by C. M. Gray
Chapter 6
A Cleansing of the Soul
'It was Merlyn who called for the voyage to Erin, the quest, and I too remember it well.' Uther sipped the last of the infusion and let his head be lowered to the sleeping cot. He was tired, but his mind was also back at the seashore on a sunny day with his feet crunching through the stones of the beach, watching as weapons and the last supplies were being carried through the surf and placed into small skiffs so they could be paddled out to the larger boats that were waiting some distance off shore. He could remember the high feeling of excitement, the people as they laughed, sang and danced. There had been drums beating and the reedy tones of horns and pipes; it had been more like a festival rather than the beginning of a dangerous raid against a hostile people.
'It was all at Merlyn's insistence,' muttered Uther, 'it was all to enable a healing, a healing for the land and for the spirits that were lost. Years before my brother Ambrosius began to gather the tribes, when the King called Vortigern ruled, the Saxons committed a terrible massacre upon a group of our people. The story as it has been handed down and told around the fires during the cold nights of winter, has been named by the bards as The Night of the Long Knives. It carries this name because all that those few who survived could remember were the long Saxon knives slashing and stabbing, murdering all, men, women and children, all as they sat and feasted with the Saxons as friends. Those Saxon warriors were led by Hengist with his brother Horsa by his side. Horsa was the same Saxon that led the Picts as they destroyed my village and killed my parents when I was a boy.'
Morgana nodded and sighed. 'I've heard both the story of your village being attacked and, of course, the telling of, The Night of the Long Knives, it has been told many times over the years. Also, the story of how you killed Horsa after the battle of Agelsthorpe, they are all well told and often repeated. What I want to hear, is the story that is not well told, I need to hear this, and you need to tell it. Your soul is troubled, Uther, you need to open up to our Lord and me and say what happened, why you went across to the Isle of Erin as the winter season was closing in and on what many thought to be a perilous journey with no hope of success, and I want to know what really happened to my father. I will make another infusion for you, and then you will impart your story, a story in which I might play some small part.'
Uther nodded and watched as she retreated to brew her herbs. Perhaps it was indeed time to lighten the load that burdened his soul, Morgana might not like the story he would tell her, but the Druid could not demand his silence forever, surely. He would begin by explaining of Pendragon Tor, the fortress upon the hill and how the idea of questing was first conceived by Merlyn…
In its seventh season back then, in the year that the priests now tell us has been given a number of four hundred and forty-three, because it is that many years after the death of their nailed God, the hill fort was already becoming quite a formidable construction, although still a shadow of what it would eventually become. Built high upon a previously unnamed hill, it overlooked a great bend of the river Eden on its eastern boundary, while to the west far below was the expanding village of Outhgill.
Uther gazed out, the fresh wind carrying with it the sharp smell of rain of which there had been a lot at that time. He looked up and saw the clouds were still running fast over the high mount that they had named Wild Boar Fell. It was named that amongst the warriors because just two summers past, Uther and his men had killed a huge wild boar upon the summit.
The animal had led them a spirited chase, firstly flushed out by the dogs from the lower forested southern slopes, they had run their horses through the trees driving it towards open ground. As the slope had become too steep for the horses, they had dropped down and moved higher on foot, driving the beast on ahead of them until they emerged from the trees onto the higher, open ground and saw their quarry approaching the summit. At the crest of the hill, it turned and regarded them with its small beady eyes. They walked towards it, circling around the huge beast while it fought for breath, its enormous chest heaving to draw in air after the exertion of its run. Its head was tossing angrily from side to side as it turned in a circle trying to see all of the danger around it, slashing its sharp tusks in warning as they approached.
The animal had ended its life high up on the Tor with Uther's spear through its chest moments after it had turned and ran straight at him seeking to break the circle and return to the protection of the trees. For Uther, it had been terrifying and exhilarating all at once. As the memory came back to him, he could still hear the jubilant screaming of his men and the smell of the huge boar's dying breath while it snorted its anger and blood into his face, the spear still twitching and jumping in his hands.
Uther dropped his gaze to the lower part of the wooden palisade that he was standing on, then to the thatch of the long meeting house which was just below him. Pendragon Tor had been constructed in the northern tribal lands of the Brigantes; the site had been chosen shortly after the decisive battle of Mount Badon. Uther had needed somewhere to base himself and this site was far enough away from the newly settling Saxons and was conceived to be neutral ground for the stronger southern tribes, who, he knew, would be quick to anger should their new High King show any sign of favouritism. It was also just a few days of travel from Ynys Mon, or Mona as it was known to most, the island home of the Druids, which of course made Merlyn happy.
The construction of the fortress had been made from wood, and wood had been the main material used in its construction as it continued to evolve and grow. Three formidable palisade rings surrounded the central huts and halls; each pieced together out of huge tree trunks that had been sunk into the earth, their tops sharpened to points. It had been cold and muddy in the first few winters, as Beryn and his men had begun the construction of the first defensive ring, and then eventually, the first of the halls. Improvements had continued and as more room was needed, a second and then third palisade ring were constructed. It now made a comfortable dwelling for several hundred members of Uther's court. As he stood high atop the inner wall, Uther was considering the newest addition to the fortifications. Beryn, he could see, was taking the expansion to a whole new phase, a high wall of stone was being built much lower down the slope on the top of a newly dug line of steep earthworks.
'Do we plan on remaking the whole of Pendragon Tor in stone, Master Beryn? Will we ever finish? I must say that this new line of defence is very impressive, yet I fear there is no end to your designs.' Uther watched as Beryn blushed red through his thin straggly beard. The little man had been waiting patiently for Uther as his King studied the landscape of his Kingdom and was visibly relieved to be talking about his new project rather than having to trade pleasantries.
'I merely wish to offer protection, my King. Wooden walls serve well, they have done so for many hundreds of years, yet a wall of stone is surely a better line of defence, worthy of a King and one that can surely never be burnt or broken.' He indicated towards the wall and the masons as they heaved the massive stones up and into position. 'The wall will be two strides thick and will have a gatehouse there, at the road crossing, and two small towers at either end.' He indicated the selected positions with a sweep of his hand. 'No Saxon raiders will ever pass; they will fall against this strong wall and be beaten before we loosen one single arrow, just as the Picts and Scots fell against the great wall the Romans built in the north. This method of building is not, in fact, new, rather it is something the Romans brought to our land and then took their secrets of construction with them when they left, but we have been studying how they cut the stones and how they lay them together and bind them; we have learned much.'
'It is a fine wall, Beryn,' said Uther smiling, 'I shall sleep inside its confines secure in the knowledge that your construction is protecting us and that no Saxon will come to disturb my dreams.'
'Thank you, Lord. With your leave, I shall go to assist the men in selecting the main beams for the gateway and instruct how best to sha
pe them, please excuse me.'
Uther waved him away and then turned at the sound of a shout.
'Uther!'
Merlyn was clambering up the grassy slope of the earthwork towards him, smiling as always as if the world had just made him privy to the best kept of secrets. The old man's hair and beard were both long and now almost entirely white, the breeze blowing them into a cloud of wispy abandon about the Druid's head, which didn't seem to be bothering him in the least. Uther could see him grinning through it, the shine of his blue eyes catching in the morning sun as he strode along, lifting his dark robes up to give his bony knees ease of movement. In his left hand, the old Druid clutched his staff, which was adorned with shells, bones and all manner of animal and bird parts, he thumped it, rattling it down, planting it heavily with every step.
'Uther, I've been looking for you everywhere, what are you doing staring out at honest men working when there is a Council meeting taking place that you are meant to be attending.' He started up the wooden ladder to the walkway, the staff now landing with a clonk, clonk, clonk, as he climbed, he was still talking. 'We have plans to make and decisions to take and…' He finally arrived standing beside Uther to look out at the view and had glanced down to see what had been drawing Uther's attention. 'Oh, and why is Beryn building that new wall, is that your idea?'
'Are you telling me you hadn't seen all the work being done down there? I thought you Druids were supposed to be incredibly observant.' Uther grinned at Merlyn's obvious discomfort.
'We see much of what needs to be noticed. Possibly some of the smaller, unnecessary details get past us. Are you so worried about a Saxon attack that you thought a big stone wall was necessary? Though probably not a bad idea, I suppose.'
'It wasn't my idea. Beryn is mostly left to his own devices; he conceived this all on his own. He had some notion to build with stone and so he is, to protect us. We live in dangerous times, and I for one am glad that he is constructing this new wall. A wall that we might live behind in safety, or that we can retreat behind should it ever become necessary. Our people must have a heart that they can focus upon and protect, Pendragon Tor is the heart of our people, and so Beryn is making it a heart that no enemy can strike and kill. Now, tell me, what of this great Council meeting. I don't think I am late… it does seem rather important to you, which gives me cause for worry. What plans are you making now Merlyn? You are not normally so distracted by the meetings of us mere men, what surprises are you going to spring upon us, will you not give me some warning? I am your King after all.'
Merlyn waved his hands about as if swatting at troublesome flies. 'I have no surprises, Uther, fear not. There are, you are right, one or two points that I would like to discuss at some length. This is the first meeting in some time that representatives have joined us from nearly all of the twenty-seven tribes. We even have Gerlois from the Cornovii, a rather troublesome man, so I understand, calls himself Duc of the Cornovii, though in truth, he rules both the Cornovii and the larger Dumnonii tribe to their north. Duc… just as they call their Lords in the tribes across the water… anyway, he arrived at first light. I have been waiting for this Council for some time, and I know you have as well.'
'Of course, I have, it has always been so difficult to bring all the leaders together for Council meetings. However, I wonder if both you and I are seeking the same outcomes and agreements. When we move into the new raiding season after the winter storms, we must be prepared for the Saxon's attacking and prepared as a unified people. They will be in even greater force this year; we know that longboats have been arriving since the winter storms of last year finished, swelling their numbers. I want our people prepared to throw them back and send them running to the sea.' Uther laid a hand on the old man's shoulder and looked deeply into his eyes, a practice he had copied from Merlyn in order to gain another's undivided attention. 'You know that I shall be proposing the structure of our Council as we sit at my new table, we have spoken of it many times, and I hope you will present no surprises for me, Merlyn?'
'Your plan is sound, Uther. I shall support your codes of honour in every way that I can. The Druids are with you, you know that. However, I have a small embellishment that I think will have your blessing.'
Uther frowned, uncertain where this Druidic embellishment might take him and was about to object, but Merlyn waved his concern away and smiled. 'Fear not, Uther. All is as it is meant to be. You speak for the minds and hearts of our people while I shall speak for the spirit of the land and for the Druids. I am merely seeking to weave together all that is important to everyone here, along with all that is necessary to the spirits in the Shadowland. To bring everything together… all so that the wheel may keep on turning as it is meant to turn.' Merlyn started down the ladder, catching and hitching up his blowing robes, so they didn't trip him. Halfway down he stopped and glanced back up at Uther.
'Upon Ynys Mon, we recently completed the rites of oak and mistletoe and have discovered a great necessity, one that can benefit our people and also the spirits. It is this to which I shall address the gathering, so fear not.' He grinned up at Uther.
'As you usually do, you speak in riddles, Merlyn. Yet, I trust you like I trust no other. Let us join with our Council. It should, at the very least, be an interesting meeting.'
'It should indeed, Uther, It should indeed.'
The meeting hall of Pendragon Tor was large as befitted a King. At its centre blazed a large fire, while shields, lances, and a large boar's head decorated the walls. Flickering torches had been set at regular intervals about the hall so that it was well lit, but also smoky. As Uther entered with Merlyn by his side, his attention was immediately drawn to the far side of the hall where twenty-six men, each dressed in very different styles that ranged from animal skins and coarse wool to oddments of both old Roman armour and newly fashioned plate and leather made by the tribes themselves. They were talking, arguing, shouting and laughing. Uther approached the table where they were all gathered, and they stood and called their welcomes. Uther smiled, and greeted each, in turn, moving about the table until he was face to face with a man he had only met briefly on two separate occasions.
'Duc Gerlois, welcome.'
'My Lord King.' Gerlois brought his fist to his chest in a Roman style salute, and then gestured to the table. Why is it round?'
Uther smiled and walked around the huge round table to where his own place had been marked with a chair slightly larger than the others. He sat and then ran his hand over the smooth grained surface, delighting in the rich, solid feel of the wood beneath his fingers. 'You don't like my new table, Duc Gerlois?'
The others took their places as the Duc answered.
'I did not say that I didn't like it, King Uther, I merely ask why it is round?' He also stroked his hands over the shining surface, as polished as a pool of winter ice. 'I have seen many fine tables, and indeed, I have one at Tintagel that will easily sit twenty people. This, however, is the first I have seen that is round. Indeed, if we were to sit here and feast then it might be somewhat difficult to reach the platters at the centre.' He smiled at the others seated about him, and there was laughter and several similar comments.
The assembled tribal leaders, or Lords as was the more common title these days, were an extremely colourful and diversified group of people. Gerlois, the newcomer in the group, as he had rarely attended meetings, was a man in his late forties. Once a warrior of some renown, he was somewhat overweight in these his later years. His deep, ruddy complexion was brought about by his love of the deep red wine from across the sea and was covered by a full dark beard that spilt down across a broad chest and rotund belly, he had a habit, Uther noted, of carrying a constant scowl.
Uther banged on the table with the flat of his hand to bring the group to order. 'This, my Lords, is no ordinary feasting table, it was built for a far weightier task than merely displaying food. No, I instructed my craftsmen to construct this table, not for meals, but so that we may sit as equals to discu
ss the weighty business of building and defending our Kingdom.' Uther gazed about at the twenty-seven men seated around the huge table. 'Each of you represents one of the great tribes of the Celtic nation of Britain. You are the tribal lords, and you have placed me as the high lord, the Pendragon.' There were murmurs of agreement from around the table.
'As you well know, I was raised amongst the Iceni, was placed in their care by my father, King Constantine, so that I would be hidden from his enemies, while my brother, Ambrosius was raised across the water amongst the Romans. As the Pendragon, the Lord of Lords, I now have no one tribe of my own, other than you, the representatives of all the tribes who sit at this table.' He stood up and adjusted his sword, Excalibur, which hung at his side, and walked slowly around the gathered lords.
My wish, when we sit here at this Council table, is that we sit as close to being equals as is possible. I am no Caesar and nor do I desire to be. I have no wish to rule this land alone without your unbiased council. My Lords, you each bring many years of experience as tribal leaders, and so I ask that when we, the leaders of the tribes, gather here… ' - he slowly turned, looking each man in the eye - '… that when this Council is assembled, no single person is placed at its head, for this table… has none. Here we each must be able to speak with equal status without fear of creating offence. Here, at this round table, no one man can be better, no greater status will be given to any one of us for holding larger lands, or leading a stronger or richer tribe, here there shall be no precedence, not even for me, your King. Each of us must be able to speak as an equal without fear of retribution.'
