by Sean Poage
“I don’t know,” Gawain answered, though he had his suspicions.
Pictavis was a typical Roman town that had overgrown its walls, forcing many to build their shops and homes on the lower grounds near the river. This is where Gawain and Gareth headed. The city walls above them were in good repair, and more soldiers than typical walked along the parapets. Activity in the lower town was brisk, as an increase in soldiers usually meant an increase in business for the locals. Few gave the pair a second look, and a couple of inquiries for a wine merchant directed them to the shop of Nonus.
The open bay of the store was nearly empty of products, and the elderly, portly proprietor napped in a chair with his feet on a cask. He started and woke as Gawain and Gareth walked up.
“Ah, good day,” he said, groaning as he climbed to his feet.
“You’re Nonus, the wine merchant?” Gawain responded.
“I am,” he answered, a hint of suspicion in his eyes. “You’re foreigners, by your accent. How did you hear about my humble establishment?”
“Travelling dry makes for a longer road.” Gawain smiled. “Some locals pointed us to your shop.”
“Well, as you can see, I have little left to offer.” Nonus waved his hand around the shop. “A great many soldiers have come here recently, and they’re a thirsty lot.”
“We don’t need much,” Gawain said. “Perhaps you have some wine of Treveris?”
There was a slight hitch in Nonus’s step as he walked to a stack of small casks on one side. He looked through what he had for a moment before responding.
“I’m afraid I don’t have anything from that region,” Nonus said. “It’s not a very popular variety.”
“Well, then anything you suggest would be fine,” Gawain said. Gareth looked a bit nervous and turned to look out at the town. A few people passed by, going about their business.
“Certainly,” Nonus nodded. “May I ask how you intend to pay?”
“We have little coin,” Gawain replied. “But would you take this?” He held out the bag containing the belt and buckle.
Nonus took the bag, peered into it, stuck his hand in for a moment and nodded. He walked to a doorway at the back of the shop and dropped the bag behind the wall. Returning to the stack of casks, he selected two small ones, handing one to Gawain and the other to Gareth.
“I think you’ll find this to your liking,” Nonus said. “I pray your travels are swift and safe,” he said, plainly dismissing them.
They thanked him and left, walking through the town until they found the road going east to a bridge leading out of town. They expected to find a checkpoint there, so they stopped to drink some of the wine, rubbing some into their hair and eyes before continuing on.
There was indeed a quartet of soldiers at the bridge who stopped them as they crossed. After playing the part of drunken travellers and paying a ‘toll’ of one of the wine casks, they were soon on their way.
“Pretending to be a fall down drunk is the only thing that covered my nervousness,” Gareth said. “I nearly soiled myself when they stopped us.”
“You should have. It would’ve been more convincing,” Gawain quipped. “But it was a good chance to see their soldiers up close. They weren’t very professional, and their accent was like Lloch’s, so I suspect they’re Gaulish levies, not Vesi.”
They continued along the eastern road for a few miles as the evening light faded, until Lloch stepped out of the trees, startling them. He led them deeper into the woods to a small clearing where the others waited anxiously. Gawain described what they had seen, but only said the wine purchase was to support their appearance as travellers.
The party made their way back to camp, Lloch’s skill guiding them even in the dark. Gawain spent most of the time considering how best to execute their assignment and discussed it with the others as they travelled. By the time they finally arrived at camp late that night, he had a plan.
Gawain distributed the remnants of wine amongst the men while he discussed the plans with Illtud and Cadwal. The best way to cover the region would be to split the turma and have the three leaders each manage a section around Pictavis. Illtud would take the territory west of the city. Cadwal would cover the south and east, up to the road to Biturigas. Gawain took the area to the north and east. They would spend a week exploring their zones, then begin working towards the city, making fast raids in varied locations, usually at dusk or dawn. They would stay on the move, avoiding predictability and contact with Euric’s forces. The leaders would meet weekly to exchange news and reassess their plans. They all agreed it would be a challenging endeavour, but the potential for glory and plunder made it exciting.
In fact, it turned out to be a fairly simple task to raid the farms and villas that dotted the countryside around the town. Any unharvested crops were burned, as were barns and occasionally homes if resistance was offered. There was little direct opposition as most of the population was unarmed, having only simple weapons and farm tools. Walled homesteads were rare, so the residents usually fled on the few occasions they saw Gawain’s men.
Euric’s soldiers in the region were also no significant threat. Mostly conscripts from the local population, they were well equipped but had little training and were poorly motivated. Gawain’s turma ambushed several patrols early on, permitting no survivors. The terror of mysterious death discouraged attempts to locate the marauders, except in large groups that were easily avoided.
There were some minor injuries, the worst being a dog bite to Teilo’s calf that became infected and challenged Gawain’s curative skills. The weather began to turn cold, but it rained less and spirits remained high as the men were well-fed and taking reasonable plunder. As expected, the populace began hiding their valuables, and the farmers started transporting their goods to Pictavis. This required a change in tactics, as controlling the roads was more manageable for Euric’s soldiers.
During the fifth week of the operation, Cadwal’s team attacked a line of several wagons carrying goods to the town. Cadwal and his men were returning from a small raid and thought it would be an easy target of opportunity. But it turned out to be a trap, with a score of soldiers hidden in the wagons. The team was able to escape, but Mabon suffered a mortal wound and died the next day.
Two days later, Gawain’s team lost a junior member, Pwyll. It was an accident, the worst death for a warrior. Pwyll’s horse had been spooked, perhaps by a snake, a rodent, or even a shadow, and poor Pwyll was thrown, dashing his head against a boulder. Illtud led the prayer for their souls and for the comfort of the families who could not mourn over their graves. Morale plummeted.
A week later, more than half of Illtud’s line was debilitated for several days by a cramping fever that turned their bowels to water. It proved too much for Pedr, already weakened by a festering arrow wound from a raid a couple of weeks earlier. It became clear to the soldiers that heaven had turned against their enterprise and that they should withdraw.
Gawain was not convinced. He wanted to ensure Arthur had all the time necessary to achieve his goals. But a few days later, Cadwal reported that a column of at least eighty cavalrymen had arrived at Pictavis from the south. It was time to set out for Biturigas.
They buried any loot they could not easily carry so they could recover it when they returned to capture Pictavis. By Gawain’s reckoning, they were assembled and prepared to set out on the Kalends of November. After such a long separation from the army, Gawain could not be sure that Arthur was even at Biturigas.
They continued the mission by exploring the terrain along their return route, identifying river crossings, potential ambush points and defensible land. They moved cautiously, with only a vague idea of how far away their goal might be. It would more than double the amount of time it should take to ride between Pictavis and Biturigas.
They generally followed the old Roman road east towards the town of Argentom
o, but stayed clear of it to avoid the patrols that had become more frequent. After leaving the lands they had ravaged, they entered a thickly forested region dotted with odd sandstone hillocks. Progress was slower as they took more time to find river crossings away from the road and the small settlements that tended to cluster at those points.
Argentomo was a hive of activity and difficult to approach. The forest had been cleared in a wide swathe around the city to make charcoal for the local iron industry. After barely escaping a patrol that discovered Gawain and Cadwal surveying the town, they bypassed well around it.
Beyond Argentomo, the road split, with one branch continuing east, while another turned north-east. The terrain opened, with small woodlands dotting the landscape. A small outpost had been recently constructed beside the road, several miles from the town. A patrol of horsemen returned to the fort from the east. It appeared the Vesi were reacting to a new threat in this region. It was a good sign that Arthur was at Biturigas.
Bitter, cold winds became the norm, and they began having trouble finding food. They passed a few isolated crofts and tiny hamlets, but Gawain would not allow these to be raided, as it was beyond the zone Arthur had authorised. Finally, on an icy morning a day after bypassing a large village, Lloch estimated they were less than half a day’s easy ride from Biturigas.
The cold, hungry and filthy men wearily mounted their tired horses and soon found themselves at a deep river. The road was not far to their south, so Lloch and Peredur scouted north for a ford. After a couple of hours, they came trotting back to where Gawain and the main body waited.
“We found one,” Lloch said. “The footing’s good, and it’s sheltered between two hills.”
Gawain had the turma stay in place while he rode with Lloch and Peredur to see the site himself. As usual, they would remain hidden and watch the location for some time before attempting a crossing.
They had not been there long before a man stepped out of the trees on the far side and walked down to the river’s edge. He knelt, searching the ground briefly before wading out into the cold water. Halfway across, he froze. After a moment, he turned and waded back to the far shore and scuttled back into the woods.
“Please tell me you erased your tracks when you examined the crossing,” Gawain whispered to Lloch.
“Need you insult me?” Lloch muttered in reply.
“He’s not alone, that’s certain,” Gawain replied. “But how many and who do they serve?”
“I could sneak across downriver and see,” Peredur offered.
“No,” Gawain said. “If he was spooked, they’ll be on alert. Go back and have the men come up, quietly.” Gawain stopped as a pair of horsemen came out of the woods and halted at the water’s edge, chatting. They were dressed as warriors, with spear and shield, though no armour could be seen beneath their cloaks and furs.
Gawain gasped. Their cloaks bore a pattern of crossing colours more common among Britons than in Gaul. Still, he would have hesitated if he had not seen their shields. One was yellow, cross-hatched with black stripes. The other was covered in an unscraped brown and white cowhide, but both bore the white Chi-Rho that Arthur required his army to display. Many thought it was unnecessary, even insulting to the pagans in the army, but at this moment, Gawain was glad of the order.
He scrambled to his feet and called out to the men on the other side of the water. “Good morning! What news from Arthur?”
Peredur and Lloch started, and the men across the river jumped in their saddles. The one with the cowhide shield called out, “Who asks?”
“I am Gawain ap Gwyar, Decurion of Hyfaidd’s ninth turma,” he answered, nudging Peredur with his foot and motioning for him to go carry out his last order.
“So you’ve finally decided to leave the comforts of Namnetis and join us in the war?” called out a voice. A third rider emerged into view. “And it appears you’ve become lost along the way. My man here says he could smell you from across the river.”
“No, Etmic,” Gawain answered. “We’ve been waging war for weeks now, and it was time to return to these quieter parts to relate our exploits.” Gawain recognised the son of Caw the moment he stepped into view.
Gawain and Lloch walked down to the river, where the banter continued for a short time while Gawain waited for the rest of his turma to arrive. Gawain gave Etmic a brief description of his mission, pleased to see the grudging respect in Etmic’s expression. Etmic explained that he had been reassigned to the cavalry and was leading a routine patrol to check the river fords for any signs of the enemy crossing.
When everyone had gathered and greeted each other, Etmic shared what little food they had with Gawain’s famished men. Etmic decided he would cut his patrol short to lead Gawain’s troop to Biturigas, a few hours ride north-east. Along the way, Etmic brought them up to date on what had happened since Namnetis.
Two weeks after Arthur had returned to Andecava, the army marched east towards the Roman city of Turonis, while Arthur and his guard rowed upriver with his fleet. They were received in quite a lavish style by Syagrius, who had come south from Suessionum to affirm support for Arthur’s campaign.
After a few days, they crossed the river and left the Realm of Syagrius. The march to Biturigas was rather anticlimactic. As the army advanced, Arthur riding in the front, more as if on parade than at war, they were met by a delegation from the city. The residents were aware of Arthur’s approach and wished to turn the city over to him as an agent of Emperor Anthemius.
The Roman-walled city stood on high ground with rivers and marsh on the north and west sides, making it easily defensible. Arthur led the army into the city and established his court there. There was room enough for many of the troops in existing buildings, and timber barracks were built to house the rest. Patrols were mounted and settlements within a day’s march were made aware that the Rigotamos, or Riothamus in their Latin dialect, had established magisterial jurisdiction in the region.
“In any event, it’s been rather dull,” Etmic said as they rode through fallow fields. “In the past few weeks, Arthur has extended his reach further south, where the Vesi aren’t as numerous as they are to the west. For the most part, it’s not much different from these patrols, with long riding and little fighting.”
“Winter’s not a season for campaigns,” Gawain shrugged, suddenly wearier than he had ever felt. “I imagine warmer weather will bring all the action you could hope for.”
Rain began to fall as they turned east onto a major road and passed a cluster of huts near a bridge over a river. The weather obscured their view of Biturigas until they began climbing the path towards its walls. Gawain was comforted to see Britons walking the ramparts and guarding the large, open gate.
Etmic vouched for them at the entrance, then led Gawain and his turma to the barracks to unload their gear before taking them to the stables. After the animals were cared for, the men were finally able to go indoors and rest by the fire.
But it would be some time before Gawain could rest. He cleaned up as best he could, gathered the portion of the plunder that would be Arthur’s due and carried the sack out into the rain.
He followed Etmic’s directions to the praetorium, the former governor’s hall where Arthur had established his court. Trudging wearily to the high point of the city, he wove through the soldiers and townspeople who had business enough to brave the downpour.
Biturigas had not been this bustling for generations, with the addition, not only of the soldiers but also of the camp followers. Wives, mistresses, children, artisans, prostitutes, merchants and entertainers all trailed an army like gulls after a fishing boat, and they had all crowded into this ancient city.
The high double doors leading to the courtyard of the praetorium were open but blocked by a pair of Arthur’s personal guard. They looked sceptically at Gawain when he said that he was there to see the Rigotamos, and would not admit him unti
l Drem, the gatekeeper, returned.
While he stood shivering in the rain, several people came up to the gate and spoke to the guards, who recognised them. As they passed through, one stopped and looked at Gawain.
“I know you,” he said, peering at Gawain from the darkness inside his dripping hood. “You saved us from the Saxon fleet invading our shores.”
Gawain tried to see the man’s face, but only saw the yellow flash of his grin and a glint of his eyes until the man stepped under the archway and pulled his hood back.
“Gwenwyn!” Gawain said, remembering Arthur’s captain at Din Tagell.
“Gawain, was it?” Gwenwyn squinted, then grinned, “Have you spotted any suspicious Saxons lately?”
“No, just Vesi,” Gawain laughed. “I’m trying to convince these fellows that I’m not quite the ne’er-do-well I appear to be.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I came along,” Gwenwyn said. He spoke to the guards and Gawain was admitted. They passed through the arch into a long covered portico that framed a courtyard.
“You’re a long way from your ships,” Gawain commented, following Gwenwyn. “Have you given up the sea?”
“I’d sooner give up my wife!” Gwenwyn huffed. “But overseeing the river supply lines is one of my duties, and I’ve come to explain why the supplies are not being delivered as expected.”
“Trouble with transporting them?” Gawain asked.
“Trouble with getting what we were promised!” Gwenwyn hissed. “Syagrius pledged his support, but Paulus says they’re having trouble gathering all that we need. Each shipment is barely enough grain to supply the army, with little for Arthur to store against a siege.”
They stopped at a pair of tall double doors at the end of the courtyard, and Gwenwyn tapped the shoulder of one of the men in his group.
“Cerdic, you and the others go on to your rooms,” he said. “I’ll come later.” The one he addressed turned and nodded, and Gawain saw that he was nearly a boy, several years younger than Gawain, though tall and strong. But most striking were his eyes—one was hazel, while the other was pale blue. He turned away with the others, and Gwenwyn rapped on the doors. Drem stepped out, identified them, then escorted them in.
