by C. M. Gray
Merlyn had risen to his feet during his telling of the tale. The others had reported on the business within their tribes and their own raids and clashes with the Saxons, but when Merlyn's turn had come to speak, he had chosen to begin with a tale from the past. Wasting little time on anything else to do with Ynys Mon and the Druids, he had just stood up and told his story.
'After the Night of the Long Knives, well before the sons of King Clarens, the old King, had risen to unite the tribes against the Saxon invaders, King Vortigern had lost all hope and any heart for the fight. Already bowed low by our enemy before that terrible night at Staneges, he was a broken man who thereafter was instructed daily by his Saxon overlords upon which decisions he might make. He had given up on any hope of opposition to them; he was our King, but he was their man to control as they wished.
As this Council now sits, we are once again in charge of our own destiny. This is our home without Saxon rule. We beat them at the Battle of Mount Badon and we beat them at the Battle of Aegelsthorpe. Under King Uther, we can one day hope to reclaim all of our tribal lands and send the Saxons running back to their longboats.'
The chiefs and lords announced their support and banged upon the table, several calling and swearing their allegiance to Uther once again. Merlyn held his hands out, palms raised, and waited until once again there was hush.
'The truth, my Lords, is that the spirit of the land we call our home and also the spirits of our slain people at Stanenges need to be healed if we are ever to succeed and expel the invaders from our shores. The Druids have long discussed this, and all the proper rites and ceremonies have taken place to understand the problem of our land and see what actions must be taken. Knowing our path; it was agreed by all of the Druids, that it should be I who represent them here in attendance at this great Council and that I should explain the necessity for your aiding us in bringing about a great healing. It is the wish of the Druids that I call upon this Council, this meeting of alliance and strength amongst the tribes of Britain, this gathering of good men,' Merlyn's voice rose, and he raised his hands in the air to invoke the gravity of his words, 'to truly unite and perform a great and worthy quest for the betterment of our peoples and of our nation. My Lords, it is imperative that we heal the land at Stanenges, for it suffers, that we free the spirits of our people, for if we do not, then the earth at Stanenges will become a weeping sore that will grow and infect us all. It will continue to expand throughout the land and weaken us until we are finally overthrown by our enemies until we are pushed back into the sea, and become all but a lost and distant memory in this country that was once ours and ours alone.'
Merlyn stopped, leant upon his staff as if weary of the telling and drew breath, considering the atmosphere of those gathered. 'The spirits of our people still roam the old quarries and burial mounds upon the grassland at Stanenges. They are unable to rest or pass into the Shadowland. Their suffering continues and does not end. They are in torment and feel a great and terrible anguish at being so tricked and betrayed by the cursed Saxons. We must help them, those who were so betrayed, to find their peace and a clear path so they may take their final journey and walk through the great gates into the Shadowland beyond to join their ancestors. The land at Stanenges must be cleansed, and the spirit of the earth returned. It must become a place of light, not of darkness. In the name of our people, in the name of the spirits of those that died there, I call upon you at this gathering to embark upon a quest, a journey and an undertaking for our people, to fully unite and to make right… what we all know was a terrible wrong brought upon our people and our land.'
The response to Merlyn's speech was immediate and enthusiastic as the lords and chiefs around the table rose to their feet and shouted both their support and words of outrage at the atrocity, with many oaths of revenge, the tumult of which echoed about the hall, yet Merlyn could see there were many still questioning, with no little concern, to the thought of what such a quest might entail.
'A quest is what I ask of you, my Lords,' he continued, 'a gathering of some of your bravest warriors to set out for that land across the water to our west, to the Isle of Erin.' There was a disturbance as a chair was thrown back, Merlyn stopped and glanced up.
'You would have us gather boats and voyage over the seas while the Saxon laugh and enter our lands unhindered?' Gerlois, Duc of the Cornovii stood, hands on his hips staring around at his fellows, a look of disbelief and incredulity upon his scowling face. 'Is this not the basis of what we have been discussing here today? As the Saxon nip and bite at us, raiding our villages, taking more and more of our land. That we need to increase our defences, to continue holding them back and bring them to account. Surely, if we take half our warriors and abandon our lands for your quest… well, then there will be nothing left but a Saxon homeland upon our return.' Murmurs of agreement followed this as Duc Gerlois resumed his seat.
'I do not propose that we send every last warrior,' replied Merlyn. 'It is you, not I, my Lords, who are best to judge how many warriors can be spared. I propose that we take some small amount of boats, cross the sea, and then move quickly through the lands of the Coriondi tribe to a place long known in Druidic lore. To a mountain named as Killaraus by the people who dwell there. Once upon this Mount Killaraus, we will find an ancient ring of stones that was set upon the mountain in times long past. It was constructed in a time before the ancients walked the earth, placed there, so legend tells by a race of giants who called themselves the Fir Bolg. This wisdom that has been spoken and passed through the generations by our bards was first given to us by a people named the Tuatha De Danann, the people who came after the giants left their land.' Merlyn stopped speaking and gazed about at the somewhat amazed, but silent lords. He decided to continue before the questions and protests could begin once more.
'We will gather the stones, return them to our shores and then erect them at Stanenges. The Druids will see to it that they are correctly placed and that their healing powers calm the spirits of the slain and return order to the land and, therefore, aid us in our fight against the Saxon invaders.'
Duc Gerlois cleared his throat loudly, interrupting Merlyn yet again. 'This voyage across the seas in search of stones cannot be wise, my Lords,' Gerlois appealed to the others at the table and then turned to Uther, who had been sitting in silence, listening. 'I mean no disrespect to Merlyn nor the Druid Council. In the lands of the Cornovii, and also, the Dumnonii where I hold sway, we have many sacred sites and our Druids keep us true to the old ways, even as the followers of the nailed God walk amongst us seeking their disciples, we still follow the ways of the old Gods… I would support this quest charged to us by the Druids, of course, but we cannot weaken our hold upon our borders, can you not see that?'
Before Uther or Merlyn was able to answer, one of the other Lords stood and raised his hands high, indicating that he wished to speak. Merlyn glanced over and saw that it was Cunobelin, one of the younger lords in attendance. He recalled that the young Lord was named after one of his famous forebears, a warrior ancestor who had risen to lead his tribe against the Romans when the legions had first entered the land and defeated them in the time of the warrior Queen Boudicca. Being so named must have been a burden for the young man to carry, yet he bore it well. Cunobelin had been quiet for most of the time that he had been sitting at the table, and Merlyn had all but dismissed him, thinking him possibly cowed by the presence of so many other great tribal leaders. He studied the young Lord, his thick, black hair, long and uncut in the old style of the tribes was tied back in a warrior knot. Heavily tattooed arms showed the blue swirling symbols of his tribe. His features were darkly tanned boasting a myriad of scars as testament to his years fighting with a blade. It was obvious that he worked hard to honour his ancestor's name. A particularly vicious scar ran from the top of his left brow, across his face, and down the length of his cheek to his chin, it pulled slightly at his lips giving the impression that the young Lord was always offering a cynical smile. The ot
hers at the table hushed to give him room to speak. Throwing back the yellow cloak that marked him of the Trinovantes, Cunobelin leaned forward onto the table and stared at Merlyn. The patterns of his tattoos seemed to move as his muscles flexed, he was choosing his words carefully.
'The Trinovantes… will be honoured to join your quest, Merlyn,' he coughed and cleared his throat before glancing around at the others. 'Many of our people were at Stanenges, at the Night of the Long Knives, we know that their spirits still walk the grassland. As you are all aware, the Trinovantes, my people, have been forced from our lands and will not be missed upon the borders. Therefore, in the name of the Trinovantes, I commit three thousand warriors to this quest.' There was much whispered talking as Cunobelin resumed his seat, but before Merlyn could respond, Sir Ector rose and smiled across at the old Druid.
'The Iceni will also support your quest, Merlyn. Our lands have also been stolen from us by the Saxons, and we have no villages to protect. It is true that we have the honour of forming King Uther's personal guard, but with his permission I would like to commit a thousand of our best warriors and also, with my King's permission, I would like to lead them.' He sat and Merlyn saw that Uther was rising to speak, he gestured for him to continue.
Uther stood and walked over to a small wooden chest at the side of the hall.
'Within one cycle of the moon, we shall be celebrating the festival of Samhain.' He lifted the lid, removed a rolled scroll of vellum and brought it back to the table where he spread it out, placing a cup on one side and a knife on the other to keep it from curling. Upon the vellum, the inked pattern showed the outline of the tribal lands of Britain, and to one side amidst a sea of blue was the Isle of Erin.
'As we begin our celebrations for Samhain, the lands will be cooling as the Goddess Cailleach makes ready to draw her cloak of winter across the earth. The seas at this time will become angry, making it difficult for us to make the crossing to Erin, however…' - he tapped his finger on the cured animal skin map - '… past years have shown that it will also be difficult for the Saxon's to bring their longboats from their land across the seas here.' He moved his hand towards the other side of the map while the lords craned their heads to see what he was pointing at, several of them had still not seen the concept of their land depicted like this, and there were many whispered questions exchanged. Others, including Gerlois, Duc of the Cornovii, walked around to take a closer look.
'This will be the time to make your quest, Merlyn, within the lunar cycle before we celebrate the Samhain festival if this Council decides we are to embark upon it,' Uther continued. 'After Samhain, much of the raiding will have finished until winter is over and our borders will require fewer of our warriors to be used in defence. In the lunar cycle before Samhain, a small band of us could make the crossing and complete this quest.'
Gerlois threw up his arms, clearly exasperated. 'But you ask us to send our warriors out across the water while the storms blow and the Gods toy with our attempts to make a crossing?' He feigned astonishment that anyone would be so foolish in attempting such a thing. 'We of the Cornovii know the sea. There is good reason that both we and also the Saxons bring our ships into the rivers during the winter season and do not raid or cross the seas until the thaw. Do you not, my King…' Gerlois bowed his head and opened his arms in a gesture of appeal, '… do you not think this quest just a little, ill-advised, perhaps reckless when we should be more concerned with strengthening our borders?'
Uther rose from his study of the vellum and turned to face the smiling Gerlois. 'I do agree that a quest across the sea to the Isle of Erin is reckless in many, many, ways, my Lord. Not only will we have the weather and the Gods to contend with, but if we manage to survive the crossing, then it will be the tribe of the Coriondi and probably more Saxons that have been settling in Erin that we may have to either fight or evade; they may not be too pleased to see us. Merlyn, you do indeed set us a daunting challenge, yet I find the concept of a quest to be a good thing. It will not only test us in many ways, but it will help to unite this Council and also further unite the tribes as Britons. If we can accomplish this feat, then we shall indeed become stronger, more united and also, we might heal the land at Stanenges.' He turned to Sir Ector and Cunobelin. 'My Lords, I thank you for your support, but I feel this should be a smaller group of warriors if we are to succeed.' Uther turned to Merlyn. 'How many ships would be necessary to transport these stones?'
'There are a large number of stones, yet the quest can be accomplished with just twenty-two boats,' - Merlyn smiled at Duc Gerlois - 'and do not fear for the weather, my Lord. We shall arrive safely; some will probably be a little sick from the motion of the sea, but the Gods will preserve us.' Gerlois features clouded at the rebuke, but he held his tongue and stepped back offering just a curt nod.
'Twenty-two boats will make us a force of almost fifteen hundred,' Uther thought for a moment, 'we shall take warriors from as many tribes as wish to accompany us, but the Iceni and Trinovantes will have the honour of sending, at least, two hundred warriors from each tribe so our borders will not be left weakened.' He turned to Sir Ector and rested a hand upon his shoulder. 'You and I will both accompany this quest, old friend, and Duc Gerlois…' Uther turned to the Duc of the Cornovii, '… as you have no border under threat from our Saxon invaders and because you have been so helpful during our discussion here, perhaps you would also like to join us… as Merlyn said, it may help to bring us all together.' Several other lords began to speak and push forward, eager to offer their support with warriors who could make the journey, yet Uther and Gerlois just stared at each other, until Gerlois nodded, turned and walked away.
Eventually, Gerlois offered twelve of the ships that would make the crossing. The Cornovii had long been a tribe that traded by sea, their boats hugging the coast to exchange goods with neighbouring tribes and also making the crossing to the mainland, visiting and trading with tribes there with whom they shared a common heritage. Their boats traded Cornovii tin, copper, and, when in season, the shining bounty of the pilchard, for when the vast schools of fish visited their coastline every year the pilchard were easy to catch and arrived in such large numbers there were too many for their own villages and so they were traded far and wide. In turn, the Cornovii boats would return with wine, ceramics, precious Roman glass goods and produce from far distant lands that were much prized by the tribes of Britain.
It took a little more than one full lunar cycle for all arrangements for the quest to be made, so that twenty-two boats were tethered just off the western coast of the Briganti tribal lands. The weather was good the day they gathered to voyage; it was sunny and small white clouds were blowing down the coast above them like so many passing sheep upon a hill of deepest blue, promising good voyaging weather.
The boats lay anchored by large stones some way off from the shore and were lifting and falling with the rising waves, the sound of the hulls as they slapped down upon the water carrying across to those amassing upon the beach. Gulls circled, calling and screeching above the small skiffs as they made their way back and forth between beach and boats loaded with provisions while groups of warriors waiting on the beach hunkered down together waiting their turn to be taken out, the different tribal groups laughing and calling to each other.
'A good day to you, King Uther.' Glancing about to see who had called, Uther saw Duc Gerlois walking down the beach towards him. Beside him, he was guiding a young girl, her long hair black as night blowing in the breeze. Uther judged her to be of about eight summers; she was very pretty and obviously very excited to be on the beach with so much going on around her. She had a huge grin on her face and was glancing from one side to the other distracted by the milling confusion of boats and people. The crunching sound their feet made on the loose pebbles was also a distraction; she was happily lifting her legs and stamping to make even more noise. He watched as she stopped and then dropped her father's hand so she could pick up an especially unusual stone.
'Oh, get up girl. King Uther, may I present to you my daughter, Morgana.' Gerlois turned and waved the girl forward; she glanced up before rising to make a small bow and gesturing with her hand in imitation of the way the Romans once had.
'I am delighted to meet you, Morgana… Duc Gerlois.' Uther smiled and gave his own version of the bow. 'Have you come to see us leave upon our quest, Morgana?'
'I have, King Uther. My father brought us all to wish him well upon his travels, but I didn't realise that it would be as nice as this!' She smiled and gestured as a group of warriors laden with spears and shields jogged past and down into the surf. The three of them watched as all the warriors began to clamber into the small skiff at the same time, some laughing, others shouting advice or frowning in confusion, but all eager to get in the skiff and be on their way. They were clearly unused to boats and how to enter them, which was causing more laughter and curses in equal measure, then a bigger wave came in and rocked the boat sending several of them falling into the surf while the others tried to hold on and keep the boat with them as the tide tried to pull it away. Morgana giggled at their predicament, and then dropped to her knees again, to pick up another stone which she examined closely.
'Here is a token for each of you, she held the stones out, one for her father and the other she offered to Uther. Uther took his and inspected it earnestly, turning it in his fingers, it was an unusual thing indeed, eggshell white with a swirling blue pattern much like a tribal tattoo.
'I do believe this is the nicest thing I have ever been given, thank you, Morgana. This is the perfect talisman. It will travel close to my heart and protect my every step on this perilous quest.'
Morgana smiled, and then her face became more serious: 'If I ever need it to protect me, King Uther, then you will return it, won't you?'
'Of course. It will be a bond between us. A talisman to protect us both through all of our journeys.' Uther smiled again and turned to Gerlois. 'Is your wife, and I believe you also have two other daughters, are they here with you as well?'