by Sean Poage
“Our king has passed from this earth,” Bedwyr said. “It is time for us to look to the future and carry out his final wishes as best we may.”
The next morning, Bedwyr roused his groggy men early and set them to a strenuous round of exercise in the steady rain. Still in shock from the news of a few hours earlier, there was little complaint or enthusiasm from the men. Intent on reinforcing camp discipline, and to distract them from their sorrow, Bedwyr pushed the men to a murderous effort, until through discomfort and exhaustion, their spirit was found again in anger and vexation. When muttered complaints and dark looks became common to the entire troop, Bedwyr finally called an end to the morning’s training and ordered them all to wash and swim in the river. The cold water completed the task of refreshing and reviving the soldiers, and while the mood was subdued at the morning meal, there was not the sense of despair with which they had awakened.
Bedwyr called Dalldav, Moren, Defon and Gawain to breakfast with him under a canopy beside the sanctum. In his typical fashion, he got right to the point.
“All dice are cast,” he said, chewing on a piece of cold mutton. “We gain nothing from dwelling on our sorrow, and Arthur would not approve. It’s time to plan our next moves.”
“When will we conduct the funeral?” Moren asked. “It would be difficult for the queen to come here, but it’s daunting to think of transporting him back to Britain.”
“We must find a way to do so,” Bedwyr said, thoughtfully. “Our king has not asked for much, but he made it plain that he wishes to be laid to rest in his homeland.”
“Perhaps Gundgomar or Syagrius would help us?” Defon suggested.
“I would not trust either,” Morgen said, stepping out from the corner of the building and under the leather canopy. “Gundgomar in particular.”
“You doubt their goodwill towards Arthur?” Bedwyr asked.
“Whatever their sentiments towards my brother, none of you are he,” Morgen replied. “Syagrius teeters on a knife’s edge in his vain attempt to preserve Rome in the north of Gaul. To counter the threat of Euric, he made an alliance with Childeric of the Salii that could be called desperate if one was gracious, foolish if not. Anthemius attempted to balance the scales by bringing Arthur into the alliance, as much to prevent Childeric from turning on Syagrius as to defeat Euric.”
“What does this have to do with us?” Moren asked. “We’re no longer in a position to defend Syagrius from either Euric or Childeric.” Morgen stared at Moren in exasperation.
“What value do you think your lives have once it is learnt that Arthur no longer lives?” she asked slowly. The open-mouthed stares that greeted her answered the question. “Do you think any great effort would be expended to send you home? On the contrary, Syagrius will be in even greater fear of Childeric and would attempt to coerce you into taking service with him.”
“Failing that, we’d be seen as a threat,” Bedwyr added, nodding in resignation. “Lordless brigands roaming the countryside, or mercenaries to be hired by his rivals.”
Gawain and his fellows’ spirits fell even lower as they realised their predicament. Bedwyr scowled at the fire.
“You don’t even trust Gundgomar?” Dalldav asked Morgen. “It’s said he would do anything you ask of him.”
Morgen’s eyes hardened, and she flushed. Bedwyr grimaced and looked away.
“Do you think that comes without a price?” she hissed. “I am not currency to trade for others’ profit!”
“No, of course not, my lady!” Dalldav sputtered. “I meant no offence! I merely meant that he might help out of friendship to you and your brother.” Morgen relaxed and shook her head.
“The Burgundii have no way to see you home,” she said. “And they have more to fear from the Vesi than they do Rome. Gundgomar is always seeking greater influence and a strong cavalry force, however unwilling, would be very valuable to him.”
“It appears we must maintain the ruse that Arthur is alive until we are secure in our own country,” Bedwyr grumbled.
“Time is against us,” Gawain spoke up. “Deceptions rarely have a long life.”
“That is true,” Bedwyr agreed. “We’ll need to move as soon as possible.”
“Are you taking charge of the army?” Dalldav asked.
“Until I speak with Menw, I only command the Artoriani,” Bedwyr answered. “We’ll determine how to reunite and who leads the army later. For now, we need to reorganise. Guin is seeing to that with the men at Avalon. Peredur, in addition to taking the wounded to the town, is returning with replacements for the Guard. Dalldav, you now hold Henwyneb’s position as Decurion of the Guard. Moren, you move into command of the second line. Defon, welcome to command. You now lead the third line. And Gawain, you have the fourth. Yours is the toughest job, as your entire line will be new members, while Dalldav and Moren each receive one new soldier. I’m certain you’re up to the challenge.”
They spent the next several hours discussing options and subterfuges, occasionally getting into heated disagreements, but in the end, they were agreed. Bedwyr sent the line leaders to prepare their men while he stayed and spoke privately with Morgen.
Gawain, with no subordinates at hand, went to the sick tents to talk to Illtud. He found him changing the dressings on a man’s amputated leg. The tent smelled of vomit, urine and decay. The wounded soldier was unconscious, flushed and sweating, and Illtud looked up at Gawain’s entrance with an expression that indicated the man would not likely survive. Gawain helped him finish and clean up, and then they walked out to one of the saltwater wells nearby to wash.
“I’m flattered that Arthur’s new commander has time to help a lowly soldier,” Illtud grinned.
“How does everyone know of my promotions before I do?” Gawain laughed.
“Bedwyr talked to me yesterday,” Illtud replied. “He offered me a position on the Guard in your line.” He glanced up at Gawain, noting his puzzled expression, and continued in a subdued tone. “I told him I’d be honoured to be a member of the Guard, especially under your leadership.” He paused a moment, looking at the blood he was trying to clean from his fingernails. “But I don’t feel I can commit to continued service once we return to Britain.”
Gawain eyed Illtud sympathetically, nodded and said, “I understand, my friend. No one may doubt your dedication or bravery, but I’ve feared the loss of your wisdom to our world. What will you do?”
“I don’t know,” Illtud replied, continuing his washing. “My wife would like to live near a town, so perhaps I could tutor the children of the wealthy.”
“You could operate a formal school if you so wished,” Gawain said. “But that’s supposing we can make it home at all.”
“What do you mean?” Illtud gasped.
Gawain looked about to see that no one was nearby and said, “Bedwyr and Morgen talked to us about the challenges we face. It’s been determined that we need a man of the greatest discretion and loyalty. Immediately, you came to my mind, and Bedwyr agreed. But before I say more, I must know if I have chosen correctly. Are you willing, on your soul, to keep everything I tell you in the strictest confidence, regardless of where your path leads?”
Illtud stared at Gawain before looking away and pondering a moment, then asked, “Will knowing bind me to any particular action?”
“No. If you choose to act, we’ll be grateful,” Gawain answered. “If you wish to remain uninvolved, no one will fault you, and only adherence to your oath of silence is required.”
After a moment of thought, Illtud knelt and prayed for several minutes, then offered the divine oath to keep what he would be told a secret. Gawain led him away from the camp towards the garden, where they stood beside the wall and admired the plants through the light rain.
“Our king has died,” Gawain said. Illtud dropped against the wall in disbelief.
“But... only yesterday he was re
covered,” Illtud shook his head. “We saw him inspecting the Guard on the field. What happened?”
“It was a ruse,” Gawain answered. “But necessary to get our people home.” Gawain described the discussion with Bedwyr and Morgen. When he finished, Illtud contemplated for a moment, then looked up.
“What does this have to do with me?”
“It’s well known that Arthur maintains thirty-two men in his personal guard, and keeping that number is essential to demonstrating normalcy,” Gawain said. “When we leave, we’ll need to be a group of forty to include Arthur, Bedwyr, Cethtrwm, Tegyr, Cyndelic, Gwrhyr, Amren and Drem.”
“No one would mistake me for Arthur,” Illtud frowned sceptically.
“Of course not,” Gawain chuckled. “Llysgadrudd will ride as Arthur. You only need to act as one of the Guard, which will draw much less attention.”
“What about the rest of the men, at Avalon as well as Blesum?” Illtud asked. “The success of a secret rests on the fewest conspirators possible. When the army is reunited, it’ll become nearly impossible to maintain the ruse.”
“Only the Guard is going to Syagrius. We’ll arrange transport for the rest of the army back to Britain,” Gawain said. “Success also depends on an aura of strength, so Gundgomar and the rest of the army are being told that we’re linking with Paulus to resume the war with Euric. When the arrangements are made, we’ll send word for them to join us.”
“I understand,” Illtud said. “I will play my part.” Gawain smiled and squeezed his shoulder, then Illtud asked, “What of Arthur’s funeral?”
“That’s being conducted, quietly, by Morgen and Cethtrwm,” Gawain replied. “Arthur asked to be buried in Britain, but taking him now would be impossible, so Morgen is going to care for him until we can arrange to transport him back.”
“When do we leave?”
“I don’t know, but very soon,” Gawain said. “Be ready.”
Late in the day, Peredur returned with his small group of wagons, several of the heavy cavalry horses and eight members of the Artoriani that Arthur had thought worthiest of joining the Guard. The carts did not come back empty. They were loaded with barrels of wine and food as well as generous gifts of silver and gold.
“Gundgomar sends Arthur his regards, as well as his regrets for being unable to come see him off,” Peredur said, then grinned. “He said he had pressing matters to attend to, but I think he just didn’t care to come out in this weather.”
“That’s fortunate,” Bedwyr nodded. “And these gifts are a blessing. We won’t be taking the wagons so most of the food and wine will stay here with Morgen. Set aside provisions for forty men for three days. The rest will provide for our remaining wounded. When that’s done, gather our new arrivals near the garden.”
The rain cleared, and as the sun began to set, the eight men gathered beside the wall. Bedwyr called each, one by one, to speak with him under the tent beside the sanctum, then sent each to wait in another tent nearby. When he had finished, he waved for Gawain to come over.
“All have agreed to the terms, of course,” Bedwyr said. “Introduce yourself to your new men and the others to their leaders. After that, prepare a short ceremony, and then we’ll see how much of that wine we can dispose of before we leave in the morning.”
“You don’t seem surprised that all agreed,” Gawain said. “Were you concerned that a man might dissent, and in returning to the army, raise suspicion?”
“Arthur had an unsurpassed skill for reading the hearts of men,” Bedwyr said. “But it doesn’t take a seer to identify the best among the great. Did you notice that you were the only one surprised when you were promoted to line leader?”
“I assumed everyone had been told before I was,” Gawain shrugged.
“No, just Peredur and Illtud,” Bedwyr chuckled. “The others have spoken highly of you since you joined. Not to your face, of course. Men offer only insults to friends they truly respect. Now quit wasting my time and get your lazy arse moving.”
The festivities that night were raucous and jovial, as would be expected of men departing for war. Before dawn, a much more subdued group assembled near the entrance to the glade. Drem and Cyndelic had already left to scout the road ahead when Bedwyr and Llysgadrudd, dressed in Arthur’s full battle regalia, walked over from the sanctum, with Morgen and her ladies.
“Arthur” and Bedwyr took their places in the column, with Tegyr and the rest of the staff behind them. Gawain glanced back to nod at Illtud, who sat uncomfortably in the heavy armour. Cethtrwm led a prayer, and after farewells, the column started out through the tunnel of oak trees.
They would go first to Autissodoro, a Roman city just within the territory of Syagrius, to re-equip and alert Syagrius of their approach. However, they started out riding back along the road they had taken to reach Avalon, to give the impression that they were returning to Blesum to link with Menw. Once they were well into the hills, Cyndelic led them north-west along narrow trails that he had reconnoitred, away from settlements and homesteads. It slowed their progress considerably, often requiring them to dismount, so that by the end of the day they had made less than twenty miles.
They set a fireless camp that night in the ruins of a Roman villa near a river. Llysgadrudd retrieved his own arms, while Arthur’s were carefully wrapped and packed for transport on a spare horse that Amren led. Illtud traded the cavalry armour for the kit of an armiger. They had some cheer from the cold fowl and good wine Gundgomar had sent them, set the watch and turned in.
The next day they travelled about fifteen miles through easier terrain until they came across a wide Roman road running south-west to north-east. This sped their journey, and they reached the settlements on the outskirts of the city early in the afternoon.
The sight of an armed band approaching caused alarm and, as expected, a force of more than sixty horsemen soon appeared at the top of a low hill, blocking the road. Bedwyr called a halt, and he rode forward with Cethtrwm, leaving his shield slung on his back and his spear with Tegyr. The captain of the Romans and another soldier rode ahead to meet them.
Gawain and the rest watched nervously. This would be the first test of their current standing with Syagrius. After several minutes, Bedwyr and the priest turned about and trotted back to his men, waving the line leaders forward. The Roman officer returned to his men on the hill.
“We’re to wait here while they send a messenger back,” Bedwyr said, appearing tense. “The people here know of the war, and of Arthur, but have little news beyond that.”
They dismounted and let their horses graze along the side of the road, while they adopted an air of casual indifference, sitting on the kerb, eating, drinking or relaxing, but always keeping a wary eye for any sign of treachery. The soldiers on the hill dismounted, as well, but kept a close, nervous watch on the foreigners below.
After more than an hour, the soldiers on the hill stirred and remounted. Bedwyr called for the Guard to remount and be vigilant. After a few minutes, the captain of the local force emerged on his horse, along with two others, not of his group. They trotted down the hill, but rather than stopping at the bottom, continued towards the Britons. Bedwyr looked about to see who was closest to hand and called Gawain and Cethtrwm to follow him out to meet the Romans.
The Roman captain brought an old soldier in mail and sword, but no other martial kit, and an aged priest in a rich red robe with a large golden cross hanging on his breast.
“Blessings of our Lord Christ be upon you,” the priest said, making the sign of the cross in the air. “I am Censurius, Bishop of Autissodoro, and this is Gabinus, commander of our city’s defences.” Bedwyr made introductions around, and the bishop continued.
“Arthur’s renown, as well as yours, Bedwyr, are widely known, so we are pleased to have you visit our city, though disappointed that Arthur has not accompanied you.”
“Thank you, my lord,
” Bedwyr replied. “Arthur regrets being unable to visit at this time as he attends to the war, but he has sent us on an important errand to speak with Dux Syagrius. We hope you will permit us a short stay in your city to purchase supplies and then permit us to move on to Suessionum.”
“You are certainly welcome to stay here as my guests,” Censurius smiled. “But travelling on to Suessionum would waste your time, as Syagrius is on campaign. You should do well to entrust the message to me, and I will see to it that he receives it hastily.”
“If my lord had not given me explicit instructions to give the message directly to Syagrius, I would gladly entrust it to you,” Bedwyr said. “Unfortunately, I would violate my oath to do so.” Bedwyr paused, with a frown and said, “We were not told that Syagrius was personally taking part in the campaign. The last news we received is that while Arthur is harrying Euric’s forces around Biturigas and to the south, Paulus and your ally, Childeric, are chasing Odoacer along the Leger valley.” Gawain saw that Bedwyr not only changed the topic but shrewdly combined the ruse with the truth.
After a moment’s thought and careful study of Bedwyr’s face, the bishop seemed to come to a decision.
“Syagrius is not engaging in battle, the last we heard,” Censurius replied. “He took a force to Aurelianis for fear that the city might be attacked if Paulus and Childeric were being misdirected away from the city.”
“He believed that Arthur was being tricked by Euric?” Bedwyr said in a mildness that hinted at the storm brewing inside him.
“No, I am sure that is not the case,” Censurius hurried to clarify. “But after Paulus set out, new intelligence came that Euric’s army was much larger than anticipated and that he intended to take the city his brother failed to capture.”
Bedwyr fell silent, staring at the mane of his horse until Censurius and his companions squirmed in discomfort. Finally, the bishop smiled and turned his horse about, waving for Bedwyr and the rest to follow him.
“There’s time to speak over food and drink,” Censurius said. “And we’ll dispatch a messenger to Syagrius immediately to arrange your meeting. In the meantime, you and your men may rest and refresh yourselves as our guests.”