by C J Brown
Within the hour, each captain had activated his crew and the vessels they commanded began boarding. As the men marched onboard, tar was filled into special bladders below-deck. It was a time-tested strategy of naval warfare that the Franks who were master sailors were able to overcome. The Huns, on the other hand, only being adept on land, were novice sea warriors and would have no way of defending themselves against the superior Highlander crew.
Neither Lispania nor Bishkar knew what Magi Ro Hul had waiting for them.
9
Strip the King
The night had descended deep into the darkness of the wintry north when Arthur and two hundred of his men rode up the slope to the encampment. The fires in front of each tent roared to keep the tents they protected, secured against the frigid night. Arthur turned his thoughts to his mother. He knew she’d be gone by now, and he would face the fury of his father for it.
During the journey back from Pittentrail, Arthur had the opportunity to speak with Vipsanius, his brother in arms, and evaluate his allegiance. Vipsanius was clear. His loyalty was resolutely Arthur’s. And by extension, every man under his command would follow Arthur to the ends of the earth if he asked them to.
It was a humbling experience for Arthur. It was also a confusing time filled with emotional undertones and strategic implications. He hoped that the time away from his father doing the duties of the Crest would have altered his father’s mind. But his wariness of his father’s anger was not far from his thoughts.
As he rode the last leg of his journey to the encampment, he knew his mother would have left by now and that his father would be in possession of that knowledge. He was right to be concerned, for as soon as the entourage arrived at the camp, Captain Janus delivered an urgent message that Arthur was to hurry to his father’s tent.
Arthur did as he was told. Vipsanius, sensing that something was afoot, sent word to the men loyal to him, to be on guard. The encampment descended into grave silence as Arthur stood in the antechamber to his father’s tent, waiting for the patriarch of the Pendragon clan to emerge.
Dressed in his ceremonial garb, Uther strode in and took his place at a seat that must have been just made for him according to Arthur’s observation. It stood higher than all the other seats and was draped in red velvet. Arthur recognized some of the fabric as having once belonged to his mother.
“Father,” Arthur greeted Uther as he took his seat atop this new, make-shift throne.
“It’s ‘Your Grace,’ Arthur. I am to be addressed as the monarch of the land. So, you and everyone else shall address me with the proper titles and pageantry.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Arthur replied. He didn’t want to provoke the man and cause an altercation. But whatever had happened in his absence, Arthur knew that things were no longer tenable.
“You are a general in my army, are you not?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“You have sworn an allegiance to me, have you not?”
Arthur could see where this was going and decided that he would try to steer the conversation away. But he had it wrong. What Uther wanted was a lot more than what Arthur would be willing to do.
“Technically, I swore an allegiance to Rome, Your Grace,” Arthur replied. “But my loyalty to you has always been between father and firstborn, as it was when I entered Rome in defiance of an imperial decree.”
Arthur’s tone was pliant and respectful. The content of his response was accurate, and there was nothing even the most able cross examiner could counter.
“Indeed, Arthur, and as that loyal son, you must obey my command and relinquish your position as heir to the Pendragon crest and take up the duty as my general.”
“If that is your wish, then I shall do it gladly do it. I hereby relinquish my status as a Pendragon. From this day forth, I shall no longer be known as Arthur Pendragon. From this day forth, I shall not be heir to the seat of the clan, and if such a day should come where the imperial throne in Rome is returned to the Pendragon name, I give my solemn oath that I will not seek it as a Pendragon.”
The oath that Arthur had made was far above and beyond what Uther had expected. In fact, he had not even expected Arthur to acquiesce without a fight. Uther’s plan had backfired.
“And what about your oath as my general?”
“I shall get to that, but before I do, I ask Your Grace if you accept my oath.”
“I do. You are no longer heir to the Pendragon seat, nor or will be you henceforth be known as Arthur Pendragon,” Uther replied., obstinately, irritated that it was so easy for Arthur to throw away his birthright. “Now what about your oath as my general.?”
“I will think about how I shall give it. Give me until a week from tomorrow, so that I may take some time to think about my future and my life. I wish to start a family and leave the world of war behind me. We are, after all, no longer in Rome, and now, I am no longer Roman.”
“That kind of speech is blasphemous. You are always a Roman. You insult me by relinquishing your heritage. It is a sin punishable by death,” Uther said, his voice low in volume, but filled with anger fueled by insult.
“Your Grace, my only link to Rome was my relationship to you. That relationship has been severed, by the vow you just instructed me to make—the vow you accepted. I am no longer Roman. I am no longer a son of Uther, nor an heir of Pendragon, nor a citizen of Rome. It is not blasphemy, Your Grace, it is truth.”
“Well then, it was good that I have found my true heir to stand by me. A true Roman. The true heir of Pendragon,” Uther said.
The words seemed designed to perturb Arthur, but he held his calm without once allowing his emotions to sidetrack his thoughts.
“Indeed, Your Grace. In your infinite wisdom, you foresaw the moment and planted your seed in a place your father deemed treacherous. In your infinite wisdom, you saw it fit to abolish your bloodline when you were blackmailed by Grandfather that you would lose the throne if you did not obey.”
Uther’s brows rose. He had not told anyone about the threat Constantine III had made. No one knew that his father had insisted that if he didn’t destroy the Anatolian woman and her child, along with the entire village, the throne would pass from him to his brother. “Lie!” he shouted.
“There is no one else here, Your Grace. Only your ears and my heart are privy to this information. There is no need to vex your heart even further or indulge in more lies. You chose power and wealth over blood and love,” Arthur said calmly, keeping his head slightly bowed while his eyes penetrated Uther’s soul. No robe or ornament could shield the shame of the man everyone thought, wise.
Uther recoiled into silence as he pondered. His plan was unraveling. He couldn’t fathom how Arthur had come to know it. Until the obvious emerged in his mind.
“Vipsanius broke his bond,’ Uther whispered.
“He didn’t break his bond, Your Grace. Your bond for silence was made with Gracus, his father, not with Vipsanius. Gracus died and left the secret in his eldest son’s hands. You didn’t tell mother the whole truth. Two days ago, the story you weaved for our benefit was inaccurate, skewed to make you look good by covering up your weakness and placing blame on Grandfather.”
“Silence! You will believe the word of your subordinate over the word of an emperor and your father?”
“Your Grace, I believe the word of a man I have spilled blood and conquered enemies with. There is no emperor here, not even a king or a duke since there is no kingdom or dukedom to speak of. Not even a father, since that relationship has been severed.”
“Guards!” Uther shouted, as he grew rabid.
Arthur was not a degree warmer in demeanor or complexion, unlike Uther, who was not fuming like the depths of hell.
Two men walked in with hands on their hilts, ready to respond to their leader’s commands.
“Take this man into custody,” Uther shouted. “Bi
nd him and place him in a cell. If we do not yet have one, shackle his legs and anchor them to the ground. He is to be tried for treason. Do the same with Vipsanius. Do this by the order of your emperor.”
The third guard walked in, and together, all three walked towards the two men already in the tent. Arthur stood silently. Not one emotion shaped his face or colored his skin. Unlike Uther, he was stoic and used using all the faculties of his mind to assess and control the situation.
Uther had not seen the third guard who fell behind the first two as they marched forward. Uther repeated his command. “Shackle him and throw him in the cell.”
“I am afraid that will not be happening today,” the third man boomed. Uther refocused his glare though his watery eyes to find Vipsanius speaking.
“You?” Uther explained in disbelief. “Guards, take both of them into custody.”
The guards, instead, arrived at the older man’s side, grabbed him by the arms, and stripped him of the robe he thought gave him power. A feeble attempt at redemption made no difference in a life marred by greed, ambition, and entitlement.
“Uther Pendragon, you will be placed under guard in the comfort of your tent for the next two days while the rest of us decamp. You will not be harmed. You will be fed. You will have no visitors,” said one of the guards.
As Uther began to speak, Arthur raised his hand. “If you choose to make a nuisance of yourself, Your Grace,” he said mockingly, “I will have no choice but to have you gagged. Consider this a kindness that flows from my mother. I am sure if you had managed to incarcerate her, you would not have given her the same courtesy.”
Uther frowned, realizing that Arthur had somehow found out about his command to Janus to have Igraine arrested.
“Incidentally, Your Grace, in regard to your second request,” he said, pausing for a brief moment. “I shall not swear an oath as your general. You should ask your firstborn to assume that honor. I am sure he will oblige.”
Uther had no words for the miscalculation he had made. Instead, he stood dumbfounded and lost, dropping into his makeshift throne. He was now Uther, the emperor of nothing.
10
Staged
Standing in front of the men he had just been given command off, Mehmet folded both his hands and spoke.
“You only have to learn three commands to be able to win the battle we are about to enter,” he began. Standing shorter than most of the men under his command, it was hard for any of the Highlanders to take him seriously. After a moment’s silence, the man directly in front of him could no longer contain the humor Mehmet presented to the rank and file. He burst out in a snicker which Mehmet heard.
The man’s insolence was repaid forthwith by Mehmet’s knife that he had in his waistband. The sudden move of the running Roman who leaped onto the giant Highlander and swung around his neck, slicing it as he swung around, shocked everyone who was there.
“I have one thing none of you have,” he shouted. “Agility. I could kill each of you where you stand before one of you even unsheathes unsheathed his sword. Would you like to try?” He grinned as he kicked the head of the man he had sliced, to show that it was not merely a cut, but he had actually decapitated the man, separating his head from his body in a one clean stroke.
“Laugh at me at your own peril.” And as if nothing had happened, he continued with the training.
“The first order is, ‘Charge,’” he began. “When you hear the order, your job is to head directly into the center of the approaching horde. I calculate that each of you will be able to kill thirty men before you yourself will fall. So, pray that the battle is over by the time you kill your thirtieth man.”
“The second order is, ‘Split,’” he continued. “When you hear this order, begin dividing the men until the man on the horse behind them is exposed. No one must do anything to that man. He is mine.”
“The third order is, ‘Stop,” he concluded. “When you hear this, stop killing. You enemy will do the same. They will not fight without the commander. I will tell you to stop once I kill him.”
Every man there, each of the two hundred and ninety-nine, listened attentively without once ever questioning him again.
With his briefing done, he told the captain of the company to march the men out. They were to begin their march to Dornoch that same evening. There was no more time to lose.
***
Not a sound made its way across the still waters of the inlet as the Caledonian ships lay in wait north of the invading party. The Hun expendables and the Frank sailors never knew they were being watched and continued their journey, turning west into the calmer waters of the inlet. Once the last of the vessels had turned in, the Caledonian fleet surrounded the entrance to the inlet and waited.
Mehmet and his company waited in the darkness on the ridge, having just arrived, not a moment too soon. King Fergus, Princess Olivie and a number of the members of the War Council, stood on the western ridge unbeknownst to Mehmet and his men. While darkness hung over the land, it was not clear who had the advantage. All King Fergus could see was the volume of men from the opposing side. It had to be more than ten thousand, he figured. For all the strategies he could think off, there were none that he could muster that would allow three hundred men to defeat ten thousand. He began to regret allowing Mehmet the three hundred men.
“I will have his head for this,” King Fergus whispered to his daughter.
Olivie looked upon the scene, and straining through the darkness, she could see the massacre that would ensue. She realized that Mehmet’s bravado and contempt was very different from Arthur’s manner. She silently appreciated Arthur’s manner and ways better. But she still felt betrayed by his Arthur’s silence. If he knew of this attack, why had he not said anything?
Olivie, as curious as her father of about the strategy and tactics Mehmet was about to deploy, sat silently focused on the disembarking Hun solders. In the dark none of them knew that it was the expendable army. Even if they had been able to see clearly, the expendables were not dressed as expendables; they wore the Hun insignia and fur. And even if they’d been able to recognize the expendables, the Highlanders were not well-versed enough to understand the significance of that realization.
Then there was movement on the hill, and Olivie realized that the Highlanders under Mehmet were on the move. He seemed to have made a last-minute change in plans and begun the assault before daybreak.
“They are moving, my king,” Olivie whispered.
“Yes, Mehmet has taken advantage of the darkness. The Huns can’t see him, but he can see them. Look at the fools below. They have lit so many fires that I can almost see the expressions on their ugly faces from this distance.”
A moment of levity invited a smile on the princess’s face. As they watched, the Highlanders picked up speed and made their way down the slope and to the assembled company of Huns. The battle did not take long. King Fergus watched in amazement as the men slaughtered the Huns easily. Before it was all over, Mehmet had reached the commander of the army, pulled him down from his horse, and engaged him in a battle that looked easy. By the time it was done, the Hun commander’s head sat on the tip of Mehmet’s sword.
“Stop,” he shouted, the last of the three commands he had taught them. Slowly, the victorious Highlanders disengaged from their opposite number. As quickly as it had all started, it wound its way to the end. Mehmet raised his sword and displayed the commander’s head for all to see. In unison, the horde dropped their weapons and stopped moving.
“He has made them all surrender,” the king whispered. “The battle is over. How many men did we lose?” he asked his princess.
“Looks like none,” she replied trying to see if any lay on the ground.
11
Caravan
By sunrise, preparations to leave were in full swing. The tents, once symbols of a new beginning, were torn down and repacked. The
symbol of a torn house now lay all about the encampment. Those who had at first decided to stay, were now desperate to find resolution in their hearts. Word had spread across the camp of the madness that had gone on earlier. By mid-morning, all had found cause to leave.
A caravan of almost a thousand men, women, and children, along with livestock and beasts of burden began their journey toward the water and boarded the ships they had arrived on. All the Franks who had accompanied the Romans, and their families who had later joined them had decided to throw their lot in with Arthur. Uther was not someone they could trust.
By noon, the vessels had slipped out of the inlet and begun to make their way south. Arthur watched from the ridge until the last of the vessels disappeared across the horizon before he pulled on the reins and began his journey north. Things had changed since he last spoke of his intentions with Princess Olivie, and he needed to see her again.
The ride was slower this time, and he reached Pittentrail later in the day. The gates to the city were open, and the crowds going about their daily business filled the streets of the inner circle. No one stopped to see the newcomer as they had the last time. The aroma of meat and potatoes filled the air as the inn keepers shouted over each other to attract customers.
Arthur finally arrived at the main entrance of Olivie’s royal abode. He told the guard who he was and waited for the face he had missed for the last day to arrive. Olivie did not take long, but when she showed herself, it was not with a look that he expected. It was obvious she was cross.
