The Retreat to Avalon (The Arthurian Age Book 1)

by Sean Poage

  “The other man looked disgustedly at the first. After a long tension-filled moment, he spoke. ‘You idiot!’ he groaned. ‘Now we’ll have to piss in the boat!’”

  The hall erupted into laughter, followed by mug banging and foot stamping. After a few moments, Arthur stood, wiping his eyes, and congratulated Gawain on his fine story.

  “I wish to thank you all, for answering the call to join this campaign,” Arthur began, stepping out from behind his table, “to follow my command, to place your lives and fortunes in my hands. Be assured that I do not see these as mine to squander.”

  He fell quiet for a moment, looking out across the room, suddenly sombre. All eyes rested on Arthur.

  “I place great demands on the men who follow me, but the worthy are greatly rewarded. There are tremendous opportunities ahead of us. But wealth, glory, new lands… all this means little if we descend into the savagery of the Saxons or the depravity of the Romans. Our privileges are bestowed upon us, not as a right, but as a responsibility, and I expect any man who follows my banner to conduct himself with honour.” Arthur stopped, his gaze sweeping a room silenced by the power of his voice and bearing.

  “You may have been told the purpose of gathering this army,” he continued. “But second-hand rumour is often wrong, so let me briefly speak of it.” He resumed walking through the hall, between the rows of tables, looking each man in the eye as he spoke.

  “Last year, the Roman emperor, Anthemius, wrote to me. He said that Euric, King of the Vesi, is no longer content to rule in Hispania and Aquitania, but seeks to take advantage of Rome’s distractions to wrest all of Gaul from the empire before turning his eyes on further prizes, including our kin in Letavia, and even our own shores.

  “He sought our aid to defeat Euric, offering further lands in Gaul, treasure for our coffers and resumption of trade with a return to stability.” Arthur paused, staring into the fire for a moment before continuing. “None of this would be worth a drop of our blood if Euric’s intentions did not include our lands. So is that even true?

  “Anthemius seems an honourable man, but as the old proverb goes, if a Roman says it’s raining, be certain he isn’t pissing on your head.” Arthur paused for a rumble of chuckles to subside.

  “I instructed my agents, who have eyes in many lands, to investigate and determine if Euric had intentions towards our lands, or even the ability to threaten us. It did not take long for them to confirm what Anthemius claimed and that the Vesi could pose a dire threat to us if they were able to add all of Gaul to their control. Worse, they have sought an alliance with the mainland Saxons.” Low exclamations and growls interrupted Arthur for several seconds.

  “These Vesi are like the Saxons but much more numerous and far better organised,” he resumed. “Their king is bloodthirsty, devious and covetous, killing his own brother to seize the crown from his head. They have sworn friendship with Rome, only to sever the alliance when it suits them.

  “But the question is whether or not we spend our blood and treasure to aid Rome, who ignored our pleas for help after stripping us bare, and now calls on our valour when we have clawed our way back to strength.

  “The arguments against have been many and well considered. There is no point in arguing them again. Any man who does not wish to march may return home without loss of honour.” He paused in his pacing, looking around. No one stirred, so he continued his stroll, grasping the shoulders of the men he passed.

  “So, why do we go?” he continued. “For glory? For riches? To get away from our wives’ relentless nagging?” This brought a round of laughter.

  “Perhaps all of these,” Arthur chuckled. “But I have a vision of something more.” He paused to look around the room.

  “Our island is home to many tribes, all jealous of our liberty, warring more often than drinking together. We are different peoples, but we share a common tongue, keep much the same customs and laws. Do we surrender our legacy to barbarians from across the seas?” Low but earnest growls of dissent answered him.

  “They have brought havoc and loss, but none so much as what we have brought to ourselves,” Arthur resumed. “We have finally stemmed the Saxon tide, and together we have pushed the Picts far beyond your northern borders. We now have the opportunity to unite and secure the future of our people!” His voice was rising as he paced quicker, his hands forming fists as his arms spread out.

  “This world has seen no nation who with so few have so vexed mighty Rome,” he spoke louder as a growl of approval from the crowd began growing, “with our pride, our stubbornness and the valour that will one day see our posterity reign over the four corners of the earth!” Arthur lifted his hands to a thunder of cheers, smiling triumphantly.

  “Tonight, let us enjoy our meat and mead, for tomorrow the wheels of our destiny will be set in motion!”

  Chapter Seven

  The sun rose red the next day with the threat of a storm out of the west. Dark clouds piled up, and it was becoming breezy. The men were not roused as early as usual, but Gawain found little comfort in that as he dragged himself out of his tent and prepared for the day. After a quick breakfast of bread and watered ale, he trudged out to the pickets and found Peredur had their horses saddled and the gear ready to go. He was proving to be hardworking and reliable, and was doing a fine job of picking up the skills of a cavalryman.

  The warriors of Cadubrega, Alt Clut and the Gododdin who were not on other duties were beginning to line up near the south gate for the day’s training. Gawain described the events of the previous evening as they sat in their saddles.

  “It was quite a speech,” Gawain said.

  “What? Your fisherman story?” Teilo quipped. “That’s not even your joke.”

  Everyone chuckled, and Gawain nodded before saying, “No, jackass, I’m referring to the Rigotamos’s speech.”

  “I’d imagine he’d be quite good at it by now,” Keir yawned.

  “What do you mean?” Gawain looked at him, puzzled.

  “We’re not the first foreign army he’s hosted for this quest,” Keir answered. “It sounds rehearsed to me.”

  “And it had the desired effect,” Mabon chimed in.

  “It was quite rousing,” Gareth agreed. “Does he really expect our countries to unite on this island? We’re not a part of his Consilium, and I doubt our people would ever submit to rule by another, even one elected.”

  “It’s just a pretext to claim the title of emperor, like so many fools before him,” Mabon grumbled. “My father said he’s already subdued the colonies in Letavia and also claimed the high kingship of those lands.”

  “I hadn’t heard that,” Gawain said, troubled by the implication. It was news to the others, as well, but Mabon’s father dealt with foreign traders more often than others in their region and heard more news from distant lands.

  “It strikes me as odd,” Peredur said, “that the Rigotamos spoke so negatively of Rome, yet he affects many Roman qualities and agrees to aid the Roman emperor.”

  “I noticed that also,” Gawain said thoughtfully. “But I have a sense that it’s not Rome he wishes to emulate, but some aspects of the empire. Those that brought peace and prosperity.”

  “So you think he intends to enslave the Vesi and strip Gaul of its wealth?” Teilo asked, affecting a greedy expression, staring off into the distance and rubbing his hands together. “We stand to become exceedingly rich!”

  “I wouldn’t leap to that conclusion,” Gawain chuckled. Before he could continue, they heard a herald calling for the men of Alt Clut. He was directed to Garmonion and, after a short conversation, Garmonion pointed towards Gawain’s group of horsemen on the edge of the throng. They watched curiously as the herald jogged over to them.

  “I’m looking for Gawain ap Gwyar,” he panted.

  “I am he,” Gawain removed his helmet.

  “The Rigotamos commands your
presence at the Great Hall,” the herald addressed him. “Immediately.” He spun on his heel and hurried away. Everyone else turned back to Gawain in puzzlement.

  “I hope you have another joke prepared,” Gareth quipped.

  “I do,” Gawain answered, dismounting. “I’m going to tell him about your romantic struggles.” The men laughed as Gawain handed the reins and his gear to Peredur. He instructed Peredur to have the horse stabled but to attend the training if he was not back before they left. He turned to climb the hill, his stomach knotted with apprehension.

  As Gawain crested the slope, he heard a muffled argument coming from the building. Moments later, a small door at the south end that opened into the private chambers, flew open, and Gwenhwyfar burst out, followed by her handmaid. She pulled her scarf over her head, but not before Gawain saw tears flowing down her pale cheeks, a look of despair in her eyes. She turned to her right and disappeared around the far side of the building, her servant rushing to catch up with her. A moment later, a man’s figure loomed in the shadows inside before the door swung closed.

  Gawain arrived at the main door to the hall and was admitted. The interior was dim, with nobody present, so he stood and waited, nervously pondering the meaning of what had just happened and what the High King could possibly want with him. Several minutes passed, and Gawain was beginning to wonder if he were in the correct location when the door to the king’s private chambers opened, and Arthur strode into the room.

  “Good morning,” the king rumbled. “I trust you’re rested after last evening’s festivities?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Gawain lied. Arthur appeared somewhat surly.

  “I have a task for you,” Arthur continued. “Two, actually. Events are gathering momentum, and I’m running short of trusted help for all that I must accomplish. I need you to escort two young princes of Letavia to the fort of Melwas at Ynys Witrin. They’ll board a ship there, bound for Aergol’s home in Demetia. They are under my protection, and it is worth your life if they are not given safely into Melwas’ care.” His eyes narrowed, looking at Gawain. “Is this understood?”

  “Yes, my lord. Though I do not know where this place is.”

  “You’ll have a guide,” Arthur nodded. “I believe you know the soldier, Glyf? He knows the way. It’s not far. Following that, I need you to carry a message to Din Tagell on the western coast, south of here. That is three days’ hard ride further.”

  “I will see it done,” Gawain said. “Where are the princes? And what message do you want me to give?”

  “A moment,” Arthur said before disappearing back through the door. On returning, he handed Gawain a carved wooden courier’s seal bearing his symbol, a length of leather, like a narrow belt, a folded piece of parchment sealed with red wax, and a book.

  “When you arrive at Ynys Witrin, ask for Myrddin. If he’s there, give this belt to him, but only to him,” Arthur said sternly. “If he’s not there, return it to me. Speak to no one of it.” Gawain nodded, puzzled and curious. “When you arrive at Din Tagell, seek first for Gwenwyn, captain of ships, and tell him to bring the fleet around. Do not give that message to any other.”

  “I understand, my lord.”

  “This letter,” Arthur looked uncomfortable, his voice lowered, “is for my mother, Ygerna. If she’s not available, you may leave it with her servant.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “The book is for you,” Arthur indicated the small tome, bound in brown leather. “Consider it a reward for this service.”

  “My lord!” Gawain handled the book as if it were glass. “This is far too generous! This task is a trifle, not worthy of any reward, much less this.” Gawain wanted to open it but instead held it out towards Arthur.

  “You say that before you’ve met my mother,” Arthur chuckled. “But in truth, this is more of an assignment than a gift. It’s Xenophon’s treatise for the cavalry commander, something that will help prepare you for what’s ahead. I ask only that you study it and, when you’re confident that you’ve absorbed its lessons, that you pass it on to another who may make good use of it.”

  “I am honoured, Lord,” Gawain bowed, “and will do so.”

  “Good. Now quickly make what preparations you must and meet your party at the north gate,” Arthur turned back to his quarters. “I’ll expect your return within a week.”

  Gawain carried the items out and hurried down the hill to the small barracks and stable near the south gate. He tucked the letter inside his tunic, then looked at the strip of leather.

  It was newly tanned, nondescript on first glance. Looking at it more closely, he saw a series of hash marks stamped into it along both edges, seemingly at random. Some were perpendicular to the edges, others at a slant. It was clear that the piece had some meaning, but Gawain pushed his curiosity aside, lifted his tunic, and tied it around his waist.

  He then looked at the book, opening it carefully. It was in reasonable condition for its age. The pages were densely covered in painstakingly hand-printed lettering, Latin on one side, with Greek on the facing page. Xenophon’s writings were often used to teach Greek, as his succinct writing style was easier to translate. Gawain had seen such books before, but Piran knew very little Greek, and Gawain had not spent much time studying it. He put the book inside his tunic with the letter, mounted his horse and headed to his tent for travel gear.

  Shortly after, he trotted up to the north gate. Glyf was chatting with a pair of youths as they sat on the edge of the rampart, a trio of horses munching grass nearby. Gawain hailed them and received Glyf’s typical roll of the eyes as they all stood up.

  “So our young lord has finally pulled himself out of his bed,” Glyf said with enough of a smile to disarm any concerns of insult.

  “I was receiving instructions from the Rigotamos, you cranky old goat,” Gawain chuckled. “Are these our two charges?”

  “They are. This is Meliau ap Deroc,” Glyf indicated the first, a boy barely into manhood, beardless with curly blond hair and a pleasant demeanour. “And this is his brother, Riwal.” Riwal was a couple of years younger, similar in appearance, but with a more aloof, bored countenance. Both greeted Gawain as the three of them mounted their horses.

  “You’re escorting us to our ship?” Meliau asked in a strange accent. “Is it far from here?”

  “No, we’re escorting you to the care of Melwas,” Gawain answered. “He will see you to your ship when it’s ready. I’m not familiar with this area, but I understand it’s not far.”

  “Should only take a few hours to get there at an easy pace,” Glyf spoke up. “It’s a tall hill in that direction,” he pointed to the north-west. “On a clear day you can see it from our walls, and they maintain a beacon there for warnings of attack.”

  Glyf led the way through the gate with Riwal riding beside him as they wound their way down the hill. Gawain and Meliau followed behind and struck up a conversation.

  “You’re from Letavia, across the sea?” Gawain asked. “The Rigotamos said that you’re princes, here as his guests.” He was not sure what Arthur had meant, so he decided to be diplomatic.

  “Yes, if by that you mean hostages,” Riwal shot back over his shoulder. Glyf grimaced and looked away. Gawain looked at Meliau, who smiled sheepishly and shook his head.

  “Please forgive my brother,” he said. “Arthur does not hold us as hostages. He’s been nothing but kind to us and merely provides for our safety until we may reclaim our inheritance.” Riwal snorted derisively, and Gawain began to dislike him.

  “How did you come into his care?” Gawain asked.

  “Our father, Deroc ap Gwidol, was lord of our people, who live on the northern shores of Letavia, the area we call Domnoni in memory of our roots in this land. When Attila crossed the Rhine, and Aetius called for allies, my father led many of our warriors to join the Roman army. He died in glory at the great battle on the Catala
unian plains that drove Attila out of Gaul. At that time, I was but a babe, and my brother a few months from birth.

  “Our father’s most trusted general, Marchel, returned and said that he would act as regent until I was old enough to take my father’s place. But within a year he began pressuring our mother to wed him to keep the throne to himself. She resisted and learnt that Marchel planned to have Riwal and I killed, so she arranged for a family member to spirit us away and bring us to our kin here.

  “When Marchel found out he became enraged and murdered her. We’ve lived in Aergol’s court ever since, praying for the moment we could return, slay the usurper and reclaim our birthright.

  “After Arthur became Rigotamos and brought peace to Britain, I was just old enough to bear arms. I begged him to give me an army and ships that I might return and kill Marchel. Rather than send me off to probable defeat, he led that army himself, taking me with him. Marchel was defeated and captured, and Arthur allowed me the satisfaction of executing the criminal.” Meliau’s voice lowered as he continued.

  “I understood then that I was not yet prepared to take responsibility for my people, so Arthur offered to act as regent until I passed a score of years, which occurs next spring. Since then he has seen to our education and martial training.”

  “My brother would make it sound as if Arthur’s offer was his own idea,” Riwal laughed humourlessly over his shoulder. “And yet it’s uncanny that Arthur’s efforts have been rewarded with the high kingship over Letavia.”

  “So it’s true?” Gawain frowned. “Arthur is the Rigotamos of Letavia as well?”

  “Oh, yes,” Meliau nodded. “Though we prefer the Latin pronunciation, Riothamus. But it’s not guile that led to this, rather his fame and the misfortune of the previous high king, Budig of Comberos. He died fighting the Saxons near Namnetis last year. Arthur’s renown and goodness resulted in our people offering the crown to him, which he accepted only reluctantly.”