by Daniel Diehl
Jason was vaguely familiar with the etiquette surrounding medieval feasts but since no records of Dark Age celebrations survived he had no idea what to expect. Silently he hoped that the old Roman customs which still permeated this society did not extend to reclining on a couch to eat. When he and Beverley returned to the hall after changing into a fine set of formal garb provided by the king and queen, the pageboy Cadwaladr escorted them to their assigned seats.
It was obvious that some well-established and highly ritualized pecking order determined who sat where. At the center of one long side of the table sat Arthur with Duke Aegidius and King Hoel on his right. On his left were General Ambrosius followed by the queen. As near as Jason could figure out, the foreign dignitaries were seated to the king’s right, in order of their importance and the Britons were arranged to his left. Normally the queen would have been placed next to the king but evidently because this was a time of war, her place was assumed by the king’s uncle and chief of his military. Merlin, due to his status as the world’s greatest wizard and a Christian priest, was seated at the end of the table to the king’s right, beyond the last of the visiting dignitaries. Jason sat to Merlin’s right, on the opposite side of the table from the really important people; Beverley was to Jason’s right and the ladies of the court were beyond her, facing the men on the opposite side of the table.
The food, which was served in six separate courses, was spectacularly presented and surprisingly tasty, if far more reliant on meat than Jason and Beverley were accustomed to. Merlin ran interference, explaining each dish as it was brought to the table by the queen’s ladies in waiting. One dish was a rich, savory rabbit stew and another was an almost inedible fish stew with raisins and a colorful variety of unidentifiable things floating in the broth. The main course was spit-roasted venison glazed with a honey sauce, which melted in the mouth. The final course was announced by Merlin who said it was a rare and exotic dish he had brought back from the faraway land, known as England, which Master Jason and Mistress Beverley called home. This special offering arrived on individual platters, which were placed in front of a clearly skeptical company. While Beverley was unable to contain an attack of the giggles, Jason stared at the thing on the plate for a second before rolling his eyes at Merlin who grinned broadly. In front of each of King Arthur’s noble guests was an individual sized pizza, complete with zesty tomato sauce, wafer thin slices of sausage and a liberal topping of cheese. After a more than hesitant start the assembled company declared the strange dish to be ambrosia – the food of the gods.
After dinner the ladies followed the queen’s example and excused themselves, repairing to the queen’s private chamber and leaving the men to discuss war. Rising from her chair, Beverley leaned down, kissed Jason on the cheek and whispered in his ear “Be careful, my love, you’re drinking with the professionals, now.”
As the evening wore on it became, in Jason’s opinion, very much what he thought a Viking battle celebration must have looked like. Vast quantities of strong, specially brewed Whitsun ale were consumed with frightening abandon. With each round of drinks the shouting, joking, bantering insults and blood curdling battle stories increased in both volume and outrageousness. Hoel, Ambrosius and the other old warriors gleefully told one story after another of gruesome battles replete with severed heads and piles of bodies higher than a man could see over. Many of Ambrosius’ tales centered on their recent victory against Colgrim’s Saxon forces at Vaddon, and while he did give passing credit to Jason’s flying wedge battle tactics he conveniently failed to mention Merlin’s part in the victory. Hoel seemed to have more stories than anyone else and certainly lived up to the nursery rhyme reputation of being ‘a merry old soul’ – even if it was in a blood thirsty sort of way. After a dozen or more rounds of old glories relived, the men began to brag about the death and destruction they would undoubtedly wreak on the dragons and their human allies, the details of their victory to come growing more lurid with each round of drinks.
Jason was careful to notice that only three of the company declined to take part in the outrageously boisterous bragging sessions; the king, Duke Aegidius and Merlin. He assumed that Aegidius held back because he was too young to be included in the bragging rights that went along with being a part of the ‘old boy’s’ network, and it seemed that both Arthur and Merlin held positions of such power and respect that bragging would only have lessened their standing among the company. The evening came to an end far into the wee hours of the morning when Hoel slammed his fist on the table for everyone’s attention, hoisted himself onto uncertain legs, raised his mug and announced that he had composed a poem to their enterprise. With the help of two equally drunken companions he climbed onto the seat of his chair and shouted:
King Arthur is for Briton,
And before we kill the dragons,
We’ll drink a toast of Whitsun ale
Out of our warrior’s flagons.
A thundering round of cheers and shouts went up from everyone in the room, followed by Hoel’s stumbling off of his chair seconds before he passed out in a dead faint, too drunk to be roused and too heavy to be hauled to his tent.
The following morning Beverley very nearly had to drag Jason out of bed. Cadwaladr had knocked on their door at what Beverley thought must have been between eight o’clock and eight thirty, bringing word that the war council would be meeting to discuss strategy soon and that Jason needed to be there. She had no idea when Jason had crept back to their room but doubted he had been asleep for more than three or four hours. When she pulled him erect it was obvious that he was hovering somewhere between continued drunkenness and the start of a monumental hangover. As he sat on the edge of the bed pulling on his leggings he had to stop several times, resting his elbows on his thighs, hanging his head and being very still in the vain hope that his stomach would settle and his head stop throbbing. When Beverley sat down next to him and handed him a glass of water he had to grit his teeth against the slight downward motion of the straw mattress.
“What, Jase?” She knew he had said something but his voice was too tiny and far away for her to hear.
“Shhh.” Jason shook his head ever so slightly, wincing at the movement.
“Oh, you poor thing.” Beverley wanted to laugh but his distress was so real she could only sit near him and stroke his shoulder.
“I said,” He had to draw a huge breath before continuing. “I have no idea how these people drink the way they do. How do they function this way?”
“You did pack away a lot of ale. And it was pretty strong.”
“I thought Merlin drank like nothing I had ever seen, but you should have seen how much Ambrosius and Hoel poured down their throats.”
“Thankfully I left before they really started hitting it hard.”
“Jesus, they just kept going, on and on, all night long.”
Beverley finally convinced Jason to eat a few slices of bread but he refused to drink anything stronger than water. Eventually he managed to stand up and wash his face before heading toward the door on rubbery legs.
“Are you going to be ok?”
“As soon as Llewellyn’s cavalry stops practicing its maneuvers inside my head I’ll be great.” Jason pressed down on the iron door latch and winced at the clicking noise. “Besides, I have to go figure out some brilliant military formation so we can beat the hordes of hell.”
“Good luck.”
“Right.”
The commanders were already discussing strategy by the time Jason eased his way into the hall. Scanning the crowd of faces it was obvious that Griffudd, Bedwyr and several others were in the same condition as he was, but the rest of the crowd not only seemed to feel fine but several of them had already started drinking.
In the center of the long table were a row of the shallow trays of sand that Davidd used to execute his architectural drawings. In each of them, Merlin had drawn an accurate likeness of the area surrounding Morgana’s fortress. Across the lower, left hand c
orner of each box was the coastline and sea, and empting into it was the river surrounded by marshland. The river itself continued laterally across the map toward the upper right hand corner of the tray where the old Roman fort stood, surrounded by a range of low hills. With a crude sketch of a winged serpent Merlin indicated the easterly direction from which he knew the dragons would attack. The generals were arguing over troop placement and disbursement and even before he reached the table it was obvious that they remained stuck in the same mindset they had been using all of their lives.
“Ah-ha, and here is Master Jason.” Jason was amazed at the cordiality in Ambrosius’ voice. “He can explain far better than I ever can how this amazing wedge formation works. I tell you it made all the difference against Colgrim and his Saxons.”
“I fear our chief engineer looks a bit green around the edges.” A broad grin broke across Llewellyn’s face as smirks and chuckles rolled around the room.
Jason nodded, grinned held up a hand in greeting and moved next to Merlin and one of the maps, picking up a long, slender stylus. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot.”
“A face as filled with the effects of too much drink as yours is, is not the face of a deep thinker.” Hoel’s joke got a laugh, but even before Arthur could call for order, Ambrosius silenced his battle-scarred cousin, insisting that everyone pay close attention to Jason.
“Thank you, General.” Jason nodded.
Prior to explaining his proposed formations, Jason gave everybody a general explanation of how the Roman flying wedge formation worked to divide and compress the enemy troops, making it nearly impossible for them to fight or move forward. Backed by the enthusiastic approval of King Arthur, Ambrosius , Griffudd and Llewellyn he finally felt ready to lay out his battle plan.
“I see Merlin already told you the dragons will probably be coming in from the east. I think we can also reasonably assume that the enemy soldiers will be on the western side of the river, guarding the fort.” Jason scanned his audience’s faces, taking in the nods and murmurs of agreement. “Ok, then here is how I propose we set up our lines. Along the western edge of the marsh, facing the fort - but far enough inland that we don’t get backed into the quagmire – we station all of our foot soldiers.”
Arthur leaned forward, placing his palms on the table. “Would you have none on the east side of the river; at least as reserves?”
“No, my Lord. We will have reserves, but not on the eastern side of the river. Foot soldiers are useless against the dragons; it would be sacrificing their lives for nothing and it would keep them from fighting against the enemy soldiers.”
Arthur crossed his arms, nodding in agreement. “Very well. Continue.”
“We don’t know how large the enemy force might be, so we divide the foot troops into thirty centuries like General Ambrosius suggested yesterday. We will form ten of these centuries into wedge formations. Between each wedge, and on each end of the line, we place individual centuries lined up in ranks four men deep. That accounts for twenty-two centuries. I suggest you hold the remainder in reserve. On the left and right flank of this line we should have a unit of equites thirty men strong. We can use these to protect the ends of the line and prevent the enemy from escaping or coming around the end of our lines and attacking us from behind.”
Again Jason paused to gauge the reaction of these hard-bitten soldiers. To his utter amazement there was nothing but raised eyebrows and nodding heads.
“And what about on the opposite side of the river?” Jason could not see who spoke.
“I’ll get there but I’m not quite done on this side. At the northern end of the line, nearest the fort, I think we should place eight of the ballistae. They should be stationed in a southeast to northwest line, at a ninety degree angle from our main battle line. Before you ask, I think we can assume that some of the dragons may try to come around the end of our line, to attack our men and defend the fortress. This way we’re ready for them.”
The response this time was both vocal and approving.
“Now. On the eastern bank of the river we should spread out the remaining twenty-two ballistae in a line. We can’t get too far from the river because we need to anchor the ends of the chains on the arrows in the water. If we don’t, the arrows alone probably won’t kill the beasts.”
Before he could continue, Jason could hear whispers of “magic”, “great sorcery” and a number of the men crossed themselves. Deciding it would be too complicated to try to explain that this was more a case of basic technology than wizardry, Jason forged ahead.
“In front of the ballistae we position four units of equites with twenty men in each unit. These and the two units on the opposite side of the river will account for all of our equites. There will be none in reserve but…” Here he looked at Llewellyn “Your equites need to hold their position until there is absolutely no option but to charge the dragons. If they charge when the dragons are still out of range of the ballistae they will sacrifice their lives for nothing and the creatures may never get close enough for us to kill them.”
On and on the discussion went. In principal everyone agreed that it was a well-conceived and thought-out plan and beyond a few logistical discussions like how to get the eight ballistae down the escarpment, across the mouth of the river and back up on the opposite side, most of the suggestions were purely academic. Finally, after nearly an entire day of exhausting discussions, arguments and counter arguments, everyone seemed satisfied that Jason’s plan was both innovative and workable. King Arthur declared that if this plan worked it would change the face of warfare forever.
“And if it doesn’t work, cousin?”
Arthur stared at Hoel. “In that case, cousin, none of us will be in any position to worry about the future.” Scanning the three dozen earnest faces, Arthur asked “Are there any more questions before we adjourn?”
“I have one, my Lord.”
“Aegidius?”
“You never told us. Who is this vile person who has allied themselves with these demonic creatures?”
After a long pause and a deep sigh, Arthur answered the question with the two simple words, “My sister”.
The meeting broke up amid a stunned silence.
Chapter Sixteen
Thanks to a monumental amount of hard work – and the added incentive of a continuing series of attacks by Morgana’s mercenaries and the dragons - the combined armies of the Britons, Franks, Cornish and Bretons were prepared to move out nearly three weeks ahead of the June 28 date originally targeted by Arthur. It was only three days prior to their departure that Gwenhwyfar, Beverley and several ladies of the court approached Arthur and announced their intention of accompanying the army in the capacity of a mobile hospital unit. The reception was less than enthusiastic.
“Absolutely not. You, Madame, will remain at court. It is your place and your duty.” Then, in a more conciliatory tone, Arthur tried another tactic. “While I deeply appreciate the work you, Mistress Beverley and your ladies carried out in helping my men after Vaddon, I absolutely refuse to allow you to place your lives in danger by trekking across hundreds of miles of wilderness swarming with brigands and dragons. The wounded will simply have to wait until we return.”
“My Lord, the wounded will all be dead long before you haul them back from the far edge of the world.” The queen balled her delicate hands into fists, planting them firmly on her hips.
Arthur hung his head, massaging his brow with the fingers of one hand. “This is unbelievable; it’s unheard of.” Raising his face he looked first at Ambrosius and then at Merlin. “Can either of you reason with these women?” Ambrosius scowled, crossed his arms and cursed into his beard but refused to take part in the argument. Merlin only rolled his eyes heavenward and made mumbling, placating sounds. Finally, Arthur turned his gaze toward Jason who bravely took a single step toward his wife when she pointed a finger at him, halting him in his tracks.
“Don’t even start, Jason Carpenter. Either we come
with the army or you sleep on the floor for the rest of your life; and you know I mean it.”
“Ladies, please.” Arthur raised both hands in a call for peace. “Allow me and my advisors time to discuss this unprecedented situation in private.” He scanned the scowling faces of his wife and her co-conspirators who exchanged long, silent glances before agreeing to a temporary truce while the men decided what to do.
As Arthur stomped loudly out of the room he motioned not only to Ambrosius, Merlin, Hoel and Aegidius but also to Jason. There seemed little doubt where the idea of a mobile military hospital had originated. Twenty minutes later the men returned with a counter proposal, parts of which were accepted and parts of which were flatly rejected. After more than three hours of grueling argument, offers made and rejected, concessions gained and lost, the two sides reached an agreement: a contingent of not more than thirty women would be allowed to accompany the army. They would be allocated no more than ten wagons for themselves and medical supplies and they would agree to make their final camp at whatever location the king designated, safely removed from the proposed battle site. Most importantly, the queen would remain in Baenin; should something happen to Arthur she must be kept safe to ensure political continuity and to work with the surviving noblemen to elect a new king. No one was entirely happy with the arrangement but it was one which everyone was willing to accept.
“Now,” said Arthur, “may we please get back to the business at hand?” When everyone in the room nodded, he looked at Beverley. “And how long will your women require to assemble their supplies?”