by Sean Poage
May the Christ guide you and keep you always.’
Gawain felt a new touch of sadness at the realisation that his tutor and friend would not be there when he returned. He turned the page sideways to read the writing scrawled along the margin.
‘My friend, Gawain, it is Modred adding to this note. I wish to offer my sincere condolences for the loss of your father, as well as my congratulations on the news of your coming child. Piran arrived here after you had departed, so I assured him I would have this note delivered to you. I have also sent gifts and your horses back to your home and at Piran’s request, provided him with transport across the sea to Iwerddon. I hope you are finding success and fame and will soon return to familiar lands to exchange lies with me.’
Gawain was thankful for Modred’s concern. The fact that he was able to provide transport for Piran and have goods sent so far north suggested he had gained much in the way of wealth and influence.
Gawain carefully folded the letter and put it aside. He sat for a few minutes, then dropped onto his bed and fell asleep, exhausted by the conflicting emotions, the questions it raised and the implications for the future.
When he awoke, the sun was at midday in a clear sky. He washed, then slipped out of his room and walked to the part of town where most of the market stalls could be found. He purchased new clothes and other incidentals, as well as an amphora of wine. He spent the rest of the day exploring the city, avoiding areas where he might cross paths with someone he knew.
As evening approached, he returned to the barracks and checked on his men. Most had spent the day quietly recovering from their own excesses of the previous night, not to mention the efforts of the past weeks. Gawain told them that they would have two more days to themselves, then it would be time to get back to work. However, he had arranged for a celebratory feast for the turma the next night, and this was greeted with enthusiasm.
Returning to his room, he was soon joined by a hungover Gareth. Gawain poured him some wine, which he mixed with water and sipped.
“So what’s on your mind?” Gareth said. “Did last night go poorly?”
“On the contrary, it could not have gone better,” Gawain said, staring into his cup as he swirled its contents. After a long moment of Gareth’s impatient silence, Gawain sighed and continued.
“The letter I received is from Piran. My father died sometime after we left.”
Gareth’s mouth fell open, and he nearly dropped the cup into his lap. After a moment he said, “I am so sorry, Gawain.” Gawain nodded, and after a moment of staring into his cup, Gareth said, “I had a sort of image of your father, that death wouldn’t dare to cross his path.”
Gawain nodded. “Piran returned to Iwerddon,” he added. Gareth understood that loss, also. “But there’s also some good news.” Gareth’s eyebrows raised expectantly, and Gawain managed a smile when he said, “Rhian is expecting.”
Gareth’s eyes widened, “That’s tremendous news! Is it mine?”
Gawain nearly choked on his wine from laughter, Gareth joining him despite his attempt to remain deadpan.
“I read it this morning,” Gawain said, recovering. “Together with what happened last night, it’s been a lot to take in.”
“What happened last night?” Gareth looked alarmed.
“Arthur offered me a place among his hearth troops,” Gawain said. He recounted the events of the night before.
“So what did you say?” Gareth exclaimed, eyes wide and mouth open.
“Nothing,” Gawain answered. “He said to consider it for a week.”
“But you will accept?” Gareth said, more a statement than a question.
“I…” Gawain paused, struggling with how to respond. “It’s an immense honour. But I’d have to leave our turma, and… Well, what about you?”
“What about me?” Gareth asked incredulously. “Gawain, despite common opinion, I am not your wife. Of course you’ll accept.”
“Every time I try to tell myself to turn it down,” Gawain nodded, “I can’t bring myself to think the words.”
“Why would you turn it down?” Gareth frowned. “You’ll have access to the most powerful man this side of Rome, not to mention all the sycophants around him. I fully intend to take advantage of that access.”
“That kind of access can be more trouble than it’s worth,” Gawain shook his head. “I wonder what my father would think.”
“He’d be crowing from the mountain tops,” Gareth said, then looked at Gawain thoughtfully. “Your brother will be leading the combrogi now. You wouldn’t be breaking faith to take service with Arthur.”
“Our family isn’t among the wealthiest, and following the custom of dividing Father’s lands between Gwalhafed and I would leave us both diminished,” Gawain mused. “Joining Arthur’s household would give me the opportunity for lands of my own.”
“Far greater lands,” Gareth agreed.
“And far from my home,” Gawain countered, then turned thoughtful. “Someone will need to take over the turma.”
“Don’t even think of asking me,” Gareth scowled. “I can barely handle the responsibility for my horse.”
“I should name you,” Gawain grinned. “It may spur you towards greatness. But I meant either Illtud or Cadwal. Cadwal is more experienced, but he’s also more reckless.”
“This is beyond my judgement,” Gareth shrugged. “But it sounds like you’ve made your decision. The details will come to you in their time.”
The next day Gawain went to the market to order provisions for the turma’s feast. Gareth supervised the day-long process of roasting the pigs and fowl. Etmic and his line-mates were invited as thanks for their assistance.
When he found the time, Gawain asked Illtud for a private meeting. After exchanging pleasantries, Gawain got straight to the point.
“I’ve been offered a place among Arthur’s guard, and I will accept it.”
“That’s wondrous!” Illtud exclaimed. “So tonight is also a feast of farewell, I take it?”
“Yes, but I wanted to speak to you about what happens after I’m reassigned,” Gawain said. “Hyfaidd may make changes later, but for now, I must choose someone to lead this turma.”
“Leading my line has been a good experience,” Illtud began uncomfortably. “But I fear I’m not up to the task of leading all three.”
“Illtud, you’ve performed admirably,” Gawain said. “And I’m confident that given the responsibility, you would excel at leading our men. However, I intend to offer the command to Cadwal, in deference to his experience and station among many of the men. I wanted to talk to you first to ensure you wouldn’t see it as a lack of faith in your ability.”
“Thank you,” Illtud replied, obviously relieved. “We will miss your leadership and example.”
“Being able to rely on you made my duties easier,” Gawain said. He turned to the table and picked up the book Arthur had given him and handed it to Illtud. “Arthur gave me this book to study and then pass on to another. A leader must also teach, and I’ve watched you demonstrate this well. May this be of use as you continue as a leader and a teacher.”
Illtud took the book excitedly, offering many thanks. They embraced like brothers, and he departed.
Gawain went out in search of Cadwal, finding him at the fire pits behind the barracks, “assisting” Gareth with the supervision of the cooking. At Gawain’s request, he sighed, set down his wooden mug of ale and groaned to his feet to follow Gawain along the city wall behind their barracks.
“I hear you’re going to Arthur’s guard,” Cadwal said with a knowing grin.
“I haven’t given an answer,” Gawain said, suppressing his reaction to learning that the news had gotten out. He did not want to give Cadwal the satisfaction of having surprised him.
“You’d be a fool to decline,” Cadwal frowned. “Aside from the l
ost opportunity, it would likely be taken as an insult. And others might suffer on your behalf,” he added, obviously thinking of himself and the turma.
“I don’t believe Arthur is that sort,” Gawain chuckled. “But don’t worry, I’ve decided to accept. Which is why I wanted to talk to you before I announce it to the others tonight. The turma will need a new Decurion. Will you accept this responsibility?”
“Of course,” Cadwal replied as if it were the most sensible thing Gawain had ever said.
They continued walking for a short time, discussing issues of managing the men, horses, training, supply and the myriad details of command. As they wrapped up, Cadwal stopped and looked Gawain squarely in the eye.
“I’ve made no secret of the fact that I should have been the Decurion all along,” he said. “But you’ve been an able leader, and it’s been an honour to serve with you.” Gawain, touched by the sentiment, thanked Cadwal, and the two men shook hands, then went separate ways.
The feast that evening was merry and raucous, held in an empty barn near their barracks. Gawain paid for the food and drink from his share of the treasure brought back from their expedition and gave gifts liberally to the men. The custom was part of the reason soldiers did not begrudge leaders the greater share.
When he announced his plans to join Arthur’s retinue, it was greeted with little surprise, as the rumours had already spread. They all congratulated him, wished him luck and drank his health numerous times throughout the night until all had either passed out in the barn or stumbled back to their beds.
The next day, Gawain told Hyfaidd of his decision to accept Arthur’s offer and that he recommended Cadwal to be his replacement. Hyfaidd congratulated him and told him to use the next several days to transfer responsibilities to Cadwal.
The turma was reintegrated into the army’s daily routine the next day. The cavalry’s mobility allowed them to patrol widely and kept them from the dull requirements of standing watch and many of the camp chores. But going from the relative freedom and excitement of their raiding expedition to the regimented and dull life of a garrison soldier would be vexing.
Sunday dawned cold and windy, with light flurries of snow in scattered fits and starts. Gawain attended Mass and then socialised a bit before walking back to the barracks with Peredur. They chatted about various things, but mostly about home.
“Are you ready for tonight?” Peredur asked.
“I suppose,” Gawain said. “The worst is that I have no idea what to expect.”
“Glory and riches,” Peredur grinned. They walked silently for a spell until they neared the barracks, and Peredur said, “Thank you, for accepting me as your armiger and for training me. It’s been a privilege.”
“Thank you for being such an apt pupil,” Gawain responded. “There’s no need to act as if I’m departing across the sea. I’m sure to be busy with my new duties, but we’ll find time to visit.”
As evening approached, Gawain, in his best clothes, sword belted around his hips and the green cloak pulled tightly against the blowing snow, made his way back up the hill to the praetorium. He was directed to the hall where Arthur held court.
The guards at the double doors turned to swing them open as he approached. The wind swirled the snow and nearly extinguished the torches inside. As Gawain’s eyes adjusted, he was dumbfounded by what he saw.
The long hall was dimly lit by torches along the pillars. Two rows of soldiers in full regalia faced each other down the centre. Arthur stood on the dais in front of his chair, his advisors clustered behind him. Each man looked nearly identical in his armour, apart from the face that showed from the helmets each wore, steel cavalry helmets based on the Roman design. Their cuirasses were of leather sewn over with small steel scales, overlapping like those of a fish, polished to a brilliant shine that reflected the light from the torches. The upper arms were protected by flaps of similar construction, while the forearms were covered by a leather brace reinforced with strips of steel. Red trousers showed behind the scale armour that protected their thighs, and the leather and steel greaves that protected their shins. Each man wore a sword at his side and held in front of him, the bottom edge resting on the floor, an oval shield with a gilded boss and a large red Chi-Rho symbol on the white leather facing. A deep crimson cloak was settled on their shoulders, pinned on the right shoulder with a bronze and gold fibula in the shape of a dragon.
Sixteen men stood on the left, each facing a man on the other side of the hall, except for the first place on Gawain’s right, where no man stood, but a wooden frame held the same panoply worn by the others.
After hesitating in surprise, Gawain strode down the hall between the lines in measured steps. Apart from his footsteps and the crackling of the torches, the room was utterly silent, and Arthur and his men stood like graven statues. When he came within a few paces of Arthur, he knelt and bowed his head, unsure of what to do. Nothing happened for long enough that Gawain began to wonder if he was supposed to do something else. Suddenly, Arthur’s deep voice rumbled through the room.
“Gawain ap Gwyar, why are you here?”
“To pledge my sword, life and loyalty to you, my lord,” Gawain answered.
“Does any man here gainsay his acceptance into our order?” Arthur called out to the hall. No one made a sound.
Arthur asked him several questions to ensure that Gawain was a Christian, that he understood the standards of conduct that Arthur demanded and the implications of joining his household. Gawain then swore his fealty to Arthur, hearing and speaking the words, while in his mind, he wondered what he was getting himself into. Arthur, mindful of the responsibilities of a warlord to his warriors, swore to keep faith with Gawain, to never leave the field of battle before him, to reward valour and loyalty generously and to repay falsehood and treachery ruthlessly.
At the end of the oaths, the priest, Cethtrwm, stepped forward and blessed Gawain, then Arthur stepped down from the dais, bidding Gawain rise and follow him. Cei and Bedwyr stepped out from where they stood with Arthur’s advisors and fell into step behind him. They walked to the end of the line, where the rack of armour stood and directed Gawain to set aside his cloak and sword. Cei and Bedwyr then helped Gawain don the armour, which turned out to fit him quite well, though it was much heavier and stiffer than the mail he owned. They finished by putting the crimson cloak around his shoulders and pinning it with the dragon fibula.
After he was fitted out, Arthur knelt and belted Gawain’s sword back around his waist. He then stood and directed Gawain to stand in his place along the line. Arthur then inspected him, nodding his approval and then went down the line doing the same, followed by Bedwyr and Cei. At the end, Cei and Bedwyr returned to their positions and Arthur addressed the room.
“Gawain ap Gwyar has taken his place alongside us. Let us welcome him as a brother.”
A short rumbled cheer answered him, as well as the cracking of shield edges being banged on the floor for a moment before the men broke ranks and gathered around Gawain to welcome the newest member of their company. They then proceeded to the banquet hall to celebrate the new inductee in much the same manner, though this time there were more songs and tales of exploits of the past to encourage each man towards greater efforts of valour.
The next day was spent integrating into his position and learning his new duties. These would involve more training and ceremonial duties than Gawain was accustomed to. And he was no longer in a leadership role. In fact, he was the junior member, but in such elite company, his influence was greater than nearly any in the army.
Gawain was assigned a room in the praetorium near the other members, and servants were dispatched to bring his belongings there. It was very small but much less drafty than the timber barracks, with a stone floor instead of packed earth. Arthur’s armourer took Gawain’s new cuirass to tailor it better to Gawain’s frame while another attendant provided Gawain with a new s
addle, tack and other equipment.
His next task was to visit the stables to choose a new steed. He would be allowed to keep his own, but the horses of Arthur’s heavy cavalry were somewhat larger than his. These strong, tall beasts were trained and bred for war in Letavia, where larger horses were more common than those in Britain. Arthur maintained the finest horses Gawain had ever seen, and after much admiration and inspection, Gawain chose a striking white and grey dappled stallion that the hostler said the other warriors avoided because of its aggressive temperament. The challenge to gain its trust would be a welcome break from the monotony of his other duties.
At the end of a long day, he was released, with instructions for the next day. He went to his small room and collapsed, exhausted.
The next morning began the daily routine of Arthur’s Guard, which started with exercises before breakfast. While Arthur’s guard was comprised of six hundred of the best cavalry and one thousand picked infantry, the thirty-two warriors of the inner circle of his household troops were his most trusted and accomplished men. Some held high leadership positions, like Cei and Bedwyr. Most were expected to rotate between training, personally guarding Arthur and performing tasks as needed.
This day, Gawain was to stand sentry in Arthur’s hall as he held court. Gawain stood beside the pillar to Arthur’s right and Sol, another young warrior, stood across from him. Two other soldiers stood beside the doors to the hall. The large room was draughty and chilled by a gust of cold wind every time the doors opened to admit someone or to let them leave.
Arthur was beset the entire day by a never-ending parade of supplicants, sycophants and bureaucrats asking for his judgement in matters civil and criminal, military and diplomatic. It was both dull and interesting, as well as eye-opening for Gawain to see all that was involved in governing.