by Sean Poage
“That new girl, Candida, is a nice addition to Morcant’s retinue.”
“Compared to the old crones and pudgy mothers he usually employs, I would agree,” Gawain answered. He glanced at Peredur from the corner of his eye and continued, “You should court her. She could use a good man to care for.”
“We probably won’t be here much longer,” Peredur shrugged. “Perhaps when all of this is over.”
They fell silent again for a while, until Gawain, squinting into the distance, gathered his reins and called for Peredur to follow him.
“I think they’re from our army,” Gawain said. “There’s a green pennant flying from the lead spear.”
They trotted down the hill towards the approaching riders. As they drew closer, a laugh burst from Gawain, and he spurred his horse into a gallop. Peredur followed and soon saw the reason for Gawain’s reaction. His turma had returned.
They dismounted amid exclamations and embraces as if Gawain had been away for months instead of weeks. Gareth and Illtud, especially, were buoyant and all were pleased that Gawain was nearly recovered. After everyone was reacquainted, they remounted and continued on towards the city, exchanging stories of the battle and what had happened since. Gareth gladly returned the pennant to Peredur, who received it with a bit of disappointment mixed with pride.
“Have you decided what to do about Peredur?” Gareth asked casually, riding alongside Gawain. Peredur’s head swivelled around.
“What are you talking about?” Gawain responded.
“He disobeyed orders when you were unhorsed,” Keir said. “Charged right into the fray after you.” Peredur’s eyes widened in alarm.
“Yes,” Gareth agreed. “Well ahead of any of us.”
“You were completely surrounded,” Illtud chimed in. “Peredur drove his spear straight through two men to get to you, then leapt from his horse and started battering them out of the way with his shield.” Peredur squirmed, caught between pride and fear of being disciplined for disobeying orders.
“There weren’t many left standing by the time we got there,” Gareth continued. “Peredur pulled you out of the pile.”
“We found quite a few Saxons who had been stabbed through the groin,” Cadwal grinned. “We thought you might be collecting sacks.”
“I had no idea what I was swinging at, lying on the ground,” Gawain shrugged. “As for Peredur, I’ll need to give some thought to what to do with him.” He winked at Gareth, who looked away to stifle a laugh. Peredur looked worried and a little hurt.
“But for now,” Gawain said, “tell me what brings you here and what’s happened since the battle. I believe I’m ready to return to the army.”
“We were sent back to see how you fare,” Gareth replied. “But mostly to prepare for Arthur’s arrival in a few days.”
“Arthur is coming back?”
“Yes, so he can turn the city over to Hoel, the King of Comberos, who is also coming.”
“Why would he turn the city over to another king?” Peredur asked, glad for a change in topics.
“The King of Comberos has traditionally held Namnetis,” Illtud answered. “As High King, Arthur must uphold the legitimate claims of the other kings.”
“Have you been in Andecava all this time?” Gawain asked. “Has there been any more fighting?”
“Only amongst ourselves,” Mabon laughed. “The army grows bored, spending each day in training or on short patrols.”
“The morning after the battle, Arthur had the entire army set out for Andecava,” Gareth said. “He wanted to return their hostages and prevent Odoacer and the remnant of his army from attempting to take that city.”
“Or just be there before Paulus showed up,” Cadwal interjected sarcastically.
“Who is Paulus?” Gawain asked.
“Paulus is the Comes commanding the army of Syagrius,” Illtud answered. “With Odoacer gone and the hostages returned, he’s there to reaffirm that Syagrius—I mean Rome—governs the city.” The satirical feigned mistake was uncharacteristic of Illtud.
“That remains in doubt,” the usually taciturn Teilo opined.
“What?” Gawain asked. “Does Arthur plan to take the city?”
“No, nothing like that,” Illtud interjected. “Rather, it appears there are some people of influence there whose sympathies are with Odoacer rather than Syagrius.”
“Even the hostages we returned seemed to prefer his rule,” Cadwal grumbled.
“This Odoacer seems a strange Saxon,” Gawain shook his head.
“He’s not even a Saxon,” Illtud said. “He’s from eastern Germania. They say he fought on the side of Attila at the Catalaunian Plains.”
“Do they know where he is now?” Gawain asked.
“Not that we’ve heard,” Mabon answered. “The last we know of is that he was heading south towards Euric’s capital at Tolosa.”
“I’m surprised Arthur didn’t pursue him,” Gawain said. “Is the army still in Andecava?”
“Yes,” Gareth answered. “Or, rather in camps outside of it. The city was full of its own citizens and refugees from the Saxons. In deference to Syagrius, he had our men camp in the plain to the south of the city.”
“You mean the marsh,” Cadwal muttered. “And the citizens don’t want to foul their streets with our presence, so we’re not even permitted to enter the city. But they’re more than happy to set up a market in our camp and profit from us.”
“Except for Arthur and his retinue, of course,” Keir spoke up. “When Paulus arrived, Arthur was invited to stay in the city, but he said he would camp with his men.”
“He even refused to enter the city to meet with Paulus,” Gareth chuckled. “He set his tent in the muddiest part of the camp and made Paulus come out to him for their strategy sessions.”
“That paid him back for those worthless catapults!” Mabon laughed, joined by the others.
“What catapults?” Gawain and Peredur both asked.
“Oh, we learnt this later, but remember the siege engines that Bedwyr dragged all the way here and Odoacer burned?” Cadwal asked. Gawain and Peredur nodded. “They were so old and rotted that they would’ve fallen apart the first time someone tried to use them.”
“Paulus told Arthur he had no working siege engines to spare,” Illtud said. “So Arthur took the old ones that had been rotting in storage and let word get around that he had working catapults to batter down the walls of Namnetis. It helped fool Odoacer.”
“Which nearly resulted in disaster,” Cadwal said. “And still Odoacer escaped.”
“But it did force the Saxons out of the Leger Valley,” Gawain said. “Which Arthur said was his primary intent. And it prevented us from standing a long, dull siege.”
The others agreed, and while most had become ardent admirers, even the most sceptical warrior admitted respect for Arthur. The conversation continued as they rode into the town.
After finding stable space for the horses and lodging and food for their comrades, Gawain sent Peredur to inform Morcant of Arthur’s impending arrival. Gawain went to the provisional council to do the same. With evening approaching, Gawain returned to the barracks and found a large meal prepared and a pile of weapons, armour and treasure in the centre of the room.
“What’s this?” Gawain asked, after being greeted with a cheer from the men already partaking of the wine and ale.
“This, lord, is the Ninth Turma’s share of the spoils,” Gareth said with a ridiculously pompous flourish. “We had Peredur keep it safe until we were all together so you could dispense it, as is your right.”
“And we made it quite clear that if the least trinket was missing,” Mabon gave Peredur a wolfish grin, “it would come out of his hide.”
“Arthur wouldn’t permit plundering the city,” Cadwal said. “But apparently these Saxons don’t trust leaving t
heir wealth behind, so there was plenty on their bodies and their ships.”
“Arthur made sure we received the spoils from that Saxon chief you killed,” Illtud added.
The leader of the band was entitled to a third of the treasure and to choose his share first. The remainder would be divided among the men by lots. Gawain looked through the pile and chose a beautifully worked gold armband in the shape of a dragon and a gold ring set with a large square garnet, both of which had belonged to the chieftain. There were also four swords, which he set aside, as well as the chieftain’s gilded helmet. He was entitled to more, but he took to heart what his father had taught about generosity.
Gawain gave a sword to Gareth and Illtud, neither of whom owned one. For his bravery in trying to save Atfodla, he gave the third sword to Fidach, who also did not have one. The fourth he gave to Cadwal, who owned one, but for him to bestow on the man of his line who most deserved it. It was a sharply diplomatic move.
Not being a fully trained and inducted member of the band, Peredur was not entitled to a share, but the men all voted to include him. He was given last choice of the treasure, but Gawain gave him the chieftain’s helm as a gift for his bravery while joking that it was to make sure enemy archers mistook who the leader was. Peredur was grateful, and even with the sparse choices left to him, it was more wealth than he, or most of the members of the turma, had ever owned.
The rest of the evening was spent merrily and drunkenly, with recovery the following day. The day after that, a dozen ships coasted downriver to Namnetis. Horns were blown, and the city turned out to see and cheer Arthur’s return.
After the initial excitement of Arthur’s arrival had died down, the king went immediately into a private meeting with the town’s council. Gawain and his turma had formed up with the garrison and the wounded who were able to stand, but Arthur had passed by in review with a cursory salute that left the men feeling a bit disappointed.
However, after the meeting, Arthur appeared first at the hospital to greet the wounded and to speak with Morcant, then made the circuit of the sentry points and the barracks to visit the soldiers. During the visit with Gawain’s men, he seemed distracted, but genuinely concerned with the well-being of his troops. As he left, one of his staff pulled Gawain aside and had a short conversation with him.
“What was that about?” Gareth asked, the others listening in curiously.
“There’s a feast tonight in honour of our dead and wounded,” Gawain said. “And a meeting for his junior leaders that I must attend shortly.”
Gawain gave a few instructions and departed. The courtyard of the palace where Arthur and his personal guard were quartered was being prepared for the feast. The sound of work and the scent of cooking meat filled the square. A staff officer directed Gawain to the High King’s chambers. Arthur sat at a table beside a window where the westering sun cast the best light on a pile of documents he was leafing through. He looked up as Gawain entered.
“Ah, Gawain!” he smiled, standing and embracing the surprised soldier like a brother. “It’s good to see you up and about! How’s your health? Are you ready to rejoin the ranks?”
“Quite ready, my lord,” Gawain answered.
“Excellent,” Arthur said, sitting and motioning Gawain to take a stool at the table. “Please pour yourself some wine,” he nodded to the jug on the table. “And I wouldn’t object to a cup.”
Gawain filled two glasses, beautiful things with a rosy hue that must have been worth the price of a good horse. He handed one to Arthur and sat to sip from the other. It was the best wine he had ever tasted, mellow and just slightly sweet.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Arthur grinned as Gawain agreed. “The grapes are grown not far from where the army’s encamped near Andecava.” He found the parchment he was looking for and scanned it for a moment before putting it down and frowning at the window. Gawain sat quietly, wondering why he was the only one at this briefing.
“I’m now twice in your debt, Gawain,” Arthur said, looking at Gawain in a manner that stopped him from protesting. “I’ve heard from many how your quick thinking and decisive action, not to mention your prowess, turned the battle from a stalemate, which would have been as good as a loss for us, to a clear victory.”
“My lord, you are too gracious,” Gawain tried to be humble. “It was luck more than anything that kept my rashness from turning to disaster.”
“Gawain, history is moved forward, not by the timid plodding of the prudent, but by the inspired leaps of the bold,” Arthur paused for a sip from his glass. He continued, looking seriously at Gawain. “You are one of the latter, and that makes you very valuable to a man in my position.” After a moment and another drink, he set his glass down and grinned. “Though being able to fight your way out of a rash decision is also quite valuable.”
“To be fair, Lord, I would not have found my way out were it not for my men,” Gawain shook his head. “It’s they who saved me.”
“I know quite well what happened,” Arthur nodded. “Your modesty, though a virtue, will drag out this conversation for longer than I have to spare. Suffice it to say that it’s a testament to your leadership and example that your men were able to be where they needed to be, to come to your aid and to exploit the collapse you caused.” Gawain remained silent now, trying not to show the pride he felt in the praise and feeling it was somewhat overstated.
“That’s yet another reason you’re valuable to me,” Arthur said. He glanced at his papers again, thought for a moment, then continued.
“I have need of your skills again,” he said, turning grave, “for a task that will stretch them to the utmost. It’s quite dangerous but vital to what we’re trying to accomplish.” He paused, frowning for a moment and tapping his finger on the table.
“It also requires the utmost discretion,” he continued. “You’d have information that few are privy to.”
“My lord, anything you entrust to me would be kept in the strictest confidence,” Gawain replied.
“I have no doubt of that,” Arthur chuckled. “Even when we wanted our men to talk, you were silent.” Noting Gawain’s puzzled look, Arthur added, “Gossip, within any army, is the most efficient way to spread news known to mankind. From the beginning, we’ve harnessed this resource by giving out bits of misinformation that we wanted the enemy to learn and believe. If all our men were as tight-lipped as you, our plans would never have worked.” Arthur shook his head with a wry smile.
“But it’s not fear of a wayward tongue, in this case,” Arthur said. “We’re about to invade a foreign country where we’ll be outnumbered and with limited resources. Even our allies are unreliable. Our greatest hope lies in outmanoeuvring the enemy and directing them into the fight we want. If you were to be captured, or slip into carelessness, it could mean the exposure of our agents and the deaths of many of our brothers.”
“With God as my witness, I will do everything in my power to avoid that,” Gawain said.
Arthur nodded, sighed and leant over the table as he lowered his voice and said, “We face a powerful foe, while our allies are feeble and desperate. Which makes them as dangerous to us as our common enemy.”
“You don’t trust Anthemius?” Gawain asked. It seemed Arthur was making an enormous gamble in support of the Romans.
“Anthemius is the only one I put any real trust in,” Arthur replied. “But he has little direct impact right now. There is a tangled web of competing interests, shifting alliances and ambitious men at work here. Last year, Anthemius launched a punitive invasion against the Vandals in northern Africa, but he was betrayed by his Magister Militum, a Vesi named Ricimer.
“This Ricimer’s ambition is behind the murder of many, including the two prior emperors he had installed as puppets. His actions during the war with the Vandals have left Anthemius unable to directly aid Syagrius, which is why our alliance was sought.
“Anthemius has been betrayed in this as well, by the Praetorian Prefect of Gaul, Arvandus. Arvandus communicated with Euric, urging him to renounce peace with the Romans and take advantage of the chaos to attack our folk in Letavia and then conquer Syagrius. He also told Euric of Emperor Anthemius’s request for our aid and some details of our plans.”
“Why would Arvandus do this?” Gawain asked.
“He’s yet another puppet of Ricimer, deep in debt and universally despised by those he governs. As an Arian barbarian, Ricimer would never be accepted as emperor, so he rules by proxy. Anthemius is an effective ruler whom Ricimer neither chose nor controls, so he seeks to discredit and eventually depose him. Arvandus likely hoped to be the next emperor installed by Ricimer.”
Arthur drained his glass and Gawain, nodding, fascinated by the intrigues of the wider world, nearly forgot to refill it.
“This is why I need you for an unusual task,” Arthur said, turning to open a wicker basket next to the table. He pulled out a large, rolled vellum map and spread it out on the table over his other papers. Gawain saw that it depicted Gaul. “Here is Namnetis,” Arthur pointed to a small depiction of a town beside the Leger river. “Euric has long coveted the Leger Valley, which is vital to the control of Gaul. Several years ago, when his brother was king, they attempted to expand northwards. They were defeated by Syagrius’s father, Aegidius, at Aurelianis, here,” Arthur’s finger traced upriver to another city. “Euric has been biding his time for another attempt.”
He brought his finger back to the west, some distance south-east of Namnetis and tapped on the icon of a town. “This is where we planned to strike next,” Arthur sighed. “Pictavis is ideally placed in terrain as a gateway between southern and northern Gaul. The walled city sits upon a strong position on a promontory over the river and would be ideal to hold while our allies advance from other points. The treason of Arvandus, however, has set us back months. Euric, now aware of our plans, has reinforced Pictavis, so we need a new approach.”
He paused to take a swallow of wine. “Euric’s been busy murdering and taking Roman lands in Hispania, so he had to reinforce Pictavis from his garrisons in Gaul.” Arthur moved his finger back to a city south and a little east of Aurelianis and tapped on the map. “This is Biturigas. The city gives tribute to Euric, but his forces in the area are thin. Rome has all but abandoned the region, but the population still considers themselves Roman. Setting our base there will make us a firm thorn in Euric’s side with allies to our north and east as we chip away at his tenuous holdings to the south. When he responds, he’ll face a long march with stretched supply lines and exposed flanks.” Arthur looked up and leant back in his seat.