by J A Cummings
Ector cleared his throat and made a show of looking into his mug. “Well, royal blood hardly flows in Kay’s veins, or mine, so that part of the conversation is moot anyway.”
“What about us, Father?” Amren asked. “Do we have royal blood?”
“We do, indeed. My grandfather, also named Bedivere, founded and ruled the kingdom of Agustodorum in Gaul.”
“The Gauls call it Bassin, and it is now occupied by the Bajocassi,” Ector said, teaching his sons a bit of history. “But in the day, before they drove our host’s father out, it was a Roman civitas.”
“Soldiers can found cities as well as princes,” Kay said. “That’s no proof of royalty.”
His father chuckled and put a hand on his shoulder. “Royalty, my son, is usually just that class of soldier who beats everybody else.” He grinned at Bedivere. “Our friend’s eponymous grandfather was a centurion, if I recall, but he was the one who took the head of the Bajocassi chieftain who held that place.”
Bedivere laughed. “Very true.”
“Then when the Bajocassi drove out the son of their chieftain’s killer, they were only taking back their own land,” Arthur observed. “Is that why you haven’t gone to war to take it back? Because they were in the right?”
“I haven’t gone to take it back because I find Cambria more to my liking.” He drained his cup and held it out for Amren to fill again. “The Romans left Britannia. My family chose to stay. And that is why we hold lands by grace of the High King. Viroconium is my capital. I own all of the land around here.”
Arthur scowled. “I think the Kings of Powys and Gwynedd may disagree.”
Amren froze, and Bedivere stared at the young boy in surprise, his face darkening. Ector straightened, watching to see what Bedivere would do. Arthur stared back, uncowed, knowing he had overstepped but believing he was right. A breathless moment passed, all of them hanging on the momentary silence and stillness of the knight.
Finally, Bedivere forced a smile, but his eyes were still hard. They did not leave Arthur’s face as he said, “What, Ector, are you raising a political philosopher?” He put down his cup. “Yes, you are quite right. Viroconium is in Powys, land of King Brochwel, son of Vortigern, who is the sworn vassal of King Cunedda of Gwynedd. But the fact remains that I own this land. I won it by blood and steel, and it was awarded to me by the High King himself, and Brochwel claims kingship of this land in name only. My only lord was Uther. I could kill Brochwel and Cunedda both at any time and take their kingdoms for my own and be within my rights.”
He knew that he was going much, much too far, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Then why don’t you?”
“Arthur!” Ector cried, boxing his shoulder roughly. “Keep your tongue!”
Bedivere clenched his teeth, unclenched them, then clenched them again. He seemed to be chewing on his own tongue in his anger. Kay leaned back on the bench, opening space between himself and his foster brother, leaving him to his fate. Amren, too, retreated, fear of his father clearly etched upon his face.
“I have my reasons, which I am not required to lay out for a rude and boorish child.” Bedivere rose stiffly. His eyes bored into Arthur’s, and the boy, both brave and foolish, did not look away. “I will allow Brochwel to deal with the politics of being a king in days like these, and we shall see who is still standing and ready to rule when all the fighting’s over.”
Arthur had an opinion about that, as well, but this time he was wise enough to hold his peace. His foster father was looking at him fiercely, warning him into silence, and he obeyed, turning his eyes away and bowing his head toward Bedivere in a show of submission that he did not feel. His demurral brought the threat of violence to an end, and the group relaxed almost visibly.
“Ector,” their host said, his tone revealing how much he still felt aggrieved, “I have things I need to do. You are welcome to stay for the night here in the keep. I will return in time for dinner.”
“Can I assist you in any way?” Ector asked.
Bedivere hesitated. “You might, at that. Come. I can use your skills as an overseer.”
“I had thought,” Ector began, “that perhaps you would accept Kay as your squire.”
“At a time such as this? With war so close at hand?”
“What better time for him to learn?”
Their host looked at Kay, who did his best to stand taller. After consideration, the knight said, “Yes. I will accept him. Thank you, Ector, for your trust in me.”
“You have always been a noble knight. I trust that you’ll teach him well.”
“That I shall. And what about young Arthur, here?”
Ector rose, himself. “I thought you might need a page to run messages for you.”
Bedivere looked at the boy. “How old are you?”
“Twelve.”
The knight nodded. “A little old to begin, but yes. I will accept him as my page...as long as he holds his tongue and speaks only when bidden to do so.”
“He will be silent until you grant him leave to speak,” Ector agreed. “Won’t you, Arthur?”
Chastened, he replied obediently, “Yes, my lord.”
Bedivere smiled, finally looking friendly again. “Well, then. Let’s all see to the fortifications, shall we?”
The rest of the day was a flurry of motion. Arthur found himself literally running from one end of the compound to the other and back again, carrying messages from Sir Bedivere, delivering feathers to the fletchers, and bringing reports from the sentries back to their lord. He was halfway between the sentries and Bedivere, standing on the ramparts for a moment while he tried to catch his breath, when he saw his foster father riding out through the gate, clad in his old armor and astride a mighty war horse borrowed from their host’s stable. Arthur watched, gaping in confused dismay, then ran to find his brother.
Kay was in the great hall, sharpening a sword with great swipes of a whetstone, when he found him. Arthur could hardly speak around his gasps.
“Father!”
“He’s gone,” Kay said morosely. “Left us here.”
“What? Why? How long?”
“To learn from Sir Bedivere, I as his squire, you as his page. How long? I don’t know. Maybe years. Maybe days.”
Arthur wanted to weep, and it angered him. “But - did I do something wrong? Did we…?”
Bedivere’s voice came from an arched doorway in the back of the keep, one that led out to the kitchens. “Your father has gone to confer with an old friend. He will return in a week or so. Fear not, young Arthur and young Kay. You’ve not garnered any of his displeasure, and he’ll return as soon as he is able.” He smiled kindly at them and walked across the flagstone floor. “Now, Arthur, what news? Have the sentries seen any armed groups approaching?”
The boy pulled himself up to his full height. “No, sir. My lord. The road is clear, my lord.”
“Excellent.” The knight took the sword out of Kay’s hands and tested the edge with his thumb. He nodded in satisfaction and handed it back. “Very good.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Bedivere turned another beneficent smile onto the boys. “Well, come then, sirrah, my young page. I have more work for you.”
Arthur felt his legs might come off, but he swallowed any complaints and followed where his mentor led.
The knight walked swiftly through the kitchen and out through the scullery garden, his pace so quick that his new page had to scurry to keep up with him. Bedivere talked as he walked. “There is a man in town, a nobleman, whose allegiances I need to determine. I need you to take him an invitation to join us here for dinner this night. Can you ride?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” They left the garden and turned left, going to the postern gate, where a light horse was already waiting under saddle. “The man’s name is Catigern. He has a villa in Viroconium where he lives a wealthy and prosperous life as a horse trader. We will have need of many horses, and therefore of his favor. He may be the nex
t High King, but if he is supporting one or another of the pretenders to Uther’s throne, I would know of it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bedivere led him to the horse and watched as Arthur mounted it. He nodded in satisfaction at the strong way the boy swung into the saddle. “Go to his home and invite him to dinner here tomorrow night. Do what you must to have him say yes, and by all that’s holy, keep him friendly to our cause. Do you understand me?”
Arthur heard the warning to be civil and obedient, and he took it to heart. “Yes, sir.”
“Any questions?”
“Where does Lord Catigern live, sir? I don’t know how to reach his house.”
Bedivere chuckled. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t, would you?” He pointed to the scroll tube that hung from the saddle horn. “A map is there, along with the formal invitation. Can you read?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Then Ector has indeed been teaching you well.” He patted the horse’s neck. “Ride, then, and bring me his response as soon as he releases you.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Arthur touched his heels to his mount’s flanks, and it sprang forward, lurching into motion. He was surprised by the sudden response, accustomed as he was to Avona’s lazy indecision, but he kept his seat and held on, using the reins to turn the animal back toward the town. He pulled out the map and considered it as he rode, committing it to memory as best he could, then tucked it back into the tube again. He wanted to take this ride with his head up. If the roads were dangerous, as he had heard that roads could be, he did not want to be taken by surprise with his nose buried in his written directions.
The path led him to the outskirts of Viroconium, to a large Roman villa with purple silken banners hanging from the portico, each one emblazoned with the image of a golden serpent. Slaves toiled all around, and to Arthur, it seemed that some of their tasks were pointless, meant only to keep them on display like moving pieces of art. They were all handsome men, clad too lightly for the chill in the air, their bodies oiled and their faces painted with cosmetics. They turned away from him as he rode past, and he felt a pang of sympathy for the misery he saw in the way they held their bodies.
An armed sentry descended the steps from the main door and caught his horse’s bridle. “You,” he barked. “What is your business here?”
The man’s face was stern and warlike, and his hand was on the pommel of the sword he wore at his waist. He glared at the boy, who managed to stammer out, “I - I am a page from Sir Bedivere, and I come with a letter for Lord Catigern.” He held out the invitation in his hand.
“Prince Catigern, you fool,” the man growled, boxing Arthur’s ear painfully with the flat of his sword blade, the buffet nearly knocking him sideways. He held on and righted himself, his face flushing with anger. The man snatched the letter away. “I will deliver it to him. You are not worthy to set foot inside his home.”
The boy tried not to glower, wondering fiercely who this man was to determine his worthiness. If he were older, he would have challenged him to fight over the insult he had delivered. His insides burned hot with his anger, but he only turned his horse around and walked back the way he’d come. The soldier, as a parting indignity, slapped the animal on the rump, startling it into a leaping surge, and it was all Arthur could do to hold his seat. The sentry’s laughter followed him all the way back to the road.
He promised himself that someday he would be such a man that no one would dare to laugh at him that way again.
Arthur deposited the horse in the stable at Sir Bedivere’s castle, relinquishing him to the groom, and hurried off to find his new master. The man in question was standing by the barbican, holding a heated discussion with one of his vassal knights. Behind Bedivere, Kay stood nervously, his arms piled with heaps of chainmail.
Mindful of his promise to his father to keep silent until spoken to, Arthur stood by quietly as the men argued about the fine points of the castle’s defense.
“No!” Bedivere thundered. “If they come, they will come from the southwest. We need to have more guards on this quarter of the wall.”
“My lord, they will approach from the north, under cover of the trees.”
“Not knights on horseback.”
“No, my lord, not knights. Sappers and foot soldiers. The Saxon tactics are such that they will send in soldiers to sneak through our defenses and open the gate from the inside.”
“Then it is your duty to make certain that they cannot penetrate our defenses! Danu’s tits, man, what do I pay you for?” Bedivere slashed the air with his hand, exasperated. “Look to the walls. Look to the guard patrols. Look to the gates. But keep a heavier guard on this gate here!”
The man knew that he would not win this argument, so he demurred. “Yes, my lord.”
The knight made turned and stalked away, barking, “Come!” at the brothers. Kay and Arthur hurried along in his wake. Without turning, Bedivere asked, “Did you deliver the invitation?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And his answer?”
“I got no answer, sir.”
Bedivere stopped in his tracks and rounded on him so suddenly that Arthur nearly collided with him. “No answer?”
“I wasn’t allowed into the house, my lord. I had to give the invitation to a guard. He said I wasn’t worthy to go in.”
“Hmph.” He considered the boy, then said, “Well, it was probably lucky for you that he wasn’t interested in an audience. He’ll come or he won’t. It’s beyond my power. At least we’ve done our duty and invited the man.”
“Your duty, my lord?” Kay asked hesitantly.
“Yes, duty. The first thing you need to learn to be a knight is that sometimes you must keep company with people you don’t like, and you must flatter those in power to keep them on your side. If war comes and an army marches on Viroconium, then we must have Catigern as our ally. He’s a pederast and a monster, but he’s rich and powerful, and he has many soldiers and horses at his beck and call. If he withholds them, or God forbid turns against us, it will go very hard for us, indeed.” He led the way back into the keep. “Kay, check those chain shirts for broken links. Make sure that every ring, every rivet, is complete and sound. Arthur, do the same with the coifs.”
“Yes, my lord.”
They sat on the bench that was still in the main hall, the same one they had occupied with Ector before his abrupt departure. The knight stormed on along his way, shouting for Amren, and disappeared from view.
Arthur looked around, then turned to Kay. “Do you think there will really be a war?”
“How should I know?” the older boy responded, harsh and irritable. “I don’t know what’s happening any more than you do. I wish we were back at Caer Gai.”
“So do I.” He picked up a heavy chainmail hood and held it in his hands, rubbing his thumb along the bumps and links. “Father thinks there’s something wrong, or he wouldn’t have left the way he did.”
“He said he needed to buy a horse. That’s all he’s doing.”
“In his armor? On a borrowed charger?” Arthur shook his head. “No. Something’s going on, something more than that. He could have ridden Avona if he was just going to talk to a horse trader.”
“Maybe the road between here and the horse trader is dangerous.”
“There are horse traders in Viroconium.”
“Damn it, Arthur!” Kay swore, his voice cracking. “I told you I don’t know! Now shut up, you nasty little bastard pig!”
The younger boy glowered and turned back to his task.
They worked with the armor for the rest of the afternoon, peering at the metal rings and tiny soldered rivets until the sun began to set. A maid came into the keep and lit the sconces on the walls, giving light where the day was failing. Amren came to find them.
“Put that aside, now, if you haven’t finished yet. Why are you so slow? We have to set up for dinner. There will be guests.”
They worked with the other servants to
erect a grand dining table, and to set the places with all appropriate pomp. A maid brought in dried flowers to brighten the room, and a trio of minstrels appeared from somewhere and began to warm up their instruments. Arthur ran plates and chargers from the kitchen to the great hall, glad to be away from the ovens with their roaring heat. He had just finished putting silver cups at each seat when Bedivere came into view.
The knight nodded in approval at the appearance of his hall, and he told the boys, “You will be serving at table. Change into your best clothes and wash up. I’ll have no dirty hands touching my guests’ food.”
They raced out of the great hall to do their master’s bidding. Amren beckoned Kay and Arthur to follow him. “While you’re here, you’ll be staying with me in my father’s antechamber. Your bags are already there.”
They followed where he led, up the steps to the living quarters above the great hall. The keep was expansive, with several rooms along a straight hall that ran from north to south. The hallway ended in a large chamber that shared the chimney from the great hall below. The furnishings were the most elegant and expensive that the boys from Caer Gai had ever seen, from the ornate bookshelves and dressers to the elaborately carved bed where Bedivere slept. A maid was busy brushing the furs that covered the mattress, preparing the chamber for the guest of honor.
Amren led his little parade through the main bedchamber and into a smaller attached room between the lord’s room and the room set aside for the lady of the house. Fresh rushes covered the floor, and on top of them lay two tightly-woven straw pallets which in turn were topped by thin mattresses filled with down and lavender. Amren pointed to the largest of the two pallets.
“This is where I sleep, and Arthur, you and I will share it while you’re here. Kay, you will have the other.”
The older boy was already pouring water into a bowl from an earthenware pitcher, taking up a small cloth there and preparing to wash. Amren showed Arthur where their bags were, and then he too began to clean at the basin. Arthur pulled out what he hoped were acceptable clothes for himself and his older brother, laying them out on the pallets before he cleaned up, as well.
