by Sean Poage
At this, the room erupted. Gwyar had expected as much, and after a moment sat down to wait it out. Taking a drink from his horn, he glanced at Iden, who looked sideways at Gwyar and smirked, but did not raise his head. Gwyar made a point of not answering the questions hurled at him during the clamour until a few of the senior warriors brought the group to order.
“My lord,” said Eudaf, “For what purpose does the Rigotamos expect our people to join him in crossing the deadly sea and spilling our blood against people who do not threaten our shores, much less our homes?”
“And for Rome?” yet another warrior blurted out.
“Does the Rigotamos seek to bring Roman rule back to our lands?”
The tumult threatened to erupt again as the questions came faster, more demanding, more incredulous. Finally, Iden lurched to his feet, knocking his stool back.
“Silence!” he thundered. The room fell dead. He leant forward, his gnarled hands splayed out on the table, his eyes like dark pits of anger. “You do not deluge our lord with questions and then not allow him to answer. Sit down and shut your mouths.” He glared around the room as everyone sat. “Do not presume that all these questions were not already considered at Alt Clut, and most ardently by Gwyar himself. Our king has listened to the counsel of his nobles. But do not forget that once his decision is made, it is not for us to question why, but only how. And then to uphold our honour and see that his will is done.”
The room remained silent as Iden grunted, turning to right his stool and sit down. Gwyar, who had been glowering at the fire, looked up at the assembly.
“Not everything that affects our homes occurs on our doorstep,” Gwyar began. “Or so the discussion went. There is much going on in the world which we never hear of from our corner of it.” He paused, then called out to towards the door. “Fetch me a large bowl of sand.” A young warrior near the door scrambled to find a vessel and exited the hall as Gwyar had a space cleared on the floor and some additional candles lit. The bowl was brought in, and he used the sand to trace out a rough map on the dark wooden floor, showing Britannia, with Letavia, Gaul and the edges of Germania, Hispania and Italia.
“A javelin,” he demanded, holding his hand out until one was provided. “It may be easier to explain this if you can see the places I’m talking about.”
Everyone crowded in, as Gwyar used the point of the short spear to identify the different regions. Most had never seen a map and only knew the places described as fabled lands too far away to imagine. They marvelled when Gwyar pointed to a spot on the island, indicating where they lived on the edge of the world.
“The Saxons inhabit our island in these areas,” Gwyar began, pointing to regions in the south and east of Britannia, “and raid from these coastal regions of Germania.” He indicated the shores east of their island. “They’re also pillaging the lands of Britons in Letavia.”
“There are Britons across the sea?” whispered a youth at the rear of the group. The silence of the room amplified it.
“For generations.” Gwyar looked up. “When Magnus Maximus gathered the army and crossed to Gaul to claim the Roman throne, many soldiers, Britons, settled in Letavia. And to flee the Saxon revolt, some thirty winters past, many more crossed over. Their realms are loosely tied to some of the kingdoms in the Consilium that gives the Rigotamos his office.”
He pointed towards Hispania. “The Vesi are a people of Germania, but Rome settled them in southern Gaul as allies and foederati. They, with many Britons from the colonies, helped the Romans beat back Attila when he invaded Gaul a generation ago.” Eyes narrowed, some shivered. All had heard tales of the bloodthirsty Huns and their relentless hordes. “But since Rome has fallen into confusion, their king, Euric, has broken the alliance, taken Hispania and looks to expand his realm through Gaul.” He swept the spear point northwards through Gaul, towards Britannia.
“The Roman emperor, Anthemius, is mustering forces against Euric and dispatched embassies to the Rigotamos, asking for an alliance against Euric.” This brought a fresh round of grumbling that ceased when his head jerked up. “The Rigotamos consented and has already dispatched soldiers to Letavia to reconnoitre and prepare for the bulk of his forces. He is mustering his army in Dumnein. Dyfnwal has determined that we will send soldiers to him.”
He settled back onto the table and looked around the room. It remained silent as people considered the implications. Finally, Eudaf spoke up, somewhat more reserved.
“My lord, if we’re to spill our blood on this adventure, far from our wives and children, may we at least know why the Rigotamos agreed to this Roman alliance? And why our king would strip the defences from our lands to follow him?”
“Having subdued the Saxons here, the Rigotamos thinks he must chase them to their homelands,” muttered Mabon, beside Gawain.
“These same questions circled relentlessly at the council.” Gwyar sighed and took a drink from his horn. “Why the Rigotamos would agree to this is not entirely clear. He gave vague reasons, such as protecting the Letavian colonies, shattering the Saxon threat, halting a foreign enemy before they reached our shores, renewed ties of trade and support from Rome. Judging by the gifts he brought to Dyfnwal, he’s become quite wealthy from his dealings with Anthemius.” Gwyar stood and regarded his map, then traced the point of the javelin through the centre of Gaul. “He also suggested it would give us a source of plunder and lands.” This brought a low murmur of interest from the gathering.
“As for our king, he says it will give an outlet to our restless young warriors.” His eyes strayed to Gawain. “Most importantly, it will absolve him, and our people, from the debt owed the Rigotamos and his Consilium for their aid in crushing the Picts and bringing peace to Alt Clut.”
“Yet another reason the peace is a curse,” grumbled a young warrior.
“What of our own lands?” an older warrior asked. “Who protects our people in our absence?”
“We do not send all our warriors,” Gwyar answered. “Only one in four spears will muster. Volunteers, if possible. If that does not fill the ranks, we draw lots for families to provide the men.” He looked around the room, noting the eyes of each. Eagerness in some, uncertainty in others, resignation, greed, excitement, sadness, all ranges of emotion and motivation. He paused on Gawain, who stared down at the floor. His son had inherited his own stone-faced inscrutability.
“This is an opportunity for glory and great riches,” Gwyar said, rising. “But it’s been a long day for those of us who travelled from Alt Clut. Let all rest here tonight and save the details for tomorrow. We must make the most of our time. In ten days we muster at Alt Clut.”
That was sobering, as the men realised there was little time to prepare or deliberate. Before anything else could be said, Gwyar strode out of the hall. His first step square in the centre of Gaul.
The next dawn heralded a beautiful day, but few saw the sunrise. Excesses of the night before would subdue the atmosphere, but this day included a sense of thoughtful tension. Wives rejoined their husbands, learnt of the news, and the tension grew. Gawain was glad that he had spent the night in the hall with the other warriors. It gave him some time before he would have to face Rhian, and he did not know what he would say. He was not sure what was expected of him, or even what he wanted.
Servants laid out a light breakfast. Gawain took a handful of chopped dried fruit and went outside, blinking in the glaring sun.
“Good afternoon,” came a cheery call from the bench beside the hall. Gawain turned and saw his father sitting there with a mug, his legs stretched out in front of him. He motioned for Gawain to join him.
“It’s not even close to midday,” Gawain protested, sitting down.
“It seems to be, considering how long I’ve been waiting here for you to climb from your bed.” He smiled at Gawain’s expression of curious surprise. “It must’ve occurred to you that we’d have quite a bit to
talk about.” It was not a question, but Gawain nodded.
“Well? You must have some questions,” Gwyar said.
“More than I can find words for,” Gawain replied, then was silent for a moment. He looked at his father. “What do you need of me?”
“You’ve always been far more diplomatic than I.” Gwyar chuckled, shaking his head. “A quality you received from your mother.” He turned serious and continued.
“Our family is not amongst the leaders of Dyfnwal’s datlā, not among the wealthiest, and it’s fair to say my status is not as great as when Ceretic was king. But we are respected for our loyalty and our skill in battle, and I am bound by my oath to uphold the will of our king. I would not see our family dishonoured, though I am now too old to take this on myself. I fear that the sins of the father will be paid by the son.”
“Father, I would not shrink from any task you require,” Gawain said, gaining certainty of what his father intended. “You’re needed here to lead our people. Gwalhafed would represent us, but his leg…” Gawain trailed off. He never felt comfortable with considering his brother as anything but fully capable.
“I know, son,” Gwyar said, staring grimly at his feet. “And yes, I do need you to represent me and help lead our contingent. Only…” His voice fell to a whisper. “I dread to see you go. You’re the image of your mother, my last link to her, and my pride in the man you’re becoming gives joy to my lonely life.”
Gawain was at a loss for words, having never heard such an expression from his father. The few seconds of silence seemed to stretch into minutes. Needing to fill the void, he said, “I… uh, well, it shouldn’t be for any great length of time. I’ll do my duty and return as soon as honour permits.”
“Three times since the Romans came to Britain a fool has coveted the title of emperor, taken troops from Britain and crossed the sea.” Gwyar looked at Gawain. “None of those soldiers ever returned, and each time the troubles of our island have increased.” He shook his head. “I dread the consequences of this venture.”
“Does the Rigotamos seek the purple as well?”
“I don’t know,” Gwyar said, frowning up at the sky. “I don’t think so. But then none of this makes much sense.” He looked at Gawain and offered a slight smiled. “So,” he said, “how do you feel about this? I know you’ve fretted under the peace.”
Gawain, in light of the honesty from his father, decided to be frank, replying, “I don’t know. Uncertain of the future. Anxious about what to say to Rhian; what this means for her. How I will miss her and don’t want to be parted from her. But the desire to do my duty, uphold our honour. Excited in a way. I’ll finally have the opportunity to prove myself. A day ago I felt bogged down here and wanted nothing more than to see the world. Now I have a chance to see far more than most and yet… part of me wants only to stay here with my family and friends. I’m conflicted.” From the corner of his eye, he could see his father slowly nodding.
“Son, you’ve summed up the thoughts of every soldier since the Greeks set sail for Troy. I won’t demand you go. But if you decide to, you know well that Rhian will be honoured and want for nothing.”
“If I shirked my duty I could never show my face under the sun again. To you, our combrogi, our king or my wife. I’ll take my place in the muster.” Having voiced the decision he knew he would make, he felt suddenly lightened.
“I know you’re ready.” Gwyar gave a single nod and turned to look at Gawain. “And I’m confident you will more than uphold the honour of our family.” He sighed and took a long drink from his cup. Gawain munched a few bites of the dried fruit.
“It would be wise to talk to Rhian now, I suppose.” Gawain started to get to his feet.
“Hmm, yes, but a moment. There is one other issue to discuss,” Gwyar said. He sat up to stretch his back and took a bit of fruit from Gawain’s hand. “Tonight we’ll have another meeting to see where we stand on volunteers for the muster. Already the news spreads. This morning, before I could even finish relieving myself, Efrawg found me and begged a favour. In light of his service, I said I would do anything in my power. He asked for his son to accompany the host as your servant and that you would train him as a cavalryman.”
Gawain groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The warrior class was not, in those days, simply a matter of birth, but rather of prowess, determination, and especially patronage.
“I take it you’re not thrilled at the prospect?” Gwyar asked innocently.
“Peredur’s a pleasant enough lad,” Gawain said. “Almost too pleasant. I’d worry about stopping suddenly because the impact might lodge his head firmly up my arse.”
“Aye, I could see that,” Gwyar said after a burst of laughter. “Yet he’s loyal, strong and smart enough. He’d be a good servant and student. You’re not bound by my promise, but I had to ask at least.”
“Why would he want to leave his father’s apprenticeship in such a valuable trade? And he’s a bit old to start this training.”
“He’s, what, about fifteen summers old? A mere year or so later than usual. He’s trained in the basics with the militia, so he’s not a complete novice,” Gwyar pointed out. “As for why he’d give up his apprenticeship for the life of a warrior, I’d say it’s the usual reasons: adventure, fame, a chance for land and riches. But most of all for his admiration of you. For your part, it could be helpful to have a trained blacksmith along.”
Gawain considered why he was uncomfortable with the idea of taking Peredur. He did not dislike the boy. Quite the opposite, despite the hero worship. Rather, it was the responsibility for Peredur’s life. But he did not want his father to lose face.
“I’ll talk to them, Father. If they’re determined and understand what he’s getting into, I’ll agree to it.”
His father nodded, pleased, and they parted. Gawain had to now speak to his new wife, and he was certain it would be painful.
He entered their home and found Rhian, Gladus and Tarran cleaning up the disorder that comes from guests, while Torri played with Anna. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he saw Gladus gather up her children, telling them to help bring the furs outside for an airing. She smiled sympathetically at Gawain as she passed and he ruffled Torri’s hair. Gawain looked over to see Rhian standing near the fire watching him, her hands folded in front of her.
Gawain walked to within arm’s reach of her, then looked down. He felt a wave of guilt and loss that made him consider changing his mind. He looked up, into her eyes and was about to speak when Rhian spoke up.
“Gawain, my love, you don’t have to say anything. I know you have to go to this war.” He was surprised, speechless a moment.
“I dreaded coming to tell you. I wish I did not have to go.”
“Truly?” Her eyes narrowed.
“I… I can’t explain,” Gawain looked down again, trying to find the right words. “I’m torn because I don’t want to leave you, yet I don’t want to shirk my duty. Part of me wishes to put you on a horse and flee to the northern mountains.”
“And part of you wants to win the fame and honour the warriors of your household have long held. No, don’t protest. I do not criticise. It’s a burden for you to have to stand in the shadows of the older warriors.”
“That’s the selfish, prideful part of me. And I’d rather not offer it any gratification. It uses the words honour and duty to hide the true ambitions.”
Rhian sighed, taking Gawain’s hand and leading him to sit beside her on a bench.
“Gawain, you are the most honourable man I have ever known. I’ve seen you work yourself to exhaustion because you’d rather add another’s work to your burden than risk anyone taking a pinch of yours. I know you could no more avoid this duty than sprout wings. And no one else would work as diligently to bring our folk home when this is finished.”
Gawain thought for a long moment, caressing her hands. “I did
n’t expect the conversation to go this way. I thought you would try to convince me to stay.”
“If I convinced you to stay, you would not stay as the same man I fell in love with. It would eat at you, ruin you, and eventually us.” Her eyes welled up. “While I’m frightened beyond words, and I will miss you terribly, I would rather have a chance of getting back my husband than live with a stranger.”
“You will be on my mind the entire time I’m away,” Gawain pulled her close and touched her cheek. “And your love will speed my return.”
“Every day I will pray that God protects you, but you must not be concerned with home,” Rhian whispered, shaking her head. “Until you can turn your horse’s nose towards our door, you must stay focused so that you’ll survive to come back to me.”
“I do not know why God has blessed someone as unworthy as me with a partner as wise, loving and beautiful as you,” Gawain buried his face in her neck and hair to cover the tears in his eyes.
They embraced for several long minutes. Finally, understanding that both had to return to their duties, they kissed tenderly, and Gawain stood and went back out.
Outside he paused to gather himself. In the workshop across the courtyard, he could see that the forge was operating and smoke was pouring from the chimney at a furious rate. Curious, he decided to deal with the Peredur issue next.
Walking around the corner of the open shed, he found his brother there, speaking to Efrawg. The smith was examining Gwalhafed’s mail hauberk while Peredur operated a bellows for the furnace.
“So you couldn’t even avoid ruining my surprise,” Gwalhafed smiled.
“It’s for the best,” Efrawg said, squinting and tugging at the rows of small iron rings. “I need him to put this on so I can fit it correctly.”
“Put that on?” Gawain asked, surprised. His brother couldn’t be thinking of giving him his armour. It was a terribly valuable treasure he had taken from a defeated Scoti chieftain the year before he had lost his leg. It had probably saved his life in his last battle. Made of thousands of small iron rings, each linked to four others, it was flexible and very hard to penetrate.