by C J Brown
***
“We welcome you to our island,” Olivie began. “I am Princess Olivie of Caledonia, land of the Highlanders. My father bids the welcome.”
“I am Uther Pendragon, Lord of this camp. We hail from Rome, banished by an emperor who has lost his way.”
Olivie did not understand what that meant. In her mind, only the unworthy were banished. The response on her face told Igraine that Uther had misspoken, something he never did. Igraine had to step in, even at the expense of seeming insubordinate.
“The emperor had usurped the throne that was rightfully my husband’s,” Igraine stepped in. “The man before you is the son of Emperor Constantine III and the grandson of Emperor Constantine. When Lucius, the current emperor, usurped the throne, he incarcerated my husband and wanted to kill him under the excuse of treason. That is why we fled. Along with us, twenty thousand men, women, and children fled the tyranny of an unworthy ruler, but only a thousand of us survived the journey and the attack of the Huns.”
Everyone in the room fell silent. The words of the matriarch rang clear, and Princess Olivie’s countenance softened. The truth of her host’s words was apparent. “We are glad to have you here. but perhaps the welcome is unnecessary. The land you stand upon lies beyond the borders of my father’s kingdom in the north, and beyond the borders of the Demetians in the south.”
“Nonetheless, we appreciate your gesture of welcome and your welcoming party. Had we known you were arriving this day, we would have been more prepared, but our hunters and maids have begun the process of laying out a feast, and we ask that you stay and enjoy our hospitality,” Arthur offered in response.
***
Uther held his tongue, knowing that he had misspoken in the opening address with the emissary. He could feel his mind not where it should be and could not understand the source of his distraction. Igraine felt the same way, but only grew more irritated that this would be so.
After spending considerable time in conversation, the feast was laid out in the open ground beyond the tent, and the parties adjourned to feast on Roman cuisine. It turned out to be more festive than anyone had expected, and the men from both sides got along, as did the princess and Arthur.
The troubles of the times had faded into the background as Uther stepped up to his wife. in a conciliatory swagger.
“I think our son is smitten by the young princess,” he said holding his goblet and smiling wider in a way Igraine remembered.
“Indeed,” she replied, happy with the turn of the morning. She, too, could see that Arthur had finally found it in his heart to allow himself to be attracted by a young lady. “I feel that the two would have a lot in common.”
“Maybe it is Arthur who can bring the people of this land together though marriage,” Uther suggested.
“Marriage will only allow our people to find a home in this island. It will not bring the two original people together. That is something you have to do, and you have to do it with Arthur by your side.”
“Who else would I have, my dear? Arthur is my heir and my son. It is he who will take over the crest in my passing.”
“That was so until yesterday, my love,” Igraine answered, with eyes now saddened by the thoughts that filled her mind.”
“You speak of Mehmet?” Uther guessed.
Igraine nodded and could see that Uther was also bothered by the events.
“Before another word is spoken of this matter, I must seek your forgiveness,” Uther confided in her. “I was harsh to you, the one person who has stood by my side through it all. For this I am sorry. But this problem is like no other I have ever faced. We have arrived on a new land, and it’s a new beginning. I do not want the sins of my past to weigh on us as it has in the past. The gods must have deemed me unworthy of the imperial throne because of that sin I was forced to commit. Mehmet is here, I believe, to give me the opportunity to do the right thing.”
Uther’s words crashed down upon her Igraine like the waves of the North Sea crashing on the rocks. His words diluted all that she had planned to tell him. Even though she knew that none of what he was saying was true, she also knew that she would not be able to convince him against it because he believed in it. There were no gods giving him an opportunity at redemption.
It tore would tear her heart even more, but she had one more question to ask him before she made her final decision. “Did you love his mother?” she asked, afraid of the answer.
Instead of an answer that would have stabbed her in the heart swiftly, Uther chose to travel the circuitous route and explain the events that led to this point in history.
“I had been stationed in Anatolia as part of the advance group,” Uther began. I was a young general, and only so because of my grandfather’s position. Had he not been emperor, there was no way I would have been in that role. I had not earned the honor of leading the men and, as such, made many errors.”
Igraine listened as she eyed her husband. The rest of the guests congregated around the tables, mulling about and making acquaintances. In a quiet corner, Arthur continued to speak to Olivie. They stood apart from the rest of the crowd, consumed by each other’s company. Mehmet walked around eating from the center table, stopping to make small conversation as he circled the scene, eyeing everything.
After a moment’s pause, Uther regained his voice and continued. “We were there for two seasons before I took up residence with one of the local women. She was unlike the rest. Strong, resolute. She was more Roman than most women I knew at the time. I was attracted by her hair, her eyes, and her smile, and slowly became enamored with her heart and mind. From the first moment I had laid eyes on her, it was like a thunderbolt had crashed down upon me. All I could do is think about her all day.”
Igraine felt the dagger of his words slowly penetrate her flesh and find the tender muscles of her heart. The pain she felt inside revealed itself in the tears that neither she nor her husband acknowledged she shed on the outside. Neither, husband nor wife, noticed, as he continued.
“We fell in love,” he said. His words fell like an executioner’s blade. “By the end of the third season, she gave birth to a child. Somehow the emperor found out and forbade the union. To force me to learn from my mistake, he issued the order. I was to leave the town.”
Tears streamed from his eyes as he recounted the pain of his youth. The quiver in his voice and parlor pallor of his cheeks told of pain that unlike any Igraine could never had experienced before now. She paused, feeling sorry for him, then she recalled what he had said earlier.
“Didn’t you say that you torched the city?”
“I did say that,” he said. He wiped the streams on his cheeks and recomposed himself, realizing what was about to come.
“But you knew the woman and child you claim to love you loved were there. Did you help them escape?” Igraine asked, suddenly feeling nothing but contempt.
“No. I followed my father’s, the emperor’s, orders and razed the city to the ground.”
Igraine looked upon the man she once thought was great. Now only pity and disgust occupied her heart, and she knew from that moment that she had no room in her heart for him. The first blow had come when he spoke harshly, but she forgave that. The second blow had come when she heard him say that he had loved another. But even that she could excuse and put it behind her where it belonged. After all, it was before they married. But the last thing he said was evidence of a man with no soul. If he could ride into the city and burn it down knowing full well that his flesh and blood was within, then he was not the man she’d had believed him to be.
As silence descended on the gazebo where they conversed and watched the crowds make merry, they had not noticed the newcomer, Mehmet, who had circled behind them and listened to it all. He was now aware of his true heritage.
3
Loyalty
“We must not wait any longer, my lord,”
Lispania insisted. They were the first words he spoke as he walked into his king’s chambers. Lispania could see the damage being done. Almost a week had gone by, and the men were starting to feast a little too much on the spoils of Gaul. But there was a more important reason. He had to make Attila form a reliance on him. Every day that Attila waited, under the guise of some excuse, for Bishkar to return, the farther away Lispania’s moment to rise became.
“Our minds meet on this, Lispania,” Attila boomed. After spending days waiting to hear from Bishkar, he had ordered Lispania to come up with a plan. “Are you ready to lead?” Attila asked.
“Yes, sire. The Frankish navy, the Ostrogoth expendables, and the Hun soldiers are ready to mobilize. All I need now is your order,” Lispania replied. There was a sense of renewal in his voice. A new man had emerged from the ashes of Roman oblivion.
“Very well. You take command of the expendables and the navy. I will lead the Huns. Tell me your plan one last time.”
The two men talked enthusiastically of the conquest that would follow at dawn. Attila was impressed. Lispania had thought of all the contingencies. His plan was meticulous, and his objectives well-prioritized. It was well past midnight when the two men came to the end of their discussion.
It was time to feast on a hearty meal. Attila was not the kind to waste his time on lavish meals. He ate after business. Calling the steward, Attila ordered up a large meal for them when he was told that a visitor awaited.
“Who is he?” Attila asked, wondering who would seek his audience in such early morning hours.
The Frank steward was not in a position to say but offered a guess as to it being a Roman emissary.
“A Roman emissary?” Attila boomed. “On the night before our invasion of Britannia?”
The Frank steward, not familiar with the ways of the Hun king, bowed, uncertain of Attila’s true thoughts.
Lispania grew weary. A visit from the Romans at this late hour did not bode well. But he steadied himself and realized that there was another way he could look at this. It could be an opportunity for him to avenge his exile. If the Romans wanted war, Lispania was happy to give it to them.
“Send him in.” Attila the Hun bellowed.
The steward, instantly taking his leave, rushed out of the King’s receiving chambers.
By this late hour Attila was hungry as much as he was curious and didn’t care which walked though his doors first, the train of servants with supper, or the solitary emissary with news of war.
He soon realized it was neither, as Bishkar walked through the doors and presented himself to an astonished king and a spiteful contemporary.
“Sire, it is I, Bishkar. Do not be confused by my appearance.” He referred to his new style of dressing and his groomed appearance. Fairer skin had appeared after cleaning the dirt accumulated for years on the march of the Huns. Roman robes hung from his shoulders and sandals graced his feet.
“How have you come back from the dead, a fate that even Adolphus could not escape?” Attila asked, seeming happy and confused all at the same time.
“Dead?” Bishkar asked, seeming unsure of how Attila would have gotten that idea.
“Yes, Lispania here heard news that your vessel… What was it? Had sunk in the Narrow Sea.”
“The Nostre Dame did indeed sink, but I survived and made it to Britannia. Lispania is wrong in his assumption. Perhaps his assumption is mixed in with his ambition and hope?” Bishkar said, shooting a glance at Lispania, a man he knew well.
Lispania did not respond. Bishkar’s assessment of him was not far from the truth, and he had not expected to be confronted with it. Attila did would not want to fan the flames of competitive hate on the eve of battle, though.
“You have found your way home at precisely the right time, but unfortunately, I have already given Lispania command of the forces that will attack Britannia,” Attila said, addressing his comments to Bishkar.
“No, sire. With all due respect. You must not attack at dawn. There is a better way,” Bishkar implored his king.
“Sire. This is a distraction,” Lispania insisted. “The men are ready, the navy is ready, the expendables are ready. Hesitation now will certainly diminish our objective.”
Attila nodded in agreement but spoke nothing. Instead, he looked at Bishkar. In the silence of his mind, he evaluated the two men. Bishkar had never let him down and had been loyal to him. Lispania, on the other hand, was yet unproven but for one battle. It would have made better sense to follow the words of a tried and tested lieutenant, but greed of conquest influenced his heart.
“We will strike in the morning as planned. No more delays,” Attila decreed. “Will you join us, Bishkar? We could use you.”
“My place is wherever you tell me, sire, even if you think I would serve you best in the front line of the Huns, I am ready to do what you ask,” Bishkar replied.
“Indeed, sire. Bishkar is a powerful soldier, and he will do well to lead the expendables,” Lispania added, knowing very well that that such a position would be the most vulnerable and would see the death of Bishkar in the opening hours of the battle.
“Silence. Bishkar will not lead the expendables. He will lead the Huns,” Attila shouted, coming to the point of irritation. He was well aware of Lispania’s intentions by this point and resented every bit of it. Bishkar could feel the thoughts in Attila’s mind and chose to play on it even more.
“If I am to go on this campaign, then it is best I tell you what I know now, so that my demise in this poorly executed plan will not be the reason you fail in your attack,” Bishkar said.
“We will not fail,” Lispania shouted, taking personal insult at the comment. “This plan is well-devised.”
“Let Bishkar speak. Where have you been all this while, general, and what do you know now that will aid us in our objective?”
“I have been amidst the Romans for four days now. They have taken me as one of them while they go about setting up a new colony of Romans loyal to the Pendragon crest. They are joined by and Franks who have fled since you took the throne. Every day Uther sits there, he grows stronger in number.”
“Then we must attack now,” Lispania insisted.
“Let him finish,” Attila growled. “If, after he has told us all he has to, and there is still an advantage, then we will attack as planned.”
“Thank you, sire. While Uther’s forces grow by the day, he has enemies that grow as well. If you attack him from the south, I will marshal the forces of King Fergus and push them from the north. You will crush them in three days.”
“We had planned to attack from the north,” Attila said. “Lispania has calculated that attacking them from the south would serve to put our men in the middle between Pendragon’s forces and the forces of King Megolin in the south.”
“Megolin is not a problem. The Demetians do not wish to do battle. A fragile peace currently exists between them and the Highlanders. Once I get the Highlanders to join me in attacking the Pendragons, the Demetians will stay away. They would not want to break the peace with the Highlanders just to protect newcomers.”
Attila saw the reasoning in this. “What do you suggest?” he asked his prodigal general.
“As I have said, sire. Attack from the south with the expendables. Don’t bother with the navy. It would be a waste of resources and be seen as a threat by the Highlanders who have a large navy as well. The Demetians have smaller vessels, but they are on the other side of Britannia and will not arrive in time. Focus your efforts on attacking Pendragon from the south.”
“So, you are saying that the attack force only needs to concentrate on Pendragon?” Attila asked, surprised and not certain if such a simple plan would work.
“Let me lead the expendables, sire,” Bishkar said, to everyone’s surprise. “Just like Lispania suggested in the beginning. Let me lead the expendables to vanquish the
Pendragons and capture Uther and Arthur.
Attila could see the simplicity of the plan. There would be no significant loss to his army, and he could get his revenge. “There is only one problem with your plan,” he said. “You need to be the one to talk to King Fergus. Neither I nor Lispania can do that.”
Bishkar fell silent for a moment, looking as though he had lost the point.
“Sire, I can do it,” Bishkar insisted. I will leave tonight and talk to King Fergus in the morning. Lispania will arrive with the expendables tomorrow and hand over command to me. I can make it work, sire. Give me an opportunity.”
***
Attila looked at the man who he once thought of as his son, but the week that had gone by seemed to have altered his appearance. The resulting unfamiliarity that grew between the two men sparked a moment of doubt inside Bishkar. All this while he had done everything he could for Attila. But in the week that had passed, he had been replaced by a man who had been taken from the ranks of the expendables. There were so many other men from the regular ranks that Attila could have chosen. The impetuous Roman was a poor choice, Bishkar thought. It was an insult.
The idea to leave Attila began to foment in his mind. He was, he thought, after all, the heir to Uther’s dominion. Whatever that would turn out to be. He’d worked so hard and been patient for his entire life only to lose it all after being gone for a week. The betrayal was palpable.
But the plan was already in motion. He had laid a trap for Lispania, and the Roman was so full of vinegar and bile that Bishkar was certain he would fall for it.
“Very well,” Attila replied. “Bishkar will lead the expendables like you suggest, Lispania. The rest of our forces will remain on the continent. I shall remain here and await the news.”
