By Force Alone

by Lavie Tidhar

  He says, ‘I wish only to serve.’

  ‘Pay’s two coppers a day, plus bread allowance—’

  ‘I don’t eat much, my lord. This will more than suffice.’

  Kay glares. But Merlin knows that Arthur sees him for what he truly is, and that he approves of him. A monarch needs a wizard like a wizard needs a staff.

  Which reminds him he should really get one. Oak or something. It looks more formidable, somehow.

  ‘Then go see Elyan, he will sort you out.’

  Merlin rises. Bows. ‘My lord.’

  ‘I like this guy,’ Arthur says.

  Kay buries his head in his hands.

  *

  ‘Well?’ Kay says.

  Sir Daniel von dem blühenden Tal is the head of the Frankish mob. They’re sitting in a riverside establishment on the south side of Tamesis. This is the Frankish mob’s domain. No one is armed. They’d left their weapons at the door. Merlin’s with Kay – Arthur had insisted.

  The leader of the Frankish mob drums bejewelled fingers on the tabletop.

  ‘If you don’t mind me saying, but he’s a fucking little upstart,’ he says. ‘No offence.’

  ‘None taken.’

  ‘I have my own good thing going here,’ Sir Daniel complains. ‘The south side’s always been independent.’

  ‘You pay the one-tenth tax to Sir Carados,’ Kay reminds him. ‘You owe him fealty.’

  ‘I owe him dick!’ von dem blühenden Tal says, affronted.

  Kay shrugs, conciliatory. Merlin’s silent beside him.

  Kay says, ‘The times are changing.’

  ‘What does that even mean?’

  Merlin leans over. His quiet voice carries. ‘It means that, for too long, this nation was divided. Small outfits like yours could operate at ease. This will no longer be the case, von dem blühenden Tal. This is a time of… consolidation.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Small outfits just won’t survive,’ Merlin says simply. ‘You have to join up or go under. This isn’t personal, it’s business. This is the nature of the world.’

  Sir Daniel broods. Merlin watches him. Kay had told him this would be the easier pitch. The Frankish mob, for all their claims to independence, are really small-fry operators, all too aware of their recent arrival into this world. They are not much more than dockyard thieves and petty criminals, the sons of sailors and traders who settled in Britannia before the fall.

  He says, ‘Were you not, yourself, just such a leader as Arthur? Rising from your humble beginnings on the south side to form one of the most fearful gangs in all of Londinium?’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘You owe no debt of loyalty to Sir Carados. You’ve been maligned, tolerated only because you’re on the wrong side of the water. Join up, and you’ll be one of us, an equal. No one sits at the head of a round table.’

  ‘And besides,’ Kay adds, ‘Arthur has bigger aspirations than Londinium. There are fortunes to be made, Sir Daniel. There’s a kingdom to be won!’

  ‘I did hear you kids are building up an army.’ Sir Daniel mulls it over, but Merlin knows: he knows his mind’s already been made up.

  ‘What if I say no?’

  ‘Why would you say no?’ Kay asks. ‘Arthur has the utmost respect for you, Sir Daniel.’

  ‘Yet he didn’t come himself.’

  ‘We are his voice, Sir Daniel.’

  ‘So I see.’ He turns his frown on Merlin. ‘You,’ he says. ‘Of you I’ve heard, and not good things.’

  ‘And I heard Conan Meriadoc’s staying with your lot.’

  ‘And so? You want him as the price of joining?’

  Merlin’s smile’s a thin line. ‘Whatever for? All are welcome of their own volition in Arthur’s coalition of knights.’

  ‘A coalition now, is it?’

  ‘He’ll need wise counsel, and experienced men such as yourself.’

  ‘Enough. What do I get?’

  ‘A kingdom of your own. Say… the whole of the south side from here unto Silchester?’

  ‘That’s Atrebates land,’ Sir Daniel says.

  ‘So?’

  Slowly, Sir Daniel smiles. ‘I like the cut of your jib,’ he says.

  ‘Do we have a deal?’

  Sir Daniel nods. ‘Tell Arthur that he’s got himself a partner,’ he says.

  *

  ‘You trust him?’ Merlin asks.

  ‘I think he’ll hedge his bets until he sees which way the die falls,’ Kay says.

  ‘You think it will be our side?’

  Kay sighs. ‘We have the soldiers, but they are hardly tested. The other gangs have hardened men, and arms to match ours. What Aristotle called politics will only take us so far.’

  ‘You expect bloodshed.’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  Merlin shrugs. ‘I am only the hired help,’ he says.

  ‘I know what you are, wizard. Everybody’s heard the stories.’

  ‘And Arthur?’

  ‘What Arthur knows or Arthur thinks is known only to Arthur.’

  ‘I swore to serve him,’ Merlin says.

  ‘And I don’t doubt you on that score. I just don’t trust you, or your motives.’

  ‘…That’s fair,’ Merlin allows, and makes Kay laugh.

  ‘Where next, then?’ Merlin says.

  ‘The Knights of Bors.’

  *

  Bors the Elder towers over Kay, his giant fist raised to strike him.

  ‘Give me one good fucking reason why I shouldn’t bash your brains out right now, you fucking rat!’ he says.

  ‘Dad!’ Bors the Younger says pleadingly.

  ‘You stay out of it!’

  ‘I am a knight and Sir Hector’s son,’ Kay says. ‘And I was assured safe passage.’

  ‘Safe passage my ass.’

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘You stay out of it.’

  Merlin, with his arms crossed, watches the proceedings. They’re in Sir Bors’ hall, but really it’s more like an old Roman military encampment, with training posts and trading stores and Bors’ men at practice with their weapons. And Merlin thinks, this Bors has missed his true calling, a hundred years earlier he would have served the Emperor with pride and gone to see the world and fought the Gauls or Libyans. The man was born to be a prefect.

  ‘I know it was you little shits,’ Bors says. ‘You think I’m a fucking idiot? I’m going to hunt down Arthur and split his skull and roast his brains on a stick and eat them.’

  ‘Arthur holds you in the highest regard…’ Kay starts.

  ‘One more word, motherfucker! One more word and I’ll—’

  ‘Perhaps I may interject,’ Merlin says.

  Bors the Elder turns and frowns at him in irritation. ‘The pet wizard,’ he says. ‘I’ve heard of you.’

  ‘Then you know what master I served before Arthur.’

  The frown deepens. ‘I knew Uther from the old days. He was a good fighter.’ This seems the highest compliment Bors can bestow. ‘Why you serve that fucking cur Arthur I am sure I have no idea.’

  ‘No?’ Merlin says quietly.

  ‘What are you getting at, wizard? My beef is not with you.’

  ‘Your beef is not with Arthur, either. He did only what you would yourself do, what any of you would, in similar circumstances. Arthur wants to make amends. He sees you for what you truly are, Sir Bors. A knight, a warrior, a leader of men. He has a need of you.’

  ‘A need.’ Bors snorts. ‘He wouldn’t last five minutes out in the real world.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure.’

  ‘You really think…’ But he simmers down. ‘The bet you’re placing is a hefty one,’ he says.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You gamble with your life?’

  ‘I am a soldier too, if of a different sort.’

  ‘A different sort indeed…’ A note of amusement crops into Bors’ speech. His fist drops. Kay scuttles from underneath him.

  ‘Did I say you could move!’ Bo
rs roars.

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘You stay out of it.’

  ‘I’m just saying, Dad. We should listen to them.’

  ‘You think so, do you?’

  ‘An alliance, Dad.’

  ‘Shut the fuck up, Younger.’

  ‘Dad…’

  ‘Arthur would make you commander of an army,’ Merlin says.

  ‘An army!’ Bors says. ‘You call that gaggle of riffraff he’s hiring an army?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Merlin says. ‘But I will.’

  He watches Bors. The man might be a brute, but he isn’t stupid. Bors can sense the way the wind is blowing.

  ‘…With your help,’ Merlin says.

  ‘You want me to command them?’

  Merlin shrugs. ‘They need a real officer in charge,’ he says.

  ‘You ever been off the island, wizard? You ever visit the continent?’

  ‘I’ve been to Bath once,’ Merlin says.

  ‘You don’t know what a real army is,’ Bors says. ‘I saw them, when I was young I fought in Gaul and Jutland. A young hired sword I was, same as Uther. That boy always had dreams beyond his station…’ He looks thoughtful. ‘I saw the last of the Fifth Legion, and even diminished as they already were, they were incredible. The discipline, wizard. An army is nothing without discipline.’

  ‘Then join us. Teach them. You could make them soldiers.’

  ‘Dad, I think we should—’

  ‘You stay out of it.’

  ‘Think about it,’ Merlin says. ‘Just don’t think too long.’

  Bors nods.

  Kay and Merlin leave.

  *

  ‘You think we got him?’

  ‘I think you made a compelling case, Merlin. But he’ll wait and see where the die falls.’

  ‘Where to next, then?’

  Kay sighs. Massages the bridge of his nose.

  ‘The White Hill Gang,’ he says, without enthusiasm.

  *

  ‘So, what do you fuckers want?’ says the Black Knight of the White Hill Gang.

  Kay and Merlin stand before him in the white marble opulence of the gang’s seat of power. Rich, powerful and vicious.

  Kay snaps his fingers. Two of the boys bring in a wooden chest.

  ‘Gift,’ he says.

  He snaps his fingers again. The boys open the chest.

  Inside are jewels, coins, arms, wine amphorae. A small treasure, or a rather large bribe.

  ‘Nice,’ the Black Knight says.

  ‘More where that came from.’

  ‘Alright, then.’

  ‘Are we good?’

  ‘We’re good.’

  They leave.

  *

  ‘That was brief,’ Merlin says.

  ‘They only speak one language,’ Kay says Shrugs.

  Merlin says, ‘You think they’ll go for it?’

  Kay says, ‘I think they’ll wait and see—’

  ‘Where the die falls. Alright, I get it. Where to next, then?’

  Kay sighs.

  ‘There’s one last man to pitch,’ he says.

  24

  They leave Merlin behind, but he changes into a crow and follows them. He perches on the windowsill.

  ‘Father,’ Kay says.

  ‘Sir Hector,’ Arthur says.

  They stand before him, like truant children.

  Sir Hector perches on the bed and scratches at his belly. His men stand by. Cynric, the Welshman, who taught Arthur the use of the bow and the knife. Escanor the Large, whose father was a giant and his mother was a witch, and who taught the boys bare knuckle boxing. Gareth, who was Sir Hector’s best thief.

  ‘You are my ward, Arthur,’ Sir Hector says. ‘I have raised you like my own child.’

  Arthur bows his head, acceding the point.

  ‘And I am forever grateful, Sir Hector,’ he says.

  ‘My ward, Arthur!’ Sir Hector fingers the jewelled hilt of a knife. ‘Now look at the mess you’ve made,’ he complains.

  ‘Sir Hector?’

  ‘They want your blood, Arthur!’ He glares at him. ‘I told them, he is but a boy. I told them, he is like a son to me. I told them, I could not abide losing a single lock of his hair, let alone a finger or his life. I spoke for you, Arthur. I would have made you a knight!’

  ‘You made Kay a knight,’ Arthur says quietly.

  ‘Kay is blood!’

  That word hangs between them.

  ‘And I am not.’

  ‘What blood you have I’m sure I couldn’t say.’

  ‘You don’t know? You can’t even tell me who my father is?’

  Sir Hector waves a jewelled hand. ‘You were the price I had to pay on a debt,’ he says. ‘I was given no choice in the matter. But I always treated you well, did I not? I treated you like a son!’

  ‘Sir Hector,’ Arthur says, ‘I do not question the debt I owe you.’

  ‘Then what is it, Arthur? Do I look like a sheep?’

  ‘What?’ A momentary look of genuine confusion suffuses Arthur’s face.

  ‘I said, do I look like a sheep?’

  ‘A sheep? No, but why—’

  ‘Then are you trying to fuck me like a sheep!’ Sir Hector screams.

  ‘Why would I want to fuck a shee—’

  Cynric and Escanor look away.

  ‘Look,’ Arthur says. ‘You know why I’m here. I respect you, Sir Hector. But I am no longer a child. And a man must make his own way in this world. Join me. Together, we could—’

  The bird Merlin watches from the windowsill. Sir Hector rises. He waddles to Kay, wraps his arm around his son’s shoulders.

  ‘I love you, boy,’ he says.

  ‘I love you too, Father.’

  Sir Hector kisses him on the top of the head. ‘You’re a good boy, Kay.’

  He releases him, shuffles over to Arthur. Stands before him, looks him in the eye.

  ‘No hard feelings,’ he says. He extends his hand for a shake.

  Arthur looks relieved. He reaches to shake Hector’s hand.

  The crow Merlin feels a sudden, blinding white pain. The Welshman, Cynric, with lightning-fast reflexes, threw a hard sharp stone at him. Merlin totters on the windowsill on tiny bird feet. He blinks his crow’s eyes.

  Sees Kay dragged back by Gareth and Cynric. Sees Arthur felled by Escanor the Large.

  Merlin tries to hold on to consciousness, to shift back, but his crow’s head feels so sore and the darkness seems so welcoming.

  The last thing he sees before he falls to the ground is the prone body of young Arthur on the floor, and the half-giant Escanor reaching for a rope.

  *

  Merlin wakes up to a bird’s worst nightmare. An alley cat towers above him, her claws extended. She bares her teeth and hisses. A delicate pink tongue darts out to taste his face, a prelude, no doubt, to chomping his head off next.

  He crows, ‘Get off of me! Get off of me!’

  The cat laughs.

  That mouth reaches down. The teeth clamp on his tiny body.

  Gently, she lifts him up. He’s powerless to resist. He sees the Welshman, Cynric, emerging from the house with a catapult. The Welshman grins when he sees the crow’s fate.

  ‘Was going to step on your fucking skull, wizard, but this is even better,’ he says. He bends down and strokes the cat’s head. ‘Enjoy your dinner!’ he says, and cackles.

  The cat purrs.

  Then she bounds away, swift as a starling, and takes the wounded crow with her.

  *

  ‘It is for the best, lad,’ Sir Hector says. His men hold Kay, but he has stopped resisting. He stares mutely at his father.

  ‘It is out of my hands,’ Sir Hector says. ‘I would have warned him, but he never did listen, did Arthur. You must have known it couldn’t be, Kay. You’re not a fool. Such a naked power grab would never be tolerated. He is not even blood.’

  ‘What have you done?’ Kay says. ‘What will happen to him?’

  ‘What I should have
done a long time ago,’ Sir Hector says. ‘My debt is paid, and a reckoning is due. You will learn this, Kay. Sooner or later you will learn: there must always be an account.’

  *

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Morgan!’ Merlin says.

  The cat, transformed back into a woman, laughs.

  ‘Little birds get their little wings clipped,’ she says.

  Merlin, transformed back into a man, lies on the ground. His clothes are torn. His face is bloody. He says, ‘You knew?’

  ‘Oh, fuck off, Merlin. You think he’s yours? If I can’t have him, then no one will.’

  ‘By God, I want to kill you.’

  ‘Which god? This Jesus?’

  He ignores it. Throws a lightning bolt at her head. She inches it away and the lightning hits the wall behind her with a loud explosion.

  ‘Oh, stop it,’ she says.

  ‘You sold him out?’

  ‘I did nothing,’ she says, laughing at him now. ‘Sir Hector did no more than do as you bid him all those years back. He looked after the brat like it were his own. When Arthur robbed the Knights of Bors, it was Arthur who broke the rules. Sir Hector had no choice but to give him up. His debt was paid.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’

  ‘All I did was not intervene.’

  ‘I can still save him,’ Merlin says. He changes back into a bird and flaps his wings. He rises stiffly. Hovers at the window.

  Morgan le Fay looks at him with that fondness cats have for their prey.

  ‘Fly away, little birdie,’ she says. ‘Fly away.’

  *

  The Guv’nor watches as the boy comes slowly back to consciousness.

  Arthur lies on the ground at the ruined old governor’s palace courtyard. There is still that rock with the useless sword in it, but no punters for the day, the courtyard’s closed for a private function. There is still the cross nailed into the hard ground, but no worshippers for that wild-eyed messiah from the distant Galilee.

  There is only the boy. He is the centrepiece of this tableau.

  The boy blinks bloodied eyes. They’d worked him over, some, Sir Hector’s men, so that by the time he arrived he was already a little worse for wear. Then the Guv’nor’s men had their fun. He doesn’t look so good now, this boy, this Arthur.