The Retreat to Avalon (The Arthurian Age Book 1)

by Sean Poage

  “Well it won’t do much good hanging off you like a wet nurse’s gown, will it?” Gwalhafed chuckled, hobbling over to direct him in closer to Efrawg. “Don’t even think of refusing. I have no use for it these days, and even if I did, I’d rather see it on you for what’s ahead.”

  “Place these on your shoulders,” Efrawg handed him some folded rags. “They’ll have to mimic the padding until you’re fitted with a proper arming shirt.”

  The pads in place, Efrawg lifted the mail shirt up over Gawain’s head and settled it over his shoulders. The fine iron rings flowed like water down his torso. Gwalhafed was only slightly taller than his brother, but thicker across the chest and shoulders. On Gawain, it hung much too loosely. It had short sleeves that ended at his elbows, and it protected down to mid-thigh. The front and rear were split at the bottom, nearly up to his groin, to protect the legs without inhibiting movement. The back was split from the neck to halfway down, with leather laces to close the shirt.

  Efrawg fussed about, using a piece of chalk to make lines along the armour before unlacing the back and helping Gawain to remove it.

  “I’m teaching Peredur to mend mail, so altering this to fit you will be good practice for him,” Efrawg said.

  “Thank you, Efrawg,” Gawain answered. “If he’s inherited half your skill, he will be a great smith.” Efrawg smiled proudly, glancing at Peredur, who looked nervous.

  “Actually,” Gawain continued, “I’m here to speak to you about Peredur, and your request of my father.” Efrawg set the armour down on a bench and nodded. “You wish for me to take Peredur on as my servant and train him as a cavalry soldier?”

  “It’s not my wish, my lord, but that of my son. His head’s filled with dreams of adventure and glory, and he’d follow you to the bottom of the sea.” Peredur’s face flushed red, but he kept the bellows moving.

  “You don’t want him to do this?” Gawain felt a mixture of relief and a touch of disappointment that surprised him.

  “Myself, no. I would rather he learn my trade and take my tools in his time. He should be here, not chasing dragons and barbarians.” Efrawg sighed. “But I don’t want to hold him back. A taste of the world might be good for him, and he may return more focused on learning than he currently is.”

  “Our cavalry begin training no later than fourteen summers. He’s a bit beyond that now, and there won’t be time to fully prepare him before he may be in harm’s way.”

  “But I’ve trained with the spear and shield since I was ten!” Peredur stepped away from the furnace, panic on his face. “And you’ve already taught me much about horsemanship!”

  “Boy! The bellows!” Efrawg barked. Peredur jumped back to the forge. Efrawg turned back to Gawain. “He’s a good boy, hardworking and loyal. He knows iron better than many twice his age, and he would be a good servant to you.”

  “I know he would. But we’re going far from our homes, with no guarantee that any of us will ever return. I could not bear the shame if I failed to bring him back.”

  “I am confident of my son’s life in your hands,” Efrawg looked gravely at Gawain, “and there is no one I would trust more to bring him home again.”

  Gawain glanced at his brother, then back to Peredur, who stared, wide-eyed.

  “Peredur, this is your wish? To leave your home and journey into peril as my armiger?”

  “Yes, my lord!” Peredur exclaimed, nearly forgetting the bellows again. “Er, is armiger an apprentice?”

  “Yes.” Gawain chuckled. “More specifically, it’s Latin, meaning arms-bearer. You will act as my servant in all things and swear your life to me for as long as you serve me. Do you understand? Do you wish this?”

  “Yes, my lord!” Peredur bowed his head, smiling.

  “I would be honoured to take your son as my armiger,” Gawain said, turning back to Efrawg. Peredur leapt in joy as Efrawg bowed his head with a look of appreciation and sorrow. “We have little time to prepare, so may I have him first thing in the morning?”

  “Of course, my lord, and thank you.”

  They shook hands, and Gawain turned to leave, Gwalhafed standing to follow him into the courtyard.

  “That’s about what I expected,” Gwalhafed said. He stopped and banged his wooden shin against a post several times. “How can this block of wood get an itch? And one I cannot scratch! There’s no flesh there, yet I would swear I’m wiggling my toes right now.”

  “Perhaps the ghost of your departed leg?” Gawain shrugged. He stopped and turned around. “You think I shouldn’t have taken him on?”

  “No, it’s not that. I knew you’d take him with you. You’re ever the mentor. And if you’re to lead our men, you’ll need an aide.”

  “Lead?” Gawain was incredulous. “I wouldn’t be chosen. I’ve never faced the enemy.”

  “You display every trait of a natural leader. The sort men will follow because they know you won’t waste their blood foolishly. Besides, I’d expect that most who go will be youngsters, so you’ll be amongst your peers.”

  “Great. So something like a newborn telling his crib mates how to walk.”

  “Don’t worry.” Gwalhafed chuckled. “Just take every opportunity to learn from the older warriors. Your teachers will multiply once you arrive at the muster at Alt Clut, and again at Cadubrega. I’ll help as much as I can. For instance, as their leader, you must see to their arms, provisions and transport. That’s something we can begin to account for now, so let’s begin.”

  Gwalhafed was a good teacher, experienced in managing larger forces than those for which Gawain would be responsible. Gawain spent the remainder of the day learning about military logistics and conducting an inventory of the resources they would need compared to what they had on hand. The relative quiet of the last few years meant there were no shortages aside from extra barrels and carts, which they could procure. When under the command of the Rigotamos, he would be responsible for their supply.

  At sundown, the datlā, the council of clan elders, convened at the hall. Food and drink were plentiful, but the mood was sombre. This was not a feast, but a council of war. Messengers had been leaving and arriving all day while various deliberations and deals were conducted. As always happens in these circumstances, some acted with the interests of the clan at heart, while others were of a more self-serving nature. After the meal, Gwyar stood and addressed the room.

  “Kinsmen, tonight we determine how we will uphold our oaths to our king, and to each other, for honour and glory!” He paused for the stomping and table pounding, which was somewhat less enthusiastic than the night before. “One in four of our full complement will form the cohort. Twenty-five men, chosen from among those most capable of upholding the reputation of our combrogi. Our senior families will each provide a cavalryman, equipped and with a pair of horses. The remaining twenty men will form the infantry.”

  “Our people are accustomed to riding to war, even if we dismount before battle,” Eudaf said, standing. “We’re rich in horses, why do only a fifth of our number go mounted?”

  “That’s true, for the wars we’re accustomed to,” answered Iden. “Our raids and quick strikes were into territories rarely more than three days’ journey from our borders. This is not that kind of war, and you need to divest yourself of that perception. Not even the campaign to crush the Picts will compare to the numbers the Rigotamos is gathering, or that you will be facing. With so many soldiers to supply, manoeuvre and command, the expense of maintaining even one horse for each would be prohibitive. So get used to walking!”

  A few chuckles and murmurs crossed the room as Eudaf sat down. Eliman, the leader of one of the prominent families, raised his corpulent mass to address Gwyar.

  “My lord, what of servants, slaves and so on? Will these accompany the army?” Eliman was rich and kept more slaves than the others of the datlā.

  Gwyar was thoughtful for a
moment as he considered this and looked at Gawain before answering.

  “Dyfnwal was explicit in stating that no more than one-quarter of our strength will go, but camp followers were not discussed. Our form of warfare has precluded the presence of non-combatants because they can’t keep up and aren’t needed for our short campaigns. But we’ve all heard the stories of the Romans, whose legions were followed by many craftsmen, slaves, even wives and children, who performed many services for the soldiers.” Some snickers broke out at the term ‘services’. Gwyar grinned and pondered a moment more before continuing.

  “Camp followers are a benefit, but also a burden that slows the army and requires feeding and protection. For the present, let us assume there will be no prohibition against bringing one or two servants. However, their provisioning, defence or loss is not the responsibility of any but their patron. This should ensure that we meet the requirements to be agile as well as provide for skills to support the men.” Eliman nodded and sat as Gwyar continued.

  “I have never asked another to do something I am unwilling to do. It’s been long since we’ve ridden to war, and let’s be honest, most of us were already old when we last crossed Grimm’s Dyke. While my arm misses the weight of a shield, my son, Gawain, has begged for the honour.” He motioned for Gawain to join him at the table. A murmur of grunts and mugs tapped the table in approval. “And I have given him my blessing, and my shield.”

  Gawain was as surprised as the others in the hall, when his father turned, lifted his shield from where it hung on the back of his chair and held it out to him. Gawain walked up, accompanied by a round of stomping and mug banging. Expertly crafted, it was a circle of lime wood twice the length of his arm from elbow to fingertips, slightly convex at the edge. Emerald-green leather covered the face, with a round iron boss in the centre and a thin iron rim reinforcing the edge. A white, stylised boar with a javelin in its shoulder curved downwards above the boss, and a hunting horn curved up below.

  “Father, this is too much! I have a good shield. I can’t take Prenguaul!”

  “Bah!” Gwyar shrugged, pushing it at Gawain. “It’s not my only shield. It’ll do better protecting your neck than gathering dust on my walls. Now shut up and take it so we can get on with this.” Gawain accepted it with thanks and stood beaming behind his father, the shield resting on his foot.

  “So!” Gwyar barked, turning back to the rest. “While my son could do the work of twenty-five men, we wouldn’t want him to have all the fun by himself. Who cares to go along on this little junket?”

  A few chuckled at the bluster, and Iden stood to report that his youngest son, Keir, a year older than Gawain, would join as a cavalryman. He was followed by Gareth, submitted by his uncle Rhufawn, who had helped his mother raise him after his father had died when he was very young. Dochu presented his son, Teilo, and Eliman, his son Mabon, rounding out the five mounted warriors of the band. Gawain was pleased with the group. All, especially his close friend, Gareth, were peers and were generally easy to get on with.

  With that decided, the infantry force was next. Piran called out the list, and it turned out that there were more volunteers than needed. A discussion arose about how to choose when Eudaf stood and called out.

  “My lord! A boon!”

  “Eudaf, my friend,” Gwyar answered. “Your service has earned you whatever you may ask.” Gawain caught a crinkle in his father’s eye, suggesting puzzlement about the petition. A glance at his son, Math, showed that his head was down, jaw set.

  Eudaf took a step forward. “My son is as fine a man as any could wish for. But he’s my only heir and the best hope for the future of our family. I request to offer a replacement for the muster.”

  “Eudaf, in time you will be a core leader of the coriios. Your bravery at Melbrinn alone has earned you that.” Gwyar replied. “There are more than enough volunteers willing to stand your family’s place in the muster so that Math can stand the line here.” Gawain noted that his father added the last part to preserve Eudaf’s honour, but Eudaf shook his head emphatically.

  “No, my lord. We wish for none to take on our duty. It’s time for my son to take up the leadership of our family. I will go south.”

  A surprised murmur swept the room. Math scowled at his feet. This was obviously not his preference. Gwyar looked mildly surprised. Gawain was dumbfounded. While Eudaf was easily twenty winters younger than Gwyar, and uncommonly hale, the grizzled old veteran seemed ancient to Gawain’s generation, and quite intimidating.

  “Eudaf, I understand you, so I won’t waste my breath in trying to dissuade you,” Gwyar began slowly. “You will be missed here, but your experience and steadiness in battle will be invaluable to our young warriors on this expedition.

  “However, your stature is such that you warrant a place amongst our cavalrymen, so let us…” Gwyar trailed off, frowning as he considered the political implications of replacing a leading family member’s son.

  “Please, my lord,” Eudaf spoke up. “I’m more at ease on two legs than upon four. These old feet are well used to walking, and I shall make the youngsters jog to keep up with me.”

  Everyone chuckled because all knew this was no empty boast. Gwyar nodded, grinning. “Eudaf, your boon is granted. May you win glory and return home with little more grey in your beard.” Eudaf nodded, grunted his thanks and sat.

  After a short discussion, it was determined that all who volunteered would be allowed to train, and the best of those would be chosen by the veterans. Losses due to injuries and sometimes even death were not uncommon in the training regimen. Having a larger pool to choose from would ensure a full muster at the end and be useful training for those who stayed behind.

  With that decided, there was a final task. Gwyar stood and addressed the room.

  “It has long been the right of the warriors to choose their leader, and I would uphold that tradition. But the question is, do we decide that now, or, as I would suggest, wait until it is time to depart? After the training, all will have had an opportunity to evaluate their peers and decide who best to trust their lives to.”

  Mug banging indicated the overall approval of this proposal. Gwyar led a short round of toasts, followed by Piran leading the group in a closing prayer, and the council was concluded. The servants cleared away the refuse and set the room for sleeping. Some of the guests found places in the hall, others went to their tents outside the walls. Gwyar talked privately with different family leaders.

  Gawain said his goodnights and joined Gwalhafed to walk to their house. Before they entered their home, Gawain stopped and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

  “I failed to thank you for the armour this morning.”

  “Bah! There’s no need to thank me. I have little need for it these days.”

  “Regardless, it’s a magnificent gift. And thank you, also, for always teaching me.”

  “You’re my brother,” Gwalhafed smiled, and left it at that. They stepped into the house, Gwalhafed turning to the right and his bed with Gladus, Gawain turning to the left to find Rhian.

  Once again, he stepped behind the screen to find his lovely bride sitting beside a single candle, smiling and lifting a cup of mead to him. Gawain settled down and kissed her before nodding towards the cup she still held.

  “I thought our wedding month ended two nights ago?”

  “I see no reason why our celebration should end simply because a moon has passed,” Rhian kissed his neck, pressing the cup into his hands. “Now drink, and then attend to me. The morning will come too soon.”

  Chapter Four

  The morning did indeed come too soon. As dawn broke, the young men were roused, given a breakfast of bacon and porridge and sent out to report to Eliman. He organised the work party to prepare the training field in a large plot cleared of sheep and cattle.

  Wagons dropped off tools, provisions and large rocks. Gawain helpe
d fell trees to make “tree-men”. These man-sized crucifixes were planted in the ground for use as training dummies. Others dug holes, collected equipment or erected a tent to store the gear. It was hard work but became easier as the day wore on and more of the trainees trickled in. Many family members and a variety of servants arrived to help but were sent home. The soldiers were responsible for all work, to increase their fitness and discipline. By the end of the day, the site was complete and a camp established where they would live for the duration of the training.

  There was to be a feast of sorts on the site that night. An opportunity for the men to bond and become better acquainted. As a downpour swept in, however, Gwyar moved it into the hall, where it became quite raucous. Spirits were high, boasts were made, oaths were sworn and challenges accepted.

  As the night wore on, Gawain left the hall on the pretext of relieving himself, but on returning stopped at his house to visit his wife.

  “I hoped I would see you!” Rhian whispered. “But if they catch you it’ll look bad.”

  “And they’d make me pay for it tomorrow,” Gawain grinned, pulling her roughly into his arms, causing her to squeal and giggle. “Whatever they do to me is worth a chance to plant my lips on yours tonight. There will be so little time to see you for the next week.”

  “One way or another, we’ll find little moments,” she said. She poured passion into a kiss, then pushed him away. “Now go, before we’re discovered, and they start keeping an eye on you.”

  Gawain sighed, kissed her again, tenderly, then slipped back out and returned to the hall. If anyone noticed his absence, nothing was said.

  Late into the night, Gwyar stood and called for quiet.