by Jack Whyte
"Because I should have spoken with him months ago. He refused to meet me then, for reasons of his own. But we have amassed victories lately, and those have worked to his advantage. He and I have need of each other, despite his reluctance to share anything with me. He is the closest thing Pendragon has right now to a king and supreme leader. He also seems to be the only man in Cambria who can move swiftly and decisively to counteract Ironhair's manoeuvres and convince others to move with him. " I saw the protest forming in Huw's eyes and spoke quickly to forestall him. "I know that is not strictly true, and there are others who have arguably stronger rights to the kingship. I also know that some of those are able leaders, too. But there's no denying that Uderic is the most dynamic leader among them, or that he has the loyalty of his own men, and of some of those who follow others, too. He's the only one of the Pendragon chiefs I have not yet met, and I think the time to rectify that is now. Will you find him for me?"
"Aye, but he mislikes you even more than he mistrusts me." Huw looked uncomfortable, speaking the words.
"No, Huw, he thinks he mislikes me, but he has never met me. He may mislike the thought of me, and he may mistrust me—that I can understand, since I believe he sees in me some threat to his ambitions. He is insecure in his new kingship, having seized it by conquest, and he knows me as kin to Uther. But I hope that he will be clever enough see the advantages of having me—having all of us here— as allies. Uderic has a war to fight and win, and so have we, for reasons of our own. Acting together we could win it quickly, saving thousands of lives."
"The big one is heading this way!" This shout from the beach caused a general turning towards the sea. I eased my way among my men to where I could see what was happening, Derek and Donuil flanking me on either side. Sure enough, the massive bireme had come much closer to us and would soon draw level with our position, perhaps less than half a mile out to sea. Its lesser, consort galleys, of which I counted ten at first glance, were sweeping closer to shore, spying on us, yet keeping just beyond Pendragon bow range.
"They won't come closer, but they're curious." I turned to Donuil. "Show them our standards, Donuil. Have our trumpeters sound out a challenge for them. And post a squad of bowmen on the rocks above, in hopes that some of them may row too close." As he left to carry out my orders, I turned back to Huw, who had come to stand behind me. "So, Huw, how many men will you take with you and how long will you require to make ready? I'd like to see you on your way today."
"Then you will. I'll take my own half hundred with me. I'll feel safe with my own Pendragon bowmen against any number of heathen Outlanders. With the goodwill of the gods, I'll find Uderic within the week, unless he's dead and in the ground, and I'll be back within three days of that. Where should I arrange for you to meet with him?!'
"I've no idea, " I told him honestly. "You pick the place, as close as possible to half way between where we are now and where you find Uderic. But be sure to leave yourself sufficient time to get back here and lead me to the meeting place before the appointed time. "
He nodded, grinning. "Should I go now? I'm ready. "
"Then do so, and accept my thanks. "
He spun on his heel and walked away, and as I watched him go I heard another shout from the beach. 'Tell Commander Merlyn one of them's coming in!" I was moving again before the word was relayed. As I stepped clear of the throng, on to the bare strand above the beach, I saw Donuil come galloping towards me along the hard sand at the water's edge.
"That's Feargus, Merlyn!" he shouted.
Sure enough, I recognized the racing galley instantly by the red of its sail. My jaw dropped as I looked again to where the massive bireme ploughed ahead of its escorts.
"Connor Mac Athol!" I roared into the sudden stillness. "You crazed, intemperate, one legged madman!"
Feargus's galley heeled hard over and came scything towards the beach, its oars scattering water and flashing wet in the sunlight. I made my way straight down the sand to the water's edge, holding my arms widespread in welcome and restraining myself with difficulty from breaking into a headlong run. Donuil, I knew, had jumped down from his horse and was close behind me, as would be the others. The galley sped straight towards me until, at the last possible moment, the oarsmen shipped their oars in unison and the long, sleek craft glided forward unaided, its speed dwindling rapidly, to grate to a halt on the shallow, sandy bottom less than a score of paces from where I stood. The tiny man who captained this graceful craft leaped to the prow and hailed me.
"Merlyn of Camulod! The Admiral of King Brander's seas sends greetings! Would you care to step aboard his bireme?"
"Gladly," I roared. "But I cannot walk on water, nor can I swim in armour." Even as I shouted, however, I saw the tiny boat being pushed away to fetch me and I turned to Donuil. "Your brother never fails to amaze me. The last time we spoke, he told me he intended to steal one of Ironhair's biremes. I should have been expecting this! Come with me." I looked beyond his shoulder to where Derek, Benedict and Rufio stood grinning. "We'll be gone but a short time. My apologies to the others for the interrupted meeting, but this development may change everything. Connor Mac Athol may have won our war for us!"
Connor made us royally welcome aboard his magnificent new ship, and as soon as the amenities of greetings and exchange of family trivia had been concluded, he told us the tale of how he had procured it, slipping unnoticed with more than a hundred men into the armed camp that served as its major harbour on the northern coast of Cornwall.
His plan had succeeded without a setback. He and his men and ships were welcomed by the Cornishmen, accepted unquestioningly as mercenaries no different from the hundreds of others who came and went constantly, and Connor had bided his time, establishing himself and his followers, over the course of six days, as belonging. Then, on the seventh day, the bireme had arrived and the booty captured in the previous month's raids in Cambria had been unloaded and dispatched in wagons to wherever Ironhair stored such things. Connor had discovered that new levies would be boarded the following day for transportation into Cambria, and thus had been presented with two alternative courses: loading his own men aboard the following day, then capturing the vessel once at sea, or taking the initiative immediately and capturing the ship that very night. He had chosen the latter, because the cargo holds his men would occupy in travelling were deep, and they might not be able to leave them before the end of the voyage. He had heard tales aplenty of mercenaries confined in the holds beneath locked hatches throughout entire voyages, especially in foul weather. Furthermore, at sea the ship would have its own armed defenders.
Connor had issued his commands, and his men had boarded the bireme in the dead of night, easily overcoming the few guards posted in the ship's home port. Once aboard, the remainder had been simple, and the bireme had quietly slipped from its moorings, under new command, with no one noticing.
Two things, however, had appalled him and his men: the rank stench of the ship, emanating from the decks where the rowers were chained to their sweeps; and the unsuspected fact that such ships were powered by slaves. Connor had been completely unprepared for that. When he had discovered it, he had been forced to consider abandoning his attempt to steal it, knowing that the vessel's oarsmen would be confined there, and aware of what was afoot. The size of the ship, however, the overwhelming bulk of it and the power it offered, had convinced him that he could not simply do nothing merely because he feared the possible reaction of a crew of slaves. Certainly, he reasoned, they might rebel and raise the alarm when they discovered the theft, in which case Connor and his men would be in dire straits; or they might even refuse to row the vessel, which would be scarcely better. Connor, however, had elected to believe they might choose freedom, and so he offered it, overcoming language difficulties by the simple expedient of choking a hulking overseer with his own whip, striking the chains off the leading slaves and setting some of his own men to toil beside them in starting the ship away from the dock. His message of hope spr
ead quickly, and the galley slaves worked harder, without goading, than they had probably ever worked before. By dawn, the bireme was safe in deep, blue water, surrounded by Connor's own galleys and unthreatened by pursuit.
I interrupted him at that point to ask him what he had done with the slaves, and he smiled at me.
"Almost half of them are here aboard, those who were fit enough to want to fight. "
"And what about the others?"
'They're in the north, among our Isles. Some died, but very few. The others are... mending. "
"How long ago did all this occur?"
His smile grew wider. "What was it, three months ago? No, it was four. I sailed directly south on leaving you, and we took the ship a short time after that... perhaps two weeks. My plan was right, you see. No point in putting off what could be done right then and there. "
"And then you sailed home again, all the way north, directly?"
He laughed. "We had to, man! We couldn't stay down here. You've never smelled a stink the like of what we found aboard. Those rowers were chained to their oars, never released for any purpose, so they lived in their own filth. My men were vomiting all the time from the stench of it. You couldn't eat your food and hold it down! We had to clean the whole ship, stem to stern. We beached it, north of here, as soon as we were free of interference, and swilled it out, but the stink was settled deep in the wood and would not be swiftly moved."
I nodded. "It still smells ripe," I said, but Connor waved my comment away disdainfully.
"Ah, it's almost nothing now, and growing fainter all the time. I tell you, at the start, it was unbearable. When we won home, to the Isles, we didn't dare take the thing near any of our people, so we beached it again on a sand bar and then spent two months scraping the hull and scrubbing the wood inside it with lye soap to root out the stink. Even then, it was hard to bear. We floated it again and built slow fires of peat along the decks, in braziers, letting the sweet smell of the smoke hang tight inside the walls for two full weeks, and that made things a little better. After that, we filled the space between the decks with fresh mown hay. Soon we'll fumigate the place again with sweet peat smoke, and that should finish it. Now no man shits or pisses between decks, on pain of flogging.
"But what a ship, eh, Merlyn? What a ship! Nigh on five hundred men I have in her right now. Five hundred men! It's cramped—there's no denying that—but five hundred on one ship!" He stopped, then shook his head. "Mind you, that's a lot of men to drown if she ever sank under us." He stood up and strode across his cabin, and the deck above his head was high enough to permit him to do so without stooping. He thumped the sloping wall. "Little chance of that, though. Solid, this is, and iron hard, though I've not the least idea what kind of wood it is."
"What of the other one?"
"The other one like this? I've no idea, nor have I ever seen it. If it's still in these waters, I'll find it one day."
"And then? What will you do?"
"I'll burn it, or I'll capture it."
"You mean you'll fight it, ship to ship?"
His grin was ferocious. "Why not? All the advantages would lie with me. Their ship is crewed by slaves, mine by free men. We'll out row them, out sail them and out fight them."
I glanced at Donuil, to see how he was taking this, and found him grinning at his brother. "So be it," I said. "Where are you headed now, and how did you happen to come by here?"
Connor shrugged his broad shoulders. "I knew you were in Cambria, but I didn't know where. We rode out last night's storm in a small bay two hours' sailing time from here, and now I'm on my way to join forces with Logan. I'll sweep along the coast here, till I reach the river mouth, then turn south and sail back westward along the northern coast of Cornwall. Logan will sail east, from the end of the Cornish horn, to join me in visiting Ironhair's harbour there, the one where we found this beauty. It's defended by a fort, built into the cliff, but like all forts, it's built facing the land, so it offers us no great threat. That's why we were able to sail out so easily. This time we'll sail in, but of course they'll know us as enemies, even before we attack. They'll know this beauty immediately. Her sister may even be there when we arrive, in which case we'll take her if we can, or destroy her if we must. In either event, I intend to make life unpleasant for the troops along that coast, outside the fort and close to the town." He paused. "You've a look in your eye, Merlyn Britannicus, a look I knew well when you were yellow headed the first time. What have you in your mind?"
I shook my head. "Nothing, really. What's this fort called? Is it Tintagel, by any chance?"
Connor nodded. "Aye, that's the name. You know it?"
"I know of it. Lot of Cornwall's father started building it, and Lot carried on with the work. Is it made of stone?"
"Some of it. Some parts of it. They've had masons working on it for years, but it's nowhere near complete. Mainly it's built of wood—log palisades. Would you like to come with me and see it?"
I answered his grin with my own. "I would dearly love to, but my troops might grow confused, seeing me sail off like that. I think I'd better stay right here, in case fighting breaks out."
"Well, then, let me show you my ship, before I have to go. Logan has less than ten craft with him, in the south, so I've no wish to keep him waiting for my arrival. Come."
I was stunned by the spaciousness of his new craft. From the exterior view it looked enormous, but walking between the multiple decks, its real dimensions became awesomely apparent. It stretched fully eighty paces long, from stem to stern as Connor said, while the width of the main deck was twenty five paces. The hatches to the cargo holds ran in a line along the middle of the craft, giving access to the holds themselves, three full decks beneath. The great double banks of oars were handled from a stepped deck in the very centre of the craft, where the rowers of alternate sweeps worked above and below each other, half the height of a tall man separating them. The signs of recent slavery were still apparent there: iron rings set into the floor and smooth worn channels in the wooden deck showed where the chains that bound the rowers had run. At the rear end of the rowing deck , directly at the foot of the companionway leading up to the steering deck, a massive kettledrum sat mounted on a tripod. This, Connor explained, was the post of the oarmaster, the man who dictated the rhythm of the huge sweeps that propelled the ship. From his position just below the shipmaster on the stern steering deck, the oarmaster could clearly hear the commands passed down to him, and the rhythmic pounding of his drum hammers decreed the pace of the rowers’ efforts.
Below the rowing deck was a deck for cargo storage, while another above provided accommodation for the ship's warriors. The original biremes of Rome had been no more than floating platforms from which land trained troops fought land based wars, and that priority had altered little over the centuries. Front and rear, great towers soared above the main deck, giving the vessel an ungainly appearance when seen from either side; these provided viciously effective advantages as platforms for the ship's catapults and other artillery, and also housed the ship's officers and troop commanders. At either end of the deck drawbridges reared high. Lowered by pulleys, they were used to attach the ship to land when the vessel was in port, but they were equally capable of locking it similarly to another ship's side in battle, allowing soldiers to pour across on to the enemy's decks.
Connor, I knew, had good reason to be proud of owning this floating fortification, but his greatest source of pride was the enormous, copper clad battering ram of solid wood, wider than my outspread arms where it formed the prow of the ship. This stretched out a full six long legged strides from the bireme's bows and tapered to a wicked point below the waterline. Heaven help any other vessel that found itself facing this, I thought when he pointed it out to us.
Connor shipped us ashore again, promising to return by the shortest route to visit us after he had sacked Ironhair's harbour in Cornwall. He estimated that it would take him less than a week to go there, do what he must do, and re
turn. I promised him we would still be there when he did return, providing his estimate was accurate, since I was committed to await Huw Strongarm's return, and that would take no less than a week. After that, though, I would be leaving as soon as I had to, in order to meet with Uderic Pendragon.
He walked with Donuil and me to the side of his ship and then braced himself with his wooden leg against the rail before leaning outward, clinging to a rope, to watch with a wide grin of delight as we made our way nervously down a narrow wooden ladder lashed to the side of the great ship. We were suddenly terrifyingly aware of how simple it had been to board this monster from the tiny boat that now bobbed sickeningly on the leaping waves, slightly beyond our reach.
Clinging there above the lurch of the slapping waves, we gauged our time and distance and leaped to where willing hands waited to grasp us and save us from overturning the boat. We both made the transit safely, albeit with a decided lack of dignity. My stomach was still swooping distressingly when the hull of the boat grated on the sand and I leaped out, wading through ankle deep water to the satisfying solidness of the dry beach, carefully avoiding the eyes of any of the watchers who stood there.
For the remainder of that day I had but one pressing priority. I reconvened the officers and apologized for the interruption of our session, after which I set them to drawing up rosters of activities that would keep our troops occupied and usefully employed during the time we must wait for Huw's return. That done, I handed command over to Donuil, as adjutant, and withdrew to my own tent to bring my diurnal log up to date.
The wording of the first two sentences I wrote that day has remained bright in my memory, because they fell so far short of the truth that, when I read them again later, I laughed aloud at the power we have to surprise ourselves with our own ineptitude. "Connor has returned unexpectedly, " I wrote, "in possession of one of Ironhair's biremes. Now, after months of inaction, it appears that things might start to change. " Well, change they did.