am hoping that old wounds would have healed with time. The wound with the throne in Rome is still fresh and therefore we are better off there than we are here.”
“Listen to an old man, Arthur. The Visigoths are not your friend. The Ostrogoths are allied with the Huns, which also makes them your enemy. That leaves you only hostile country between here and Paris.”
Arthur looked at the old man silently. It was clear that Arthur knew what he was doing but had not seen it fit to burden the old man with the information.
“I think I have said enough, my lord. Allow an old man to go about his business now. If you need anything, just make it known. Everything here is yours. If it was not for your grandfather, I would not have any of this. Now take this,” he said, passing him two bottles. “It contains the tonic that you will need to allow your father to regain his appetite and absorb his food. The blue tonic before meals and the yellow, after.”
And with that, the old man left, leaving Arthur at the entrance to the farmhouse. From the top of the mound where the barn stood, Arthur could see the expanse of the field that sloped its way gradually, then fell off the cliff into the Tyrrhenian Sea. Memories flooded his vexed mind with images of him playing in the pasture overlooking the bluest sea he could remember. It had been a time of peace that his grandfather had orchestrated.
Snapping himself out of the daze, the realization fell upon him that all that was now in the past. The feeling of clarity awoke his tired spirit and shook him out of the assumption that there was a place for him and his family on the Italian peninsula.
“No,” he whispered. “No. There is no place for us among the corrupt. We have to leave this place.” With a new resolve, he pulled the panel below the stall and descended the ladder beneath it. Closing the trap door behind him he proceeded down the well until reaching the bottom of the ladder where it opened out into a large cellar. The north wall of the second chamber in the cellar supported a rack that opened. It was not obvious to whoever stood in front of it. Arthur pulled on it and walked behind to a well-lit passageway, closing the panel shut behind him. Navigating the tunnels with ease, Arthur arrived at the location where his father and the twelve riders had taken refuge.
Seven days and eight nights passed and with the two tonics and a combination of nuts and cheese, Uther regained his strength—enough to get on a horse and ride north. The old man continued his visit twice a day, with fresh supplies and warm words. He would sit by Uther’s side and relate old stories of Constantine III, Uther’s father, and Rome’s most powerful general before he became emperor.
Between the tonics, fresh cheese, and the old man’s conversation, Uther raced back to the vigor Arthur was familiar with.
“Where will the men meet us?” Uther began, the morning of the eighth day.
“They will meet us on the road to Genua, a day’s ride from here.”
“When?”
“On the first black moon. Three days from now.”
“How many men?”
“All of them. From both garrisons.”
“You have done well, my son.”
“Where is Mother, Father?” It was a question he had been dying to ask his father but waited until the man was in better health.
“I have dispatched her under disguise to the north of Gaul.”
“Disguise?”
“She travels with Alera.”
“Just him?”
“Yes. Your mother speaks fluent Gaulish, as does Alera, which is why I chose him. They will blend in as they travel slowly. They will meet us at the edge of the Forest of Broceliande.”
“When?”
“The sooner the better. But they will find a home and wait there until we arrive. Lucius has no way of knowing that is where she is headed and so she will not be in danger. But the same cannot be said for you and me.”
Arthur nodded. His father’s point was well taken.
“How long have we been here?” Uther asked
“Seven days, Father.”
“And it has been peaceful? No attempts to find us?”
“None.”
“Then we need to leave quickly, my son. If they haven’t come yet, they will come soon enough. We have to ride by night and camp in the forest.”
Arthur turned to the riders. “Prepare to leave tonight.”
15
Peeling
It was the first black moon since the R
iots of Rome had given cover to the escape of Uther Pendragon. The emperor’s Praetorian Guards had begun to knock on every door and search every farmhouse north and west of the city. The more they searched for Uther, the more the emperor’s fury grew, swearing to have all the men in Uther’s legions crucified for sedition.
In the northeast, General Bishkar had already put his plan in motion. Being only a young general with little command experience did not seem to be a factor that inhibited his success. Instead, he made up for it with strategic prowess. Using spies that he developed during his trip to Verona he expanded the network and fed off the intelligence. Knowing that the emperor had spread himself thin, he convinced Attila to ride at the head of five thousand of the harshest and most vile of the warriors without the expendables in front.
Unlike Adolphus who believed in the spirit world of omens and rituals, Bishkar was a more pragmatic man—and significantly more ruthless.
“Take five thousand men with you and march into Rome from the west. It is the least protected side,” Bishkar began. A plan had formed in his mind and he knew it had to be worded well if his king was to move on it.
“What will the other five thousand men do?” Attila asked.
“Send the other five thousand men with me,” the general requested.
“Where will you go?” Attila had acquiesced to the plan even before it was fully described. Bishkar had put it as delicately as he needed to in a way that didn’t rub the king the wrong way.
“Some of the men who were in the garrison at Verona have packed their supplies for a long journey. It looks like they are headed to Pisae or Genua. It is unlikely they will return to Genua since there is a small company of soldiers loyal to the emperor waiting to blockade them. If we find them in Pisae, we can halt their movement.”
“What would be my goal with Lucius?”
“You will form an alliance—”