by Jay Allan
Merlin spoke, his voice gentle and sad. "Uther, Igraine, I deeply regret that your destinies have demanded such painful sacrifices from each of you. I would, if it were in my power, release you from your fates, and pray you might find happiness together. Alas, there is naught that I can do, save perhaps grant you a brief time together, that you shall not be totally denied each other. This night only shall you have, and I promise that none shall disturb you nor discover your secret. You are safe tonight, but come the morn, your time together must be ended. Just before dawn shall I knock three times on the door. Uther, you must then leave and return to the castle. I will bring Igraine back to her chamber, and none shall know she was ever gone."
He slipped quickly through the door and was gone, leaving Uther and Igraine alone, with only the flickering light from the hearth illuminating the room. Igraine stood nervously, looking at Uther, but saying nothing. Uther knew he should leave, but no force of will could he muster that was strong enough to move him. Merlin, he thought, I know not if this be an act of mercy or a dagger in the heart, yet I am grateful.
Finally, he could restrain himself no longer and, walking hurriedly across the room, he embraced Igraine, her lips urgently meeting his as she fell into his arms. Afterward, Uther could not remember how long they just stood in each other's arms, though he never forgot the feeling of her lips or the scent of her hair.
Slowly, he unbuttoned her tunic, letting the loose garment drop to the floor, and he took her into his arms, carrying her to the bed. For that night they belonged to each other, and the dismal fate that awaited them did not exist. They did not sleep, for fear they would lose a moment together, and as the night grew old they lay quietly together, savoring the warmth of each other's bodies. They spoke little, for what could they speak of but that which the morrow would bring?
When the three knocks on the door came, Uther had been waiting, and yet he felt as though his blood had frozen. Their last moment together was heart-rending, and Uther held her tightly, as if he could push away fate as long as his grip remained strong. Finally, with a last gentle, lingering kiss, he left her wordlessly.
After Uther had slipped out, Merlin waited for a moment to give Igraine time to dress, and then he entered the room and led her back to the castle. By whatever wizardry Merlin possessed, they walked back into the castle unseen, slipping through the secret entry and up to Igraine's chamber. Her ladies still slept, and whether it was providence or Merlin's machinations that made them slumber so soundly she never knew.
"Thank you, Merlin," said Igraine softly. He voice was sweet, yet in it was great sadness. "For though my fate is a bitter one, now Uther and I shall always share a part of one another. You have given me a memory to sustain myself, whatever this cruel life brings."
"Sustain you both it shall, for whatever befalls you, know that Uther Pendragon loves you as strongly as you love him." Before he left, Merlin reached into a pouch in his robes and handed Igraine a small vial, glass worked with delicate gold. "Drink this in a goblet of wine at your wedding, and do not forget. It will not harm you, but it will make you bleed, and by this Gorlois shall believe that you were still a maid in your marriage bed. For never can he know of this night, or that you love Uther Pendragon."
Igraine took the vial and bade Merlin farewell. As he closed the door behind him she lay on the bed, clutching the small bottle, and began to cry.
Gorlois, duke of Cornwall, and his entourage rode through the main gate of the castle at Caer Guricon to horns blowing celebratory fanfare. He was in good spirits and spoke cheerfully with his advisors, for on the morrow he would be wed to the beautiful Igraine, and then he would be acclaimed king of Cornwall, and be so recognized by the seven kingdoms of the alliance.
The ceremonies were originally to have taken place the past spring but were delayed when war erupted in the north and east. Initially, Gorlois had demanded that all seven kings be present to accept him as one of them. He had long been resentful of their unwillingness to recognize him as king despite the fact that he wielded greater power than all save Constantine. After months of diplomacy, he had relented, for the kings were in the field with their armies and unable to attend. Parchments he had from all, attesting their assent to the agreement. All save Urien, who was besieged in his capital, and Lot, far to the north and cut off from Powys by the enemy armies.
In the one of the minor halls sat Uther Pendragon, totally silent, his face like carved stone. In a chamber in the tower lay his father, King Constantine, the architect of the alliance. But Constantine now faced his final struggle and, too weak to stand or even speak more than a few words, he had ceded control of all affairs to his only remaining son. Now Uther was charged with welcoming Gorlois and presiding over the wedding and other festivities...and sending the woman he loved away to Cornwall as another man's wife.
He was alone, for he had chased the terrified servants away and ordered his counselors to leave him. But now it was time to greet his guest in the great hall. Uther rose slowly from the heavy oak chair, his legs leaden. His face showed no emotion, just deadly resolve in those steely gray eyes as he walked silently out into the corridor and made his way to the great hall.
Chapter Five
Dragon of Winter
497 AD
Winter
Caer Guricon, Capital of the Kingdom of Powys
Uther stood in the courtyard of the castle at Caer Guricon, his vassal lords and allies standing in a rough circle around him. The day was gray and overcast, with a brisk wind that made the bitter cold all but unbearable. The lords were clad in heavy fur cloaks and thick winter boots, yet all shivered in the deep winter chill. All save Uther Pendragon.
Uther stood like a statue, impervious, it seemed, to cold or discomfort, clad all in black save for the blue and silver Pendragon arms emblazoned on his tunic. Under his mail shirt, hidden from view, was a silver ring with a blue sapphire, hung from a chain about his neck. His gray eyes were cold and emotionless, and the features of his face were as chiseled marble.
"We march tomorrow. Have your contingents ready, for we set out at dawn." His tone was cold, imperious. A low mumbling sound arose from the assembled lords, not so much a reply as a ripple of discontent. Uther paid it no heed and turned to leave when one of the lords mustered the courage to speak.
"Lord Uther," - for though he commanded as regent, his father still lived and he was not yet king - "always shall House Pendragon command our loyalty, yet I must ask you to reconsider this command. You allow us to leave only one man in ten to defend our estates, and when we return it may be to wasted lands and burned castles. And you insist that we march out in mid-winter on short notice and ill-supplied. How many will perish from the cold?"
The voice was that of Lord Arven, a troublesome sort, wont to seek advantage whenever he could. Uther turned his head, and his ice cold gaze fell on the complaining vassal. Arven stood fast, but cringed under that deadly stare, for whatever they thought of their young heir, all here gathered had seen him in battle.
"It is decided, Arven." Uther spoke with grim finality. "The time for debate is passed."
Uther started to turn his head to leave when the stubborn lord protested yet again. Those around him who had seen Uther's stare leaned away nervously and prayed for him to be silent, yet Arven would not be stayed.
"Lord Uther, I cannot consent to leave my estates unprotected and allow my men to die by the roadside in the winter snows. Allow us to leave one man in three, and delay this march until spring, and we shall follow you anywhere. But I shall not blindly march to my ruin." Arven stood defiantly, having worked up his courage to take this stand.
The lords near Arven cringed, for they expected an outburst of rage and invective in response to the rebelliousness of the vassal. Yet Uther was silent; not a word passed his lips. He merely stood, still as death for a long moment, and then, in a motion so quick no eyes could follow it, he pulled his sword from the scabbard and swung the blade with deadly effect. So swift was t
he blow that Arven had not the time to gasp before his head was struck from his body and fell into the new fallen snow in a shower of blood.
There was a collective gasp of horror from the assembly, yet no one else dared speak or even look directly at Uther, who stood there calmly, still holding his bloody sword. After a moment, Uther turned and started back toward the castle.
"Dawn," he said as he walked away. "We leave at dawn."
In an instant, he was gone, leaving naught behind save the stunned assembly and his deep footsteps in the bloodstained snow.
Merlin stood in the great hall, alone in the quiet predawn hours, thinking about recent events. He was troubled by the change in Uther since Igraine was wed to the newly crowned king of Cornwall. The boy had always been a great fighter, yet also he had been joyful and caring. Now he was cold and as hard and unyielding as granite, totally without mirth, without mercy, without pity. He saw naught but his charge - to unify Britannia - and he was determined to do so at any cost. Merlin feared for his humanity.
"What have we done, Constantine?" he said to himself, his voice barely audible. "What have we created? I fear through heartbreak and love denied we have unleashed something terrible."
Merlin had thought to accompany Uther and the army as it marched north to Rheged, but Uther had other thoughts, and bade his counselor to remain behind. "Leodegrance and Caradoc are charged with deceiving the enemy," Uther had said. "Your wisdom and cunning would greatly aid in that endeavor. You would do me tremendous service if you remained and committed yourself to that effort."
Of course he was right, thought Merlin, for little could you offer to the army in battle. Better you remain and help mislead the enemy. "Old fool," he said, talking to himself again, "you just wanted to keep an eye on Uther. But he needs not your oversight, for he is wise and strong, and though heartsick and hurt he will be fine." Thus he said, but what he truly believed he was not sure.
The sound of heavy footsteps from the hallway distracted Merlin from his thoughts, and he looked behind him just in time to see Uther trod quickly into the hall from the main corridor. "Greetings, Uther."
"And mine to you, my friend." Uther's voice was clear and strong, but without emotion. "We are agreed, are we not, that you will remain and help Caradoc and Leodegrance hold Powys and Cameliard?"
"I shall," said Merlin.
"My thanks to you then, for I shall feel less concern if you are here to advise. Indeed, Merlin, I would have you accept the regency in my absence if you will."
Thus occurred a truly rare event, for Merlin was surprised and caught off guard. He who had advised many kings and spoken in a hundred great councils was momentarily without words. "I shall accept your charge, my friend." Never before had Merlin agreed to take direct control over the affairs of those he advised. I owe you this, my friend, he thought.
"My thanks to you. There is no one in whom I have greater confidence." Uther then took his scabbard off his belt and laid his sheathed sword on the council table. He walked over to the fireplace, feeling a slight warmth from the prior evening's fading embers, and grabbed his grandfather's sword from the mantle. He pulled the blade partially from the sheath and looked at the polished steel briefly, then slammed it back in place and hooked the ornate scabbard to his belt in place of the one he had removed.
"This was the blade of a king of Britannia, of an emperor. He spoke partly to Merlin, partly to himself. "It shall see battle once again as this nation is united. The land may have but one high king, and all must swear fealty to him. To me. They will yield or I shall leave them as a feast for the carrion birds. My father used diplomacy; Vortigern used fear. I shall use both. Those who do not recognize me as high king shall lie buried under the ruins of their shattered strongholds. Those who oppose me shall answer to God for the sufferings of their subjects, for the bloody scourge of war that is visited upon their farmers and townsfolk. For villages burned, for children slain, for the women taken by the bloody hand of the soldier. The sin be upon any who fail in their allegiance to their high king."
The deadly resolve in Uther's voice surprised even Merlin, who stood in silence listening. What Uther was becoming he could not know, for never in all his many years had he heard a man speak with such terrible resolution. He feared for the Uther Pendragon he knew so well, yet he found himself believing his friend would prevail in his coming wars and gain a kingdom. Whether it would cost him his soul, Merlin knew not.
"Your father awaits you, to bid you farewell and give you council. Long has he been awake, for he knew you would be departing with the sunrise."
"I have naught to say to my father." Uther’s tone was icy. "I have paid my price for this alliance, he shall pay his."
"Uther, Constantine has not many days left. He will likely die while you are on campaign. Would you depart without having words with him?"
"My father and I have had our last words." Uther walked to the door, then paused and glanced back. "Fare thee well, Merlin." With that, he walked into the corridor and out into the courtyard, leaving his troubled friend and advisor standing silently in the great hall.
Leodegrance sat his horse atop a hill and looked down over the forces deployed in the valley. For weeks he and his allies had played their game, convincing the forces of Vortigern that Caradoc was a great Visigothic prince, come to Britannia with his army to support the alliance. Confusion they had spread through the enemy's ranks, and now Leodegrance had decided the time had come to strike. Before him, arrayed for battle, was the levy of Cameliard, and alongside his men were drawn up the forces sent from Cornwall. Half of Gorlois' troops marched north with Uther, while the balance remained to defend the south.
The young king of Cameliard had positioned half his horsemen on the right of the army, retaining a force of picked men with him on the hill as a reserve. In the center he had placed the main body of Cameliard's warriors, armed mostly with axes and swords, and alongside them, the spearmen of Cornwall. On the left, under Gareth, the Lord Marshal of Cornwall, stood Gorlois' heavy horse. In all, more than four thousands of warriors awaited the command for battle, and yet this was not all their enemies saw. For marching along the hill behind Leodegrance, as though moving to outflank them, the enemy saw a large force of Visigothic warriors, their round shields emblazoned with brightly colored coats of arms.
At the head of this force rode Caradoc, wearing armor and a tunic of incredible richness, and surrounded by nine bodyguards. With him, in the foe's estimation, was his marshal, though had the enemy been able to see through the hooded cloak he wore they would have recognized the old man beneath. For Merlin rode with Caradoc, playing the role of his general, and the army they led consisted of every kitchen servant and farmhand they'd been able to assemble.
For weeks, every craftsman in Powys and Cameliard worked at Merlin's behest, fashioning large round shields in the Visigothic style. Now this phantom army took the field, and marched from the hill, in full view of the enemy, into the forest, as if moving to cut off the foe's retreat.
Catigern, commander of the force that faced them, stared nervously at the army arrayed before his. Younger son of Vortigern, he had been appointed Marshal of the South and charged with bringing the southern kingdoms to heel. He had unleashed his forces on the countryside and spread terror among the peasantry and townsfolk, undermining their morale and their resolve to resist. Finally, when he gave battle he ambushed and destroyed the force sent to meet him, slaying hundreds, including the King of Cameliard. Victory was within his grasp before the young heir returned to rally his forces and avenge his father. Worse, he brought with him allies, a Visigothic warlord and his army, and with their aid he destroyed the raiding parties. Now emboldened, the new king had taken to the field in force and marched east to confront Catigern's army.
Catigern was worried, for though he still had the advantage in numbers, the margin was far less than he had thought it would be. Why, he wondered, would Leodegrance come out of his fortresses and meet a superior army in
the open? Even with the forces of the Visigothic prince standing against him, Catigern had half again the numbers of his enemies. Unless there was another surprise that Leodegrance kept hidden, waiting for the right moment. Another ally? A traitor in Catigern's army?
What he did not consider was that Leodegrance was a different sort of man than he. Catigern was a bully, and his courage was fed by having the upper hand. A fair fight he would try to avoid, and one where he was outmanned would completely drain his resolve.
Leodegrance was a hero - aggressive, determined, and indefatigable. He chafed at inaction and would jump at any chance to fight his enemy. He knew not how long the ruse with Caradoc would fool his foe, nor did he trust in the alliance with Gorlois lasting indefinitely. Now he had the enemy confused and two thousand troops of Cornwall at his back. He would strike.
He would have attacked already, but he wanted to give the foe the chance to see his false Visigoths. Now the decoy troops were almost out of view in the forests on the right. He gave a command and one of his standard bearers dipped the flag of Cameliard - the signal for the cavalry on the wings to charge.
The horsemen of Cameliard, the barons and landowners, spurred their horses forward, screaming cries of bloody vengeance for their slain king. They faced a company of mounted Britons wearing the red livery of Vortigern, and behind them a large force of Saxon foot. Leodegrance's nobles thundered across the valley with such ferocity the enemy horsemen were momentarily shaken, and they hesitated before they counter-charged. The men of Cameliard thus had the impetus and they crashed into their foes, throwing javelins then savagely slashing with their swords. The enemy horsemen fought back for a moment, then wavered and broke, fleeing in disorder with Leodegrance's men in pursuit.