by Jay Allan
Merlin looked at the map with a grin. "I have seen this map before, though never have you shown it to me. I remember when your father commissioned it, though he did not live to see it finished. Some of the borders have changed since the initial drafting." Merlin was staring at the map but not seeing it, for his mind was in another place, another time. "I remember the day your father set sail, Constantine. It was dawn, and the sky was gray. In the cold drizzle I saw him for the last time, and we bade each other farewell. He was in good spirits, for he left to seize an empire, but my mood was leaden, for the portents were evil. I tried to convince him to stay, but though he trusted my wisdom, he was blind where ambition was concerned. As if it were yesterday I can see his ship vanishing into the dreary gray horizon."
"Are you worried I too will ignore your counsel, Merlin?" Constantine managed a slight grin.
Merlin glanced up at his friend. "Nay, Constantine, for no counsel do I have for you now. I know not what to tell you to do, nor how to react. I fear that if we respond immediately, unprepared as we are, we will be defeated. Yet if we wait until we are ready, we may see our allies destroyed one by one, leaving us too weak to prevail."
"Have you read the portents ill, my friend?" Constantine wasn't sure he believed in all of Merlin's mysticism, but he knew better than to ignore anything the old man said.
Merlin sat silently for a moment, thinking. "I cannot see whether victory or defeat awaits us, yet I divine that great loss and sacrifice lay ahead. And certain I am that Uther will play a vital role."
"My son is indeed a great warrior.” Constantine allowed himself a brief prideful smile. “But can one fighter, however skilled, make such a difference? Perhaps I should not have sent him away."
"Nay.” Merlin put his hand on Constantine’s arm. "I feel that he was meant to go. It may be that some wisdom he gains on this trip will affect him in some way. Or perhaps he will return at the right time to play his part. I know not what will happen, but I feel Uther’s quest was necessary, and it will serve us in some way."
"Which does not change the fact that we must now decide what to do now." He sat silently for a few moments, thinking. Slowly his expression changed, and Merlin could see his friend had made a decision. "With no clear route, I must choose to support my friends. Urien will fall without aid; that much is certain. And of Lot we have heard naught. I must send forces north without delay."
Constantine looked down at the table, studying the well-crafted map carefully. He could make out the differences between the original markings and the various updates made over the years. The newer writing was brighter and easier to read, the old faded and harder for his aged eyes to see.
"I cannot commit fully to the north, though, for the Picts are far from the only force at Vortigern's command. Still he has his Saxon allies, and there are many Britannic lords who have sworn to him.” Constantine’s faced contorted in disgust. “Treacherous dogs." He pointed on the map to an area well east of Powys. "Here shall I send a contingent, for I hope to deceive Vortigern into thinking we invade in great force. Perhaps by this stratagem, he will be unnerved, and consequently he may pause and give us the time we need."
Merlin, who had been silently listening, finally spoke. "Do you not take a great risk in so dividing your forces? Caer Guricon you could hold for some time with a small force, allowing you to send a large army north to break the siege of Carlisle. Then, you could concentrate your forces and attack to the east."
Constantine considered Merlin's words. "Indeed, my friend, we take terrible risks no matter what course we choose. For if was stand on the defensive in Caer Guricon, with only a small force held back, what is to stop Vortigern from striking King Rience…or Cameliard to the south? Such a strategy would yield all initiative to the usurper, and indeed, he has already seized the advantage. Also, if we hide behind our walls, what of the people? Shall we leave the towns and villages to Vortigern's mercy? Do we stand atop our battlements while our nations burn?"
"They will burn in any event, my friend, if your armies are defeated in the field.” Merlin's voice was grim.
"There is no good choice for us, Merlin, for we are in grave danger. Yet if it must be a choice of evils, then the choice is mine. I would stake all on aggressive action rather than cowering behind my walls."
"Constans will go north with half of our levy, and I shall send word to King Rience to dispatch a contingent of his forces to join them on the march. I shall them to move with haste, for surprise is essential to offset the enemy’s numbers."
"They will indeed be heavily outnumbered.” Merlin’s tone remained dark, somber. "If they do not achieve the surprise you seek they will be at great risk, far from home and ill-supplied. You take a great risk."
"I would send a larger force if I dared, but I must defend Powys and also dispatch men to the east as a ruse. I shall send 300 spears under Antonius, with orders to move rapidly and create the appearance of a much greater army. If we are fortunate, Vortigern will hesitate, and we shall gain the time we need."
Constantine glanced up from the map where he had been focusing, and looked Merlin in the eye. "I would send you to Tintagel if you will go, for we must convince Gorlois to support us now. The wedding, I fear, will needs be postponed, but his armies in the field we must have without delay. He will be difficult and hesitant to help until the kings have gathered and acclaimed him. There is no one with a better chance to convince him. If he consents to send a force north, I myself shall lead them to augment Constan's army."
Merlin sighed. "Of course, Constantine, I shall try. But Gorlois is ofttimes unreasonable. I am uncertain of my chances for success."
"We have no other choice, my friend, for there is no prospect of convincing all the kings to abandon their strongholds now to attend Gorlois’ wedding and coronation. Indeed Urien is besieged and Lot likely cut off entirely. Gorlois has demanded that all be present at the wedding to acclaim him king before he releases his forces. He must relent on this demand."
Merlin nodded. "I shall go and prepare, for I leave on the morrow."
"Fare thee well, my friend. I fear that no road is safe now, so I will send fifty men at arms with you as escort."
Merlin nodded his thanks and took his leave of the king. Walking down the corridor he thought grimly to himself, for he had grave concerns about Constantine's strategies and feared that the coming months would bring great hardship and challenges. His vision of events to come was cloudy, and he was uneasy. Through it all, Uther kept coming to his mind. What great part, he thought to himself, are you destined to play in this saga, Uther Pendragon?
Chapter Four
Two Kings
496 AD
Southern Coast of Britannia
Near the Ruins of Noviomagnus
Uther was the first to leap over the wale of the ship, landing chest deep in the icy cold surf. The voyage home had been a bit easier on him than the outbound journey, but he was still glad to have his feet touch solid ground. They'd had to pay extra to hire a ship, for winter had almost begun, and the risk of the voyage was greater. The crew still had to sail back to Gaul, so they insisted on landing here on the southern coast rather than spend further days at sea. It took little effort to convince Uther to ride more and sail less.
Beyond the narrow sandy beach there was a wall of rock rising irregularly above the sea. While the ship was unloaded, Uther climbed along a rugged path to the top of one of the outcroppings and peered inland. He looked out over a small plateau with rough grassy patches, mixed with smaller rock formations, and beyond this there were rolling hillsides as far as the eye could see.
Leodegrance walked partway up the path. "What see you, old friend, save a way to avoid the unloading."
Uther laughed and turned to look at his companion, but as his eyes moved across the panorama they caught something hazy in the distance. His head froze, for he recognized the shadowy image as a column of smoke, and behind it he saw another. And another.
Leodegrance s
aw Uther's reaction and hurried his way to the top of the cliff. "What is it? Riders?"
"No. Columns of smoke. Villages burning, I would guess. It would seem war has come already, at least to the south."
Leodegrance scaled the last section of path and stood next to Uther, gazing out over the hillsides at the dark, shadowy pillars rising into the sky. They were becoming denser and easier to see. "By my reckoning, we are not far from Cameliard. If there be open war here, my father will know. We must ride to Caerleon without delay."
Uther looked up and down the coast, finally pointing east. "There the cliff is much lower. Likely we can find a path the horses can climb."
Down on the beach Caradoc was supervising the unloading of the horses and mules and the organization of provisions. With Caradoc's guards added to the surviving warriors and servants of Uther and Leodegrance there were nearly thirty in the band, and it took half the day to unload them and prepare to ride. They ate a quick and cold midday meal, for Uther and Leodegrance were insistent that they travel as far as possible by nightfall.
About a league east they found a break in the cliffside, and there a twisty, but manageable pathway leading off the beach. Shortly they were up on the plateau and making much better time than they had on the soft sand. Long they rode, and on their way they found three villages, all of them burned to the ground. In each they found the villagers slain, and it appeared that many had died in great torment. There were charred bodies lying next to burned stakes and disfigured corpses strewn about.
At the last village they found a battlefield, for there were ten Britannic warriors lying slain along with eight of the Saxon invaders. They dismounted and looked closely. One of the warriors carried a standard they didn't know, a red hawk on a black field. Six of the bodies had been hideously disfigured after they had been slain. These bore the coat of arms of Cameliard.
Uther leaned over and picked up one of their shields, staring at it somberly. "Indeed, these are your father's warriors, and if I read their arms correctly, they are from his personal retinue."
Leodegrance's voice was cold as ice. "You read correctly, my friend. The fiends have dishonored the dead. We must find whomever did this." There was death in his tone.
"Then we should ride now, for I swear these tracks leading off are not two hours cold. Perhaps we can catch them in their camp if we follow without rest." It was Caradoc, who was kneeling on the ground along the path leading from the village.
"Can you track them?" asked Uther.
"Indeed, for little have I had to do most of my life save hone my skills at the hunt. It will be harder in the darkness, but they have left a sloppy trail, easy to read. This way they rode." He pointed northeast.
They mounted and set out, following Caradoc's instructions. Many times he dismounted to read the ground more closely by torchlight, and twice he had them turn back and change their course, but he never lost the trail.
At two hours past midnight he called quietly for them to stop. He turned to Uther and Leodegrance. "They are very close, perhaps just over this next rise. We should go forward on foot to scout."
The three of them dismounted and drew their swords. Silently, they crept forward, crouching low as they reached the top of the gentle hillside in front of them. In the small valley below was a camp. There was no moon, and all they could see was illuminated by the dying campfires. It was a large camp; that much they could tell.
"At least three score warriors I would say, perhaps more.” Uther whispered softly to his companions. “We are outmanned, yet surprise would be our ally."
There was blood in Leodegrance's eyes, and Uther needed no words to know his friend's heart. "Caradoc, half our swords are your men and not ours. It is not for us to command them. What say you?"
The Visigoth looked at his two companions, and in his expression was steely resolve. "You are now my brothers, and your battle is mine as well. Let us send forth the word to your enemies that you have returned."
The three of them silently clapped hands together and crept back down the hillside. Uther ordered the servants to remain until he came back to retrieve them and commanded the warriors to follow. They would attack at the gallop and slay as many as they could before the foe was roused and able to resist. Those with torches were to set the tents aflame. Uther forbade battle cries until they were in the camp and fully engaged. Tristan he ordered to remain, for the boy was still too young, and he had no time to watch over him in this fight.
Uther and Leodegrance were in the fore, with Caradoc at their side. Behind came their men, also three abreast. Over the hillside they rode, torches held high and swords drawn, and then they were in the camp. Uther rode past a large red tent and let his torch fly through the open flap, and he plunged into a group of the enemy who were sitting around the embers of a fading camp fire.
They rose with shock, just as Uther's blade struck. The first fell, his chest cleaved open and his collarbone shattered by the mighty blow. Again and again the massive sword struck, and Uther's enemies died amid great sprays of blood, their screams of alarm quickly silenced. Five he had slain before any even fought back, and still did he ride forward, killing all those he could find.
Leodegrance rode to the right of Uther and cried, "Cameliard!" His first blow struck at a warrior just bringing his spear to bear, and it took the man's head clean off. Next he rode at a group of three Saxons who were running toward Uther. His sword clanged on his target's shield, yet so strong was his blow that he broke the Saxon's arm, sending him to his knees.
All through the camp the fighting raged, and sounds of sword striking sword reverberated through the still night air. The enemy tents were ablaze, and half-naked warriors stumbled out into the paths of the attackers. The surprise was total and the battle a massacre. Ten minutes after it had begun there were two score of the enemy dead or dying, and the rest had yielded and dropped their weapons.
Among the captured were ten Britons, all wearing the black and red insignia they had seen in the sacked village. Caradoc's men guarded the captives, and the Visigoth prince, who had been dismounted in the fight, stood before Uther.
"Know you what men have we lost, Caradoc?" Uther was covered in his enemies’ blood, and he wiped his face with a rag as he spoke.
"Yes. One of your men was slain, and another wounded seriously, though I think he will live. One also of my men was slain, and two injured, though neither of those grievously."
Uther let out a deep breath, "God has been merciful to us this night, for we have prevailed more decisively than we dared hope. And we have avenged the destroyed villages."
The camp was searched, and they found a bag of copper coins, and a box full of trinkets of little value, likely all the treasures that had been possessed by the villages. Near the center of the camp they found a pole sunk into the ground, and chained to it were half a dozen women. They were of various ages, and all were naked and shivering in the frigid night. One, a girl of no more than twelve summers, lie dead, burns on her body and her thighs covered with blood. Uther called for his warriors to unchain the women and give them their cloaks. Other women did they find in the tents, similarly assaulted. He sent a messenger to bring up the servants and the mules, and ordered that the women be given water and food.
The prisoners, huddled together miserably, called for mercy, falling to their knees before their captors. Leodegrance looked over them with contempt in his eyes. "And what of them?"
Uther stared at the distraught captives, his gaze like the face of death. "Behead the Saxons." His voice was ice.
"And the Britons?" asked Caradoc.
Uther called to a pair of his warriors who stood at his side. "Gather brush," he told the two men. "Burn them alive."
His arms burned with exhaustion, and his legs were numb from the cold, but King Urien swung his blood-soaked sword yet again, and another Pictish warrior fell from the wall onto the frozen ground twenty feet below. All day the enemy had been testing the walls of Carlisle and the resolv
e of the men of Rheged, but the defenders held firm and repulsed every attack with a river of Pictish blood.
For ten months, Carlisle had withstood the siege, and Urien, the young king, was the heart of the defense. Everywhere he was, wherever the threat was greatest. Anywhere his men lost heart, at whatever point the enemy was pouring over the walls, there was the king, his great sword singing the song of death to the invader.
Caelin also had won great honor, for he had slain a score of foes, and twice he had made his way through the night to carry the king's messages to Uxelodunum, half a league away across the river. The great fort still held out as well, and Owain, the king's uncle who commanded there, had three times sallied out to burn the enemy's camps and steal their supplies.
Yet a pall of gloom lay over the town and sapped the strength of the defenders. More than half their number had been lost, and even arming every old man and boy, they would soon be unable to hold the walls. They were down to a quarter loaf of bread and a small piece of salt pork daily, and that was for the fighting men. The townsfolk got even less. The horses had long ago been eaten, and now even a rat was such a prized meal that a man might be murdered for it.
The enemy had suffered greater losses, that is true, and for a brief time Urien thought his men might break the siege. His hopes were dashed the month before when the enemy's ranks were swelled with new arrivals. Another band of Picts, perhaps two thousand strong had joined, and from the south, bearing strange black and red banners, came an army of Britons, at least three thousand strong, which joined the besieging forces. It was thus that all of the foe's losses were made good, while Urien still gazed south each day in vain, looking for the help that had been promised him. Naught had he heard either from Constantine and his alliance or from King Lot of Luthien, whose domains lay north and east of Rheged.