Arthur Rex: Volume One

by J A Cummings

  “Two large settlements, yet, but many villages. I come from a small holding outside Moridunum.”

  “And you get your wealth from gold, no doubt, sold to the Romans and the Irish.”

  Illtyd smiled, trying to keep his annoyance from showing. Cradawg had yet to look at him even as he interrogated his guest. He had never known Brastias to be so rude. “My father did, yes, and we sell our gold to whichever party has the means to trade for it.”

  Cradawg snorted. “I see. A pretty lie. And the Demetae sold their faith, as well, is that true?”

  “I am a Christian.”

  “This I know. You are the one who turned my brother from the worship of our true gods. Tell me, was it gold that bought by brother’s soul? Or did you offer him something else? A wife, perhaps?”

  Brastias sighed. “We did not come to open old wounds.”

  Finally, Cradawg looked up. “Then why did you come?”

  “We were sent by the new High King with a message for the chieftain.”

  The seated man’s face went hard. “Well, then, you can speak to me. Corvorus is too weak to do much more than drool into his gruel these days. I am the man who leads our people now.”

  “I wonder, does Ebha agree?”

  “I care not what Ebha says.” He tossed his brand, which had gone cold, into the fire. “Tell me. Who is this new king?”

  “Uther’s son by Igraine, hidden until now.”

  “So he’s the child who was allegedly stillborn a dozen years ago.”

  “Fifteen years,” Illtyd corrected softly, “and, yes. That is he.”

  “Is he truly that child?”

  “Merlin says he is, and so does his foster father.”

  “And who is that?” Cardawg asked.

  “Sir Ector, of Caer Gai.”

  Brastias’s brother nodded. “I see. I remember him. Good man, lost a hand at Terrabil.”

  “Yes. That’s the one.”

  “And the king entrusted his child to a cripple?” Cardawg mocked.

  “Merlin did.”

  The seated man snorted. “Ah, yes. Merlin. The chief meddler of our age. And you believe him?” His voice took on a sneering quality. “A good Christian knight like you, siding with a devil-born Druid?”

  “Merlin is a man of honor, after a fashion,” Brastias replied. “I believe him.”

  Cardawg shifted the hide on his lap and pulled another brand out of the fire. He blew upon it until the flames were out and only the glowing embers remains, and then he returned to his task. “And what does this young so-called king want?”

  “Allies.”

  “I see. And is he Christian?”

  “Yes.”

  Cardawg’s jaw set. “Then he has come to the wrong place. He will find no allies here.”

  Brastias nodded. “I thought that would be your answer.” He turned to Illtyd. “There’s no reason to stay any longer. Let’s go.”

  “Yes,” his brother said, looking down at the hide. “Go.”

  Ailis escorted them out of the house, and once they were in the clear, she hugged Brastias again. “I’ve missed you, Uncle.” Her eyes were shining with tears. “Did my mother speak of me before she died?”

  Brastias embraced her tightly. “Your name was the last word she spoke.”

  She wiped her eyes and stepped back. “Thank you for that. I will make an offering in her name to Arawn.”

  Illtyd wanted to tell her it would be better if she prayed to God, but he knew that his advice would not be welcome. He held his silence.

  “It is meet,” Brastias said simply. He kissed his niece’s forehead. “It’s good to see you, grown so tall.”

  She smiled. “I love you, Uncle, no matter what’s been done. I know that Mother was happier with you than here with him.”

  “Does he mistreat you, child?” Illtyd asked.

  “My father? No. Ebha wouldn’t permit it.” She raised her chin. “And neither would I.”

  Brastias chuckled and embraced the girl again. “I miss you, girl.”

  “And I you.” She squeezed him tight, then stepped away. “Keep you well, Uncle, until I see you again. And I will see you again.”

  Ebha emerged from the chieftain’s house. “Brastias.”

  He turned. “Mother?”

  “He will speak to you.”

  Ailis returned to her father’s house, and Illtyd nodded a smiling farewell to her before he followed his friend back into Corovus’ home.

  The old man lifted his head again. “Do the Saxons still cling to the eastern shore?”

  “They do,” Brastias nodded. “And they are why Arthur was unable to leave Londinium.”

  He took a wheezing breath. It was clear he was unwell. “Tell him that the Atrebates stand with him against the Saxons, but we will not cross our swords against other Britons for his sake.”

  It was something. “I will tell him.”

  Corovus nodded. “Good. Now get out.”

  Brastias bowed, and Illtyd did the same. They both went to the stables and found their horses, contenting themselves with rest which the knights interrupted. Once the animals were once more ready for the road, the two knights swung up into the saddle and Brastias led the way out of the stronghold. Illtyd followed him, filled with questions, but giving his old friend a few moments of silence before he began to ask them.

  They rode for a long while, and the snow began to fall around them, heavy and fast, bringing a smothering silence to the wood. At last they reached an old taverna along the Roman road. Brastias reined in his horse and said, “We can find lodging here tonight.”

  Illtyd nodded. “A good idea. The snow will last for hours.”

  “Yes. It’s a bad night to be on the road.”

  “Do you want to talk about…”

  “No.”

  They let the livery boy take their horses’ reins and they went into the taverna. A bright fire blazed upon the hearth, and a crucifix hung on the wall beside the door. Illtyd breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it. They would rest among fellow Christians tonight.

  Sir Ector and Sir Kay stood in the atrium and watched as Constantine and their host, Safir, sparred at wrestling. Despite the coldness of the winter air, the two combatants stripped, and Alexios rubbed both of their bodies with oil to make them slippery and harder to hold.

  “This is a Greek tradition,” Sir Bedivere told the two knights from Caer Gai. “They have always loved their wrestling, and the oil makes it more challenging.”

  Sir Ector nodded. “Is Arthur still sleeping?”

  “I presume so. Let the boy rest. He’ll need it in the coming months.” Bedivere laughed as Constantine literally slipped out of Safir’s grip. “Has anyone seen Merlin?”

  “No,” Sir Kay said. “I haven’t seen him all day.”

  Sir Ector shrugged. “The druid comes and goes at a whim. He will be back, I’ll wager, just as soon as Arthur is awake.”

  A loud pounding arose from the door that faced the road, and Constantine’s guards snapped into action. A quartet of the armed men trotted over to the entry, and one of them challenged, “Who is there?”

  “Messenger for the Dux Bellorum,” a boy’s voice replied.

  Constantine stepped back from his bout and nodded, tugging on a robe to conceal his state of undress. Safir did the same. “Let him in.”

  A young boy with black hair and glittering black eyes came into view, clad in a chain shirt that was far too big for him, cinched at the waist with a heavy leather belt. He bowed to Constantine and said with great seriousness, “I have a message for Sir Arthur of Logres.”

  “You may deliver it to me,” Sir Ector said. “I am his foster father, and I will be certain that he receives it.”

  “No, sir. I am charged to speak only to Sir Arthur himself.”

  “He is indisposed.”

  The boy set his jaw. “Then I will wait.”

  Ector turned to Kay. “Go and get him.”

  The youngest knight hurried
off to do just that. Bedivere looked at the boy in amusement. “And who are you, little man?”

  “My father told me not to tell you my name.”

  “Ah! And who is your father?”

  “King Lot the Magnificent.”

  Ector chuckled, and Bedivere said, “Oh, the magnificent, is he? I had no idea. He must be very, very grand.”

  “He is the grandest.”

  Constantine smiled. “I think I know which of his sons you are. You are Agravaine, are you not?”

  The boy looked flummoxed, but quickly recovered his composure. “Yes. I am Prince Agravaine. And you are Prince Constantine.”

  “That I am.”

  “My message is not for you.”

  “So I gathered.”

  Bedivere leaned toward Ector. “Truculent little beast, isn’t he?”

  Ector nodded with a smile, which seemed to infuriate the little prince. He stomped his foot and roared at the top of his lungs, “I demand to see Sir Arthur of Logres!”

  The door linking the house to the peristyle hall opened, and Arthur, still damp from his bath but dressed, emerged with Kay. The young dux bellorum calmly said, “I’m here. There’s no need to shout. What is your message?”

  Agravaine pulled himself up as tall as he could and recited the words he had obviously memorized. “King Lot agrees that you are likely to be King Uther’s brat, but that pulling a sword from a stone does not make a king. He says that you have much to learn before you can be a king. He is leaving Londinium and will contem… contemplate your coronation and the appropriate gift he should give you. When summer comes, he will return and give you either a sword in the gut or an axe to the neck. That will be your only gift from him.”

  The room fell silent, and all eyes turned to Arthur to see how he would react. He nodded. “Is that all, little one?”

  “No.”

  The young man gestured. “Out with it, then. Let’s have the rest.”

  “You were born in wedlock, but we all know that you were conceived in adultery, and when you were made, you were a bastard. A bastard you shall remain and he shall never call you his king.”

  Agravaine’s face was red, and he was breathing rapidly, more from excitement than from any exertion. Arthur nodded. “Those are bold words. Tell your father I have heard them, and that when next we meet, I will have a gift for him, as well.”

  “Is that all, Prince Agravaine?” Sir Bedivere asked.

  “Yes.”

  Alexios opened the door to the outside of the house as Constantine ordered, “Then go.”

  The little boy ran out of the villa as quickly as he could, his chain shirt jangling. The Greek slave closed the door behind him.

  “Well,” Sir Ector said. “That’s one of your enemies who is bold enough to declare his intentions.”

  Arthur nodded. “There will be others. Where is Merlin? I have need of his counsel.”

  “We don’t really know,” Sir Kay admitted. “He was gone before any of us woke up.”

  He rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. “I hope he comes back soon.”

  Merlin did not return that day, or the next. On the third day, Brastias and Illtyd returned from their meeting with the chieftain of the Atrebates. Sir Ector greeted them anxiously when they came into the great room of the domus.

  “Well? What does Cornovus say?”

  “It took some convincing, but my chieftain will support Arthur against the Saxons.”

  Behind his foster father, Arthur stood with his arms crossed. “But only against the Saxons? Not against Lot and his ilk?”

  Brastias shook his head. “They will not fight other Britons.”

  The young man sighed. “It can’t be helped. At least they will help against foreign invasion. How many men can they send?”

  “Five hundred foot soldiers and a hundred archers.”

  Sir Bedivere frowned. “That’s not very much.”

  “My tribe has fallen on hard times,” Brastias explained simply.

  Illtyd spoke up. “They have more men available, but they will not send them in support of a Christian king.”

  Sir Ector muttered invectives, and Arthur nodded and said, “I see. And if I were to honor the old ways, what then?”

  “Then they would send more.” Brastias shrugged. “I am sorry, my lord. I tried my best, but the chieftain is very stubborn.”

  “I am grateful for your attempt,” Arthur told him.

  Brastias added, “I have an estate of my own, sir, at the foot of Mons Mons Badonicusicus. I can match the numbers my chieftain sends, and I will add twenty mounted knights as well.”

  The young man nodded. “Thank you. It would be appreciated, certainly.” He looked at his assembled friends. “I think that our work is done here in Londinium. It’s time to go.”

  “Back to Caer Gai?” Kay asked hopefully.

  Griflet and Garwen came into the room, and the young woman rushed into her betrothed’s arms, embracing him in happiness and relief. He kissed her, and she smiled up at him. “Thank God you have returned!”

  Brastias touched her face with the backs of his fingers. “I would always come back to you.”

  “Very romantic,” Griflet said, unable to let the tender moment go by unmolested. “I might be sick. Arthur, there are two men here to see you.”

  “Fine. Let them in.”

  Griflet trotted off, almost colliding with Prince Constantine and their host, Safir, as they came into the room. The Armorican prince smiled at Arthur. “Are you ready to have the sword and the stone moved to the Giant’s Dance?”

  “I am.”

  Sir Ector frowned. “Why?”

  “To let more people see our young dux bellorum pull the sword and proclaim his kingship,” Constantine said. “The people who have seen the miracle thus far are kings and Christians. At the Giant’s Dance, he can be presented to the pagans.”

  Arthur told his foster father, “I have already agreed to this.”

  Bedivere said, “Merlin isn’t here to move it.”

  “My men can move it with the ox cart. It will take time to travel that far, but it can be done without the druid’s intercession.” He looked around. “Speaking of Merlin, where is he?”

  “That’s been the question on everyone’s lips for days,” Arthur mused, “and so far nobody has an answer.”

  “He is doing whatever Merlin does,” Illtyd shrugged. “He will be able to find us if we leave this place.”

  Arthur nodded and turned to Safir. “Thank you for your generous hospitality. I am in your debt.”

  The Babylonian smiled. “Careful, young king. I am a man who remembers such things.”

  “So am I.” He offered his hand, and Safir grasped it.

  “It has been an honor, King Arthur.”

  “He’s not king yet,” Constantine said quietly.

  Safir glanced at his friend, then said, “He pulled the sword, he is the rightful heir, and all that is missing is the formality of a ceremony. Kings are born, not made.” He looked back at Arthur. “I wish you good fortune in the struggles ahead.”

  He smiled. “Thank you. And may good fortune attend you, as well.”

  Constantine said, “I will see you at the Giant’s Dance at Beltane. That would be an opportune time. There will be many people there for the ritual on that day.”

  Arthur nodded. “Agreed. Until then, God keep you, cousin.”

  The prince looked momentarily taken aback by the reminder of his familial tiles. “I will send some of my men to escort you, if you would like.”

  “That will not be necessary, but thank you for your kind offer.”

  “As you wish.”

  The prince looked disappointed. Arthur had no time to speculate about that expression, though, because Griflet returned with two men in finely wrought armor. They bowed to him as soon as they entered the room.

  “My lord,” they said in unison.

  Griflet went to Arthur and told him, “King Ban of Benoic and King Bors o
f Gannes.”

  Arthur nodded. He had seen these men before, and he was happy to see their faces once again. Both men were tall, well-built and handsome. Their thick dark hair curled about their faces, and identical pairs of deep brown eyes regarded him with respect he was unaccustomed to receiving. They were in the prime of their lives, neither young nor old, and they both looked vigorous. They buzzed with a quiet energy that intrigued him.

  “My lords,” Arthur greeted. “Welcome.”

  The man on the right stepped forward. “I am Ban of Benoic. We have already told this to the master druid, but I and my brother have come to offer our allegiance to you and to say that our kingdoms accept you as the new High King. We have men and horses at our disposal, and it will be a simple thing to bring them here across the Oceanus Britannicus.”

  Arthur nodded. “Your contribution and support will be most appreciated.”

  The brothers looked at one another, and then King Bors said, “We ask only one thing in return.”

  He had expected such a request. It seemed nothing was given without strings attached. “Of course. If it is within my power and will cause no dishonor to me or to my people, I agree. What can I do for you?”

  “We are well acquainted with warfare, as we have been fighting to defend our lands against King Claudas of the Franks for many years. His kingdom is called the Wasteland, because of the destruction wrought by your royal father in years past, when he helped to drive the Franks out of Armorica. King Claudas will not be your ally, and he has always been our enemy. If we come to help you, then we ask only that when - not if - Claudas attacks again, you will come with your knights and men and help us beat him back.”

  “It is my duty and my honor to offer you my assistance if you should come under attack. I would be a poor knight and worse man if I did not help those who have helped me.” Arthur offered his hand to each king in turn, and they clasped forearms.

  King Ban said, “Forgive me for saying so, sir, but you seem old beyond your years.”

  He felt older than the hills, but he only said, “Thank you.”

  King Bors said, “We must return to our countries, but we will come back to Britannia before fighting season. Where shall we meet with you?”

  Arthur said, “I will be at the Giant’s Dance at Beltane, if you are familiar with the old gods’ feast days. Meet me there.”