'Hear me, Arthur: Rome is dying – may even now be dead. We cannot revive it, nor is it right to do so. The old must pass away to make room for the new. That is the way of things. In the Kingdom of Summer, a new order has come to pass. It must not become allied to the old order, or it will surely perish.
'Do not allow the faded glory of the empire to dazzle your eyes, nor the words of men inflame your sense of honour. Be the Emperor of the West, if you like, but establish a new empire here, in Britain. Let the rest of the world look to the Island of the Mighty as once we looked to Rome.
'Be first in compassion! Be first in freedom! But let that freedom and compassion begin here. Let Britain shine like a beacon blaze into the dark corners of the world. Rome is a corpse, Arthur, let the barbarian hosts bury it. Let Roman justice fail; let the justice of God prevail. Let Britain become foremost in doing God's work in the world. Let Britain become the Seat of the New Empire of Light!'
So saying, the Emrys raised his cloak over his head and hooded himself. And he would speak no more.
Three days passed. Arthur kept his counsel to himself and held vigil in his chamber until the matter which so obsessed him could be resolved. In the end, he summoned his lords to council once more and delivered his decision.
'Long have I thought on this and weighed the various arguments in my mind. I have decided that it will be no bad thing to go to Rome, to do what may be done to relieve the suffering of the people there, and to receive the laurel wreath from their hands. When I have set Rome in my hand, I will return to Britain and rule the New Empire from the Island of the Mighty.
Therefore, I order to be assembled the ships of my fleet and the ships of any who would sail with me, so that we may make all haste to Rome and end the barbarian oppression there. For I am persuaded that when injustice is allowed to reign unchecked, then no man is truly free.'
The High King's plan was greeted with wild enthusiasm by the assembly, especially among the younger men. But I noticed that Arthur kept his eyes upon his supporters while he spoke. Never once did he glance at the Emrys.
Immediately after, in his chambers, Bedwyr made bold to challenge die Pendragon to his face. Because they were closer than brothers, Arthur listened. This is insane, Artos. A more crack-brained idea you have never had. Defy me, if you will. But do not defy the Emrys.'
'I am not defying anyone,' maintained Arthur. 'Besides, what is so wrong with wanting to liberate the Mother Church from the persecution of the heathen?'
'Do not speak to me of churches, Bear. We both know why you are going. What if you get yourself killed over there, like Macsen Wledig? '
'It is only one campaign.'
'Is it? In any event, if the Seat of the Empire needs saving let Emperor Lucius save it! Did he offer to help? We will all grow grey-headed waiting for that! He expects you to do all the work. Just you see if you receive so much as a hot meal from him when you are finished. Somehow, I do not see him extending his hands in friendship to you.'
'You are so suspicious, brother,' laughed Arthur.
'And you are so stubborn.'
'We make a fine pair, do we not?'
Bedwyr Would not be appeased with light words. 'Hear me, Artorius! Do not go to Rome.' He folded his arms across his chest. 'I cannot say it more plainly than that.'
The Pendragon remained silent for a long moment. 'Does that mean you will not go with me?"
'Saints and angels!' sighed Bedwyr. 'Of course I will go with you. How else will I prevent you from foolishly getting your head carried off by a barbarian war axe?' Bedwyr paused, and added, 'But that brings to mind another matter: who will hold the realm while you are gone?'
'I have already thought of that,' replied Arthur happily. 'Gwenhwyvar is a reigning queen in her own right. She will rule in my place while I am gone.'
'Very well,' agreed Bedwyr. 'That is the first truly sensible choice you have made today. At least she will not be tempted to rush off saving any failing empires.'
In the end, the Emrys and I, and Gwenhwyvar, along with a small bodyguard of warriors, stayed behind to hold the realm in Arthur's absence. Gwenhwyvar was angry with Arthur for going – mostly because she thought that she should fight by his side, rather than languish alone in Britain. She raged and stormed for a fair time about this but, when the day of leaving dawned, she bore her duty with good grace.
Once in motion, Arthur's preparations gathered speed. By early summer, all was in readiness and the warriors of Britain assembled – like the legionaries three hundred years before – on the banks of the River Uisc to board ships bound for Rome.
We stayed in Caer Legionis for a few days after the ships sailed, then boarded our own ships and sailed up the western coast to the harbour at Caer Lial. I was not sorry to stay behind with the Emrys and the queen. Although I would have liked to have gone to Rome, just to see it, I was the least of Arthur's warriors and could serve him better by remaining behind and looking to his interests in Britain.
The journey to Caer Lial proved pleasant. We stopped at Avallon on the way and stayed a few days with Avallach and Charis, before going on to the city. Another day's sailing brought us safely to the harbour and at last we were returned to the north.
I was surprised to discover how much I had missed it. After the close-crowded city of the south, Caer Lial seemed spacious, the air fresher, the days brighter. I was glad to be at home once more and spent the next few days happily attending to affairs left untended since the winter before. Also, I made plans to ride to Caer Alclyd to visit my mother, whom I had not seen since Emperor Arthur's coronation – and then only for a moment.
The day I had planned to leave, I went to the stables for a mount. While the horse was being saddled, I hurried back to the palace to gather the gifts I was bringing to my family. Then I sought out the Emrys to bid him farewell, and to see if he wished to send any message with me.
It was as I hastened down the long corridor from my chamber to the hall that I heard a cry of alarm. It came from within the palace.
I raced to the hall, scattering all my bundles as I burst into the room and found myself face to face with Medraut.
EIGHT
Four warriors lay dead in pooled blood on the floor. The room was filled with Picti waving swords and clubs and spears. I was the only Briton alive to defend the queen and I was unarmed. Medraut's sword bit into my throat.
'What treachery is this?' I demanded.
'We have come to pay homage to the Emperor,' replied Medraut with a sneer. 'Imagine our disappointment when we discovered that he is not here to receive us.'
Two Picts thrust spears at me from either side. I know they would have killed me in that selfsame instant if Medraut had not prevented them. 'Cadw! Ymat!' he shouted in their coarse tongue. Then, to another swarthy Pict who looked to be a king, he said, 'This one is more valuable to us alive. Have him bound and put with the others.'
My wrists and knees were bound with thick leather thongs and I was dragged through the palace and hauled into the yard. There were signs of the briefest and most futile of struggles: here and there a cluster of dead bodies, some armed, most without weapons; men cut down where they stood.
No organized resistance had been possible. We were overcome before we could raise spear or draw sword. And those of us still alive were becoming Medraut's hostages. The humiliation was worse than death.
Shock and outrage coiled within me, twin serpents of revulsion. The evil of it! Vile disgrace! Vicious and wicked, Medraut had perpetrated the unthinkable.
More than thirty of the queen's warriors had been captured – attesting to the utter surprise with which the city had been attacked. No man, from the highest warrior to the lowest stablehand, would ever have allowed himself to be taken alive if he had weapon to hand, or, failing that, a chance to swing his fists.
The waiting warriors stood with their heads bowed in disgrace, hands bound, surrounded by Picti guards. Smoke rolled across the yard and coiled from numerous sites within t
he city. Shrieks and screams echoed in the distance. I was brought to stand with the other Britons and after only a few moments saw the Emrys and the Queen roughly dragged from, the palace. The sight of Myrddin and Gwenhwyvar, bound and hooded, the hands of the enemy upon them, made the gorge rise in my throat. I retched and choked back bile. The tears welled up in my eyes.
Medraut, his expression wild and fantastic, strutted forth across the yard, a big Pict battlechief on either side of him. He was no true warrior himself, so moved only in the company of warriors. In truth, he was nothing more than a cunning coward.
Upon reaching the place where the captives waited he uttered a sharp command in the barbarian tongue. All at once, the Picti raised blade and spear and began stabbing the hostages. Brave men fell all around me. I saw more than one sword plunged into the belly of a defenceless man, and that man fall to his death without a sound, courageous to the end. One battle-scarred veteran even seized the sword as it swung towards him and with a defiant cry thrust it through his own heart rather than allow the enemy to kill him so shamefully.
I was struck to the ground and pinned there with the point of a spear. When the slaughter was finished, only eleven remained. Medraut saved the most important of his captives for the hostage pits: the queen, the Emrys, myself, and eight others whose fives he hoped to bargain with.
Let him do his worst. That day I watched good men die and pledged my life to seeing Medraut's headless corpse torn to pieces by the High King's hounds.
I was thrown into a loathsome pit beneath the roots of the fortress. There with some few of the other hostages I stayed. Whether day or night, I knew it not. Where the queen was held, or what had become of the Emrys, I could not say.
Occasionally, we were hauled from the pit and made to parade in chains before our Picti captors who wished to boast of us before their chieftains. At one of these times I discovered that we were enjoying the hospitality of Keldrych, a powerful Pict king, who had succoured Medraut when the tyrant fled Arthur's fosterage.
Keldrych summoned the fierce tribes of the north to attend him in Caer Lial, there to see for themselves how he and Medraut had seized the Pendragon's city. Word of rebellion spread like plague among the Picti, who had never loved Arthur and needed little enough encouragement to break faith with him.
A blind man could have seen what was happening! Having stolen the queen, the traitor bargained with the lords and battlechiefs of other Picti tribes for support. And this he won.
Curiously, the Picti, among other primitive peoples, consider the kingship of a lord to rest in his queen. The king's wife is the living symbol of his reign. It is a belief ancient beyond reckoning, and more enduring than stone.
For this reason, the Picti were much impressed with Medraut's abduction of Gwenhwyvar: she was Arthur's kingship. As Medraut possessed her, so he possessed the throne of Britain. To the Picti this was self-evident. In seizing the queen, Medraut had made himself king, and in their eyes proud Gwenhwyvar became Medraut's wife. This treason moved the Picti as nothing else could. In treachery was Medraut the master.
Arthur, of course, was expected to return and fight for his throne. Medraut meant to be ready. With extravagant promises and subtle deceptions he wooed the rebel kings. As the summer waxed full, the forces of the Picti gathered for war. With each day that passed the enemy grew stronger, as more and more warbands arrived in Caer Lial, summoned by Keldrych and Medraut, and emboldened by the prospect of Arthur's defeat.
From the wild hills of the north they came – from Sci, from Druim and Gododdin, Athfotla and Cait. They came by the hundreds, gathering together in a mighty host, separate tribes united only by their quick-kindled hatred of Arthur, and the promise of enormous wealth through plunder.
At the riotous Lugnasadh celebration the hostages were once again dragged out to parade before the assembled battlechiefs. The sight of them nearly stole the breath from my lungs. Gathered in Arthur's hall was an immense host of blue-painted Picti lords, each and every one a chieftain with many hundreds of warriors in his keep. Never had such a host been assembled in Britain, I thought; surely the Pendragon cannot match such a force.
To our disgrace, we were made to serve our captors meat and drink and endure their crude sport as they viciously shoved us and choked us with our chains. When the riot reached its height, Medraut rose up and with much demonstration spoke to the assembled chieftains. I do not know what he said, but that night we were not returned to the hostage pits. We slept in our chains in a storeroom and the next morning were taken out into the yard.
The hostages were herded together and, to my joy and relief, I saw that the Emrys and the queen remained unharmed. I had not seen them since the fall of Caer Lial and had feared for their safety. Although the queen was held a little apart from the rest of us, I was encouraged to see that she appeared defiant and unbowed, full of fire. By stealth I managed to creep near to the Emrys.
'Emrys, are you well?' I asked.
'Well enough, Aneirin,' he answered, his voice low and raw. 'And you?'
'I have not been harmed – nor have the others,' I replied. 'Do you know what is happening?'
'Arthur is returning,' the Emrys told me. 'Word came to Medraut a few days ago that the High King's fleet had been sighted. Today the battle will be joined.'
These words heartened me, but I noticed they brought no cheer to the Wise Emrys. 'But surely this is good news,' I said. 'What is wrong?'
'We have endured so much and laboured so long to be undone like this,' he said, 'and you ask what is wrong?'
'Arthur will not fail.'
The Emrys regarded me long, his golden eyes deep-shadowed with sadness. 'Trust God, Aneirin. And pray that the sky does not fall upon us.'
I crept away, confused and dismayed. All I had suffered till now was nothing compared to the despair I felt in the Emrys' few words. For the first time I began to sense something of the magnitude of Medraut's treason. My heart broke, and my soul cried for leaving. I was that unhappy.
After a time, we were marched through the city to the harbour, where some ships were arriving from Orcady. I little guessed that Lot was in league with Medraut but, to his everlasting shame, Lot did nothing to aid the queen. Instead, in the full view of all, he waded to shore with his chieftains and embraced the tyrant like a kinsman.
'How can he do this?' I wondered aloud to the Emrys as we squatted on the shingle. 'I thought Lot was Arthur's ally.'
'Do you not see it yet?'
Once again I was forced to admit that I did not. I had no idea what Myrddin was hinting at. 'You mean Lot has joined the treason?'
'Do you not know Medraut even now?'
'He said he was the son of a Picti lord – Urien of Monoth. That is what he said when he came before Arthur,' I answered.
'He is no Pict,' snapped the Emrys. 'Think! Did you not see how they treated with him, and how he wheedled and schemed with them?'
'I was in the hostage pit!' I reminded him. 'I saw nothing.'
'Medraut is Mdrgian's son!' The Emrys answered my disbelief with a further revelation. 'And the man greeting him on the shore is not Lot, it is his half-brother, Urien.'
'But Medraut said Urien was his father,' I remarked. 'Why should he lie about that?'
The Emrys shook his head slowly. 'That,' he said, 'is the one truth Medraut told – the same that killed Lot hi the end.'
Slowly the grim meaning of the Emrys' strange words came to me. My stomach tightened with revulsion. 'Morgian married Urien, her own son,' I said, taking it in at last. The incest produced a child and that child was Medraut.
'My years of blindness were nothing to this,' the Emrys muttered bitterly. 'Alone among men, I should have known what we were fighting against. More than my sight was shattered, I think. But it comes to this: Morgian placed her devil spawn in Arthur's court, knowing that one way or another she would have her revenge.'
Revenge. The word stank of death. I heard in it the cry of ravens flocking to blood-spattered
battlefields. Oh, the Enemy is tireless in hate and endlessly resourceful. I suddenly felt very small and ignorant. I knew nothing of the world's true nature. I knew nothing of the forces arrayed against us. I knew nothing…
'What is to be done?' I asked, hoping for some word of hope from the Ever Wise Emrys.
'That which is given to us to do we will do,' he said, and turned his face away. 'We are men and not angels after all.'
I drew neither hope nor comfort from these words, and once again was thrown back into the misery of despair as into the loathsome hostage pit. I beat my fists impotendy against my leg. If I could have killed the traitor there and then I would have done it, even at the cost of my own soul! But I could do nothing – only stand aside and look on.
Urien's ships were drawn up and arranged to form a blockade of the harbour. When Arthur entered he would not be able to land directly, but would have to fight his way ashore. Shrewd Medraut gave himself every advantage.
But here I was mistaken, for after effecting the blockade, Medraut ordered the Picti host to withdraw into the hills. Gwenhwyvar, the Emrys and the other hostages were put onto horses and led away with Keldrych's warband.
Then did Medraut turn to me. 'Your Wonderful Pendragon is coming. When he arrives, tell him this: I am waiting for him in the hills. The Emrys and Gwenhwyvar are with me. He will come to me alone and I will receive him.'
That he will never do!' I declared.
Medraut slapped me hard across the mouth. Tell him! If he brings his war host, I will kill the queen before he has set foot in the crooked glen. This is between us two alone. When we have settled the blood-debt for my mother, I will give up my hostages – not before.'
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