In the aftermath of the battle of Exeter, Ayla was disgusted. Although senior knight present – and a reigning monarch at that – she led the attack to relieve the Khund-beseiged Exeter. When Garth’s cavalry arrived, he deferred to her analysis of the battlefield, and he and his riders followed her orders – King Rokk’s standard protocol to utilize the most comprehensive understanding of the scenario and avoid repeating mistakes. After three days of stalemate against the larger invading force, the arrival of Geraint’s infantry was a welcome sight.
But Geraint insisted on commanding the battle himself, going so far as refusing to ordering his troops not to follow orders from the Armorican nobles nor their line officers. With the city at stake, Ayla suggested as a compromise that Garth lead the attack – but no, he blamed the presume failure of the effort thus far squarely on Garth, and if the effort was to use his men, he and he alone would be giving the orders.
Ban’s twins yielded command, agreeing t’was better to win the battle than feud among peers.
“We shall report his insubordination to Rokk later,” Garth assured her. “Geraint seeks to impress his Cornish allies no doubt, by winning a battle at the very threshold of that land.”
Ayla nodded, but liked it not. “At least it was the two of us who prevented the city from falling. We stymied the siege, even if we did not break it.”
After the battle, a bloody two days after which neither twin believed they would ever wash the smell of Khund blood from their tunics, the chants of soldiers rang ominously. “Geraint! Geraint! Geraint!”
Not ignorant of British history, Ayla knew that Emperor Constantine and other Roman warriors launched their campaigns to become emperor of all of Rome here in Britain under similar circumstances – devout soldirs and a series of impressive victories. With all of Geraint’s politicking amongst local commanders, and now two major military victories incorrectly credited solely to him, would he be satisfied merely with being king of Cornwall now?
Her own infantry had taken a far heavier toll than Geraint’s, and would need replenishing. She opted to send word to Benwick for a new conscription, and sent Genni to deliver her version of the battle to Rokk, who should have arrived in Lindum by now.
She opted to snub Geraint’s victory feast, which solely consisted of Geraint’s officers, the local Cornish merchants and the more ambitious city guard captains that pretended not to know whose forces actually prevented the city’s walls from falling.
Walking the city streets, she almost hoped for trouble. She expected it not from two women.
“Queen Ayla!” came a hushed call from an archway.
She almost missed the call – much of Exeter’s citizenry was also out celebrating in the streets, although not as vigorously as the warriors, and every so often she had to politely turn down offers of wine or sweetbreads from exuberant locals.
She looked around before answering, guessing there was secrecy about it. “Who calls me?”
Stepping forward, it was Queen Nura – and Enide!? Together, here in Exeter? Why?
Seeing Ayla’s surprise, Nura smiled. “Proper ladies shouldn’t travel during wartime, t’is true, but both of us will be in rather poor light to be found here just now. Geraint bade the Lady Enide to remain in Londinium, and Marcus knows not that I am not at Tintagel. Would you be so kind as to take us with you to Cawdy’s fort when you leave on the morrow?”
Ayla smiled. Leaving so quickly was something she had considered, but told no one. Truly only Nura knew her mind before she herself did!
“Let’s get you two to my camp. Perchance Enide may ride with Garth’s knights, ere any become too suspicious of the two ladies half of southern Britain believes to be rivals.”
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Her year as a ghost made her used to going anywhere she wished, and Tinya was not one to stay implanted at Lothian. At the first seeming break in hostilities, she made her way south to rejoin her husband at Lindum. Not completely foolish was she – she accompanied one of the Pict contingents en route south, led by the Pictish knight Grev, of whom she had heard a great deal.
Not one for conversation, Grev did not mind her company, and among his fellow soldiers were a number of women warriors. She stood out only for her fair skin and her garb, as even her most rugged travel-wear was more elaborate than any of her traveling companions. After a day or two of standoffishness, she and the women soldiers were on very basic speaking terms, and her rudimentary understanding of Pictish helped relations a great deal.
When Grev did speak, it was sometimes to mock her urban ways. Rather than react with offense as she once might of, she instead turned it to a jest. She’d seen so much, including her year of torment, to let such a little thing get to her. When her jests turned from simple deflection to return barbs, she saw Grev smile for the first time. This woman does have spirit!
Near Eboracum Tinya repaid their generosity by arranging for them stay the night at the castle of a friendly noble – one who she could count on not to go running to her mother with reports. There, in her hometown, they learned that many of the battles were now along the southlands, but none of the seasoned northerners believed their travails were over.
Eboracum itself had been spared any warfare – thus far – but most of the nearby fishing villages had been attacked, raided and burned, and the city walls were full of refugees.
If Tinya held any doubts as to whether to continue, she suppressed them. If anything, a scuffle with a brigand made Grev think her more than capable, in her own way. After he told the tale to his troops at the evening fire, she found something else she didn’t realize she’s been lacking – respect for her prowess. That night, she began spear practice with the Pictish men; the Picts learn war-craft from a teacher of the opposite gender, she learned.
Heading south, every village, every hamlet, every thorp it seemed carried tales of woe. By the time they reached Gaini, she was numb to the sight of yet another village charred and scarred.
Yet here a familiar face greeted her – that of her brother-in-law! He and a company of three other men were aiding in refortifying the village.
“Agravaine! T’is good to see you after so long! How fare thou?”
His companions laughed.
“I am well enough. In the same manner as my dear brother, I have renamed myself. Please call me Val.”
As the men worked, she filled them in on family and events since his departure, and he in turn spoke something of his journeys. “How fares Iasmin?” He asked at last.
“She leads the eastern cavalry, which last I’d heard was fighting near Camelot.”
“Cam- Camulodunum?”
It was Tinya’s turn to laugh. “I forgot to tell you of King Rokk’s new fortress, being built at Camulodunum. Why last summer-”
The conversation was interrupted by Genni – bringing word that Lindum was now under siege, and for all nearby forces to muster! She was gone in a mere moment, on to the next town, to Val’s ire. He had pulled out a scroll, shouting after her to no avail.
“What is it?”
“This scroll. T’was given to me on our return to Cawdy, just after we last saw Genni. It must get to King Rokk at once.”
As he put the scroll away, it appeared to Tinya that the scroll’s seal had been broken, and hastily re-attached. Surely Jonah’s trusted brother wouldn’t betray a royal message?
Soon after, Val and his men began to set out, and he bid her to remain at Gaini. “Traveling south with Picts is one thing, but we are entering a combat where no one but a warrior will be safe.”
She saw Val had made up his mind, and knew none of his companions well enough to press the point. Grev, on the other hand, was a completely different matter.
By the time the Picts would arrive at Lindum, Tinya would be wearing the sparse clothing of a female Pict warrior, complete with blue face-paint, spear and far less hair than she’s had in living memory. Jo will not recognize me, let alone Val! She had bonded with the small force, some 80 spear- and bow-wielding hill-warriors, and she joined in the warriors’ purification rituals, storytelling and mock combats – but she declined to join the lustful frenzy allotted to warriors about to go into battle together. That bold I am not, and t’would not be seemly for a wed noble woman… Yet these days I am so unlike myself as it is. Do I yearn for my freedom so much that I must hide to gain it?
In the dark night of the campfire, only the warriors feasting on each other’s sensuality were visible. She could only stand at the periphery and watch with both amazement and, if she were to be honest with herself, hunger. Is this what Jonah experiences, with those camp women? The lust for life in the face of battle? Tinya was suddenly aware of how Roman her own Celtic city upbringing had become – surely her own fore-bearers celebrated life itself around the campfires, on Beltane, or before battle?
The primal sexual energy of the gathering – combined with the impending battle on the morrow – resonated throughout her, tapping into some ancestral memory. The drumbeat they seemingly danced to was her own heartbeat. Gazing upon the almost agonized ecstasy on the face of the female warrior closest to her, she could feel it herself – the man with her, inside her, the shiver as the blood comes to a boil, the release---
“It’s… beautiful, is it not?”
She felt Grev’s hands on her bare shoulders. He gently massaged her. Shouldn’t she tell him not to? There seemed to be a reason, but it escaped her. Were those her own hands reaching back, caressing his sides? Why shouldn’t he pull her close? Why shouldn’t she feel anticipation for what she could feel pressed against her? She was aware of her Pict garb sliding down her and landing on her feet, taking with them the last of her doubts. She was no longer an observer of the bonfire of the night, she was its epicentre.
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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It was barely first light, and Jonah paced at the city walls.
Everywhere one could look out from Lindum’s defenses were Khund encampments, from just out of arrow’s range (needlessly – there were precious few arrows left in the city) all the way to the hills and to the sea. He, Belinant and both their forces had thus far repelled all the assaults on the city, but it had been days since the last attack, and it was clear the Khunds now intended to starve them out.
Were they on their own? Or had Genni made it through those four nights ago? He’d like to believe Rokk or James or Thom were gathering their forces just a league or two away, but there was no way to be sure. Belinant, once a scheming adversary, was now his closest confidant and co-strategist. Belinant’s experience and Jonah’s intuitive boldness made an exceptional combination, forged under the intense stress of the siege. Yes, Belinant had been a ruler resigned to Jonah’s regency, but never before had the two come to trust and depend on each other.
It was certainly not for himself that he feared – he would go down fighting. But he had come to value his role as the protector of Lindum’s citizenry. They had welcomed Tinya and himself as their own, and he owed them every fibre of his strength. At least Tinya is safe in Lothian.
He joined Belinant for fast-breaking. With rationing, each settled for only a sliver of roasted pork and half an apple. They went over the latest reports on provisions. It looked gloomy. Three days at most, they agreed, before their own citizens would grow violent. Already all the known food stores had been seized, so that the city rulers could best ration resources, and that had already seen a few skirmishes. But the little allotments were already criticized, and soon the secret hordes and black markets would be extinguished.
Jonah again raised the possibility of attacking the Khunds overnight.
Previously, Belinant had argued against it – loudly, fearing to weaken the city’ defenses for no foreseeable point. Even if they cleared a route out, how long would it stay? How could it be defended? So a small force might get away – how would they get back with supplies or allies? This morning, however, a defeated Belinant sighed and nodded his heads. Never before had the king seemed so defeated – not after the kings’ revolt, not with the beginning of Jonah’s regency, nor even on the first night’s surprise attack, when a small Khund force breached the walls, killed dozens and burned the stables of the northern cavalry. At least we could recover the charred horsemeat, Jonah thought bitterly. Yet how did they know of such an important target? Or was it blind luck?
But Belinant awaited his words. “You were right,” he said at last. “We cannot risk our remaining soldiers. I propose to go out at night… alone, striking as many as I can, hitting and running throughout the encampments, making them think a massive attack is under way.” Verily, I should have done this on my own ere now, without notice. Mayhap I am getting old, placing responsibilities ahead of valour.
“You’d throw your life away so needlessly?”
“As your man Caradoc found out, I am a difficult man to kill.”
“Perhaps.” The older king reflected. “I’ll not stay your hand, but think of this city’s morale if you do fall without accomplishment.”
Jonah was about to respond when a soldier burst in. “My lords?”
“What is it?” They answered in unison.
“Combat has begun!”
So content they are not to let us starve, Belinant pondered ruefully.
“Where?” Jonah asked hastily, envisioning the western wall was the weakest. All three rushed to the tower.
“To the east and the west.”
A dual assault? Jonah cleared the top steps and dashed to the wall. The fires and arrow-volleys were not at hand, however – they were in the distance!
“Relief forces?” He looked to Belinant, not daring to hope. So Genni was successful after all!
But yes! All the nearby Khunds were rallying from their camp to dash away from the city walls!
“Wh- Who comes to our rescue?” Belinant could barely utter the words.
Jonah relaxed, trying to see great distances, as he sometimes has in the past. James he could see clearly, from his size. Faces were generally covered by helms, but the banners—
“The infantries of Cradelmant and James to the east. Wait… Iasmin and the eastern cavalry, too! And to the west… Rokk, Berach, North Cymru, and a Pictish troop, it appears.” He disliked his extended visioning, as it left him vulnerable and unfocused on his immediate surroundings. Reacclimating, he added, “It appears we have half of Britain on our doorstep!”
Belinant smiled broadly for the first time in living memory. “Mayhap now is the proper time for our own forces to join the fray.”
“Agreed!” The two men grasped hands.
“Shall you give the order?” Belinant asked deferentially.
“Nay. It should come from Lindum’s king,” Jonah beamed. He would miss being regent of Anglia, but would always think of it as a second home.
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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I-17/19: This was supposed to be in the 230s but Caradoc took up too much room. I-18: At this point, Vidar's adventures in the Mediterranean are basically over. I-20: Hesperos went through several name changes before appearing on the page. Palomides is out of Arthurian lore; Hart obviously isn't. 241: Some scholars conjecture that the name "Arthur" came about from using a bear as a banner. Various forces speaking various languages may have each had their own name for their central commander (whatever his name or title), but drew a similar assiciation through the banner. Fitting for the "bear scout" himself, eh? 242: I couldn’t get away with an android interpreter, could I? 243: Geraint… 244:So…How much would it take to really push Regulus’ buttons? 245: I originally intended for Jonah to be on the outside when the siege began. 246: This is a larger turning point than it may seem. 247: A tribute to Adventure 247, sans robots and satellites. 248: I’d been meaning to show the Christians of Avalon for some time now. 249: The meeting between Nura and Enide came across about as awkwardly as it should have. It was originally planned to occur at a place Geraint was using as a stronghold, and that Enide would have to hide Nura when he came home early. But I couldn’t see Nura entering the lion’s den so readily. 250: Gaini was going to be a much briefer skirmish. It took on a life of its own. 251: The things Mysa has to do to get some chapters off! Pelles was a recent addition into my story outline; I once planned to use his father and brother, but not him. Doing refresher research, I decided he fits much better, and I even left myself an opening to insert him into his niche without really contradicting anything.
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Tinya kept impressing Grev and her Pictish allies. No more was she merely a friendly noble; she was as fully one of the regiment as any new recruit – Pict or not – could be.
She was proving her mettle as a warrior, while still serving another important service, that of messenger. She found herself crossing the battlefield with nary a Khund able to lay blade to her. She brought messages between Picts themselves, and to and from King Rokk’s central command. None of the knights she dealt with seemed to recognize her. What a little blue paint and camp-grime will do! Along with a false with a Pictish accent…
On her way back from Rokk’s command post atop a hill, the morning mists were now fully dispersed and she could marvel at the battle scene at hand. Lindum – her Lindum, as she felt very protective of the city that treated her as its own queen – was more surrounded than she’s imagined. All the peaceful fields and farms were naught but a sea of blood-letting and screams, forever tainting the quiet idles where Jonah and his lady shared wines and favours.
Heavy in heart but not shirking her duties, she pressed forward, again observing Val, who was now quite unconscious! On her way up, he had fought a dozen men without steel himself – a whirlwind of fist and foot and falling Khund.
But now a Khund had felled him with a mace, and poised to strike a killing blow! Tinya approached the fiend from behind, ready to strike – but the Khundish warrior lowered his weapon!?! As he turned, Tinya saw his devil’s smile as she thrust her spear into his neck, just as his eyes registered her.
She paused to check Val. There seemed to be no serious wound. She waived a nearby squire over, telling him to bring Val to safety.
But all the way back to Grev, something gnawed at her. Why would the Khund let Val live? She tried not to think ill of her brother-in-law, but something did not fit.
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Laoraighll found it quite ironic, actually – defending Khunds from other Khunds.
What little defense forces Kent had were deployed far from the Ulsterwoman, that she would not confuse enemy with ally. Once she started battering Khunds, it became onerous to try telling them apart, so any Germanic invader met her fists. With Querl’s ointments, no amount of hound’s blood could get to her! “Bring them on!” she shouted from atop a small mound of corpses, taunting a handful of boats bound for the shore.
The remaining Angle prisoners-of-war fought several miles to her east, while Thom’s infantry fought somewhere to the west.
She made her way to the shore, and set fire to the boat of the Khunds she had just slain, pushing it out to sea.
“Come on, leetle boys!” she taunted in her limited Khundish, hoping the next boat was in earshot. She was half-tempted to ride out in the flaming boat to meet them, but thought the better of it.
“Garlach’s little pissants,” she welcomed the boat as it approached. It had slowed, giving the next two more time to catch up. “Three boatloads to take on one measly girl? Or are Khunds only fit to fight with women-folk?”
Two boats flanked the third, pulling perpendicular to the shore. It appeared to Laoraighll that these would be providing archer cover. She laughed. “So be it!”
Not content to be a waiting target, she waded into the sea, heading for the incoming boat. When the warriors at the boat’s forward readied their spears, she submerged and approached the boat from below.
With a single punch as she resumed an upright stance, the hull punctured and the boat raised and tilted, with armoured Khunds alling into the sea on either side of her. This is too easy, she thought, until she realized her fist was lodged within the hull.
Pulling loose, she took on the Khunds as they made it to shore, keeping them between her and the archers, but occasionally hurling a ripped limb or head at them.
Once this boatload was dispatched, she turned to face the archers, but the other to boats were fleeing!
Aye, and I have burned one of theirs and punctured the other, she realized with regret. She ripped off a piece of the hull and pulled apart each component, until she had a large, sturdy section of support beam. It was not unlike a ballista bolt, although a curved one.
She hurled it upward in the direction of one of the fleeing boats. It hit near enough to further scare the men on board, but not close enough to do more damage. I’ll not get another shot, she realized with dashed hopes. Curses.
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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L’ile paced the castle walls, trying to think. Doing so at Camelot eased his mind, but he was not at the new fortress, he was at Voxv’s capital, Segontium, and there were too many distractions to let his mind ponder the dots in need of connection. The soldiers here faced no peril, as no Khund force had reached North Cymru and only the smallest of expeditions challenged Zendak’s walls to the south, but guards drilled, practiced and patrols as if the entire Khund force was en route. L’ile approved, of course – he just wished he could have thinking space at the same time.
Beren had his hands full; there was no talking to his old mentor. Querl, too, was busy, trying to help Beren or drilling the guards in Computus use.
L’ile slowly exhaled. Surely something would come to him. There was something familiar about the situation. He rubbed his head, recalling the headache he had when last he approached the Queen’s chambers. “The red skin plague,” he reminded himself, was the last time the Queen was this sick. That was caused by the Roman god Terminus, was it not? And last time, also, the Queen lost-
No. I must not think like that. Last time out, t’was a spurt of blood and flesh, or so I was told. This time…
The Queen had looked so proud, her belly so round, when they arrived here those weeks ago. The staff treated her as though she is indeed their Guinevere returned. Mayhap they have “persuaded” themselves she is, he pondered, before a darker thought emerged. Or has she?
Terminus. The thought returned. Or was the illness the Cailleach’s? Either way, an outside entity struck the Quen and took Britain’s heir…
Loomius, back in his former habitation, was giving Carolus and Tenzil a tour of the castle gardens. Tenzil should check her for poisons, he thought, noting that not all poisons come by way of foodstuffs. I’ll bet the Circle knows a hundred ways to poison a monarch.
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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The weary but vaguely merry aftermath at Lindum saw Lot’s eldest sons at last reunite. Sandwiched between two relief armies and a rallied city guard, many Khunds fled to sea.
Tinya, still in Pict garb, observed as subtly as she could before seeking out King Rokk himself.
The young king, for his part, did recognize her as Grev’s messenger, and occasionally stole glances as though he expected her to be someone else. Dispensing with a short queue of subordinates, he approached her, offering thanks and appreciation in his best stumbling Pictish.
She smiled and spoke in a low voice. “Those of us from Eboracum speak Latin well enough.” Amused as he came to realize who she was, she smiled and continued. “Lot’s sons are too chivalrous to be comfortable with me on the battlefield, and I’d not like it well known, my sire.” After his reflection on her comings and goings without so much as a scratch, he slowly nodded before she continued.
“My king, it pains me to say it, but there may be treachery afoot. En route here, I saw Val –Agravaine- with a scroll for you. Its seal was broken and shoddily re-sealed. He said it was an important communiqué for your eyes only.”
From Reep, Rokk thought. He remembered the broken seal, and feared the worst. He’d already sent Genni and Val’s man Hart back to Cadwy’s fort with new instructions and security measures. Hart said his unique gifts would allow him to keep up with Genni, a feat he could only do with her nearby. “I am aware of such.”
“Then, during combat, I saw a Khund strike down Val, but spare him a killing blow.”
“Mayhap he believed him dead already, or an unarmed, unarmoured foe not worth the effort.”
“Aye, perhaps. It pains me to think ill of my kinsman-”
“Rokk! Come and give a proper welcome-home greeting for my long-lost brother!” Jonah’s voice was getting closer. Tinya’s heart skipped a beat.
Rokk fudged a farewell greeting in Pictish, and made a hand-signal he hoped Tinya would recognize asking her to resume the conversation later.
Jonah, too, added a departure salutation to the Pictish messenger, slapping her but as she left. She is a fine one. Perhaps I should visit the Pict camp this eve.
“It seems Cradelmant’s men have come up with some valuable information There are to be attacks on Cadwy and Londinium by week’s end. Multiple forces are likely landing on the south shores as we speak.”
“Then we must ride at once. I shall send Iasmin’s cavalry ahead to Londinium, and follow with the Cradelmant’s army… and the Picts. Val and the rest of his companions will join me.
“You shall lead Berach’s and North Cymru’s forces to Cadwy. James and his men will oversee repairs here, and Lot’s and Wynn’s armies should be along shortly to keep defenses strong. Reep should have Garth’s cavalry and the armies of Geraint and Ayla as well, while the forces of Kiritan, Thom, and Dyrk should be in place at Londinium already.”
Jonah was pleased to be entrusted with leading the Cadwy force. “Sire? How did they learn so much of our three-fortress strategy?”
Aye, t’was more than just this scroll, Rokk thought. “I don’t know. Yet. But I will.”
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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The weeks were blurring together. Thom’s forces would ride out from Londinium, engage enemy landing parties for days on end, and return to renew weapons, supplies and men, while Dyrk’s forces would be out while his men defended and recreated in the capital city.
He sat alone at the great round table, the sounds and memories of past feasts and revelry echoing only in his mind’s eye. None of his peers were around, nor the court ladies, not even little Saihlough – where had she been all these months? His ale was bitter, and that suited his mood just fine.
Marcus had been pressuring him to marry some Cornish noble’s daughter, suddenly an urgent concern now that Geraint was positioning himself for Cornwall’s crown.
“My lord?” It was Errol the Druid. Thom waved him entry. “I’ve just come from Avalon, where Reep has sent the Lady Enide for safe-keeping.”
Safe from Geraint, at least, Thom though bitterly. Would he put her aside, or see her slain?
“Anyway…” Errol was never a confident speaker. “She sent a message. From the Lady… ah… Queen Nura.”
Enide sends a message from Nura? Is this madness – or treachery? “What message?”
“I have read it not.” Errol pulled out a scroll from his robes. Seeing Thom’s disbelief, he added, “Beren and I have just come from Avalon on the Path of Isis.”
What a communications point Avalon could make! Thom recalled that any entrant must exit by the same path he or she entered by, but still messages and supplies could be routed this way. Even the Cauldron, rather than wait for one holy-man to make his way around Britain on his pony. I must mention this to Rokk.
The seal was certainly Nura’s as was the writing, heavily rooted in Cornish local vernaculars to discourage prying eyes.
“Portus Magnus,” he blurted out to an uncomprehending Errol. “Pardon me, Errol, and accept my sincere if hasty thanks, but I must ready my forces at once.”
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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MacKell had led the assault against the fleeing Khunds, even chasing them out to sea in the boats of Khunds too dead to object. But too many were the Khund, and too few were the Angles willing to join the effort. Land-fighters were these, and there was no telling how useful any would be in nautical combat.
Reluctantly, MacKell came ashore, expecting to greet his fellow knights. He found only James, who with Belinant apprised him of the current plans and formations.
“The Khunds not only know of our three-fortress defense, but also of the location of our cavalry stables,” he summarized, having learned of the stealth attack early in the siege of Lindum.
James was a trusted companion, and Belinant a former hostile now seemingly a willing ally. How many ears already know Rokk’s current plan? He opted to keep his own plan to himself.
After his hosts had settled in for the night, he took out his own mount, telling the guards he was lending an extra hand for night patrols.
He rode hard that night, with many miles to go before he could catch Iasmin’s cavalry – yet while also avoiding all the forces that marched with Rokk.
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Dag was happy to be useful, and as Jan’s bodyguard useful he certainly was.
Stealthily, they made their way to and from Rokk’s three main fortresses, going out to each battlefield to tend to the wounded British forces. By night, Jan would administer as many healings as he could without breaking stealth – he had no wish to be relied on, nor to be a target or a prize ot be seized. Simple wounds were within the power of his own gifts, but he also carried the Cauldron of the Gods, and its ability to heal was far greater than his.
Last week, it was Exeter. Soon, they would reach Lindum. Already, the mobile armies had moved on, and Jan tended to those as best he could given their mobility.
To Dag, there was an inherent irony, as he normally body-guarded the lepress Drusilla. So guarding a healer was something of a change indeed.
He had heard Drusilla was at Exeter, trying to pox the Khunds from the walls above. But her gifts, still never the same since her assault on Tarik’s men, backfired, and she made an entire company of city guards too wretched to fight! She was gone by the time he and Jan arrived, alas.
From time to time, one or several brigands would try their fortunes against the duo, usually along a sparsely settled, wooded section of road. Stony Dag was more than a match for most of them, but upon occasion Jan would have to fend for himself. His latest trick was to create a spoonful of sneeze-powder in each nostril of the ruffian at hand, allowing Dag time to get around to everybody.
Dag slept lightly, and sometimes not at all. Just being around Jan (or was it the Cauldron? Surely they had the same… magickness about them) seemed enough to keep one going for days untold.
They needed that strength at Lindum – the wounded, ill and dying were not here in the tens or even the hundreds – they numbered in the thousands. Wounded soldiers, hunger-weakened citizens, maimed squires… there seemed no end to the suffering.
Here, Jan placed stealth second to getting the task done, and soon word of two mysterious visitors turning up and performing healings was widespread. A mob scene would encourage their quick departure – by invisibility, according to some accounts, so townsfolk learned quickly to restrain their enthusiasms and let the duo proceed as they would, although Dag soon found the desperate hope and blind reverence in their eyes unnerving.
They made their small camp amid the debris of one of the many army camps that littered the fields around the city, but eventually the unfortunate started seeking them out.
“Please. My daughter… she’s got the fevers…”
“…My grandfather. Every night, some devil takes its blade to his innards…”
“…Lost her leg to the Khunds…”
“… Can’t see…”
Jan took each of their requests as respectfully as he could, hether or not he or the Cauldron could do them any good, but soon the city guard would no longer turn them a blind eye. Soon, the local nobles would insist they remain… It was time to go.
One misty morning the line waited for the duo to appear. They didn’t.
“Hello?” One man called into the tent as politely as he could. Within the half-hour, a less patient man stormed in, finding it empty.
“To Londinium? Or to Cadwy?” Dag asked. Both would be military targets, he had heard on soldiers comment.
Jan shook his head. “Brocavium.”
“Brocavium? In Cumbria? But that’s far from the fronts?”
“Aye, so it is. But Wynn’s forces arrived in Lindum yesterday, and I learned of a debt of honour that must be repaid.”
Where you went, so went I. Dag thought. So what did we hear? That some noble’s daughter was ill? That takes precedence over the war?
“And who owes such a debt of honour that it delays us from healing war victims?”
“All of Britain, my friend. All of Britain.”
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Were the armies surrounding Cadwy’s fort larger than those that besieged Lindum? Hart tried to tell himself they were equal forces, but even accounting for woodland encampments at the prior battle, he knew it was not true.
As a friend of the renowned Sir Agravaine (the name Val had yet to catch on with all his old comrades), Sir Garth had welcomed him with open arms, and valued his skills highly. Hart was a cunning scout, and when caught could fight his way through a crowd to return with new intelligence.
The first few Khundish regiments had arrived from the north a mere four days ago, and bade their time on the ridge north of the hill-fortress. Garth was ready to take the battle to them when Genni and Hart arrived the next day with word of a larger attack on its way.
The southern hills’ relay towers offered no signal of Khunds coming from the south, but realization set in when routine check-in flares were unreturned. This second group of Khunds had taken the towers by stealth, and was closer than Garth had dared imagine.
Where are Ayla and Geraint’s forces? Have they already fallen? Garth was beginning to fear the worst.
Reep, already suspecting defense plans were compromised, stayed disguised as an underling and continued his own surveillance – on both Khundish and British forces, especially after the cavalry stables were burned and their guards slain late that night. The attack came after Genni and Hart had delivered word of a similar tactic in Lindum, and guards were tripled. The attack came about from within, Reep pondered. It must have. Khund magicks are not known for being subtle. The new man, Hart, was an obvious target for Reep’s eye.
A mere handful of cavalry – Cadwy’s (and Britain’s) main military advantage in the west – was severely curtailed down to a half-dozen mounts, unless Iasmin’s remaining mounted force was to magickally arrive. The following morning, two days ago, Garth sent Genni to Londinium for reinforcements, hoping Iasmin’s riders would be among them.
The Khunds advancing from the south were in no rush at all, Reep had told him – meaning yet more were on the way. North and south combined, he estimated at least 4,000 invaders already amassed – so far – more than twice the force that almost took Exeter, and about five times Cadwy’s current manpower.
But by mid-day, Hart returned from scouting to report that a large force carrying Garlach’s own banner was coming along the western road – from Exeter? Either a second force had taken the city after most British armies departed, or this army had circumvented the city. Mayhap the siege of two weeks ago was but a ruse, Garth thought. Shall we expect a force from the east, too?
A day ago, that theory was proven out, when Zendak’s South Cymru forces, along with Geraint’s army, had stumbled upon a supply line extending back toward Portus Magnus! Geraint followed its tail toward the sea, while Zendak followed the head, reaching and engaging its back lines the previous morning. The fight yesterday went poorly for the outnumbered Cyrmy, and Zendak retreated around his foes overnight to reach Cadwy’s Fort.
Meanwhile, scouts reported the northern forces continued to grow as well. Have we grown so accustomed to winning routs, that we are unprepared for such a force? Do we have any chance at all of prevailing? With a quick estimate, Garth guessed it would be two or three more days at a minimum before Jonah’s relief forces would arrive.
“Unlike Lindum, we at least have no local populous to defend,” Hart added grimly, as if seeking a bright spot from the thunder-clouds.
Last night, the campfires in all directions became plainly obvious – a clear psychological maneuver. Garth quadrupled the wall guards and ordered complete quiet, so that the sound of any foot on the moat would be heard. Several older knights volunteered to listen at ground-level – below the walls – and despite the danger, Garth could not turn them down. Cadwy’s walls were largely steep hill, and only the tops were recently constructed of proper stone. He held no doubts that a nocturnal assault was the easiest way to breach the defenses.
During the night, untold thousands of Khundish warriors began chanting and drumming, an effort they would maintain for days on end. Garth resolved not to let it have the desired effect on his men, however, and he drilled them so hard that they would sleep through any cacophony.
“They may attack today, and we must be ready. But they will likely try to wear us down over days – they know not our numbers! The battle will come, and we must be ready!” Garth told the troops at first light. “With Zendak’s men, we have the strength to hold on. Reinforcements are en route,” he paused for emphasis. “If we need them.”
Zendak nodded stoically, silently applauding Garth’s projection of confidence – and necessary deception that they were not as helpless as they were. If Garlach knew how few of us there are, he would not bother trying to sap our spirits.
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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“We should be in Londinium,” Ayla said resentfully.
“We should be here,” Nura insisted. “If Portus Magnus is not regained, the Khunds have a strategic beachhead to reach anywhere in southern Britain.”
The city, never fully recovered from the last siege, was easy pickings the second time around. British forces moved from putting out one fire before moving onto the next, a system that worked well – but only while its torch-tower system was working. Cut off from the coastal towns, armies were now oblivious to conflicts raging across the isle – or just over a hill.
Ayla’s army was now across an inlet from the occupied city, and across a small channel from the Isle of Vectis. There was no chance of a daytime crossing, and little chance that her supply ships carrying fresh recruits would arrive anytime before tomorrow at the earliest.
She looked over at the isle, sighed, and spoke to a subordinate. “We relocated Kentish Khund refugees there after Roxxius’ attack. Send over a scout, and see if we find any amiable Kentish who would act on our behalf. We need spies, boat-men… and we need a place to look out for our supply ships, ere they sail into Magnus unawares.”
She next regarded an incoming Khundish boat, making its way up the inlet. “Send a scout up the inlet and see what kind of camp the Khunds have there. Even before we take the city, we can cut their lines.”
Ayla next turned to Nura. “Anything else you see us in need of doing?”
“Geraint will come from the northwest, and Thom from the northeast. I see your ships arriving tomorrow, just before evening. I see us making a pre-dawn assault on the city, giving Geraint and Thom the necessary diversions.”
Ayla nodded. Once we take the city, we – not Geraint – will claim victory, and will aide Thom’s forces more than our usurper ‘friend.’
Nura was of a slightly different mind, uncertain which of two outcomes would occur. But either way, in two days time her life would become something very different.
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Sir Lu led only a small force, but they had a great deal of success in defending against the small Khundish landings along both shores of Cornwall. She suspected that these raiders were primarily looking for quiet, out-of-the-way places to stage a large-scale landing, and 10 days ago the number of such landings trailed off. Her men rejoiced the quieting of hostilities, but Lu’s heart held dread – it meant they’d found the landing point they had sought.
Finding no signs of a landing point on the north coast, her troop overnighted at Tintagel before heading for the south shore. King Marcus was accommodating, but almost frenzied – he suspected Sir Geraint had made off with his wife, and was coming for him next. While he was himself fighting a moderate invasion party in South Cymru, it seems, Nura took off for parts unknown, and Nura’s confidante Governal eventually admitted she’d gone to meet with Enide.
“My own wife plots against me!” Marcus raged.
Lu and her lieutenant, Stig, looked to each other, not certain what to say about the monarch’s ravings.
“I… am sure that Queen Nura has no mid to betr-”
“First she looks to my son for affections, and now to that- that- upstart!” He hurled a Greek vase against a wall. Suddenly, he turned to Lu, almost as if noticing her for the first time. “You are at court far more than I. Tell me! Who does Thom spend his nights with? Who owns his heart?”
Lu was taken aback. Everyone knew that he pined for Nura, but had never—
“Mysa,” blurted Stig, regretting his answer as soon as it came out. Marcus tuned his unblinking stare toward him.
“He has kept company with the Lady Mysa,” he said, trying to sound convincing. Everyone is angry with her, and she has shamefully fled. What harm is there in easing an addled man’s conscience?
Lu didn’t like the lie, but found herself going along with it.
By fast-breaking, Marcus was boasting that Thom would wed Mysa, whose claim to Cornwall would be restored, and all would be well. He spoke as if Nura were dead, making Lu wonder how exactly she disappeared, if she did, and by whose hand.
Lu’s troop would depart later that morning, and by afternoon a messenger would arrive, summoning Marcus and his soldiers east, to Cadwy’s Fort.
“After a week, the fort is no doubt lost,” the mad king gleefully proclaimed before his men. “We go to avenge, or to our graves!” Half his men would desert before reaching Exeter.
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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“You are most welcome, but your timing is not the best,” Queen Martina greeted the duo. “My daughter is quite ill, and may be near death itself.”
“That is the very reason we are here, my queen,” Jan tried to smile reassuringly. “We are here to heal her, if the Lord permits.”
Only a small force defended Brocavium castle, and all of its residents were holed up in the west tower, the easiest part to defend. The grounds were scruffied up to look abandoned, but Jan and Dag were persistent enough to eventually be welcomed – at swordpoint.
The Queen of Cumbria, her step-daughter and a handful of staff remained because Princess Jancel was too ill to move. Jan gasped at seeing her – and not only for the shade of her flesh.
“She is…?”
“Seven months,” Martina answered. “Right after the wedding, t’would seem.”
Jancel’s shallow breathing was worrisome, and he could feel the illness feeding upon her. No, not just her. He’d healed people as ill as she, but it was difficult, and did not always take. This would surely be complicated by-
“-More than one potion each day,” the apothecary was saying. Jan barely listened. He reached into his bag and pulled out the Cauldron. He would not even attempt to use his own gifts first.
Dag had fetched a carafe of water, and had readied Jan’s sacraments. With a prayer and a blessing, he began.
It was many hours later that he left her side, with a sleeping Martina still holding her hand. Dag was also asleep, in the hallway outside the door, his rocky leg preventing entry or exit without his waking.
Seeing his groggy but questioning expression, Jan smiled. “It is done, my friend. We have done as much here as we can.”
A servant slept on a bench nearby, and he woke at the whispered conversation to lead them to their beds, quietly apologizing for the bunk space in the soldier’s barracks.
“We have slept in many worse places, my friend.”
Martina greeted them warmly in the morning, apologizing for the porridge that the entire castle staff subsided on these days.
“Think nothing of it,” Dag offered. “Many nights our bellies are satisfied by far less than this,” he said, thinking better than to mention the Cauldron’s powers. “T’is wartime, after all.”
“Jancel looks much better,” Martina said.
“She should recover,” Jan said. “She and the baby.”
“Babies,” Martina sipped on her goblet of goat’s milk. Seeing Jan’s confusion, she continued. “Jancel swears she will have twin boys, and she is certainly big enough for them. She has names for them already – Garridan and Galahad.”
“My lady,” Jan struggled for the words. “The Lord has blessed me with certain gifts. Not only can I… perceive of illnesses, but I ken also other bodily healths. I am quite certain she carries only one child.”
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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