by Hume, M. K.
Arthur paused at the top of the stairs. Behind Snorri, Thorketil shook his head fractionally, warning Arthur that Snorri was deadly serious. For an instant, Arthur felt anger stir, but then he realised that high-handedness could destroy his plans for the future, or break trust with his men.
He returned to the centre of the dimly lit watchtower so anyone, friends or enemies, could clearly see him in the reflected torchlight.
‘I owe you an explanation, Snorri, for you’ve been faithful and trusted me when others might have doubted. I knew the Angles would come tonight, because if Eoppa leaves us to our own devices, his enemies will presume that the Yellow Disease has fatally weakened his kingdom and they will fall on his warriors and his people.’
He paused. ‘I’ve been certain all along that Eoppa would wait until the women and our provisions arrived,’ Arthur continued. ‘In his situation, I would have done exactly the same.’
‘I don’t know what he’s up to, Arthur. I’ve been hoping that you do.’ Snorri’s confusion could be heard in his voice.
‘Thorketil?’ Arthur turned to the Troll King, whom Snorri had forgotten in the heat of the moment.
‘I have a feeling that Eoppa wants to hedge his bets,’ Thorketil said. ‘I think he’s been weakened to the extent that he’d like to make an enduring treaty with you that would hold off the rest of his enemies. I believe he wants to follow the path of friendship after this initial period of confrontation.’
‘It’s all possible – and it’s even probable! He hasn’t made a move against us, Snorri, and he could have done so if he’d set his mind to the task. He’s allowed our plans to proceed, so there’s something that he wants from us. I’m inclined to sit back and do nothing until such time as he tells us what that is. That man standing in the torchlight didn’t act like a failure to me. Eoppa wanted us to have a good look at him. He didn’t fear us: he challenged us to see what our response would be.’
‘I understand your words, master, but I just don’t see how you can remain calm,’ Snorri muttered, as he ran his hand through his thick hair. He had washed himself very carefully to celebrate the fleet’s return, and his hair crackled with life in the muted light. Arthur knew that Snorri was concerned for the safety of his wife and young sons.
‘Go to your family, Snorri. I intend to sleep so I can think clearly in the morning, when I must deal with a clever fox who has nowhere else to go but here in the land of his birth. Though Eoppa may be an Angle, he’s as British as I am. But I can swear to you that I’m determined to secure our future in these northern lands. Within the constraints of my honour, I am prepared to do anything that will ensure our survival. If I succeed, so do you.’
Snorri felt that thrill he had experienced when he had first met the Last Dragon on the decks of Sea Wife. Arthur had become the star that guided Snorri’s life and steered him into those waters where his hope for the future could finally be realised.
‘I will follow wherever you lead, Arthur,’ Snorri promised. ‘I have always done so, and nothing has changed.’
Arthur nodded, satisfied at last.
‘And you, Thorketil?’
The Troll King shrugged. ‘I’ve never understood the workings of your mind, Arthur. But I swore an oath to you when you picked up what the Crow King discarded. You gave me the pride I needed if I was to become a warrior again. This land is soft and sweet, and I’m happy to become a part of this earth. I must die somewhere, and this place is better than most.’
‘Thank you, Thorketil! And my thanks also to you, Snorri! Until the morning then, and we’ll see what transpires. Wake me before dawn, Gareth, and we’ll learn what the king of the Angles wants of us.’
Arthur was slowly surfacing from a dream in which he was entangled within a forest of seaweed as the Green Dragon toyed with his blanched flesh. One of his hands was reaching for the Dragon Knife under his pallet as Sigrid reared away from the fingers that had begun to claw towards her throat.
‘I’m sorry, Sigrid,’ he murmured as he returned to wakefulness. ‘I was having a terrifying dream. I hope I haven’t hurt you?’
She shrugged, but Arthur had already spotted the bright red mark on her shoulder where his fist had caught her. He leaped out of bed and made a belated attempt to kiss away the growing bruise.
‘Don’t be concerned, Arthur. No one can control their sleep horrors, and I will learn to be faster the next time.’ Then she giggled to indicate that she had forgiven him.
Later, a penitent Arthur was inclined to snap at Gareth who was, after all, only obeying his master’s orders when he called his master out from the commander’s sleeping chamber.
‘You’ll have to ignore my bad temper, Gareth, I’ve had a restless night. I assume the sun is rising?’
‘Aye, Arthur! Germanus sends word that the Angles are awake and are breaking their fast as we speak. They seem remarkably casual for a force that is about to go into battle.’
Gareth thrust a heel of bread, cold meat and a hunk of cheese towards Arthur. ‘Germanus has sent this food to you, and some beer too.’
After climbing up to the tower, Arthur looked over Segedunum and the surrounding lands under the control of Eoppa’s forces. The Dene warriors were already guarding the southern entry and those watchtowers where the captains and bowmen were at their posts.
Arthur was standing on the parapet in his tunic and mailed shirt, with his golden arms bare except for his armlets. His unbound hair flowed down his back. Few warriors remained alive who had seen Artor in all his grandeur in the glory days of yesteryear; but Eoppa had, and, for a moment, the king felt the solid earth shake beneath his boots.
‘How long ago was it when we were at Cataractonium, or whatever it was that those Roman bastards called home?’ Eoppa asked a scarred old veteran standing beside him.
‘We were youngsters then, master. Only boys! And we were far too young to be in those fucking swamps where the British king almost beat us.’
‘He hurt us badly. And the Saxon lordling lost his head, didn’t he? Forty years ago? It’s been a long time, my friend.’
‘Easily forty years, master! The Dragon King was old then and was well past his prime. Him and that bastard nephew of his had almost finished us and they would have done for us if the country down south hadn’t caught fire and the bastard wasn’t killed by his Brigante kinsman. Odin was with us on that day.’
The retainer at Eoppa’s side was too old for battle, and Eoppa could feel their fires dimming as they both moved closer to their inevitable deaths. His own eyes were still sharp, thanks to Odin, and he was grateful that he could still recall things from the past that were as clear as the present.
‘Can you see a resemblance between King Artor and the young man above us, my friend? Or am I becoming a little crazed after the troubles that have beset us?’
The retainer stared up at the tall figure standing in the guard tower with the morning light behind him. Something about that red-gold hair, curling and vigorous, jogged his memory – but the hair he recalled seeing had been of a lighter shade, greyer and shorter.
‘It’s not possible! These raiders are Dene, so there’s no possibility of both men being kin. You’re seeing ghosts from the past, master.’ The servant’s face had paled when he had considered what was passing through Eoppa’s mind.
‘But you are seeing the same ghosts, aren’t you? It’s possible that this young man’s presence might provide us with great advantages.’
Arthur could see the two gesticulating as they pointed at him. One good spear cast would strike them down, yet Eoppa seemed to be uninterested in his own safety, although he was surrounded by fully armed warriors.
‘It’s time to see what Eoppa wants,’ Arthur decided. A light breeze had risen and the sun was sending long shafts of light across the walls of the fortress. He walked to the very edge of the watchtowe
r and shouted out into the morning, trusting that the wind would carry his voice to the Anglii king.
‘Are we going to stand here and piss at each other, or are we going to fight? Or would you prefer to talk?’
Eoppa ignored Arthur and continued to talk quietly with his servant.
‘Do you hear me, Eoppa? I, Arthur, the Last Dragon, am quite prepared to sit here astride old Segedunum until your bones take root in the soil.’
Once again, Eoppa appeared oblivious, although the old servant raised his head at the mention of Arthur’s name.
That the canny old king was ignoring him made Arthur’s captains nervous. Worse still, he was losing the respect of Eoppa’s warriors.
‘Are there any signs of treachery from around the fort or down at the river?’ Arthur demanded.
Within minutes, word came back that the Anglii troops seemed to be at rest and were simply waiting, although no one could fathom why. ‘We’re awaiting Eoppa’s pleasure,’ Arthur decided gruffly. ‘I’ll not push him any further.’
Another ten minutes passed dismally before Eoppa finally made up his mind. The retainer was despatched to the edge of the ditch from where he delivered Eoppa’s message to Arthur’s waiting command.
‘My lord Arthur! Eoppa, King of the Northern Angles, invites you to meet with him outside the fortress. If you require proof of our integrity, our men will retire to a point ten spear lengths from where you will carry out your discussions. The only additional Anglii warriors present will be the king’s personal guard. You, of course, shall have the same number of guards behind you. We do not care if you have archers trained on us, for we do not have treasonous intentions and we aren’t liars. What say you, Arthur, the Last Dragon of Britain? Do you answer yea or nay?’
Arthur was halfway down the stairs with eagerness before the servant had finished. How did Eoppa know I was a Briton? he wondered. It’s of little moment now, for I can worry about that later. Calm down, fool! He’ll know you’re too eager.
‘Gareth! Germanus! Ten men, please! In full gear! Call for volunteers, because they’ll be locked outside the southern gate until the negotiations are completed, or we come to blows. You may join me, but only if you so wish.’
Gareth ran to obey his master’s command. Most of the Dene warriors were eager to volunteer, but Germanus and Gareth were careful to select young, single and impressive men, although Snorri would not be denied and was added to the party.
Once the guard was assembled, Arthur ordered the gate to be opened briefly while he led his men from the fortress in single file. His inner voice remained silent.
The sound of that great and ancient gate thudding closed behind them seemed to echo through the hearts of the guards, yet not a flicker of fear was revealed in the handsome faces that gazed out at their opposite numbers among the Anglii guards on the other side of the ditch. Their faces and figures were virtually identical to those of their enemies; the Angles and the Dene were roots that fed the same tree.
Arthur paused long enough to evaluate Eoppa’s position, then leaped down to join him.
From a distance of a few feet, both men carefully surveyed each other.
Eoppa’s noble face revealed all the cares of kingship and a long life. Although his jaw was still strong, the flesh on his face had sagged towards the stern jawbone, while his keen blue eyes were buried in a network of fine lines. His hair was still very thick and straight, although it seemed dirty and greasy. However, in every other respect, the simply dressed king shone with cleanliness, an unusual trait among Saxon and Anglii tribesmen.
Eoppa’s face expressed no sign of nervousness. This man was at home within his own skin and was comfortable with any decisions he made.
‘Before we begin our discussion, young man, I have one question I would ask of you,’ Eoppa said firmly. ‘Would you satisfy the curiosity of an old man and clarify a memory from out of the distant past?’
‘Aye! I will happily answer all reasonable questions.’
‘Can you place your forebears among the kin of Artor, the Dragon King, who ruled the Britons for so many years? Your use of the Last Dragon title was evocative. That great man has been dead now for near to thirty years. I should state that I saw him forty years ago when he decimated our army outside of Cataractonium, and I will never forget him, and his wolfish eyes. In fact, I can see the delineations of the Dragon King in your face. Am I wrong?’
Arthur lowered his gaze as he thought hard on his response.
‘Why should I answer you with honesty?’ he finally replied.
Eoppa sighed. ‘Your answer will determine the way we treat with each other, young man. You must decide for yourself if we are to speak freely, and as honest men? We are leaders struggling for dominance while involved in difficult negotiations, so it’s up to you.’
Arthur could hear what Eoppa was choosing not to say, for no treaty could hope to succeed if there were secrets between them. Arthur wanted land, and Eoppa wanted vassals. But both could only be achieved if the partners could depend on each other.
‘I am the bastard son of Artor, High King of the Britons, my lord. My mother was Elayne, wife of Bedwyr, the Master of Arden. It would be unwise to think I could be ransomed to my kinsmen Bran and Ector; Bran would order you to kill me, but then he’d use my death as a rallying point to inflame the northern Britons against you. He’d never pay a reward for me, alive or dead. He would be angry to discover that I was alive and back in Britain, for he’s been content to think of me as dead in recent years. The Dene captured me, used me and made me a successful leader. But I’ve come home now, and I intend to forge my own kingdom in Britannia, whatever others might do or say.’
Eoppa smiled with satisfaction, something Arthur had not been expecting.
‘I’m a fortunate man then, as I hope you’ll soon appreciate. After the death of my son and my dishonourable dealings with your Bran, I had come to believe that the loss of all my male heirs was Asgaad’s judgement on me for my own perfidy. Your kinsman poisons everything he touches, of that I’m certain.’
The old man paused and carefully considered his next words before continuing.
‘Perhaps you can offer me one last chance to create a great and stable kingdom here in the north of Britannia, a place where your people and mine can work together for our mutual wealth and prosperity. Your kinsman used my influence to destroy the Otadini tribe, but such treason can be revenged. Best of all, I could erase my guilt over my dealings with Bran, a man whose very name offends my mouth.’
‘We’re certainly in agreement in that regard. I’ve become tired of serving others, and I’m reluctant to rely on treaties with other rulers, regardless of their reputations. For right or wrong, I want to forge my own kingdom. A treaty offers peace and prosperity to our peoples, but any conflict between us would destroy us both. The stakes are very high.’
Eoppa reached out his ungloved hand to grip Arthur lightly on the forearm, careless of Thorketil’s bow that was immediately drawn with an arrow pointed directly at the old man’s heart.
‘Walk with me, lad, and I’ll try to explain how I believe our aims can be realised. If we came to a satisfactory agreement, I would hold my northern realm and you would succeed me as the king of all the lands where our joined people will live and mate together. In this domain we would all become Britons who are strong, clever and united as no other peoples have ever been in these isles. I offer you the north, Arthur ap Artor. All I will ask in return is that you should wed my daughter, father sons on her and take the name of my dead son, Ida. I am reluctant to allow his name to vanish from his home.’
In the wake of Eoppa’s impassioned speech, the silence was complete.
Even the morning birdsongs seemed stilled as the world waited for Arthur’s answer. He could clearly envisage a multitude of fair-haired people who populated a vast tract of the north and
beyond to the mountain chains, where the noble dreams of Artor would finally be achieved. All Arthur had to do was to deny his own name.
He cleared his suddenly constricted throat. ‘You have my attention, Lord Eoppa. Explain the details so I can make my final decision.’
Eoppa, too, had briefly seen the possibilities of the future, and he knew that Arthur would choose to follow his advice. The King of Winter was about to be born.
‘Walk with me, my boy, and I’ll explain my plans.’
So an old king and a young warrior strolled amicably along the winding trench. Their bodyguards remained at a respectful distance, but still close enough that both men were protected. The two men walked and talked as the sun continued to rise into the heavens and its summer rays burned the faces of the guards awaiting the pleasure of their masters.
Then, with a hand clasp, the treaty was made between two great Britons.
CHAPTER XXI
ADVENT
When the bottle has just been opened, and when it’s giving out, drink deep;
Be sparing when it’s half-full, but it’s useless to spare the fag end.
Hesiod, Works and Days
The sun rose on a damp and miserable autumn morning. Falling leaves had gathered in drifts under the trees before the gusty winds sent a torrent of scarlet swirling around him as Arthur strode from his campaign tent. As bare branches rattled hollowly, a chill breeze raised the hair at the back of his neck under his helm and he felt a wight rake its cold fingers down his spine.
So much had occurred in a little over a year. Arthur gazed down the tunnel of time that stretched from the day he had extracted a generous treaty from Eoppa until this morning when he found himself standing on a bluff overlooking the green pastures of the narrow coastal strip. Around him, armies had been assembled and, in the grim hours to come, warriors would be trampled, pierced, crushed and slashed to death along that strip. In the coming conflict, enemies were friends and friends were enemies; the ironies of power stretched out inexorably before Arthur and his mailed feet.