by Jay Allan
Uther was silent, staring out over the landscape, his hand sliding absent-mindedly over the stone of the battlement. Finally, he spoke, and his tone was gentle and sad. "Nay, Merlin. I cannot forgive. I took up my father's crown, and I brought the alliance that was so important to him to fruition. His shade will have to be content with that, for no more can I give."
"I also played a role in your pain, Uther."
Uther looked at Merlin, his steely gray eyes boring into the older man. "Indeed, and never shall I forgive you for that act. Yet I do not believe you knew what pain your actions would cause, and when you did, at least you made an effort at amends. I am angry with you for what you have done, but also grateful for that night with Igraine, for I know you went to great effort and no small risk to arrange it." Uther put up his hand to cut off further comments. "Let us discuss this no further. What is done is done. Tomorrow we march to our destiny, but for now I would have some supper. Join me?"
Merlin was about to say something, but he stopped and smiled at Uther. "Yes, my friend. I am hungry, and I would enjoy that."
Uther turned and held out his arm, gesturing for Merlin to step first through the entryway into the castle. Closing the heavy oaken door behind them, Uther followed Merlin down the winding, circular stairs to the main level then down the corridor to the great hall. Laid out on the long wooden table were platters heaped with mutton and game fowl and other meats. As they sat, Huarwar walked into the room with a large silver pitcher and filled their goblets.
Merlin took his cup into his hand, and Uther speared a small game bird with his knife, dropping it onto his plate before picking up his own goblet. He was about to drink deeply when Merlin, after suddenly putting his own goblet down, leapt up and slapped the cup from Uther's hand.
Uther stilled his instinctive reaction at being struck. "Merlin, have you gone mad?"
"Nay, my friend." Merlin’s reply was breathless. “More than wine could I smell in my goblet. Essence of thorn apple. Though it has been many years since I have sensed that slight fragrance. Deadly poison, my dear friend. Too impatient to face you in the field, someone has struck at us in the heart of your stronghold, seeking to win the victory without a battle."
Uther looked at his counselor in stunned surprise, and was about to speak when Merlin noticed Huarwar lurking behind the doorway. At Merlin's glance the valet turned and started to run. "It was Huarwar."
Uther jumped to his feat. "Guards, bring me Huarwar, now! I want him alive." He turned back to Merlin. "And now you have saved my life by your uncanny senses. My thanks to you."
"And saved my own, as well, for it seems we were both targets of this assassination. Huarwar may be the tool employed, but there is no doubt that Vortigern is the puppet master. Nonetheless, I am surprised. Long has Huarwar served this house, and with great dedication. I would not have looked his way seeking a traitor. And thus, of course, did Vortigern also divine, for who better as an assassin than one whose loyalty was unquestioned."
It was but a moment before three guards dragged the terrified valet before the king. He was limping and bleeding from the mouth where two teeth were missing. The men at arms threw him to the floor in front of Uther and stood behind him with swords drawn.
"He is unarmed, sire."
Uther looked down on the prone, whimpering form of the valet. He was shocked, for the man had served his father for many years, and he could not imagine what had driven him to treachery. He was about to speak when Kelven, the captain of the guard came rushing into the hall.
He knelt just inside the entryway. "My lord Uther, I have just heard of this treachery. That such an act should occur under my guard. I am shamed my lord and deeply sorry. If you wish to dismiss me I understand."
Uther ignored the prostrate Huarwar for a minute and looked over at his captain. "Kelven, you have served this house for many years. Indeed, it was you who first taught me to wield my sword." He walked over and put his hand on the Kelven’s shoulder. "Ever shall you be part of the Pendragon, my friend, for we would be diminished without you. This treachery went unnoticed by all. Indeed, it is only by Merlin's skills that we were spared. Now rise, captain, and we shall deal with this matter."
The king turned and walked back to the table, followed closely by Kelven. Uther's expression was emotionless as he looked down at the cowering servant, but there was murder on the captain's face. "Huarwar, why this treachery? Always have you been well-treated by my family."
The valet looked up at the king, tears streaming down his cheeks, but though he struggled hard he could not bring words to his lips. After a moment he looked away, unable to return Uther’s gaze any longer. Uther spoke again. "Huarwar, your life is forfeit for this act. Would you meet God with such a monstrous sin burdening your soul?" The valet remained silent, hunched over, staring at the polished stone floor. He made no sound but that of his piteous sobbing.
"Huarwar!" The voice was Merlin's, but there was an authority and coldness in it no one present had ever heard. Such was the power of that voice that even Uther was taken aback, and he said nothing and only watched his friend as he faced the treacherous valet.
"Stand, now and face your deed," said Merlin, and in his tone was the iciness of death. Huarwar looked up at him dully, his face smeared with blood and tears, and slowly he rose as Merlin commanded.
Merlin turned toward the guard captain, handing him a small bottle filled with a yellow liquid. "He is to drink this, Kelven. See that he takes it all and that none is spilled."
The captain motioned to the guards and two of them grabbed Huarwar's arms and held him fast, while the third pulled his head back and pried his mouth open. Kelven walked over, pulling a small stopper out of the bottle and pushing the vial into the valet's mouth. Huarwar choked and struggled, but he was held fast by the guards, and Kelven made sure every drop of the viscous fluid found its way down the prisoner's throat.
"Now, Huarwar." Merlin's voice dripped with ungraspable menace. "You will tell us all you know about this treachery. Who bade you commit this deed?"
Huarwar's face was utterly blank, as if his mind were wiped clean. He answered in a soulless monotone. "Vortimer, son of Vortigern commanded me to poison King Uther and the counselor Merlin." There was no emotion in his voice.
Merlin remained impassive, but Uther began to stiffen with rage. He remained silent, though, and allowed Merlin to continue.
"Why did you accept his command? Did he offer you gold?"
"Nay, my lord." He spoke in same lifeless voice. "He holds my daughter captive, for his raiders captured her as her party rode to her wedding in the north."
"And he threatened her?"
"Yes, my lord. The first time he sent me her ring to prove she was captive, but this time they severed her finger and sent it to me. I was ordered to poison the king and Merlin, or they would torture and kill her."
"The first time?" Merlin's voice was harsh, demanding. “What do you mean the first time?"
"When they commanded me to poison King Constantine. Many months did I put the drops in his wine goblet, though I was not always able to do so. That potion was different than this one. Long did it take, for they wished all to believe the king was ill and failing."
The room was silent, for everyone present was stunned by this news. Kelven's face was twisted in anger, and his body shook with the desire to break the neck of the treacherous servant. Uther was calmer, yet colder, his expression resolute and feral, as if ready to calmly cut Huarwar's throat without a word.
But it was Merlin whose expression was grimmest, for he slipped from his questioning deep into his own musings. Constantine, he thought darkly, blind must I have been, for I did not see in your ills this treachery. Indeed, had I been less blind you might still be alive. Forgive me, friend, for I too am old, and my powers fail me.
Huarwar stood unmoving, still looking forward as if in a trance. It was Uther who finally broke the silence. "Long has treachery worked against us in this fight." He looked at Hu
arwar, though the valet was still staring blankly at Merlin. "No more need I hear from this traitor. Take him away."
Uther watched the guards drag the valet's limp body into the corridor and out of sight. "Tomorrow we march, and all shall be redressed. The final battle is soon at hand, and we shall repay our enemy in full for his perfidies. God grant the Britons freedom and my soldiers victory. And for me..." He paused briefly. "For me I ask only vengeance."
Caer Guricon was a large town, its wattle and daub buildings surrounded in some places by an old stone wall, but in most with a wooden stockade built by Constantine after he gained the throne. The town was built all around a steep hillside, and at the peak was Uther's stronghold, built on the remains of an old legionary fortress. This day buzzards flew low over the battlements, for hanging in a cage from the rampart was Huarwar, not quite dead, but soon a meal for the scavengers.
At dawn, the great gates swung open, and out marched an army. Part of an army, for the rest was forming in the fields all around the town. First through the gate, mounted on a massive horse as black as obsidian, was Uther Pendragon, King of Powys and High King of Britannia, his raiment as dark as his hellish steed.
Alongside Uther rode Merlin, clad as always in his plain gray robes and riding a white horse that contrasted strongly with that of the king. Next came Uther's nobles and leaders - Kelven, captain of the guard of Caer Guricon, carrying the flapping blue and silver colors of the Pendragon; Caradoc, Visigothic noble and Uther's close friend; Elisedd, one of the great barons of Powys, and father of the king's lost love, Igraine. They were followed by all the lords and barons of the realm.
Next rode the lesser nobles and the men at arms, each contingent carrying both the banner of their own lord and that of the king. Finally, four abreast came the foot soldiers, commoners mostly, their spears and battleaxes held aloft as they marched. When the last supply wagon and laden mule passed through and the gate closed, Uther was already nearly a mile away, approaching the old east-west Roman road.
But the warriors of Powys were only a portion of Uther's strength, for after they marched down the road, the armies of the other kings formed up from their many camps and followed. First, the warriors of Cameliard, led by Leodegrance himself, his red banner flying high next to Uther's blue flag.
Next came Gareth, Marshal of Cornwall, leading the nobles and levies of Gorlois, their yellow and green pennants whipping wildly in the early morning wind.
Following them were the combined forces of Rheged and Luthien, for King Lot had been trapped in his stronghold, grievously wounded, when Urien rescued him. Many old feuds were settled that day, and Urien now led the combined armies of the northern kingdoms to follow Uther wherever that road may lead.
Next came King Rience of Gwynned, who was a troublesome member of the alliance and frequently argued with the others. But Uther spoke with him privately one day, and he became pliable and cooperative. None but the two kings ever knew what Uther Pendragon said that day to his unruly ally.
Pellinore, leading the men of the Isles came next, and following his forces, the army of young King Vortiporius. There was bad blood between Pellinore and Vortiporius, but neither would dare defy King Uther, so they put aside their disputes and regarded each other with cool respect.
When the last of Vortiporius' levies from Dyfed marched down the road through the woods and out of sight of Caer Guricon, Uther was two hours and four miles distant, riding down the road heading east.
Twelve thousands marched with Uther Pendragon, all of the assembled might of the free Britons, for the final battle was near at hand, and great were the forces arrayed against them. Grimly they marched, for all knew what they faced and what was at stake. Their morale was strong despite the strength of the force arrayed against them, for they followed Uther Pendragon, the great warrior king. Death incarnate they imagined him, and it was said he'd killed over 100 men himself in this war.
Over the past twelve months, Uther had fought four battles, and though each was a complete victory, none was decisive. Only a tithe of the enemy's strength did he face in each, and while he instilled in them fear of his skill and ruthlessness, still they had under arms force greater than his. Finally, Uther had resolved to march east and one by one assault the strongholds of Vortigern's minions until he compelled them to meet him in the open field.
Now they marched to Barwick, capital of the kingdom of Elmet, the northernmost of Vortigern's remaining client states. He proposed to take the stronghold of Masgwid, the king of Elmet, and burn the city to the ground. "I will make the east howl," he had said, "for they have joined with the invaders and are the blackest traitors." No force could dare face Uther except Vortigern's combined armies, so the usurper would either have to give battle, or see his allies destroyed one by one. For none could stand alone against Uther Pendragon and his warriors.
For ten days the army marched, through blazing heat and driving rains, and on the eleventh they camped on the outskirts of Barwick. They would attack at dawn. No siege would there be, declared Uther to all his host. They would assault the walls and not fall back until the town was theirs. At dawn the attack would begin. They would sup that night in Masgwid's castle or not a man would return. Such was the decree of Uther Pendragon.
Vortigern paced angrily before his allies and nobles. "Barwick! Taken in one day. One day! And Masgwid burned alive by that madman! Now east he marches, to Eboracum, so as to destroy the Kingdom of Deira as well as Elmet."
The usurper had raged all morning, for he had only just learned that his assassination plot had failed, and that Uther had marched the very next day, intent upon revenge. It was Vortimer who had told him. "Father, I fear that Huarwar has been caught and that Uther and Merlin yet live."
Vortigern had raged at the news. "That incompetent fool! He shall find that failing me has its consequences. His daughter - give her to the Saxons. I trust they will not be overly troubled that she has only nine fingers. They are to take her and pass her from one to another while she yet lives, and then her body is to be delivered to Uther's camp. Let them see what awaits their women and families when we have defeated them!"
Now, mere hours later a single messenger arrived from Barwick, and that one only because Uther allowed him to travel south with tidings. To add insult to injury, the courier had been branded with a dragon on each cheek. So angry was Vortigern that he slashed the envoy's throat himself then ordered his vassal kings and lords to assemble.
Now they stood before him, and he continued his rant. "Are you all afraid of Uther Pendragon? You had better be, for he comes for you...all of you. Best you rally your men and prepare to fight like demons. We are going to march and face this young conqueror, and you do not want to lose that battle. Do any of you think you can throw yourselves on Uther's mercy? Ha! For he has no mercy. King Masgwid, old and infirm, he had dragged screaming from his great hall and burned at the stake. If you go to King Uther you go to your own pyre, for he has sworn to slay all who have opposed him."
He looked at the uncertain faces of the kings and nobles standing around him. They were gathered in the great hall of his stronghold in Venta Belgarum, for Vortigern had summoned his allies and vassals together for a council of war. Uther's aggressiveness and the failure of his assassination plot had forced his hand. He disliked gambling all on one large battle, but he saw no other option. His forces would still outnumber his enemies, though Uther's destruction of the Picts, and now Masgwid, had narrowed the margin. He'd been forced to rely too heavily on the Saxons, and he knew this would make them difficult to handle after the victory was won. That, however, was tomorrow's problem. Today he had to face Uther Pendragon.
"You will assemble your levies here at Venta Belgarum, and the combined army shall march north. We shall take no chance at being set upon individually and destroyed by Uther's forces. Our march will put us between Uther and Powys, and he will be compelled to offer battle."
You will compel him to do exactly what he wants to do, thought
Vortigern somberly. You have surrendered the initiative to this boy, and yet there is nothing else to be done. "Your forces are to be ready to march in seven days, for on the eighth we depart. A fortnight's journey shall bring us to battle, and then Uther Pendragon and his army will be destroyed."
Dawn came clear and cold to the fields around Verulamium, for fall had come early, and the night had seen the first frost. The rays of early morning sun quickly warmed the day, which looked to be fair and pleasant. The old town, lying off to the west, was empty, for it had been abandoned a lifetime ago when the legions departed. Its stone walls and theater still stood, save for the gaping wounds where great chunks of building material had been excavated from the old structures. The city loomed ghostly and foreboding in the morning fog. To the north was a gentle ridge, and behind that a deep wood. Along the rise was formed an army, and in the center of that force, amid the flags and pennants of the host, flew the great blue and silver banner of the Pendragon.
No sound came from the assembled multitude, for they had been commanded to remain silent. Like shades they stood in their formations and watched, for in the valley below another army was hastily forming. The host of Vortigern had been caught unawares, for they had not thought to encounter Uther's army this far south. But the high king had foreseen their plan, and he had marched his men relentlessly that they might force battle sooner than the foe expected.
Uther sat upon his great black warhorse and watched the enemy warriors form themselves into hastily-organized lines. Tactics dictated that he should charge at once, and engage them while half their numbers were still marching onto the field. But Uther did not seek victory, he sought annihilation. He would wait until all of the enemy's troops were committed, for he was resolved that the opposing army be destroyed on this field.