by Sean Poage
“There’s time to speak over food and drink,” Censurius said. “And we’ll dispatch a messenger to Syagrius immediately to arrange your meeting. In the meantime, you and your men may rest and refresh yourselves as our guests.”
Bedwyr thanked the bishop and sent Gawain back to inform the Guard, with an expression that said to be alert for any sign of treachery.
They found no evidence of perfidy. In fact, Censurius and Gabinus went out of their way to see to the comfort and care of Arthur’s men and horses. Housing and stabling were provided, and the local craftsmen repaired or replaced equipment at very reasonable prices. The entire city was filling with traders, artisans and labourers arriving for the upcoming Easter celebrations.
The morning after their arrival, Censurius sent a courier to Syagrius, and eight days later, on the first day of April, he returned. Bedwyr called the leaders together to brief them on what he had been told by Censurius.
“The messenger arrived at Aurelianis to find that Syagrius had left that morning for Suessionum,” he began. “He pursued and caught up with Syagrius a day’s journey from a town called Parisius. Syagrius had the messenger return to say that he will wait at Parisius for us to call upon him.”
“Did he have any other tidings?” Dalldav asked. “News of Euric?”
“He confirmed that Euric holds Biturigas,” Bedwyr replied. “He also said that Odoacer has been driven out of Andecava and Childeric pursues the remaining Saxons down the Leger.” He paused a moment, with a strange look of uncertainty in his eyes.
“What is it?” Moren asked.
“Paulus was killed in the attack to retake the city,” he said, unsure if he should smile. The others looked at each other in surprise.
“This could be to our favour,” Gawain said. Bedwyr gave him a half smile and nodded for him to continue. “With his Comes killed, Syagrius will be in even greater need of friends.”
“Exactly,” Bedwyr nodded. “He’ll likely do his utmost to stay in Arthur’s good graces.”
“I assume we leave tomorrow?” Defon grimaced. He had looked forward to the Easter celebrations that would begin the next evening.
“You assume correctly,” Bedwyr dismissed them. “See that your men are prepared.”
After seeing to the preparations for his line, Gawain was in the small house allotted him when Illtud knocked on the door.
“Is this a poor time for a visit?” Illtud asked.
“Not at all,” Gawain replied, rolling his blanket into a tight bundle. “I’m just packing. Are you ready to go?” When he heard no response, he glanced up to find Illtud fidgeting with the end of his belt and staring at the floor. “What troubles you?”
“That’s what I came to speak to you about,” Illtud replied. “I would like to stay here.”
Gawain’s face showed his surprise and disappointment. He dropped onto the bed and motioned for Illtud to take the chair and pour both of them some wine from the small table.
“Here in this city, or return to your home in Letavia?” Gawain asked.
“Here, in Autissodoro,” Illtud answered, handing Gawain a cup.
“There must be a reason,” Gawain said. “Do you feel uncomfortable participating in our deception? And why here? We could ensure you get wherever you wish.”
After a long, slow drink from his cup, Illtud leant back and said, “I have no objections to helping the men return home. It’s rather that I feel I’ve been called to remain here and re-examine my decision to turn away from the Church.”
“You intended to leave the army on our return,” Gawain said. “Is this a new calling?”
“Perhaps. Several days ago, I went to the cathedral to pray for relief from the disquiet that’s settled on me,” Illtud said. “Censurius joined me, though I didn’t notice him for several minutes. He asked what troubled me, and then we spent a long time conversing. He was very kind and prayed with me. It suddenly occurred to me that I should return to the clergy, and when I mentioned it to Censurius, it was as if a weight were lifted from my shoulders.”
“Watching you describe the encounter has shown me the first genuinely happy smile I’ve seen on your face in far too long,” Gawain smiled in return. “Could you not follow this path at home, among your wife and friends?”
“I hope my wife will forgive me,” Illtud replied. “But I feel the pull of God to remain here to study for now. Censurius is a wise man. He studied under Germanus and accompanied him to Britain to deal with the Pelagians. He was with Germanus at the Alleluia Victory.”
“I’ve heard of that miracle,” Gawain said. “I’d like to hear the story from him, though he’d probably ensnare me, too,” he grinned. “We should speak to Bedwyr, immediately. I suspect he’ll grant your wish if he can be sure of your discretion regarding Arthur.”
Bedwyr granted Illtud’s request with the assurance of secrecy. It proved to be a useful arrangement as Illtud would also be Bedwyr’s contact in the region and would help find a way to return Arthur to Britain safely and quietly. Gawain and Peredur stayed up late into the night with Illtud, drinking their farewells.
Near noon of the third day, an unseasonably hot and humid one, they were met on the outskirts of Parisius by a delegation and led into the city. It was a bit of an exaggeration to call it a city. At the height of the Roman Empire it had been large and prosperous, but following the barbarian invasions, the greater part, which was unwalled, had been abandoned. Now they passed through a ghost town of derelict buildings sparsely inhabited by the destitute.
The town was now centred on a walled island and a cluster of buildings on the shores of the river near it. The road crossed the island by a stout pair of bridges, so they marched across the southern one and through the gate. They were directed to a barracks against the imposing stone walls, where they were able to wash away the road grime and take refreshment.
While the Guard waited nervously at the barracks, Bedwyr, Cethtrwm and the line leaders were led through the crowded, cobbled streets to the palace and into the main hall. It was empty, aside from several slaves going about their business, two guards and a dais with a large, cushioned chair. After waiting long enough to establish Syagrius’s primacy without being outright insulting, a pair of doors at the back of the room opened. Six of the largest Germanic warriors Gawain had ever seen stomped in and took their places to either side of the platform. Syagrius, followed by several courtiers, then strode in and took his seat. He was a thin man of about forty summers, with dark curly hair and a thick, un-Roman beard, though dressed in a traditional Roman toga, with a purple fringe. Several slaves entered the hall with large fans and proceeded to wave them over the Dux and his entourage and guests. Syagrius welcomed the Britons with a strained smile, swatting at a horsefly that landed on his perspiring neck.
“I trust your journey was uneventful. Censurius’s messenger stated that Arthur’s representatives have important news for me,” he said. “I trust you will see it as a sign of the great respect I have for your Riothamus that I have sacrificed observing Easter at my estates in Suessionum to await your arrival in this miserable, insect-infested backwater.” A man to his left, apparently the city’s magistrate, displayed a comedic look of surprise and chagrin. “How may I be of service to our esteemed ally?”
After a moment of hesitation and a glance at the people clustered around the Dux, Bedwyr took a step forward and bowed. “Your Excellency, besides his message, my king bids me congratulate you on the success of our mission to defeat Euric, and also to offer his condolences on the death of your valiant Comes, Paulus.”
“Yes, the cost of our victory is a dear one,” Syagrius said, his face clouding over. “Childeric continues the fight, pursuing our enemies through the Leger valley. What part does Arthur play now? Does he request help? The loss of his stronghold at Biturigas must be a problem.”
“On the contrary, lord, Arthur has bottled
Euric up within the city, hounding his patrols daily and preventing him from moving north on your lands.” Bedwyr paused, his demeanour becoming sober. “It is true, in all candour, that the city is an inadvertent loss. We held back Euric’s army for as long as possible, hoping that Paulus would arrive in time to deal the death blow to the Vesi king. We lost many valiant brethren at the river, but as happens, we lost far more in trying to withdraw, not knowing that your forces were but a day away.”
“It is indeed tragic,” Syagrius nodded, tension causing his neck muscles to stand out. “Weather and other vagaries of long travel delayed the union of Childeric’s army with that of Paulus. We were all dismayed to learn that they arrived just too late. Arthur may rest assured that we will do our utmost to redress his losses.” Gawain caught a twitch in Bedwyr’s beard at this.
“Arthur fully understands the unpredictability of war,” Bedwyr replied. “And with his own score to settle, he will not cease until Euric is dead or driven far from your borders.”
“That is welcome news,” Syagrius smiled, relaxing. “We few remaining Romans must stand together if civilisation is to survive. Is this all that Arthur sent you so far to discuss? Surely he could have sent a single messenger, not the leading warriors of his household.”
“No, your Excellency,” Bedwyr became grave. “Arthur has learned that certain… factions… have taken the opportunity of his absence to generate strife within the Consilium of our land. It is evident that treason threatens the hard-won peace and stability of his realm.”
“Ah, yes, I have heard rumours of this,” Syagrius nodded. “Such is the burden of every sovereign.” He caught the look of surprise in Bedwyr’s eyes, or of all the Britons there, and chuckled, mistaking the reason. “Do not look so surprised, Bedwyr ap Bedrawd. My reach is not bound to my own borders.” He frowned, and the tension appeared in his neck again. “Does Arthur intend to return home to deal with this problem? You are a long way from your fleet at Namnetis.”
“Your Excellency, Arthur does not wish to return home until he has thoroughly subdued the Vesi,” Bedwyr spoke up, noting Syagrius’ relief at this news. “And yet, this threat must be dealt with, or it will endanger Arthur’s ability to aid his allies. Thus, he sends us, the primary lords and warriors of his household, to see to his concerns in Britain and to prevent this evil from gaining a foothold. With Childeric’s ongoing operation down the Leger, we do not have access to our fleet as quickly as is needed, and Arthur wishes to keep those ships available for the war effort. So Arthur has sent me to request a favour of you. Transport for a small portion of his most loyal troops to return home and re-establish order in his realm.”
Syagrius pondered, nodding slowly, with his chin on his hand, before looking up at Bedwyr and straightening in his seat. “It is reassuring to know that your Riothamus continues the fight here. And Rome certainly owes him a debt for ending Euric’s designs. How many soldiers does he intend to return to Britain?”
“Only ourselves, lord, and half of his personal cavalry detachment. Three hundred horse. Perhaps another five hundred infantry, if the situation warrants it. A small fraction of Arthur’s strength.”
“It is no simple task to move an army, but such a small number is certainly within our resources, once I have time to gather the ships,” Syagrius said.
“Arthur will be very grateful,” Bedwyr replied. “Time, however, is of the utmost value, as is discretion to avoid any hasty actions on the part of the conspirators. Might it be possible for our small detachment to sail sooner, with the remainder of the force to follow when you have the resources?”
“That should be simple enough to arrange,” Syagrius smiled. “We will discuss the details tonight over food and drink. While the preparations are being made, please join us for the Easter celebrations.”
Syagrius immediately sent messengers to arrange the needed shipping. The next day, Easter was celebrated with Mass, a grand procession, games, plays and music. Syagrius hosted a splendid feast and showered Arthur’s men with gifts, while Bedwyr and others of the Guard entertained the court with stories of Arthur’s exploits.
Bedwyr was keen to depart the next day, but Syagrius insisted that they stay one more day so they could accompany him as he left for Suessionum. Bedwyr agreed but dispatched Cyndelic and Drem to return to Avalon to lead the rest of the Artoriani back to rendezvous with their ships.
The next day, to the barely concealed relief of the city’s magistrate, Syagrius assembled his army. Bedwyr and the Guard rode in honour at the head of Syagrius’ column as they crossed the bridge on the north side of the city and followed the road about ten miles to where it branched. Farewells and blessings were exchanged, and Syagrius continued north. A pair of guides driving supply wagons led the Britons on the road that turned north-west.
They pushed through, arriving late on the third day at an abandoned port town on the banks of the same river that flowed past Parisius. The seabirds and salty air indicated they were not far from the coast. The men were dismayed at the forlorn location and whispered their fears of a betrayal. Bedwyr surveyed the area, then stalked over to the two guides.
“Why have you brought us here?” he demanded. “There’s not a roof to shelter under.”
“My lord, I’ve only done as ordered,” the lead guide replied, frightened. “This place has suffered from barbarian raids, but as you’ll see, the wharf is in good repair, and we have supplies and tents in the wagons. The Dux chose this location because it is away from unwanted eyes.”
Bedwyr grunted, his temper receding, and asked, “Where are the ships?”
“It will take a few days for the messengers to reach the proper shipmasters,” he answered. “And a few days for the ships to gather here. We might have waited a few more days in comfort at Parisius, but I was told to arrange to leave as soon as possible.”
“You do not intend to leave us here, do you?” Gawain eyed the man.
“No, my lord, we were told to remain until you have all embarked,” he answered. “If needed, we will obtain more supplies and ensure there are no problems with the ship captains.”
Satisfied, Bedwyr briefed the others, and they set up camp. Bedwyr insisted they remain on campaign rules, keeping a strict watch and limiting the consumption of wine. They spent their time fretfully, waiting for some sign of the ships that would transport them home. Bedwyr kept them busy by fortifying their camp, conducting patrols and hunting or fishing. On the third day, the first ship arrived, with dark clouds and winds from the west pushing it upriver. The captain did not know where the other ships were but said that a coming storm would likely delay them. He was correct, as a series of violent thunderstorms kept them holed up in camp for nearly a week. The next ship did not come until the tenth day after the first. Over the next several days, the final three boats finally arrived. Each was prepared with special stalls and slings to support the valuable horses for the trip home.
The crossing from Gaul to Britain is a slower, more difficult endeavour, often against the winds and currents. Even with fair weather on the first two days of the voyage, they did not come within sight of their goal until the afternoon of the fourth day. Clouds settled low on the cliffs of their homeland.
Gawain leant against the gunwale and peered across the choppy grey water at the green-crusted stone bluff crawling towards them. For all he knew, it could have been another part of Gaul.
Bedwyr stepped up beside him and leant over, scooping a handful of water to splash on his face. “Cethtrwm says that today is Calandmei,” he said. “A propitious time to return home.”
“I have much further to go to return home,” Gawain said, thinking of Rhian and their child. “It doesn’t seem like it’s been a year, tomorrow, since I last saw it.”
“You don’t wish to claim the lands Arthur set aside for you?” Bedwyr asked.
“I haven’t quite decided,” Gawain replied. “But in any ca
se, I must return to my wife and family first.”
“You must choose the best course for yourself and your family,” Bedwyr nodded. “Though, if what Syagrius said is true, your presence in our ranks will be greatly valued.”
“You mean that treason is afoot in Britain?” Gawain asked. “You think that’s true?”
“He may have been posturing,” Bedwyr shrugged. “But there’s no shortage of ambitious scoundrels willing to take advantage of Arthur’s absence to grab for greater power. In any case, we won’t land at a port. We must get news before revealing ourselves.”
“There were so many people in Syagrius’s entourage,” Gawain frowned. “Do you think our return is still a secret here?”
“I doubt they would have much opportunity to get ahead of us,” Bedwyr answered. “But what’s more important is the news that Arthur still lives and fights. It’s bound to be spread far and wide, and that will be to our benefit.”
“When do we tell them the truth?” Gawain asked. “More importantly, what do we say?”
“I don’t know,” Bedwyr replied, staring out at the cliffs. “We’ll just have to burn that bridge when we come to it.”
They landed somewhere west of the port they had left Britain from, on a narrow strip of beach below steep cliffs. It was much more difficult to unload the horses without a quay. They had to drag the ships as far onto the beach as they could, then tilt them over and lay planks to form ramps for the horses. The poor beasts were not happy with the conditions of their passage, the rolling of the ships or the shaky ramps, but by the end of the day, the unloading was complete. The ship captains did not want to stay on the exposed beach overnight and shoved off as soon as they were unloaded.
Bedwyr led them to a low point between two peaks, where a stream emptied into the ocean, and along a narrow trail into a shallow, foggy dell. The dim disk of the sun had already settled below the hills to the west, so Bedwyr had the camp and watch set.
“Stay alert,” he commanded. “We’re only a day’s ride from Cadubrega, but no one is expecting us. We might be mistaken for outlaws or Saxons if our camp is stumbled upon.”
