by Sean Poage
“Where will you go?” he asked her. “How will you provide for yourself?”
“I… I don’t know,” she answered, sobered by the uncertainty of her future. “Perhaps I could clean homes.”
“For now, go to the church, to the women’s community,” Gawain said. “They’ll help you.” She thanked him again, kissed his hand, wrapped a thick cloak around her thin shoulders and walked proudly out. He watched her cross the courtyard and pass through the gate onto the street.
The midday meal was underway as Gawain entered the room. Arthur and a number of the men were there relaxing, eating and chatting. Arthur smiled and waved Gawain over to join him.
“Yet another test passed,” Arthur grinned, passing a jug of wine to Gawain as he settled onto a cushion. “And with more skill than any but myself expected.”
“A test?” Gawain asked, not entirely surprised by now.
“Of course,” Arthur replied. “One reason our younger men stand guard in the hall is to observe leadership. Another is so that when appropriate tasks are presented, they may be used to teach and to assess.”
“Will Anhun and his soldiers be disciplined?” Gawain asked.
“No, no,” Arthur shook his head. “It was an expensive mistake, but their intentions were admirable.” Arthur was known to disfavour slavery except in cases of justice. “This should be a good lesson for them to use more prudence in the future.”
“Who is this Sidonius fellow?” Gawain asked. “And how did a poor farmer come to get such a letter?”
“Sidonius is an interesting man,” Arthur half smiled. “A poet and very well educated, but a consummate politician in a long line of politicians. The son-in-law of a short-lived Roman emperor, he is the Urban Prefect of Rome. He hails from a city several days south of here and had recently visited me to discuss the treason of Arvandus. I suppose he met Bonitus during his journey. It’s his nature to help those in need. In fact, he came to tell me he was resigning his post to plead Arvandus’s case and didn’t want to insult our friendship.”
“He would defend such a man?” Gawain frowned. “It seems a betrayal if he considers you a friend.”
“He’s a good man. If one could be over-burdened with a sense of loyalty, it would be he,” Arthur shrugged. “The damage is done. Anthemius is unlikely to forgive Arvandus. Sidonius is well connected in Rome as well as within Euric’s court, and this is not an issue worth the burning of a bridge.”
“May I ask how you came to be friends?”
“We met some years ago when I was campaigning in Letavia,” Arthur said. “As a representative of Aquitania, he was part of a delegation concerned with our larger intentions. During breaks, we had some interesting conversations and developed a mutual respect.”
“I wonder that Euric has not sent a delegation out of concern for your larger intentions,” Gawain joked, forgetting himself.
“He has little doubt of our intentions,” Arthur chuckled. “It’s an odd little dance between Rome and the Vesi. Each pretends to be a friend with only quibbling disagreements, all the while manoeuvring and scheming to trip the other off the balcony. He will not want to legitimise us. Not until he’s ready to come against us.”
“Will he?” Gawain asked. “Or will he wait for us to move first?”
“Euric’s not the kind to stall,” Arthur smiled wryly. “In fact, he’s gathering his forces as we speak, so it’s just a matter of when he will come. And in the time we have to prepare, you have much to learn.”
Gawain did have much to absorb in the following weeks. Arthur’s cavalrymen prided themselves as the greatest in the world, and they worked relentlessly to prove it. Arthur had even roofed over an old marketplace and had sand carried in to cover the stones so that the men could practice their equestrian skills regardless of the weather.
Gawain and his new steed quickly bonded, and Gawain named him Keincaled. The horse was very intelligent and only friendly to Gawain, nipping at others who came too close. When he was angry or excited, his pale ears would turn a bright red.
Gawain had to learn to fight and manoeuvre in close formation within his new line, how to follow and protect Arthur and adapt instantly to any unexpected movements he might make. Much of the training focused on performing the devastating direct charge. It was more art than science, to know when and where to use it. The mechanics were simple enough. The rider must learn to use his legs to hold onto the horse, as the saddle would not be much help. The horse’s speed would deliver the power behind the spear, and the rider must know how to properly pivot or release the spear if he wished to keep his shoulder in the socket. To practise this, wooden frames with a thick leather target were built. A proper hit would knock it over, and the leather might catch the spear as the rider passed, much as a body might.
He also had to become familiar with wearing and caring for the cumbersome scale armour he now wore, as well as the armour for his horse. A very unusual aspect of Arthur’s Guard was that even their mounts were fitted with protection for the head, neck, chest and flanks. Horses were so valuable that they were seldom purposely attacked. It was better to kill the rider and claim the horse as plunder. But mishaps occurred and this protection was effective enough to turn all but the most determined thrusts. Fabulously expensive, each set was tailored to the individual horse, constructed of linen and white painted leather reinforced in places with small, polished steel plates. Gawain was concerned it would impede his mount’s movement, or that the added weight would slow him down, but the horses adapted easily to the change. Assembled together, with the sun shining on the armour and weapons of the men and their steeds, they made quite a dazzling and intimidating impression.
The bleak winter dragged on monotonously. To limit discipline issues, the soldiers were kept as busy as the shortened days allowed. Evenings were spent repairing clothing and maintaining equipment, as well as in fellowship. Gawain found time to visit Gareth and the others of his former turma. He rather envied the relative freedom they had as they went on occasional patrols, though more of their time was spent on camp chores from which Gawain was exempted.
The patrols had little to report through most of the winter, until just after the feast of Epiphany, when they began finding signs of small groups of unknown horsemen in the surrounding lands. Their camps and tracks were easy to find in the hard-crusted snow, but their movements were confused. Some suggested they were bandits or hunters. Others worried that they might be Vesi scouts. Arthur offered a bounty for any that could be captured alive, but the same conditions that made it easy to find evidence of the strangers made it difficult to set traps for them.
Within a week, however, something had changed. Arthur’s mood turned brooding and impatient. He spent little time holding court and was frequently sequestered with Bedwyr, Cei and Gwynn ap Ermid, who had been given command of Drustan’s legion. Even Gawain and the other members of the household, who could expect to be in the king’s confidence, were left wondering. Rumours flew like startled sparrows, but all knew better than to ask questions.
Days passed in this manner, but there could be little doubt about what was looming, as the training cycles were intensified and inspections to ensure kit and horses were in good order became more frequent. Gwenwyn was conspicuously absent from the table, and it was said he had been sent to gather Arthur’s remaining fleet back at Namnetis.
The tension was beginning to affect discipline. Finally, Arthur called together his household for a private feast. Unlike the usual casual seating arrangements, the senior members clustered close to Arthur’s couch, while the junior members settled in further back. This was more about business than fellowship, and after the usual preliminaries, Arthur cleared his throat, and the room went silent.
“For months our foe, Euric, has been shifting forces from his aggressions in Hispania to his city of Tolosa to prepare for his attack on these Roman lands,” Arthur began. “Someti
me in the past fortnight, he set out towards a town four days’ march to our south-west called Argentomo.” Gawain’s eyes widened, recalling his reconnaissance of that place.
“Euric has gathered a large army, nearly twice the size of our own,” Arthur continued. He was about to speak, then paused, turning to Gwrhyr, his chief interpreter. He offhandedly said, “Remind me to send him a letter offering my regrets for his poor fortunes of late, and inability to field an army that might concern us.” Laughter broke the tension around the room, and after a casual drink from his cup, he continued.
“He comes sooner than expected, but in this season it will be more difficult for him to supply his men, much less his horses. This works to our advantage if we take Argentomo from him and deny him a safe camp.” Arthur gazed around the room a moment.
“I can see many questions are hanging in the air,” Arthur nodded. “Let’s hear them.” He went silent and looked around the room, waiting for someone to offer the first question. Finally, Henwyneb, the old leader of the guard, who probably knew the answer, called out an obvious question to break the logjam.
“Do we face him alone?”
“Unfortunately, Syagrius insists on intruding,” Arthur quipped. “He wants a share of the glory and plunder, so he sends his Comes, Paulus and a large portion of his army, as well as reinforcements from his Salian ally, Childeric.”
“Why do we leave Biturigas?” a voice called out. “Would it not be simpler to hold these walls against the Vesi and let our allies come here?”
“That was our original intention,” Arthur nodded. “We’ve learnt that Euric intends to avoid us for now and take Aurelianis, which his brother failed to do seven years ago. Paulus fears Euric may reach the city before he can gather his forces to defend it. If Euric succeeds, the least of our problems will be that we are cut off from our allies, and we do not have the grain to stand a long siege. We must prevent him from choosing the battlefield and hold his attention long enough for Paulus to arrive.”
“When will Paulus arrive?” another asked.
“Childeric is joining Paulus at Aurelianis,” Arthur replied. “From there they will take the road south to Argentomo. We will only need to hold the town a few days for them to arrive, and then our combined forces will put a quick end to this war.” That brought a rumble of approval.
“What sort of army do we face?” asked Gwittart, a gregarious Scoti prince whose father had sent him to be fostered at Arthur’s court.
“Barbarians,” Arthur shrugged. “Most of Euric’s spearmen are untrained levies, driven into battle by the spear points behind them. But some will be worthy of our respect, seasoned warriors, and well equipped. Unlike the Saxons, they field cavalry, but mostly of the skirmishing sort.”
Beside Gawain, Gwevyl stirred impatiently, his large, thick lips pursed and writhing until he spoke up, “All I wish to know is how long I must wait to kill them!” Laughter circled the room again, and the men drank to his health. Gwevyl had been suffocating under the boredom of living in garrison.
“We march within days,” Arthur chuckled. “It’s just a matter of timing our march with that of Paulus.”
The conversation continued for some time, as Arthur, Cei and Bedwyr discussed the plans, preparations and contingencies. Some thought that too much time was spent on the details when battles never went as planned, but Gawain listened carefully, fascinated by the technical aspects of war.
The next few days saw Biturigas abuzz. The members of Gawain’s old turma experienced a sort of celebrity status, as the men were sent to various leaders to describe the lands around their target. Patrols went out in greater numbers, a baggage train was organised, and stores of food, fodder and other necessities of camp were gathered. The slower, ox-drawn wagons were sent out with guards to wait near a river crossing that the leaders had chosen as a staging point, less than two days’ march from Argentomo.
Finally, word came. The Britons would march the next day, the Ides of Februarius.
Chapter Eleven
The city gates opened with the dawn, and Arthur’s army began its march out, a process that would take most of the day. Biturigas’s citizens were disheartened to see the Britons leave as they were a good source of money and security. Arthur obtained oaths from the city elders that the gates would remain closed for at least a full day after they had left. This was partly to reduce the chance of spies reporting the march, but mostly to prevent camp followers from dragging behind the army.
It was an easy march, as the ground was still hard, and the weather was just starting to warm. It remained cold enough that the men preferred marching to setting camp early, so they made good progress.
On the third day, they passed the supply camp established by the ox-drivers and reached a narrow, old Roman bridge. The water rushing northwards beneath it showed the spring thaw was beginning. Locals said the river joined the Leger downstream from Turonis. It was a desolate place. Around the river and in the fields away from the road it would be marshy, but for now, a thin crust of frost blanketed the protruding grasses and thistles each morning.
From this point, Arthur slowed the progress of the infantry and sent his scouts further out. They reported clear signs of recent movements, but no people were sighted before the camp was established for a restless night.
The following day, the scouts set out early, followed by Bedwyr’s legion and Arthur’s guard, then Cei’s and finally Gwynn’s in reserve. They could reach Argentomo that day by a forced march, but they would be vulnerable to ambush and would arrive at the Vesi-controlled town exhausted. They would time their arrival for the next morning.
But of course, war has a habit of upsetting plans. At midday, Arthur’s mounted scouts rushed back to report that Euric had beaten them to Argentomo. The scouts had circumvented the outpost that Gawain had warned them of and approached the town from a forested region to the north. They spotted troops marching into the city in a long column from the south. Arthur called for an immediate halt to meet with his commanders. They sat on short, folding stools while Gawain and his fellows formed a protective circle around them.
“We’d have that town if we hadn’t waited for word from Paulus!” Cei was incensed, while Gwynn looked worried and Bedwyr used a stick to scrape mud off his boots.
“It’s a minor setback,” Arthur shrugged, unrolling a large vellum map. “It may be brought to our advantage. If we draw them out immediately, pulling them eastward, we can ambush them along this road, then hold at the bridge we crossed yesterday. Then Paulus and Childeric can strike at Euric from behind, instead of just lining up beside us.” Arthur’s head popped up, and he looked around the ring of guards. “Gawain!” he called out.
“My Lord!” Gawain spun and stepped over to Arthur’s smaller circle.
“You surveyed this area, did you not?” Arthur asked, knowing the answer before Gawain’s confirmation. Arthur nodded and motioned him in to look at the map.
“We’re about here.” Arthur pointed with a twig. “The river we crossed yesterday. It’s sufficient to impede crossing without the bridge. But what of the lands to the north or south of it?”
“It’s marshy, treacherous ground to both sides,” Gawain answered. “To the south, it becomes more rugged, but even there the riverbanks are soft and impassable.” Gawain pointed to a place a few miles downstream. “We found a very small ford about here,” he said. “It’s rather hidden below some higher ground with thick brush. It was a difficult crossing, but we used it to avoid being seen at the bridge. Beyond the ford we found farmland, and there appears to be a settlement further north.”
“Yes, Dolens,” Cei nodded. “What of the lands around the road between here and Argentomo?”
“Mostly flat and marshy fields or hillocks with small copses,” Gawain answered. “Finding wide, solid paths away from the road was difficult.”
“So how do we make the best of these circ
umstances?” Bedwyr asked. “Should we draw them north towards our allies?”
“That would likely signal Euric that Paulus is coming,” Arthur shook his head. “And we risk tragedy if Paulus stumbles unexpectedly into our men. Our best option is to feign a retreat back to Biturigas, then hold the bridge while we wait for Paulus.”
Gawain was dismissed to his post while they devised a new plan. Bedwyr’s cavalry would approach the town with his infantry following and try to convince Euric to chase them, retreating eastwards. Cei’s legion would stage along the road and relieve Bedwyr’s men, while Gwynn would stay further back to secure their escape over the bridge. Many of his infantry had remained with the supply camp so Arthur’s infantry would supplement him.
Decisions made, the meeting adjourned, and the plans were set in motion. Messengers were sent to Paulus to inform him of the change. Bedwyr’s legion resumed their march, while Gwynn and the infantry of Arthur’s guard turned about and headed back towards the bridge. Cei’s legion and Arthur’s cavalry stayed put and built a hasty camp. Cei divided his corps into smaller groups and sent them to various locations along the road to make their camps. Gawain spent his limited free time going over his equipment and grooming Keincaled while thinking about his wife and the child that must have been born some weeks past.
After a restless night, Gawain sat in the saddle watching the eastern sky brighten to a cold, cloudless day. Arthur’s cavalry, who had adopted an old Roman tradition in calling themselves the Artoriani, or “Arthur’s Men”, were preparing to set out towards Argentomo.
Of the six hundred Artoriani, only about a hundred were heavy cavalry, like Gawain and his thirty-one brothers. Two hundred were light cavalry who performed duties as scouts and skirmishers. The remaining three hundred filled the middle role between speed and armament, similar to Gawain’s turma at Namnetis. The heavy cavalry were often reserved to exploit an enemy’s weakness. Gawain and his brothers would only see action when the king, himself, entered the fray or, as Henwyneb would cryptically say, “It’s come to the Triarii.”
