by C J Brown
“Forgive me, my lord. I should have been clearer with my question. I meant your intentions on the island. You currently occupy the boundary land between the two largest tribes of the land. The Demetians and the Highlanders have been at war for a long time. Even before your ancestors came the first time. For the first time in generations, an uneasy peace, but peace, nonetheless, exists because of the land that now stands as a boundary that neither tribe occupies. Your arrival can either result in good, or it can result in strife. In that context, I ask, what are your intentions?”
The moment she began to voice her answer, Arthur already realized that he had misunderstood her, and the embarrassment he felt was overwhelming. Now it was his turn to command the silence to fall between them. The sun had just breached the horizon in the east. The western sky still clung to the last few minutes of night as the stars of the northern hemisphere began to bid their farewell in the approaching light.
Finally, he spoke. “I have no intentions of occupying the land in any way that would jeopardize peace. Especially the peace that exists between two tribes that have been so welcoming to us in our time of need. Forgive me for possibly embarrassing you by giving you an answer that was not within the realm of possibility for you. However, my point still holds. I have two objectives on this journey. One, is to greet the king of the Highlanders and offer my profound gratitude that he has sent his daughter to welcome us and to offer my deepest apologies for not coming to see him first. There was no intention of disrespect, merely Roman ignorance.” Saying this, he paused. He wanted to allow his words to sink in before he proceeded to the second topic.
“What is your second?” the princess asked, not needing the time to digest the first reason.
“To ask his permission to court you, his firstborn. I have no intention of bringing anyone, him nor you, any shame by not having his permission, and I desire to assure him that my intentions are honorable.
“I think you have forgotten something more important,’” Olivie commented, her face not doused in the fires of seriousness, but rather, jovial in her own way.
“And what is that, my lady?” Arthur sprang back without hesitation.
“My permission,” she answered. “You have forgotten to ask for my permission. I may be my father’s daughter, but I am my own person,” she said, taking Arthur totally by surprise. He was not sure how to respond. On the one hand, he respected her individuality. On the other hand, he did not know what the appropriate thing to do would be.
Quickly coming to his mental feet, he answered, “Of course I was going to, my lady, as soon as I sought and received the king’s permission. Asking your permission first, before the king’s, would pay him severe disrespect.”
His answer pleased her, as she did love her father, and while tradition was important to her, she felt constrained by the mores and cultures that placed her in inferior position just because of the gender of her being. The fact that Arthur professed to ask her permission told her that his chivalry was intact and his decorum, admirable.
“Now that that is behind us, tell me, what do you know about the long-standing dispute between the Highlanders and the Lowlanders?” she asked.
It was better to turn the topic away from one that was more pleasing to her but not appropriate, considering that there were four hundred troops surrounding them. She would one day rule half of those there, and Arthur would rule the other half. It was neither the time nor the place for conversations regarding matters of the heart.
“I have to admit, I do not know much. What I do know is that we newcomers are nether arbiters of conflict nor at liberty to profess allegiance to the North or the South. We also are not looking to claim the land we currently encamp. Once we find a suitable land, we will move there with the permission or agreement of the respective parties.”
Olivie was not expecting to hear any of what Arthur had just said. He was either sincere and forthright, or he was trying to sweet talk her into complacency. She hadn’t decided which. Her heart told her he was a good man, but the weight of her position, as the king’s eldest daughter and his trusted advisor, required her vigilance.
The troops stopped to rest the horses and break the monotony of the journey at the half point to mid-day. The valley they traversed showed evidence of fertility Arthur had never seen. Defined by the river that eventually fed into Inver Ness, the lake near the camp, it supported a diverse plant and animal life for as far as the eyes could see. It was a magnificent sight that Arthur could not get over.
By noon, with the sun hanging in the southern sky, they reached the outskirts of their destination.
“This is the Royal City of Pittentrail,” Olivie announced as they approached. From where they were, Arthur estimated the wall at thirty cubits, or about the height of ten soldiers standing on top of each other. There were sentries posted along the wall, and trebuchets above the it. From that height, Arthur calculated that the guards could lob fireballs and hit incoming troops before they could let a single arrow loose.
The gates were already open, welcoming the riders into the city. “The entire city is contained within these walls,” she said, nodding towards the stone encasement that towered above them. His initial calculation was close. Now alongside, he had a better look at them. It was more like thirty-five cubits, he recalculated as he passed the gates in awe.
Buildings of stone occupied the alley that emerged from behind the gates. But instead of a straight road, as Arthur had expected, the main thoroughfare was a series of interlocking passes that turned left, went straight for as long as the street was wide, then turned right and went for the same distance.
Arthur thought it to be a clever design. In the event the main gates to the city were breached, the invaders would have to pass through a winding alley that allowed the soldiers within to drop fireballs, rocks, and arrows on the invaders. It was probably why King Fergus had never been vanquished on his home turf.
“Do you see all those windows?” Olivie asked.
“Yes, why?”
“It’s where soldiers pour tar from while the archers from the higher levels deliver the fire to burn the raiding party,” she answered.
Arthur detected that she was showing him an immutable truth, which was that he would have no chance of attacking her father’s kingdom. He had no intention to, but knowledge of such matters was always of value. The city gates, if penetrated, only allowed passage into the outer keep. The outer keep was heavily fortified, but duplicitously so. What seemed to be peasant housing was really a series of traps and cleverly hidden points of attack.
The city walls that stretched across the flanks on either side did not have far to go before they met the steep cliffs on both sides. The top of those cliffs stretched into the heavens, and there was no way to rappel down the sheer rock face with an army of soldiers. It wouldn’t be long until the descending soldiers would be spotted and picked off one by one by Caledonian archers.
The narrow frontage gave the Highlander king’s castle and the town that surrounded it significant advantage. Fergus’s grandfather had thought it through. What seemed like a city behind the wall was really a fortified battlefield designed to trap the invading enemy and slaughter them where they stood. The windy approach, Arthur calculated, could hold ten thousand men. The double gates were a ruse. The first set of gates were strong to withstand an invasion, but there was also a second set of gates. Arthur deduced, as they trotted along, that it would be used to lock the invaders in and place them in a kill box.
The difference between the Demetians and the Highlanders was stark. The Demetians had no fortifications around their dwellings and the city. Even King Megolin sat on a throne that was behind a wall a child with a hammer could penetrate. Arthur wondered what all this meant.
As he considered his host’s environment, he fell into a deep silence only to be awakened by the announcement that they had reached the inner keep. Anothe
r wall. Another gate. He was about to exit the kill box, and when they stepped out, they found themselves in an open area where people freely milled about. All activity gradually came to a halt as the locals stopped to gawk at the visitors, dressed in strange armor and capes. None of them had ever seen a Roman in their lives. Most did not know what Rome was or how much they had conquered. Whatever history had been passed to them of the conquerors from the continent had long been dashed by the rivers of time and the rocks of ignorance.
The troop now ventured into the inner periphery of the city. A large courtyard greeted them, and it made its way around the inner sections of the city. Arthur began to imagine its scope as concentric circles that led to the towers in the middle that now came into view.
This level was obviously the marketplace that had spilled over into the thoroughfare. There were military advantages too. Soldiers would congregate here before charging the invaders if there were any.
“This city has not been attacked in more than a hundred years,” Olivie said with pride.
Arthur’s initial impression of her comment soon evaporated when he realized that she meant is it as a good thing, not as a point of pride.
“The stronger we show ourselves to be, the less others wish to attack us. Our strength gives them pause, and they decide they would rather remain at peace. In turn, we have taken an oath to not attack those outside the city and the cities that have aligned themselves with us,” she explained.
“There are other cities like this?” Arthur asked in amazement.
“Yes, a dozen more, spread across the Highlands. All are built in similar geographic environments where cliffs form the buttress to the walls, and rivers run through them as the lifeblood of the population. Water and security allow the city to prosper.”
Arthur heard his host in the distance, as her voice faded in his mind while he absorbed the sights of the city. Three towers stood in the center. The larger one, taller than the two smaller ones, was obviously the king’s. The other two were not like each other.
“What are the towers for?” Arthur asked.
“Aside from being lookout towers for those approaching from a distance, the larger tower is my father’s residence at the highest level. The smaller tower on the right is where many of the nobles live. The tower on the left is the city’s prison. Notice that the prison has no iron grill while the nobles’ tower does.”
“So, the grills are designed to protect the nobles, but the prisoners are not expected to attempt an escape?”
“Exactly,” Olivie said with a smile. Some have tried, unsuccessfully. The rest remain in the cells, regretting their crimes.”
“What kind of crimes?” Arthur asked, remembering the tower he had rescued his father from not long ago.
“Only the crime of treason against the clan is cause for imprisonment in the tower. It is the most serious of crimes.”
“My father was once imprisoned in such a tower in Rome by the man who usurped the throne from him,” Arthur confessed.
“How did he leave?” Olivie asked.
“My men and I entered the tower and rescued him.”
Olivie was not certain if she should be impressed or concerned. She decided not to offer a response, nor any expression Arthur could read. Her blank expression told Arthur what he had already expected. She was resolute in the belief that law and order were righteous tools of the ruler. Arthur was once that way as well, until he was schooled on the fact that only power mattered. With that, he learned that rules, laws, and order, depended on who had the power to compel them. If the person who had the power was righteous, then law and order would be dispensed righteously. Otherwise, law and order were just words to disguise tyranny.
The question in Arthur’s mind now was if Fergus was a righteous man or one as corrupt as Lucius.
7
Absence
“Guard,” Uther shouted, a demonic fire burning in his newly repurposed eyes.
“My lord,” the guard stationed outside Uther’s tent moved swiftly to enter his master’s call.
It was now morning, and the land had been illuminated for as far as the eyes could see. Uther had fallen into a deep sleep after his soliloquy and now intended to put his dastardly plan into motion.
“Bring me Vipsanius,” Uther commanded abruptly.
“He is not here, my lord.” the guard replied.
“Where has he gone?” Uther, not in the know, asked.
“He has accompanied General Arthur to meet with King Fergus,” they soldier replied.
“What? Under whose orders?” Uther shouted, spittle flying from his mouth.
“I am not aware, my lord. Possibly General Arthur’s.”
“Find my me Captain Janus,” Uther replied in the end after a moment’s thought.
“Right away, my lord,” the guard uttered and ran out the tent.
“And fetch Mehmet for me. Tell him to come to my tent at once.”
The guard ran back to the tent.
“My lord. The foreigner left last night and has not returned. I do not know where he is.”
Uther grew puzzled.
“No matter. Bring Janus to me.”
As the guard rushed out for the second time that morning. Uther turned back and headed for his inner chamber where he freshened up and changed his robes. Janus arrived just as Uther had readied himself.
“Captain Janus, how many men remain in the camp?”
“Approximately one hundred and fifty, my lord.”
“Take twenty men and arrest Igraine. Convert her tent into a prison, and guard it at all hours. No servants. No visitors. Understood?” Uther commanded, feeling pleased with the decision he had made.
Captain Janus grew confused. He cocked his head to one side and took his time answering the question as he pondered the question and measured his answer. “But, my lord, Lady Igraine is not in her tent,” he stuttered.
“Where is she?” Uther bellowed.
“The lady, Igraine, has left the encampment. I do not know her intended destination. One hundred and twelve men, women, and children departed with her before dawn.”
Uther grew furious and then enraged. His build up was almost instantaneous as he first turned red, triggering visual cues to warn his audience of an impending eruption, then, unbridled, began screaming, He screamed unintelligibly like a man without counsel of his mind.
His final act was to draw his sword and throw it like an ax at Captain Janus. The old man’s aim was not what it used to be, fortunately, and the blade resonated a hum as it passed the captain’s ear, slicing a part of his earlobe, and tore its way out the tent.
Janus stood firm, as a Roman soldier being disciplined by his general would. Except, he had committed no crime. After berating him as if it Igraine’s departure was his fault, Uther dispatched him to bring the tracker, Gaius, to his tent.
Janus fled, glad he was still in possession of his life. The gouge in his ear, made by the blade flying past, was an acceptable alternative to if the blade had been just three inches to the right.
Looking frantically for Gaius, he soon realized that the tracker was part of Igraine’s caravan that had left hours earlier. Aside from Arthur and Vipsanius, Gaius was the best tracker they had. Everyone else might as well have been blind.
“My lord,” Janus shouted from outside the tent, “Gaius is not among us.”
“Come inside,” Uther shouted in return.
Janus looked around. Uther’s sword lay where it fell just beyond the tent. That provided some comfort that it would not be used to draw more blood from him. He entered.
“You are telling me that Arthur, Vipsanius, Igraine, Mehmet, and Gaius, are all gone. They all went to see King Fergus?”
“No, my lord. Only Arthur, with two hundred men, including Vipsanius, rode north to pay respects to King Fergus. Mehmet has not been in t
he camp since late last night. A guard saw him ride north to the inlet. As for Lady Igraine, she and almost one hundred of our people, including Gaius, have left the camp for good. Never to return.”
Uther did not wait for another word to leave the captain’s lips as he stormed out of the tent and hurried under the noon sun to Igraine’s new tent that had been built outside the secure perimeter. Upon arriving, he entered to find the sweet scent of his wife greet him as memories from three and a half decades of union rushed to fill his wounded heart.
Uther fell to his knees as the first thing that greeted his arrival in his wife’s chambers, besides the silence and the perfume, was the pendant of their union.
***
“Your Grace, it is an honor to enter your magnificent city, a testament to the Fergus clan, and to finally have the opportunity to present myself under your shadow. My father, mother, and I, along with a thousand people, men, women, and children, hail from the city of Rome and mean no threat to anyone already on the isles of Britannia. Please accept these humble gifts as a token of our gratitude for your hospitality.”
King Fergus looked at his daughter and then looked at the array of items that had been arranged by his guards. There was some gold, some coin, some ornaments, some fabric. Nothing spectacular. Arthur Everyone could see that the gifts were mediocre at best, and that the king was not impressed.
Olivie spoke on her father’s behalf after giving an inordinately long period of silence.
“We thank you for your offering. It pleases us more than we can say, as we are fully aware that you did not bring much with you, and this constitutes the bulk of your belongings,” she said, looking at her father but speaking to Arthur.
“If it please Your Grace,” Arthur replied, looking at the king and knowing that Olivie spoke for the king., “I have one more gift for you that is not yet laid in front.”
Olivie was confused. She had been the one to direct the arrangement of the gifts for her father’s viewing. She was not aware that Arthur had brought another gift.
