by Jay Allan
"How are we to hold, father?" Octa spoke with difficulty, breathless from running. "We have but a handful of warriors remaining. We cannot even man the walls."
"More will rally to us in Canterbury, for not all were slain. And forget not that we left a strong force behind. Those men are fresh and well-armed." The exhausted king tried to sound confident, but the doubt in his voice was obvious. "Nevertheless, we must try to make peace with Uther Pendragon, for we cannot hold Canterbury forever without relief. There is naught else for us to do, unless we would flee to the coast and take ship, and never shall I relinquish my kingdom."
"But father, what have we to offer to Uther? We have at best the strength to delay him, not defeat him. Indeed, we are not even strong enough to hold against him in our fortress if he is determined to take it."
Hengist stopped running and turned to face his son. "We will give him Vortigern. Indeed, we will rid him of all his enemies, and in so doing, become his friend."
Octa wiped the grime from his face as he considered his father's words. "Uther Pendragon is without mercy, without fatigue, without pity. He will not make peace with us. He will never accept us."
Hengist stood and stared into his son’s eyes. "Indeed, were Uther alone then nothing we could offer would make the peace. But though he is the high king, and now basking in glory and triumph, he must also reckon with those who follow him. The kings, who long to return to their lands; the men, who have fought to exhaustion and seen so many of their number fall; the peasants facing starvation as lands lie fallow."
"So how shall we achieve this, father? How shall we deliver his enemies to him?" Octa was doubtful, but he saw no course of action other than what his father suggested.
"We must get word to Vortigern. To him and to all of his allied Britannic kings who yet live. All flee now in disarray. We must convince them to come to Canterbury."
"And how are we to do this, father? The army is scattered and in flight. All know the losses we have taken. We are in no better condition than they. Why would they come? They will flee to their strongholds and look to their own defenses."
"They cannot hope to hold their own castles against Uther now. Canterbury is a great fortress, vastly stronger than their own keeps. And we are the only ones who could hope for aid from across the sea. We will tell them we have made an alliance with King Clovis of the Franks, and that his army is even now sailing to our aid."
Octa looked doubtfully at his father. "Why would they believe this? We have said naught to them before of any effort to secure the aid of the Franks. And you know that such an alliance will never happen. Clovis is not our friend."
"They will believe, my son, because they are desperate. They cannot go to Uther, for he will surely put them to death. And they have not the strength to fight him off when he invades their lands. They will believe because they want to believe, because they need to. We shall tell them my brother Horsa has been in the court of Clovis for many months seeking this alliance. They know not that he was slain fighting Leodegrance, and it will seem right to them that I would send him to forge this alliance. We will offer them protection and guarantees to help them defend their lands. They will come."
"Perhaps you are right, Father. Indeed, it is true they have few options. We must convene this meeting before King Uther puts Canterbury under siege. How much time do you think we have?"
Hengist smiled grimly. "Uther considers us invaders, but he thinks of them as traitors. He will look to take their castles and lands before they can regroup and rebuild their strength. He will attack them first."
Octa looked skeptical. "Likely he could split his army and deal with them and us at the same time. He has many able commanders. If he should march both north and south we could be hard-pressed within days."
"Nay, my son. Uther's victory was total, but not without cost. His army has suffered grievously, and he will have to feed and supply his men before he can march on anyone. He knows he may have to conduct sieges to take his enemies' strongholds, and he will not want his forces divided. He feels he has little to fear from us if he first moves against his Britannic rivals. Indeed, such is but the truth, for what can we do given several months except rally what few men remain and lay in more supplies to feed us for some weeks? Except, perhaps, to deliver King Uther's enemies unto him."
Vortimer was troubled, and for long he rode in silence through the shade of the deep wood. Where once they had led an army, now they had but a few dozen ragged retainers. His father had accepted Hengist's invitation to gather at Canterbury to seek safety and meet with the emissaries of Clovis, King of the Franks. Vortimer did not see any choice, but in his gut he did not like any of it.
The army of Uther Pendragon ravaged the northern kingdoms, exacting a terrible price from the kings and lords who had supported Vortigern. All were stripped of their kingships, and any who were captured were condemned for high treason and hanged like common thieves. All those who remained now rushed to Canterbury, seeking the hope and protection offered by Hengist and his new Frankish allies.
Finally, he could hold his tongue no longer. "Father, I fear that naught but ill can come of this. I trusted Hengist not when we wielded great power and now, in our vulnerability, my faith is weaker still."
Vortigern did not answer his son at first, but instead kept riding silently for another moment. Finally, he turned to face Vortimer. His eyes, once icy and calculating, were wild and glittering with madness. "Hengist would not dare betray me, my son. He will not risk my wrath. With the Frankish army, we shall defeat Uther Pendragon and restore our position in Britannia."
He is mad, Vortimer thought. This last terrible defeat, following on the misfortunes that preceded it, has been his undoing. But what shall I do? "Father, the Franks have never been allied with Hengist. Does it not seem strange to you that they would intervene now, after our cause has so withered?"
The path narrowed as they rode deeper into the forest, and the party halted to reorder into single file to proceed. Vortigern did not reply to his son's question, but just quietly sat his horse as Vortimer organized the men-at-arms. When half the men had ridden forward, he motioned for his father to ride ahead, and he fell in behind, followed by the rest of their men.
He is past my reaching him, Vortimer thought grimly. I must be on my guard during this visit, for though I cannot divine what trickery he is planning, I do not trust Hengist. Nor do I believe that Clovis has allied with him. We should be planning to escape from King Uther, not trusting to fantasy alliances to salvage our cause.
For long they rode, and finally they camped a half day's journey from Canterbury. There was little talk, and silently they sat around their fires and ate. The men-at-arms were Vortigern's most loyal followers, and while they had not deserted their master, their morale was broken, and none expected but to meet their deaths in futile defense of their lord.
The air was thick with acrid smoke, as the army of Uther Pendragon prepared to break camp and march south. Before them lay the stronghold of King Gavin writhing in its death agony, wooden ramparts and towers still ablaze. Uther's army had stormed the castle at dawn, taking it quickly and, as they had done at every stronghold they had assailed, putting the defenders to the sword. All save one, for the king himself had been hanged like a common thief. He had begged for mercy, but Uther was unmoved. "You chose this fate when you swore yourself to the usurper." Thus was all he said to the crying old man, and he turned his back and walked away.
Since their victory at Verulamium, Uther's men had marched east and north, attacking the remnants of their enemies' forces and, one by one, assaulting their strongholds. Some castles they found abandoned, but even those that were staunchly defended quickly fell.
Uther's will had hardened into iron, and he resolutely refused to take any prisoners from those who had supported Vortigern, the usurper. Even his grimmest veterans were weary of the rivers of blood that flowed everywhere they marched. But none would dare resist his commands. Finally, Leodegrance
bade him show mercy to King Gavin, for he was aged and sick and swore that he was truly repentant.
Uther stood unmoving, his gaze not even shifting in response to his friend's entreaties. "I proclaimed that the lives of all who joined with the usurper and the invaders would be forfeit, and so it shall be." His tone conveyed unshakeable finality.
When Uther walked throughout the host a hush fell over the assembled men. The soldiers held their high king in awe, for he had led them from the brink of defeat to total victory and the annihilation of their enemies. Their trains were rich with the spoils of sacked castles and their purses bulged with gold and silver. Though the men were levies of eight different kingdoms, Uther had forged them into one terrible weapon, and they looked to him as their leader.
The kings were joyful at the victories, but their discontent was growing as they saw their warriors chanting Uther's name before battle. Though they all hailed Uther as high king, they were protective of their own powers and perquisites, and they began to feel their own positions threatened by the stature of King Uther. But none would dare challenge the high king's authority, for they all feared his terrible wrath.
Now they would march south to Canterbury, Hengist's great fortress. King Gavin's keep had been the last of the Britannic monarch's strongholds to fall, though many of the lords themselves had fled, presumably to make a last stand with Vortigern and Hengist.
The army moved silently and in good order, for they were all veterans now, and Uther had maintained tight discipline throughout the ranks. They marched first through Repton, the village adjoining Gavin's fortress, and the terrified peasants hid in cellars and barns until they had passed. Uther's men had earlier ransacked the town, pulling cowering soldiers from their hiding places, but the villagers were left unmolested. The high king was not making war on the peasants, only on the lords and men at arms who had committed treason, and he would not tolerate any indiscipline among his troops. He had not hesitated to hang his own men on more than one occasion when they disobeyed his command and raped or robbed among the townsfolk.
Uther had become unapproachable, for even his adoring soldiers feared him, and many a veteran man at arms quaked at the king's very approach. Though Uther commanded the loyalty of thousands, only four men still remained close companions to the cold-blooded monarch. Merlin, his advisor and lifelong friend, still counseled Uther, and he was the one most able to influence the king's actions, though more through clever manipulation than persuasion. Perhaps most of all Uther's companions, Merlin understood the terrible resolution within the king, both its cause, it usefulness…and its dangers.
Leodegrance found himself disapproving of many of his old companion's actions, but his loyalty was steadfast. Though he influenced Uther less than he once had, he swore there would never be a day when he feared to approach his old friend. And he knew in his heart that whatever road Uther chose, Leodegrance of Cameliard would follow.
Caradoc the Visigoth had served the high king faithfully, and he had fought like a lion in Uther's wars. His name was known and feared throughout Britannia, and it is said that even he had lost count of the men he'd slain. He was, in mind and spirit, Uther's man, and perhaps more than any other he seemed undeterred by the king's coldness. Unlike the others, Caradoc was not at all troubled by Uther's unrelenting brutality, and he calmly and grimly carried out the king's commands. Caradoc had personally hanged King Gavin, as he had several of the others.
Kelven, for many long years the captain of the guard of Caer Guricon, was born into the service of the Pendragon, as was his father was before him. His simple unquestioning loyalty impressed Uther, and his service was valued and appreciated. Among the entire host, Kelven alone could say that he had saved the high king from enemy swords, for only once had Uther seemed like to fall in battle, and it was the captain whose blade intervened. Though he had tired of war and bloodshed, his sword would serve House Pendragon as long as God gave him the strength to wield it.
The army marched far each day, for the men were hardened by long service in the field, and they had travelled only a few days before the scouts reported that they were but a few hours' journey from Canterbury. The sun was already low in the sky, so Uther ordered a halt, and the men began the business of making camp.
All knew that the morrow would bring the final confrontation. Only here, in Canterbury, were there still enemies in arms. Once these were defeated, the men would return home to castles and farms and villages. When this last battle was won the rivers of blood would cease, and peace and prosperity would return. Throughout the host, the men sat quietly and ate their evening meal, and when they were done they talked of the war and the battles they had seen.
When the war began, the armies of the different kings were separate forces. They marched and ate and camped among themselves. But now the men were forged together as one, and they were like brothers. Around many a campfire sat men wearing different heraldry - men who would have fought against each other but a few years before. Would their brotherhood last, or after they returned home would they again find themselves fighting each other to settle petty disputes between the kings?
Uther, who had recently been dining alone, invited his four friends to share his table. The meal was a simple one, but appealing. In the center of the table was a large game fowl, well roasted and surrounded with vegetables. In addition there was cheese and fruit, along with fresh bread and a large bowl of nuts. When his guests had taken their seats, Uther raised his goblet. "Welcome, my truest companions. It is a simple joy to share a meal with one's dearest friends. Alas, the sort of pleasure for which we have had little time these past months."
They all took their cups in hand and raised them in a toast before drinking. When they had finished, it was Merlin who spoke first. "Indeed, Uther, there have been far too few moments such as this. Our quest has been a difficult one, and in many ways yours has been the darkest road. Yet, here you stand on the brink of victory. On the verge of peace. Your father would be proud of you."
Uther smiled, something his companions had not seen in some time. "You mean he would be surprised, Merlin. My father was like to expect to find me brawling in an inn rather than leading the armies of Britannia."
"Nay, Uther.” Merlin’s voice was heavy with emotion. "Though you and your father often clashed, he knew well your worth."
"To my father, Constantine Pendragon. And my brave brothers, all slain by the treachery of these Britannic fiends you would have me spare." Uther was trying to be mirthful, but the bitterness and resentment was difficult to hide.
They all ignored the barb and raised their glasses. Leodegrance drained his goblet and placed it down on the table. "Tomorrow, my friends," he said. "Tomorrow victory shall be within our grasp." One of the servants refilled his cup, and he raised it high. "To victory. To peace."
All those assembled repeated his words. "To victory, to peace."
Uther forced another smile for the benefit of his friends, but his own thoughts were darker. Victory? Perhaps, he mused. But peace? Is such a thing even possible? Do I even care?
There was a long table set upon trestles in the great hall at Canterbury, and seated around it were all those lords and kings allied to Vortigern who yet lived. They were well-feasted, for Hengist had ordered a great banquet to be prepared for his guests even though the fortress was on a siege footing. There were roasts and game birds and every manner of delicacy, with copious amounts of ale and wine to wash it down.
The guests were sated, and most were more than a little drunk, but they were becoming impatient, for Hengist had promised them all emissaries from King Clovis of the Franks, and none had yet appeared. Vortigern himself spoke to calm them, for he had so given himself over to the hope offered by Hengist that he believed in it whole-heartedly.
Vortimer was less convinced, and as the night wore on with little but Hengist's excuses, his suspicions grew. He had drunk little, and he had all his wits about him. Finally, feigning illness, he left the hall to retu
rn to his chambers. Twice, as he made his way down the corridor, he thought he heard scraping sounds on the stone floors behind him, but each time he turned about to look the way was clear. At last, he reached his door and calmly entered the dimly-lit room. He was ready for trouble, but the chamber was empty. Cautiously, he closed the door behind him and retrieved his sword from where it was laying against the wall.
Thus, he was ready when the door began to slide open slowly and, as his would-be assassin entered, Vortimer ran him through without pause. The black clad figure reached out as if trying to grab the wall for support and slumped forward onto the floor of the chamber. Hastily, Vortimer dragged the body all the way into the room, closing and bolting the door behind him.
A trap, he thought grimly. I knew...in my heart I knew, and yet I have walked into it right beside my father. I must get aid. The men, they are camped in the courtyard. I must rally them to rescue father and the lords. Yanking his sword free of the body, he unbolted the door and slowly pried it open. The hall was deserted, and Vortimer slipped through the door, closing it tightly behind him. He made his way to the end of the corridor, where a stone circular stair rose the full height of the fortress. He ran down to the ground level as quickly as he could and rounded the corner to emerge into the courtyard...just as all hell broke loose.
From the stables and the other buildings surrounding the yard, armed and armored Saxon warriors ran toward the Britannic soldiers sitting around fires eating their evening meal. Their surprise was total, and few of Vortigern's men were able to draw weapons before their attackers were upon them. Vortimer shouted a bitter curse and charged into the melee.
"So, my friends, at last we come to the purpose of our gathering." Hengist stood at his place at the end of the table and addressed his guests. "For no doubt, many of you have wondered what plan we might devise to face the force of Uther Pendragon." He gestured to Vortigern, who was seated at his side, and bid the old man to rise and stand beside him.