By Force Alone

by Lavie Tidhar

  ‘“No,” I said.

  ‘“A shame,” he said. “You should. You are…?”

  ‘“Ulfius.”

  ‘He nodded pleasantly. Replaced the scrolls back on their perch. “Well, shall we?” he said. “We might as well get this over with.”

  ‘“Excuse me?”

  ‘“Oh, no,” he said. “There is nothing to excuse.”

  ‘“Who the hell are you?” I said. “And how did you—”

  ‘“Get in here?” He shrugged. “I just walked in.”

  ‘“No, you didn’t,” I said. “I’d have seen you.”

  ‘He smiled at that. “People usually see what they want to see,” he said. “It’s easy, really. You just have to follow in the margins, where they aren’t looking. Now, let’s go get this meeting over with. They are expecting me.”

  ‘“You’re Leir,” I said.

  ‘“So now you’re looking properly,” he said. “Well done.”

  ‘And he threaded his arm through mine and out we went, as if for a pleasant stroll along the stream. He knew the way, too. Went down the corridors like he had a map of the castle all stored up in his head. Marched us right up to the throne room, where everyone was already waiting. Oh, how they turned when the doors opened and we came in. He took his place among them. Three to one side they sat, and three to the other across the long table, and Arthur on the old throne facing them all.

  ‘Well, wizard, we all knew what was what. No one carried weapons, that was one. They left them at the door. For another, there wasn’t a retinue. This was a high-level council, bosses only. Between the six of them and Arthur, they had the vast majority of Britain under their control.

  ‘And so.

  ‘No retinue, but that didn’t mean no men. Security, see? Everything above board and proper. Yder had one of his giants. Outham two of his Franks. Urien had two nasty Northmen – well, you get the gist of it. Only Leir was alone. He looked amused, even a little bored, maybe. Like this was a game he’d stopped playing long ago. Like he could take every single fucker in that room personally, if he’d only wanted to. Giant included. He’s a strange one, that Leir.

  ‘So. As it happened I was assigned to guard duty, me and Agravain of the Hard Hand to act for Arthur. We all kept a respectful distance from the table, stood with our backs to the walls. Eyed each other. There were more than a few hands itching for a sword, I can tell you that. But business is business, and pleasure is pleasure, you know what they say.

  ‘Arthur began. He looked good on that throne. Looked like it fit him. No jewellery on him, no rings, not even a crown. He was as you see him. He was what he was. And they all knew it. He said, “Welcome.”

  ‘They all murmured politely. Eyed each other, too, like we did on their behest. They were none of them friends, Merlin. Power does not have friends, and these men were power.

  ‘“I won’t waste your time,” he said. “Some of you I know. Some of you I know of. You each of you control a significant territory. You each of you run protection, brothels, wine and Goblin Fruit – but so much more than that. Each of you control countless lives. You have farms and villages and fields and produce, roads and mines and workshops and goods. Nothing moves in your territory without you knowing about it. A child’s not born unless you say, It is so.

  ‘“I respect that. You got to where you are today by being smart, by being strong, by knowing when to kill a guy and when to make him happy. You know who you are.

  ‘“And you know who I am.

  ‘“Leir, you hold the ridings. The Brigantes answer to you. Urien, you control the Hen Ogledd, the whole north is yours before the wall. Well, you know who you are – and some of you knew my father.

  ‘“My father’s dead. I hold his lands now. I hold this castle and these parts and I claim Land’s End. I rule Londinium. Do you contest this?”

  ‘There were looks exchanged. Some mutters. But they nodded, every man of them. Accepting Arthur’s claim. Accepting, thus, his right to sit at the table. But they did not look easy as they sat. They did not trust him.

  ‘“Each of you, alone, is strong. But each of you is alone. And lone is weak. The world is changing, gentlemen!” His voice rose then, and his full fury hit them for the first time. They were not prepared for it. “The world is changing,” he repeated, more softly this time. “Foreigners come. Angles and Saxons. Jutes. Rome was here. It had more power than any of you could ever dream of. It offered stability and trade. And it is gone. Forget Rome. Rome is dying. And a thousand lawless tribes beyond that thin strip of water that separates us from Europa are no longer waiting for their chance but taking it. They’re crossing over. They want our land. They want our wealth. They want our women and our fields and our mines. And each of us, alone, will fall before them. Each of us, alone.”

  ‘He has a way with him, he has, Arthur, doesn’t he? He knew their minds, you see. He knew just where they felt vulnerable. He stuck in the knife as you would in an oyster, and then, when he had their attention, he twisted. He wanted their pearls. He wanted all of their great big fucking pearls.

  ‘“I want you to join me,” he told them. Oh, that got their attention alright! Those heads whipped up fast and furious.

  ‘“Alone, each of us is weak. But together we can be strong! Together, there can be no one to oppose us! Let them come then, and try to take us! For I tell you true, friends. As I look ahead, I am filled with foreboding. Like the Roman, I seem to see the River Tiber foaming with much blood.” He was quoting Virgil, I think. Then he said, “Well, let them come! We’ll drive them off the cliffs and let the sea wash away their blood! Join me, in a syndicatus, all of us, in it together! What do you say, gentlemen? I ask you, what do you say!”

  ‘Oh, there were many looks exchanged. They knew, they must have known it was coming. But no one wanted to speak first. At last it was Leir. He looked up at Arthur, nodded. “Each of us here is a boss of bosses,” he said. “Beholden to no man. Yes, there is wisdom in your speech, Arthur. Yes, our territories are threatened by the new arrivals. Though some of us see opportunity, not threat, in those. New markets, new ways. Some of us see profit. But regardless of that notion. It was the Roman, Gaius Sallustius Crispus, who said, concordia res parvae crescent. Small things flourish by concord. There is logic in your words, but, Arthur, is this to be a syndicate of equals? For even in Republican Rome, where the people were ruled by the vote of the bosses, there nevertheless had to be someone to sit at the head of the table. Much as, indeed, you sit now, as our host. So I shall ask you, Arthur. Is that your intention? Do you wish to be first among equals? Or do you wish even more? Your father—”

  ‘“I am not my father!” Arthur said. “And I know nothing of Republican Rome, and I care even less. The Romans came, they went, they ate shit and they died. I am speaking to you of a syndicate of equals, with me at the head of the table, yes. You’ve had your time, Leir, you and the others, growing bloated and fat in your old dispensations. And you did nothing. You’re old and you’re weak and, without me, you’ll die.” He spoke with true venom then, and they scowled, and Conan Meriadoc slammed his fist on the table, but they were quiet when he spoke. “Choose life. Choose a home. Choose a great big fat palace to stuff all your money in. Choose a wench, any wench you please, to stick your old men’s dicks in. Choose a sword, choose a horse, choose blood, because if you are not warriors you’re nothing. Choose death. Choose life. Choose the fucking future.”

  ‘There was a silence then. And Conan Meriadoc raised that great big head of his and said, “And you’re the fucking future?”

  ‘But they already knew it. And Arthur did not need to answer.

  ‘So there it was. The kings had been summoned – and they came. They had expected an offer – and he’d made it to them. It was the sort of offer you couldn’t refuse.

  ‘“Are you with me?” Arthur said. And one by one the bosses nodded, and one by one they stood up from the table, and left the room, their men on their heels.

  �
�That night a feast was held in the castle grounds. Ewes and lambs were slaughtered, dormice were stuffed, pigeons were roasted, and the fires burned so bright that night became day over Dinas Emrys.’

  27

  ‘I’m cold,’ Ulfius complains. The wizard stares at him across the dying fire. The first rays of dawn stain the sky outside their cave. Ulfius can hear strange little sounds in the deeps of the cave, like tiny rodents chattering to each other, and it makes him nauseous. They sound excitable, and hungry.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ the wizard says. He seems more energetic now, more full of life, as though the very act of hearing Ulfius’ story has invigorated him somehow. ‘So what went wrong?’ he says now. Holds a small stick in his fingers and breaks off pieces one by one.

  Ulfius stares at him in suspicion. ‘You look like you already know, somehow.’

  ‘Tell me. Consider me your… confessor. Did not your apostle, James, say, “Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another that you may be healed?”’

  Ulfius’ suspicion grows. ‘I did not sin,’ he says.

  ‘So, what?’

  ‘It was a ruse.’

  ‘How so?’

  And Ulfius remembers. The light of the flames. The clash of swords. That surprise attack, from within, from without. Remembers Yder’s giants smashing in through the wall. Lifting people up like rag dolls and tossing them against the stones, bashing their brains in. Remembers the Northern men firing arrows, the whistle of arrows like deadly birds overhead. Remembers Conan Meriadoc’s savages streaming in with their faces painted and blood lust in their hearts. Remembers the shouts – ‘Fall back! Fall back!’ – remembers rushing to the aid of his king.

  ‘The six had made their plans in advance,’ he says. ‘They’d seen which way the wind would blow and formed a syndicatus of their own. They’d never have accepted a snot-nosed boy at the head of the table. They saw the logic of it – Leir spoke true. They knew that, alone, they’d fall. They knew they were better together. So they had hatched their plan, and came in peace to make war. I guess when you’re a king no one tells you they’re going to kill you, it doesn’t happen that way. Your murderers come with smiles.’

  ‘It was always a probability,’ Merlin says.

  ‘That’s it? That’s all you have to say?’

  Merlin shrugs. ‘You don’t become a king by being honest,’ he said. ‘You come to the throne by force alone.’ He licks his lips. ‘And so?’ he says.

  ‘And so…’

  *

  ‘Fall back! Fall back! Protect the king!’

  And the arrows coming down, and Elyan the White jumping on the back of one of the giants and slitting his throat with a sword that seemed as small as a dagger, and the Northern men silent like ghosts slaughtering everything in their sight, and a fire burning where the king’s banner flew.

  Ulfius ran. He ran to the castle, fighting his way through men who’d never see the light of the Christ, whose death meant nothing but dust and being forgotten. In a thousand years if people came and dug on the grounds of this castle, what would they find? Not even bones, perhaps. His sword flashed and he erased whole lives in mere seconds, fighting through the melee, falling back to serve his king. He saw Owain, the Bastard, and Agravain vanish down the long corridor to the throne room. But his own path was blocked. Conan Meriadoc’s savages stood in his way, grinning with their awful, filed-down teeth. They were too many to fight.

  Ulfius fled.

  He would not tell the wizard that. What could he do? The fix was in. The king would live – or not. He whispered, ‘Eli, eli, lama sabachthani?’

  ‘This way, you fool!’

  A door, open just a crack. A hand reached out and grabbed him, threw him inside and slammed the door. Then a knife was at Ulfius’ throat.

  ‘Be quiet and you’ll live.’

  ‘Leir,’ he said.

  The old man of the ridings cackled.

  ‘I’ve had my eye on you, boy. You’re not as stupid as the others. The Nazarene said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness.”’

  ‘Sir?’

  The pressure of the knife at his throat eased.

  ‘I am saying, follow me, boy. The path you walk now leads to only one place, and it is down below.’

  ‘You – a Christian?’

  ‘I am… not unsympathetic.’

  ‘Sir, I could never betray my king.’

  ‘And I am not asking you. I am merely offering you a way out of here. Or I could take your life right now and be done with it. Have I got you wrong, boy?’

  ‘My name is Ulfius.’

  ‘And my name is legion.’

  ‘You dare quote scripture?’

  ‘Yes – or no, Ulfius? Think quickly and speak true.’

  ‘…Yes.’

  The knife left his throat.

  ‘Then come! I tried to reach the throne room stealthily to end the little fucker earlier, but someone else had set… protections on the place. Another time, then! Now let’s get out of this shithole.’

  He followed King Leir. It was as though he’d been enchanted. The fear – and shame of his betrayal. Abandoning the king. Yet he could do nothing! The throne room was barricaded, and outside the door waited only his doom.

  He followed Leir.

  ‘Oh, God!’ he said.

  ‘Hold your nose if you’re so squeamish,’ Leir said.

  Into the shitter they went.

  It overflowed with crap and piss and – blood now, from above. Ulfius threw up. Leir grimaced, but said nothing. Down into the aqueduct they went.

  ‘Roman engineering!’ Leir said. ‘Say what you want about the Romans, they knew how to build.’

  Crouched low, they followed the ancient tunnel. Swimming in the shit. Ulfius could not breathe. He could not think. He could not pray.

  He would die down there in the shit, in the blood.

  He would die down there, and his soul would be lost forever.

  He would d—

  Then came light, and fresh air. He emerged after Leir, choking and wheezing, into a night lit in the distance by flames.

  Dinas Emrys was on fire.

  Ulfius threw up what was left in his stomach. A thin drizzle of bile. He stared about him, a lost soul.

  ‘Give yourself a wash in the first stream you come to,’ Leir said. ‘You’ll be alright after that.’

  Ulfius turned to him. How old was Leir? How many decades had he ruled his manor? It was impossible to tell.

  ‘Remember this night, Ulfius,’ Leir said. ‘And remember who gave you your life. There is a debt now.’

  ‘And you my creditor?’

  ‘Did you ever think it was going to be different?’ Leir said. He almost sounded sad. ‘This is the life we choose, Ulfius. And you chose life.’

  With that he turned and, in moments, he was gone into the dark. Ulfius stood there alone, blinking after him. Leir had an uncanny knack for disappearing.

  But there was no use dwelling. He wasn’t safe yet.

  And so he ran.

  *

  ‘I could not reach Arthur in the frenzy of the battle,’ he says now. ‘I led a force of knights against Outham’s Franks but we got separated and my comrades were slaughtered. I tried to find my way back and got lost. As I wandered away, searching for help, I was set upon by two of the Northern men.’

  He touches the wound at his side, and winces. This part is true.

  ‘I killed them both, but I thought surely I would die now. How long I wandered I do not know. Then you found me.’

  The wizard’s pale eyes are disconcerting. The fire’s dead. Outside, dawn breaks at last.

  ‘…Alright,’ Merlin says. He stirs himself. ‘Well, you did all you could, and no one could ask more of you, I’m sure, Ulfius. Now get some rest. The battle’s past and the day is newly born. I’ll stand guard and wait for news.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  But he is so very tired, he does not wait f
or the wizard’s reply. Ulfius curls up on the cave floor. In moments he’s asleep.

  Merlin watches him. In the shadows, at the back of the cave, the same chitinous sound begins again. He’d heard them all night, and he knows that they are hungry.

  He waits.

  The creatures creep out of the shadows, some forgotten abominations out of an age that knew not man. With pinchers and mandibles they click their way to the prone Ulfius. They’re a little like crabs and a little like rats. They begin to lap at the psychic spillage from the sleeping knight.

  So much there to feed on, Merlin thinks. Holy faith, ugly betrayal, the philia and neikos of a thousand bad choices.

  Love and strife, to make the world go round.

  PART FOUR

  THE SUMMER COUNTRY

  28

  But where is Merlin in all that time?

  I did as you asked, my lord. I followed the fairy paths to the barrows of the fucking elves. I jumped off the end of a rainbow and plunged into the icy water of Puck’s puckered pool. And all for a weapon.

  The wizard stares out of the cave mouth.

  Dirty dawn smears the skies.

  Are you alive yet, my lord? Or did the six dispatch you to the ghost roads?

  A shining isle out of a blackened sea, and a small boat, and white sails.

  A terrible silence.

  No, the wizard thinks. It’s not your time.

  Well, then.

  At first, Londinium.

  *

  There is a place where these kind of things tend to congregate. It’s out just beyond the city walls, perched on the water by a muddy bank. A shack of clay and straw, sitting on stilts, a sign swings from a beam and says, The Grindylow.

  No one goes there. When people pass it they avert their eyes and spit three times, and no one whistles till they’re well clear of it. There are no windows and a single chimney coughs out black-lung smoke.

  Merlin slides in.

  He perches on the bar. A deer woman by the fire stirs a pot and scratches at her antlers. She glances over, nods.