by Sean Poage
“What are you talking about?” Gawain asked. “I thought I delivered my own vengeance.”
“Ah, true,” Modred laughed. “I didn’t mean to diminish your feat.” Modred led Gawain towards the horses as the men were unsaddling them and placing the heads in a pile near the barracks.
“After receiving news of the attack upon you, Arthur sent our patrol out to track down the brigands,” Modred continued. “We picked up a trail leading back to a small camp of Scoti hidden in another wood. Those who resisted were killed, and those who surrendered are here, as you can see. We lost a man, but have eliminated another incursion of those pirates and taken some fine slaves and a little treasure to boot.” He squatted next to the pile of heads, moving some around to better show their grey faces. “Which of these were involved in the attack upon your party?”
Gawain peered at each, the faces of the three who escaped still fresh in his mind.
“None,” he shook his head. “The ones who fled are not among these.”
“Well, no matter,” Modred looked disappointed. “The nest we found undoubtedly supported them.”
“Did you question them?” Gawain asked, unease settling into the back of his mind.
“We have none who speak their language,” Modred replied. “And they don’t admit to speaking ours. They appear to have come here rather recently.”
“So I have some news,” Gawain said, standing. “Although it should probably wait until you’ve had time to see to your horses and kit. Are you ready for the march to the coast tomorrow?”
“Hmm, yes, we definitely need to talk,” Modred replied distantly. Then he came back to the moment and smiled. “Join me for the evening meal, at that house,” he pointed across the street to a small two-storey house similar to Cei’s. “That should give me enough time to wrap up here.” He slapped Gawain on the shoulder and turned to his duties, while Gawain looked over at the small huddle of captive women, feeling pity for their uncertain future. He turned and walked back towards the craftsmen’s stalls. His sword should be ready by now.
As he approached the workshop, he could hear the sound of stone on steel and rounded the corner to see Tohodyfn polishing the sword blade. Gawain was a bit disappointed, as the once shining steel had darkened considerably to a dull grey.
“Ah, there you are,” Tohodyfn greeted him. “It has taken much work, using different techniques, but your sword should be less likely to bend in the future and will also hold its edge longer with care.”
“Thank you,” Gawain replied, examining it.
“It still needs a fair amount of sharpening, as I had told you,” Tohodyfn said a little defensively. “But I was able to reset the hilt after all, though you may want to replace the leather on the grip.”
“Thank you,” Gawain smiled, passing him the agreed-upon sum. “I am sure your work will prove to be quite valuable.”
“I hope that it serves you well,” Tohodyfn beamed. Gawain collected the sword and its scabbard and walked to the stable where Glyf was keeping his horses. They were pleased to see him, nickering and head-butting him playfully. After spending some time there, Gawain reluctantly returned to the camp to check on the progress of the men in preparing for the next day’s march.
When it was time for the evening meal, Gawain walked to the house Modred had indicated. As he approached the door, it opened and a trio of older men that Gawain recognised as local elders exited, followed by Modred. They were laughing at some joke Modred had made before going on their way.
“Gawain! Hero of Ynys Witrin!” Modred waved him in. “Please enter my humble abode.”
“Your home?” Gawain was surprised, stepping through the door into a comfortably appointed room with a hearth at either end, low couches at one end and a large wooden table with benches at the other. A stairway at the back of the room led to the upper floor. A young slave came forward and took their cloaks, then brought mugs of ale, a platter of meat, bread and early season vegetables.
“This is not what I expected,” Gawain said, as they reclined on the couches. “If you don’t want to drag all your money to Gaul, I could relieve that burden.”
“Oh, the house costs me nothing,” Modred took a long drink from his cup. “And, unfortunately, I won’t be going to Gaul.”
“I… Surely your father hasn’t convinced you to stay?”
“He… certainly had something to do with it,” Modred said, looking uncomfortable. “But it was Arthur who convinced me.”
“How? I thought you wanted nothing more than to ride to war! Did he command you to stay?”
“No, he offered me the position of marshal, as Bedwyr will be going to Gaul.” Modred shrugged. “I could not refuse such an honour.”
Gawain almost said that he could not imagine what Lot had conceded to Arthur for him to make the offer, but instead asked, “But what of battle and glory?”
“I just returned from battle,” Modred smiled wolfishly. “And while you’re standing dull watches, I’ll be chasing Saxon and Scoti raiders from one coast to the next.”
“It sounds as if you’re quite satisfied,” Gawain agreed reluctantly. “Though I’m disappointed that you won’t be coming with us.”
“So am I,” Modred nodded. “But this is a great opportunity that puts me in a position of influence far ahead of my years. And I’ll have far greater autonomy and authority here. Gwenhwyfar will handle all the dull administrative and domestic issues. Ambrosius will be regent over matters of state and my superior, but he’s tired and certain to leave issues of defence to my discretion.”
“Such a position could put a competent leader on the path towards becoming the next Rigotamos,” Gawain said half-jokingly.
“Perhaps,” Modred mused. “I suppose that if the illegitimate son of a minor warlord could attain the high kingship, a prince of the Gododdin might aspire to such. Not that I do, of course,” he added.
“I can’t imagine they’d elect a leader from a kingdom that’s not a part of their Consilium,” Gawain replied, wary of the direction in which the conversation was heading.
“Such a thing would be implausible,” Modred agreed. “Though kingdoms may be invited to join, towards a stronger common defence.”
“Conceivably,” Gawain said. “Though Dyfnwal Hen claims he has no interest in joining his kingdom to these.” After a pause, he continued, “And I can’t imagine he’d support the Gododdin joining with the Consilium.”
Modred tilted his head and looked at Gawain with an inscrutable expression. “He might be convinced,” he said, taking a bite of roasted pork. “If such a question were to be raised, of course.”
Gawain nodded absently, chewing his food as he thought about the implications of their conversation, unwilling to go into any further depth with Modred about it. It felt vaguely treasonous.
The rest of the meal was subdued and somewhat awkward, with small talk and speculation about the coming campaign in Gaul. When finished, Gawain said that he should return to camp to ensure they were prepared for the next morning. At the door, they stopped to say farewell.
“I have no doubts you’ll win great renown in Gaul,” Modred spoke earnestly. “But don’t be over-rash, and return home as soon as you may, so we can feast and tell each other lies about our battles and conquests.” He winked at Gawain, smiling, and embraced him with a slap on the back.
“And the same to you, Modred,” Gawain replied, grinning. “Though your greatest danger will come if Cwyllog learns of some of your… conquests.”
Modred laughed, and they parted, Gawain’s smile fading to a sense of foreboding. Any attempt by the Gododdin to manoeuvre into an alliance with the South could spark a renewed war with Alt Clut. It could be devastating if the Consilium were to support the Gododdin. Gawain wondered what sort of deal might have been struck between Lot and Arthur, and he said a prayer for peace and for the safety of his family
as he walked into the camp.
Peredur had seen to the packing of their gear, and the others were also prepared. The men sat around the fire, talking well into the night, despite the early departure planned for the next day.
Before dawn, the men rose and dismantled the camps. Soon after the sun had risen, the host, numbering over two thousand men, formed up in the muddy fields and along the road leading to the south gate. What came as a great surprise to the men who did not know him was that Arthur would be marching on foot as well, further inspiring them by his example.
Just before the lead units were to start out, Arthur and Gwenhwyfar came out of the hall, stepping slowly to the bluff overlooking the south gate. Gawain and his turma were arrayed below the bluff, waiting to merge into their place in the procession, so he had a clear view of the king and queen as they said their farewells. It was a subdued moment, and while Gawain expected the sadness each displayed at parting, he was struck by the paleness of her face, with dark sunken eyes. She was thinner, and as Arthur turned and walked down the hill, he saw her sway as if she might faint before her maid stepped up to her side and supported her. She maintained a dignified demeanour as Arthur, grim but resolute, nodded to Cei. Horns blew, the gates opened and the host marched out.
At the base of the steep path from the gates, they were joined by dozens of heavily loaded ox-drawn wagons. They proceeded west along the road towards Cair Uisc but soon turned off onto another path that led over the rugged hills to the south. When they camped, Arthur enforced the unpopular practice of digging a defensive ditch around a well-ordered camp, similar to the old Roman practice. The grumbling was lessened as the men found that each day their camp was in the same location that earlier armies had used. It was much easier to dig through already disturbed ground.
Early on the third day, they passed a small town called Cair Durnac. Like most others, it was sparsely inhabited by a garrison, some farmers and a crew of stone workers repairing the Roman walls surrounding it. The magistrate, Ionafal, rode out with his retinue to greet Arthur and accompany him along the road. He was not pleased to find the king walking, requiring him to dismount and follow suit.
Continuing south, they passed an ancient hillfort, more expansive than Cadubrega, with similar rows of earthen ramparts, but no walls and only sheep and cattle grazed on its summit.
As the day wore on, their progress slowed by the lumbering ox-carts, they crested a ridge and looked down on a broad, calm beach, partially sheltered by shoals and an island on the south-western end. An inlet led into the ruins of a port, known as Clavinium when the Romans lived here. But most eye-catching was the array of ships pulled up on the beach, or in the process of being beached.
The ships, numbering at least fifty, were mostly of the typical Saxon warship design. Long and narrow, clinker-built, with a single row of oars and a mast for a single sail. A few of the ships were broader, carvel-built merchant ships. One large warship stood out due to the red paint on its hull.
A campsite with an earthen ditch was already prepared for them. As a storm closed in, the army moved into the camp in stages, going to their assigned locations and struggling to set up their tents in the sudden wind and downpour. Afterward, they settled in for the typical evening chores around meals and the mending of clothing and equipment.
The leaders attended meetings to receive their instructions for boarding the ships and for the training to be conducted the next day. The Gododdin soldiers were split up among the boats to lend their sailing and rowing experience to that of the Saxons. The rest of the men would board by unit as much as possible. It would be the first time many of the men of Alt Clut, including Gawain, had ever been on a ship. Feelings ranged from nervous to terrified. Gawain was one who felt excited by the prospect. He was a decent swimmer with no fear of the water, having grown up with small boats along the rivers.
The rain and wind continued the next day, tapering off as the day progressed. The sailors taught the inexperienced men the basics of seamanship, including how to board and disembark, how to row, what to expect from a ship pitching in rough seas, what to do if a man fell overboard and so forth.
By the end of the day, the rain had passed, and the wind was milder. Some wanted to investigate the shore and the Saxon sailors camping there, but the Britons were confined to the camp that night. They would be embarking early in the morning.
Dawn found the camp already dismantled and the soldiers moving out in groups to the waterfront. The Saxons had pushed every second ship out into the shallows to leave plenty of room between each of them. It took a few hours to board everyone, get their gear stowed and begin forming up.
It was the first time Gawain had seen a Saxon up close. They were somewhat taller than most Britons, and more tended to fair eyes and hair than dark. Many wore their hair strangely, having it shaved back from the forehead, though not as far as the Briton clergy, or wearing it in an odd knot on the side, top or back of the head. They wore arm rings of silver and occasionally gold, and their brooches, buckles and other accoutrements were often quite decorative. They were loud and boisterous, and their harsh-sounding language suggested they had more words for curses than other uses. The only weapon most carried, aside from their everyday knives, was the notorious seax, the single-edged short sword for which they were named. They had little to do with the Britons, relying on an officer from Arthur’s entourage to direct the men to their places.
Gawain’s ship was in the first group to board, and soon all were settled into their positions in the fleet. Arthur’s red-painted ship, Pridwen, was unusual. Larger than the Saxon vessels, it was of a different design, with a protruding bow, a sort of hut near the stern and three banks of oars on each side. It lumbered out to the side of the fleet and stayed toward the middle as they slowly filed out of the bay.
Out in open water, the sailors stowed the oars and unfurled the sails. The wind caught the pale fabric and, after adjusting the rigging, the ships seemed to leap forward through the spray. Arthur’s large sail was white, with the Chi-Rho symbol in bright red upon it. As the shore receded, Gawain looked back and thought of Rhian, a world away, and he suppressed a wave of melancholy by focusing on the exhilaration of the ship cutting through the swells.
They sailed south-east before turning due south, Gawain’s ship towards the front of the line. As they sailed, the ships soon spread out, so that before long, one ship would only be able to see two or three others. A couple of the men, including Gareth, did not take well to the constant motion of the boat and spent much of the day with their heads hanging over the sides. This relieved them of rowing duty during calms or bailing out the water that collected in the bottom of the boat, but became a source of teasing by the others and barely disguised mockery by the Saxons.
Towards late afternoon, the winds shifted unfavourably, so the sails were furled and the men rowed in shifts. Gawain, as Decurion, was exempt, but due to boredom and the need for exercise, he took a place in the rotation, again impressing the men he led. It was not difficult work, as they were not attempting to make the greatest speed and did not have to perform any complicated manoeuvres.
As the light failed, there was no sign of land, though some of the Saxon sailors conversing among themselves pointed to the east, where birds circled in the far distance. There were three other ships in view, and Gawain noticed that one had affixed a yellow pennant to the top of its mast, with a man clinging to the crossbeam near it. He called out to the cluster of Saxons near the stern and pointed it out to them. The leader nodded, amid looks of consternation and grumbling from the others, and a Saxon climbed their mast to place a similar yellow pennant and keep watch.
The other two ships soon had their own raised, and the rowers were given a slower timing. The helmsman steered the ships together, and as one came close to Gawain’s ship, the oars were pulled in, and ropes were thrown across to the other ship. The boats were hauled together and lashed tight, with bump
ers of woven rope placed between them. As this was being completed, the other ship pulled alongside and was soon tied to the other side. Other ships approached and, before long, they had lashed on. This went on for some time until it appeared that the entire fleet had joined into an immense floating island.
This is how they passed the hours, with a cold and unappealing meal of dried, salted fish, hard bread and water. Shifts for watches and bailing were established through the night, and the soldiers did their best to sleep on the deck while the ships heaved and ground against each other, making an awful noise. The sailors in their leather seabags seemed to have no problem sleeping. The moon shone weakly through the overcast sky, until a short, cold rain swept over them, taking the clouds away and leaving a chill breeze that made the night more miserable.
As the sky began lightening in the east, they woke to start the process of carefully separating the ships. Soon after the sun rose, the sails unfurled and the fleet resumed sailing south-east.
Before long, they could make out the dark line of land to the east. The ships turned more southerly, speeding along under a brisk wind. They adjusted direction later in the day, turning a bit westward as foam-tipped waves indicating shoals appeared in various places, with occasional rocks poking above the water.
Well into the afternoon, the coastline loomed to their south, and the ships traded sails for oars to ride the tide into the wide mouth of a river. Not far upriver, a stone-walled fort stood on a bluff on the eastern shore overlooking a town and port. Opposite the port, on the western side of the river was a beach with a large military camp beyond. The ships continued past the docks and made for a small pair of beaches a bit further up the river on the eastern side.
There was not enough room for more than a dozen ships to land, so the unloading went on for several hours, continuing after sunset with the help of bonfires set on the beaches.
After disembarking, Gawain had his men collect their belongings and form up while he looked for the officer in charge of the beach. After finding him and receiving directions, he led the tired men up the hill, following a steady stream of other soldiers.