by C J Brown
“Yes, sire. He is but one man.”
“Charge him in absentia for treason, and his son as well. His family name is to be stripped from the rolls, and all his properties are to be confiscated right away.”
“Yes, sire. Right away.”
“Send a legion to track Attila from a distance. I want reports daily on where they are and where they are going. I don’t trust that primate.”
“Good idea, sire.”
A month passed and the daily reports that arrived told of a sedate and boring series of events. The Huns had continued to sack and raid towns on the western side of their northward trek while continually increasing their men from eastern tribes. All the while, an entire legion of the Roman army tread north, extending the supply lines that came from Mediolanum. It was becoming an expensive proposition during a time when Rome’s taxes were no longer enough to support its status and the emperor’s lifestyle.
18
The Enchanted Forest
The last leg of the journey north had been long. The depths of winter and the high latitudes magnified each minute on a horse’s back to make it seem like an hour. The journey had been uneventful and the two Pendragon men grew more anxious as each step brought them closer to the moment they would see Igraine.
As each step advanced toward the Forest of Broceliande, they seemed to leave behind the shade of their Roman selves, continuously practicing the tongue of their adopted land. Encounters with the Franks this far north had made them better in the tongue than they had thought they might have been. But learning a new language for father and son was not a hard thing. Both were already well-versed in Latin and Greek.
“Why did you and Mother choose this place?” Arthur asked as they traveled the last leg of the journey. The Forest now lay just ahead, over the horizon.
Uther realized that it was time for him to tell his son some things about his mother that he had not known. But not all of it.
“Your mother has a connection to this forest,” Uther began, as Arthur tried to suppress his bewilderment that his mother would have anything to do with a forest that was the center of folklore.
“She tried to tell me that all things have more meaning to it than what our senses can detect. She believes the mind is a sort of sense too. As your eyes see things, your mind can think of things as well.”
“I don’t understand, Father. Of course, my eyes see and my mind can think.”
Uther smiled, knowing very well that he was not the one to explain these things to his son. His wife was better at it. But still, he had to light the spark in his own mind so that the questions could flow, and Igraine could help answer them later.
“Think of it this way. If you see an object, you do so with your eyes. You can’t see it with your ears or with your nose. Yes?”
“Yes,” Arthur answered, not sure where his father was going with this.
“In the same way, your mind can perceive things. Your thoughts do not happen in a vacuum, they happen because it exists in reality. Just think about that until you have a chance to talk to your mother about it.”
Arthur kept silent, suddenly feeling that there was truth to what his father was trying to tell him, but he was not fully grasping it.
“What does that have to do with coming here?”
“Open your mind, and see what it has to offer. What comes next will become apparent to you at that point.”
“Do you not know what comes next, Father?”
“No, Arthur. All my life has been about Rome. The first part of my life was about becoming a man who would protect Rome, following in my father’s footsteps. The second part of my life was about building armies so that Rome could expand and that we could bring civilization to the weak-minded and the backward. Then it was about protecting Rome. It has always been about Rome. Now, Rome is somewhere back there. Too far away for my feet to walk and too far for my mind to think.”
“And, now without Rome, you have no purpose. Is that what you think?”
“Yes. I am here for the same reason you are—to find direction.”
“And how will that forest provide us with that direction?”
“Like I said, I don’t know. But this was your mother’s idea, and I have learned never to question it.”
Arthur understood exactly what his father meant.
The rest of the journey passed as slowly as it did silently, each man in his own thought. They arrived at the edge of the forest as the winter sun submerged in the southwestern sky and a full moon hung among the stars. A cloudless night contributed to the cold that pierced their cloaks and numbed their faces. Horses blew vapor from their nostrils like dragons breathing fire as they carried their burden. The edge of the forest was a silent scene, made darker by the thick canopy of branches, bare of leaves since the autumn. In its wake, the departure of green left the wrangled twisting branches curled like the knobbly fingers of an old witch attempting to cast a spell.
It was a ghostly experience, and Arthur’s discomfort was shared by everyone in the train of travelers, including the horses. Uther could sense the discomfort that resided in everyone there. He was the only one who didn’t give their predicament or their location a second thought. His feelings were dominated by the hope that he would soon be reunited with his wife.
The path grew difficult to navigate as whatever remaining ambient light vanished, robbed by a cloud of fog that hung over the forest.
“It’s time to set up camp, Father.”
“I think that’s best,” Uther replied, answering with trepidation as his heart wished they could go on and find his wife who he was certain was not far.
Arthur instructed Vipsanius to set up camp, then, leaving his horse with one of the other soldiers, threw his cloak around his head for added warmth and proceeded into the forest. On foot and all alone, Arthur moved. His gait was strong, unrepresentative of the fatigue that stretched across his bones. The attraction to enter the forest was overwhelming, but reason was scarce. He knew what he had to do but didn’t know why he had to do it.
As he advanced, the sounds of his people dismounting and setting up camp gradually faded away and the sound of the forest’s night began to merge with his consciousness. Critters, hidden from sight, echoed their concern of an intruder as Arthur continued to make his way, able to only see a few feet in front of him.
Long after the sounds of his people faded in the rear and the cacophony of the critters faded into the darkness, Arthur happened upon a clearing. Above him, the speckle of starlight was enough to illuminate the land beneath his feet. The eerie silence piqued his senses as he tried to listen beyond the natural edge of his hearing, but for the first time in his life, only absolute silence engulfed him and he could hear the sound of his thoughts with such clarity that memories and imagination melted into one.
In front of him, his eyes now picked up a granite slab. At first, it looked like an altar of some kind, but as he moved closer, its shape and angle suggested something different. His curiosity compelled further investigation as he moved over slowly, periodically checking his surroundings for anyone that might have been hiding in the shadows. He was alone.
The granite structure stood waist-high and was as broad as Arthur’s outstretched arms and as long as the height he occupied from head to toe. It occurred to him that it was a tomb.
“Why would there be a tomb in the middle of the forest?” he whispered.
“It is the tomb of Merlin the Mage,” a voice boomed, causing Arthur to snap around and survey his surroundings.
Once again, he found no one there. Only silence and emptiness.
Arthur tried to refocus. The hair on the nape of his neck was now standing at full alert as shivers bounced along his spine. His eyes found it hard to focus. Between the ringing in his head and the lack of light to distinguish his depth of field, Arthur grew confused.
Not daring
to utter another whisper, he posed his next question within the space of his own mind.
Who is Merlin?
No answer came forth. Only silence dominated the scene as Arthur struggled to comprehend his find. The confluence of events robbed him of his confidence to act as he stood frozen harboring only one desire—to touch the marble tomb of Merlin the Mage.
With no other source of thought to guide him, Arthur followed his desires and reached for the marble slab and touched it, only to trigger a blinding flash that threw him from his stance and knocked him off his feet. All at once the dark forest transformed into a meadow, undulating from the apex where he stood toward a lush green forest below and a bay below that encircled an ocean darker than the blue of the Mediterranean.
“You are not safe here, child of Pendragon,” a nebulous voice echoed.
“What harm could come to me here, on this hill, atop this forest, over this sea?”
“Here no harm will come to you, but this is only where your mind is and your mind cannot stay apart from your body for long. It has to return to where your body is, and that place presents an imminent danger.”
“Who is telling me this?”
“My name is Merlin.”
“You are Merlin the Mage?”
“I shall not be so arrogant as to call myself a mage. But what they call me after I die, I cannot control.”
“Are you the spirit of Merlin?”
“No. I am Merlin and I am not far from where you are now. Just beyond the Germanicus Ocean, above the Narrow Sea.”
“You are in Britannia?”
“Yes,” the voice said.
It occurred to Arthur that he had to test this voice. It seemed to suggest that it knew all things, but how could Arthur be sure unless he tested it?
“Where is my mother?” he asked, trying to keep incredulity beneath the surface.
“Your mother is right next to you.”
Arthur turned to look around him, but all he saw was green pastures and bright skies. Before he could register his disagreement with the answer, the voice spoke once more.
“Sail up the Narrows until you come to the neck of Britannia in the north. You will see an inlet. Sail into that.”
“Why should I trust you?”
The voice scoffed. “Search your thoughts. You will know if my intentions are honorable or malicious.”
“Are you speaking to me from beyond?”
The voice chuckled. “I am speaking from beyond the ocean.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know what you mean, and I have answered you. Do not give in to what your eyes see, but balance it with what your heart knows.”
And with that, the bright light, along with the meadow, forest, and ocean vanished and Arthur was thrown back into the all-penetrating darkness of the Forest of Broceliande. Only this time, there was something with him in the darkness.
As his mind cleared and his eyes reaccustomed to the darkness, he found Igraine by his side, kneeling to tend to her son.
“Mother?” he whispered.
“It is good to see you, my child. We have waited far too long for your arrival.”
“I am happy to see you as well, Mother. Have you seen Father?”
“Not yet. They are in the midst of setting up camp.”
“What is this tomb, Mother?”
“It is where the prophecies dictate that the one called Merlin will be laid to rest once his time here comes to an end.”
“You know him?”
“I know of him. He is the child of the prophecy that my people have spoken about for ages. He will come into power later, but for now, you should make him an ally.”
“In that case, we have to hurry,” he said, rising to embrace his mother.
The two ran through the forest, eventually finding Uther and the others in the midst of their labor. Uther broke down in tears at the sight of his wife. It was a sight that Arthur had never seen, but it confirmed the depth of love he knew his father had for his mother.
“Vipsanius,” Arthur called. “We cannot stay here. It is time to go.”
“But we just got here. The people are tired, Arthur,” he replied, already getting used to addressing Arthur by name.
“I understand your concern, my old friend, but the danger is imminent.”
Vipsanius looked to Uther for clarity. Uther was equally perplexed. The people were indeed tired and there was no sign of any danger. But Igraine interceded. “Arthur is right. The danger is imminent, and we need to move.”
Uther detected truth in both their voices and nodded to Vipsanius who snapped out of his disbelief and put his full heart into it.
“Where are we going?” Vipsanius asked as he set to prepare the caravan.
“I don’t know yet, but it would have to be north.”
“The forest gets thicker in the north, Arthur. What is your eventual destination?”
Uther looked at his son.
“To the coast,” Arthur finally revealed.
“And then?”
“And then to Britannia,” Arthur answered Vipsanius.
“What?” Vipsanius jumped. “You want to cross the Narrows?”
Arthur did not respond but passed him a look that was clear in its message that time was being wasted while they talked. Vipsanius got the message and proceeded to make the necessary preparations.
With his loyal lieutenant gone, Arthur turned to his parents. “We are in danger if we stay here and we have to go. I can’t explain to you how I know, but trust me, Father.”
“Of course, my son, I trust you.” And with that, the weary, deciding to not burden their horses, walked the rest of the way, heading toward Paris. There, they believed they would be able to find the ships they needed to transport them up to their destination.
19
Voyage
“We will camp here tonight, sire,” Bishkar said as he rode up to his king. The road had been long and the troops had been marching for more than twenty hours.
The king gave his assent. Now at the head of almost thirty-thousand men, his goal was to take control of Paris. With Paris under his thumb, he was certain he would be able to capture Uther and bring his revenge to fruition, and find peace within his heart once more.
It wasn’t until past midnight that the Hun army, the expendables, and the new company of men, began the process of setting up camp. In the last month, they had restocked and resupplied their numbers and were now stronger than they had hoped to be—and significantly richer after sacking town after town in a trail of destruction that stretched out behind them from Genua to Paris. Bishkar had outperformed Attila’s expectation in rebuilding the army.
On the night of the black moon, the men stretched out over the horizon and the people within the city of Paris could see the eastern horizon fill with flickers of campfires. The Frankish king was alerted to the possibility of an invasion and a small troop of reconnaissance soldiers was dispatched to spy on them.
When King Merovech was advised by his spies just before dawn that it was Attila the Hun who sat on the horizon, the king immediately sounded the horns for the army and the populace to rise in defense of the city. The call to arms was heeded to by young and old, short and tall across the Sequana River that flowed through Paris.
By dawn, the Huns had reanimated their ranks and the obnoxious battle drums and cries of the Hun army could be heard on the horizon.
“They are here,” Arthur declared, as they arrived at the port, ready to board the ships that would sail them across the Narrow Sea.
Vipsanius could now see the wisdom of Arthur’s decision to move the night before and not be complacent. As the city of Paris went to war with the hordes that attacked from the western horizon, Arthur and his people had boarded the trade vessels that were headed to Caledonii.
&
nbsp; As they sailed up the Sequena River and made it to the estuary, they could see the city, now in flames and Uther bowed his head wondering if he was to blame for the sacking of the city. If it weren’t for his presence here, the Hun army would not have ventured this far north.
“Who are they?” Arthur asked the vessel’s captain, pretending to not know that it was the Huns.
“Barbarians, my lord. They are here to sack my city.”
“Have they come before?”
“No. Never like this while the Romans protected us. But now Rome is weak. The true emperor is no longer on the throne that is occupied by a coward,” the captain answered, seeming to understand the politics of a land far away.
“Will they be able to vanquish your city?”
“No, my lord. The Franks have been building a defense system that the world does not know about. They will see it for the first time today. The Romans no longer protect us, but we will protect ourselves and the Huns will fall before nightfall.”
Arthur smiled, for the first time seeing the sight of a stranger that was as honorable as the Romans of the old days. It had been a long time since he saw this much love for one’s land and this much honor within the chest of one man. Rome had long lost that, and that, among other reasons, was why Arthur could no longer remain loyal to the empire, or count himself as a citizen.
As the vessel passed the estuary and headed out to sea, Arthur turned his back on the continent and looked forward to the open waters. Having never set his eyes on the Narrows Sea or Britannia, a world of opportunity awaited him and the small band of people he led.
Behind the last ship in Arthur’s convoy, another ship set sail. This one carried a full crew but only one passenger—Bishkar. His orders to the merchant ship captain were to trail the convoy in front and go wherever it went but to stay just over the horizon from it. Bishkar’s goal was to follow the last of the noble Romans. Even if it meant going to the ends of the earth and hunting him down.
