The Heirs of Britain - Game Thirteen

 

The Heirs of Britain

Session 13: 484, The Hand of Death

__________ Session 13: 484, Shrewton Manor __________ 

Lady Diane and Sir Elvorix are wed at the latter’s home of Shrewton Manor. The wedding is lavish and gay, funded by the traditional peasant levy. As a friend of Diane’s, King Uther himself, with his glorious entourage, attends the wedding! He of course takes Elvorix’s rooms, and everything else that he deserves.

The tall Roman receives many gifts; moreover, Sir Cedifor, whom he defeated in a duel in London, 479, finally pays his debt.

Prince Madoc approaches the groom, who talks easily with his friends Sir Iwan and Sir Vandagild.

"Well! What spy we here!? My eyes deceive if here not be the three young Wolves of Logres!" he smiles, joining them with a drink in hand.

The name sticks, and thus we are known. The Wolves talk, and the Aquitanian Vandagild reveals a personal gift; gold rings of camaraderie for each of Sir Elvorix, Sir Iwan, and Sir Vandar, in thanks for their daring and valiant efforts in helping him escape the Forest of Gloom. Handsome Sir Iwan, characteristically shy, is a little overwhelmed; he soon avoids the boisterous masses keeps to himself. He quietly gifts Elvorix a respectable sum of treasure for his wedding

As the guests continue to arrive, the young Roman’s new standing with a warden of the King affords him some privilege: He enjoys some warming drinks with Uther and his son, Prince Madoc. The King thoroughly enjoys Elvorix's cellar, his cheeks rosy and his tongue loose. Indeed, the excess of this indulgence is not of a kind commonly seen by the king… He is a little more jovial than usual, and he steps with a care-free bounce; he seems amenable to many things. Undeterred, Sir Elvorix continues to tap such casks of fine Aquitanian wine as he now has; a wedding gift from Sir Vandagild.

As the feast proper begins, Sir Elvorix gathers the attention of those gathered: With inspiring words he raises toast to the King Uther, the Earl Roderick, the Prince, and the Wolves of Logres! He pulls Lady Diane in close and supplies her a passionate kiss. A round of cheers fill the hall!

Soon Sir Vandagild is drunk, adding passion to this: He tells the gathered courtiers the glorious tale of the past year: From Summerland Hijinx to the Black Dogs and Hag of Imber; From the loss of Iwan to the Discovery of Sir Pellinore; From the Knight of Names to the Demon Beaver of the Bridge; from the Priest-among-Priests Father Perticus and, finally, to their escape, and the courage and loyalty of the Wolves of Logres and Sir Vandar. His wine-fuelled expressions are timely and powerful; moving and frightening and exciting at the proper moments! The story is well told, and the enraptured crowd cheer their healthy escape! To note: the Aquitanian carefully omits Elvorix’s terror’d flight before the Hag’s lair; this is no time for shame and cowardice; he cheers for the Roman’s wedding and hospitality, calling for more Aquitanian wine! Servants roll forth more barrels of the ruby nectar!

__________ Cadellian Reunion __________

Sir Cadel is here! The man is looking better; a little less grubby, his clothes stitched where required. He has taken a bath. The humble knight is characteristically awkward and does keep to himself for the most part, but pays proper respect to the bride and groom. Sir Elvorix shakes his hand firmly, and is glad he came; he tells the man to enjoy himself! Sir Vandagild approaches, glad to see the man for which that great adventure was undertaken. Cadel was glad to hear the story in full, and is happy that Vandagild is alive and well. He delivers his thanks and well wishes with eyes locked on Vandagild’s, a testament to the shy man’s sincerity.

For his part, Imber is on track to recover. He needs more laborers, and some hardware, but morale improves among the villagers and work is getting done. Noting his lack of wife, Sir Vandagild offers to fund a steward for the man to help in the recovery, should he needs assistance. The generous offer is politely and graciously dismissed; everything should be well now that the Thing is gone: Cadel signs a Hail Mary; God-Willing it does not return. Vandagild echoes the sign, and breaks easily into an impassioned rant about the Fey menace and their wretched, evil ways; Cadel patiently endures. Soon enough, Sir Cadel tells the younger man that the “Wolves of Logres” are welcome whenever they wish for a drink or visit; but please feel thee no obligation to come and check on me. Sir Vandagild nods, and apologises for any perception of questioning the man's competence. A friendly hand on his shoulder, Vandagild invites Cadel to meet the charming Lady Catrin, and his children. She is very keen to meet Cadel, the man for whom such was risked…

__________ More Wine! __________

As the day progresses, Lady Diane tugs gently on Elvorix’s wrist.

“My dear, though oft I drink with our most Gracious King, nought have I seen him like this,” she whispers, glancing surreptitiously toward the swaying Uther.

Moreover, the court too feel some need to match his efforts; an unprecedented amount of wine is being consumed this day.

“I have shared word with yon Pantlers and... well. We will truly run dry of wine afore time, even considerate of Sir Vandagild’s gift!”

Elvorix pauses only a moment, before replying confidently: “Well, more must be fetched! Nay, this night will not be the one in which the King is told the wine is exhausted!”

Diane nods; she’s not seen the King in want of wine before; she isn’t sure what will happen.

Sir Elvorix approaches his neighbour Sir Cynon, the Lord of Chitterne; the man is known for his generosity, and he stands near. The man is happy to help, though the year has not been fortunate for his harvests. He assents to the request, only begging that the Roman return a favour one day. Sir Elvorix, not one for misty debts, offers him a Libra instead; this Cynon accepts happily. The man sends his squire with Elvorix servants to fetch the fine barrels and ensure correct proceedings. Until they arrive, the Roman makes efforts to slow the dispensation of wine; this leads to some accosting of servants, but little else. Fortunately, none of this is blamed on the host.

__________ Rowdy Roddy Roderick __________

Soon Elvorix’s attention is given to his Lord, Earl Roderick; he has not forgotten! He makes effort to improve the relationship between his Earl and the King! Of course, this wedding was organised somewhat behind Roderick's back, and the situation requires some delicacy: Alas, Sir Elvorix, normally reliably courteous, lacks this. 

The Earl takes the offer as a sign of disrespect. Moreover, perhaps a little loose with drink and confident with his new status, Sir Elvorix accidentally refers to the Earl by name, a touch too casually.  

“My Lord” the Earl states firmly, with a hard stare.

“Remember that,” he adds, “when next we speak. Forget not who thy Lord is.”

Elvorix apologises; stammering out for explanation some twisting of party courtesy versus formal courtesy…

Sir Vandagild, unaware of the Earl's now dark mood, approaches the Earl with mirth: He still manages the courtesy well, and the two men shares news and disposition. Earl Roderick is glad to see the Aquitanian safe, adding that he enjoyed the story. Sir Vandagild asks for an opportunity to go Falconing or Hunting; he has been practicing his skills with his lovely and talented wife! The Earl is keen, and offers positive intent but no promise: He cannot be sure what the future holds, and challenges brew.

Sir Elvorix, still wary, watches the Earl cautiously. Roderick moves to speak with Sir Edar, a man with whom Elvorix still shares no love. He spies from the Earl a dissatisfied rant, and suspects it about his own behaviour…

Meanwhile, Vandagild finds Sir Iwan near a wall, sitting patiently. They talk some, and the Aquitanian reaffirms his Oath to Sir Iwan to have his own children help Iwan's with whatever Fae Trials await them at age. Prince Meliodus, too, is present! Vandagild learns that the chirurgeons were able to save the Prince’s noble squire from the Black Dogs’ wounds, and they have been resting a time at his home in Lyonesse. Vandagild introduces his growing young family, enjoying the presence of such a fine knight. Later, Vandagild spends some time drinking in friendly manner with Prince Madoc; they enjoy the simple companionship of comrades-in-arms. The Aquitanian is enjoying the eve greatly; his first in a great time, and his first since his trouble in the Fae Forest.

The Earl is among the first to leave.

__________ The Carousing King __________

Sir Elvorix sits with the King and his courtiers long into the night, drinking greatly and enjoying the time. He learns in the conversation that Lady Diane's family used to have lands in Sussex; these lands sit now in Saxon hands.

King Uther laments the Saxon menace: “Lo! What not would I do to smite that filthy smile from... Aella's face! Ugh! And such stupidity of name! Stupid fucking Saxons! Laying upon their children such names as befit only the dung of an ox. My heart would swell true, could I but bring men South, yea, and lay waste unto their abject hovels, and burn them, and grind them deep into this holy British earth! Rid this land of them, for good and for long, I say! And I say it true!”

He drinks deeply of his glass, wiping his face with the back of his arm.

“Alas, I have not the men,” he sighs, dejected.

Elvorix offers some ideas; perhaps other petty kingdoms might help us against the Saxons? They may join us to help fight the Saxons instead of other Britons?

Uther shakes his head, “Fighting with those other lands is the means by which I claim strength! And yea, such battles as these do secure and hold such borders as we now have! Dead, I will be, and in boney ground, before damned Cornwall comes hither to aid me, or those so-called Kings of Cambria.”

“We did save the Prince of Lyonesse!” Elvorix suggests, “Mayhaps such a debt me charm him to our side?"

“The prince of Lyonesse? M.. Mehh… hh… Meliodus? Hrmph. Heard he doth well handle a blade."

Elvorix assents, gesturing to the Prince across the room. 

The King nods his head "Huh. I do wonder then to know; what horse can yonder Prince muster, and what foot?"

The Roman offers to fetch said Prince; Uther holds up a hand; Now is not the time. The King declares that he is not in a stately affair. Thus, Sir Elvorix offers himself as an envoy for future opportunities; Uther tells he will keep it in mind.

The Roman says he’s glad to be of any assistance planning for the future, and with righteous fury for the demise of the Saxons; he spits. The king too spits, and grumbles with frustration.

“So! Do thee tell me, Sir Elvorix; were I, King Uther, to bring men to Sussex, yea, and to slay those beasts, what ought I…. nay, would YOU do? Were you given charge, Elvorix, what would you do? To navigate their cursed, dense forests with our noble cavalry?”

The conversation wheels around strategy and tactics... What a great fortune! Sir Elvorix has been thinking long and hard these many nights, with no wife to keep him busy until this very night, his eves are spent dreaming of strategy to drive Saxons from British soil! Fueled so by his rage for Saxons, he has been mulling on this plan for some time: He now has a chance to tell it to the King Himself!

With fervour, he tells the King precisely what he has devised!

The plan is a poor one, alas; the King entertains the story, but he is not enthusiastic. The plan is bold, and feverishly delivered, but it has little strategic or tactical merit. Nonetheless, Uther mulls over the idea: Invade Sussex? It appeals to him. He will act, he says, if he deems it necessary, and if it is in his and the Kingdom's interest. 

__________ Dynasty Despair! __________

Sir Vandagild commissions the finest goldsmith in Londinium: Three like rings are crafted of gleaming aurum; a trio of hunting wolves lope freely across the plains of Briton, in joyous pursuit of their prey. He gives one each to Sir Iwan and Sir Elvorix, keeping one for himself. A fine garnish for the Wolves of Logres!

Meanwhile, Sir Iwan's study of letters causes his secret missive to yield: ‘Come disguised, meet a servant named Annest, who will arrange with you to speak with Lady Eleri’, it reads. He carefully folds it and keeps it close.

At Winterbourne Gunner, Vandagild’s father-in-law, the Pictish huntsman Sir Golistan arrives. His son, and Vandagild’s squire, Uvan safely returned, he nonetheless worries for the safety of his family. The strong ties between the two families mean Vandagild’s trials are a great stress to him. He opts to spend the winter, to "Keep an eye on things” and make sure his family is safe. Vandagild minds not; though both men stress for the safety of Catrin and Uvan, and each bears scars from the others steel, they nonetheless share a warm history.

Golistan eats and drinks greatly during the winter, to no little expense. He keeps close to Lady Catrin, his daughter, heavily pregnant, watching carefully for her care.

Soon, God brings forth the child; the sixth of the pairing and first daughter. The labor is long, pained, and excessively sanguine. The screaming babe is pushed into the world by the hardy and courageous Catrin, but the effort has broken her. Nearby, Vandagild paces, Golistan drinks, and Uvan fidgets; the anxiety of wait builds as little news comes, and long hours pass. Soon only the crying babe can be heard. A priest brings the news to the uneasy men. The Aquitanian rushes into the room as Catrin flirts with consciousness; memories blur of the next moments.

Hope; Disbelief; Despair; Heartbreak.

He grips her weak hand; wishing, urging words, whispered softly but with the full force of his heart, reach her delicate ear.

The sound of an ancient stone, clattering to the floor; dropped helplessly from a cold hand.

The drone of holy prayer is a solemn, unremitting rhythm.

Wails; throaty cries; shattering furniture.

Anguished silence.

A priest’s gentle, dulcet baritone: Lady Catrin rests now with God in the Kingdom of Heaven.

A healthy baby girl is born; she takes the name of the witch: Llyria.

__________ A Family Broken __________

Golistan, ever suspicious, is cold. The Pict declares that Vandagild has been cursed by his close encounters with the Fae of Gloom. Vandagild does not deny it; he is grief alone. The mention of Fae and their curses thrusts a spear of rage into the cauldron of his emotion.

Through the Aquitanian’s irresponsibility and ill fortune, Golistan has lost a daughter. He explains it thus: In those woods, something unnatural happened; you have brought a taint back to Salisbury. That curse has claimed his daughter. The Huntsman rescinds Vandagild’s squireship of Uvan; the Aquitanian briefly wonders at the legality of this, but he says nothing; a sad nod is his response.

So determined, Sir Golistan wants little to do with the Aquitanian. He takes his own son and leaves the manor; Uvan shares an apologetic, compassionate look; he grips arms with his mentor and friend, but both know Golistan will need time. Vandagild apologises for bringing the curse; he promises them both that he will seek a priest (Father Perticus, he wonders?); for he will see this Fae Curse rid. He speaks also to Sir Iwan, who also bears some dynastic curse from that horrid beaver.

Alone, he cries. Heavy, shameless, shuddering.

__________ Moving On __________

In late winter, Sir Vandagild stands in his shirt, looking mournfully over the broad, icy banks of the river Bourne. Whipping winds flick snow and cold about him, his long, tangled hair unkempt around a pale face; small ice clings to his cheek.

In his hand, a small stone. He clutches it tightly, his heart a swirling, uncertain thing. It is smooth, cold: The druidic stone of mysterious Llyria of the Wodewood; a charm for the health of babes. The woman foretold of five healthy sons; she said nothing of daughters; she said nothing of a dead wife. The stone kept his sons safe; but he can help not to think it somehow related to the death of his Love, Catrin.

He looks at it long, his face pained and aggrieved. Around his throat, fastened delicately, rests Catrin’s necklace; he gifted it to her in Londinium. Fresh tears freeze under his eye. He hurls the stone into the river.

Returning to the manor, he summons his steward: A monument is to be erected; a testament the triumph of Christianity over the Fae; he hopes this will ward the insipid Fae, and help rid him of the curse that afflicts his family. He returns to his children and holds them close. They play with small, wooden toys, he smiles weakly.

His friend visits: Elvorix has a cousin; a page, Atticus. A good boy, he tells. Roman. The younger begs a lord to squire to, and Vandagild is now absent the latter. The Roman believes not the rumours of Vandagild’s curse. The oath is made.

Winter passes, and the first, icy drips of melting ice shine like diamonds among the sunlit trees of a Salisbury sunrise.

Sir Elvorix has made efforts to impress his Loyalty to Roderick to the court. Sir Iwan has been training hard, as usual; he has quietly become the finest swordsman among the Wolves of Logres: Sir Vandagild is the finest horseman; he rides alone in the woods, galloping hard among the frozen trails he once rode with Catrin.

__________ 484: Spring Muster! __________

The Wolves receive missives; we are summoned to muster at Sarum. The young knights are among the last to arrive; as we enter the gate, the whole Bailey is stacked with knights, men-at-arms, and their entourages. We learn from the Earl we are to muster at Lindsey, and Lindenpool, to relieve the city of Eburacum in the Kingdom of Malahaut. The latter is a very Roman city, once among the largest in the north. Their ruler still considers himself staunchly Roman. Sir Vandagild thinks his name is King Mark; he is wrong, Elvorix tells him. Within Logres, he is known as the Centurion King. Within Malahaut, he is called Legatus Augustii. His knights he calls Equestrians; the traditional Roman title.

The Saxon Kingdoms to north, Nohaut and Deera, have attacked and are laying siege to that great city of Malahaut. The Centurion King has requested the aid of Logres, promising substantial reward for their aid. Vandagild is overjoyed; at long last, we will once more shed blood to help Britons kill Saxons, rather than for infighting and politics. And the muster is massive this day; anticipation grows!

Iwan notices the heraldry of the gathered knights, recalling the contested manors on the border of Summerland. Those men, on the border of those fae-touched lands, must have been recalled for this muster to be the size that it is; either that or Mercenaries have been bought. The handsome knight shares this. Sir Vandagild, in response, looks for an opportunity to ask among the muster for news from the Summerland border, but there is no time; the Earl, at conclusion of his mustering speech, orders his men to mount up and leave at once.

We ride north. The Aquitanian asks the nearby knights his inquiry; alas there are none from the Summerland border nearby.

A nearby knight chuckles; “Why ask ye, Sir Vandagild? Plan ye a raid on Summerland? Split some Fae princess in twain with thy hateful blade?”

“Maybe,” Vandagild’s laughs back, “I truly have little doubt that foul swamp is a nest of those treacherous elves.”

"Hogwash!" says the knight.

“Not so! I tell thee true: Those deceitful demons did steal my squire, and brought death to my wife with nefarious curses!”

The knight is sceptical; “Hmph. I think thee deceived, Sir. But God’s grace with ye!”

__________ Villains of The Vale __________

The army of Salisbury reaches The Vale; Levcomagus. The city is slightly smaller than Sarum but has grown rapidly in recent years under the stewardship of Sir Blains. Before us, six men stand in the road, Blains’ banner held aloft. The column stops. The Earl rides forth with some men; blades are drawn and shouting issues as Roderick confronts the men; but they are not intimidated by the great Salisbury muster. After time, the column turns around. 

Withdrawn to Salisbury, the column halts once more. Sirs Godifer, Golistan, and Hywell are called out of column, and into a large tent with Roderick. Hours pass. A page approaches Sirs Iwan and Vandagild; they are requested in the tent. Attending, the discover within a hastily constructed War Room: The Earl stands with 10 men: Sirs Amig, Elad, Godifer, Golistan, the Banneret Hywell, Sir Edar, and more men we know not.

As we enter, a tail of conversation reaches our ears: “… to stick with such enemies we know! At least we can be assured they intend to cut our throat, and we can treat them thus!”

“Bedegraine was too far,” adds Amig with a sigh.

Godifer’s passionate addition: “Let us not underestimate the Vale, nor Ulfius' preference for that upstart brat!”

The two young men enter; Sir Golistan turns, and double-takes on Sir Vandagild.

The Pict quickly turns to Roderick, thrusting a finger back at the young Aquitanian: “What purpose hath he here? I tell thee, he is cursed! We can little afford a cursed man in these proceedings; Nay, such Doom he wears, he will bring upon this whole army!”

The Earl raises an eyebrow, sighs, and nods. He turns to Vandagild and waves him away with little conviction. The Aquitanian bows and leaves without argument.

Sir Iwan now stands with the senior men. Sir Godifer straightens his clothes, and a silence settles on the room.

Sir Elad breaks it with his gruff tones: “Well. We lament the lack of contact from the Centurion King; perhaps it we find now the moment to secure an alliance with-” a sharp cough from the Earl brings silence.

Roderick speaks: “Prithee! Keep thy focus. We have invited the young knights... err, knight,” a glance to Golistan, “for a reason.”

“Sir Iwan; fought ye with us in Bedegraine, and fought ye well. And thou hath accompanied our Glorious King on his Parley with Cadwy of Summerland. Do I speak truth?”

Iwan nods.

“Well. I hope thy wisdom from such adventures, untainted by the gossip in these flabby walls,” he says, looking around, “will prove useful in helping us resolve such tricky matters as face us hence.”

The gathered councillors summarise thus: Sir Blains is holding his border firm, and threatens war; he gives us not passage through his lands. And he may have teeth, sharper still with the favour and backing of Duke Ulfius. And the Duke himself grows quite ambitious. We must attend muster, but our passage is thrice blocked. We can go South to Noviomagis, but Aelle will likely see our movement and strike our rear while we campaign north. We can march west, through Summerland, but it may be seen as an act of war, particularly as we still hold contested manors on the border; but who knows how they will respond. Or we can force our way through the Vale, risking a fight with those men, and certainly escalating that conflict. Either way, the risk is great.

Bickering ensues; more men believe we should confront Blains; A second large group suggests we pass by Sussex. Only Godifer speaks for marching via Summerland. Roderick asks Iwan his opinion.

The young knight thinks a short time; if anything he favors the Sussex route Sussex. Though there are many Saxons (he thinks them related to dogs, and thus they breed with inhuman fertility), he feels we will soon battle them in any case. 

He asks the Earl; would the King let Blains attack Salisbury in response to the King's own summons? Roderick, raising his hand to silence the ongoing quarreling; agrees that is a key question. Alas, if the answer were simple there would be no problem. Marching past is, of course, no cause for war, but Blains would not explain it as much. He only need lie that we pillaged or stole in our passage, and the conflict spirals from there. Sir Iwan, apologising for interrupting summarises thus: Your word against his; and likely with Duke Ulfius putting his word in favor of Blains.

Iwan recalls last year: At Castle Brown, King Uther told Roderick and Blains to settle their problems on the field if need be. Troubling. He changes tack, asking about Summerland. He learns that Salisbury’s diplomats are turned away without seeing the Hermit King of Summerland. Their dishonourable raiders continue to strike out; we only hope that Uther has requested the same muster of them as he has us.

Sir Iwan relates his impression of King Cadwy; he seems willing to let the King’s muster travel through his lands without bloodshed. And marching past Sussex would surely lead to our lands and families being raided; our armies bled from behind.

In finality, the young knight Iwan agrees with the diplomatic Sir Godifer; the Summerland route seems wisest. It will allow us to reach muster as quickly and safely as possible, and the conflict is already established. The risk of long-term injury is modest. The risks of Sussex invasions, and escalating trouble with Blains, is too great.

His conclusion leads to a new chorus of dissent and argument. The Earl thanks Iwan, reminding him that everything he heard in this council is private; he is stern on this. Should Roderick hear of this spreading, he will not take it kindly. Iwan swears on his honor, word, and name: Nothing here will be repeated. Iwan is dismissed.

Soon later, the Earl gives the order again: Mount up, back to Sarum, the army marches west, through Summerland.

__________ The Road to Parisium __________

We soon reach the Summerland border. The manors there are defended at a minimum; beyond that, the foetid swamps of Summerland. The army marches within. No disease or harassment befalls us; we meet Summerlands on the road but they harry us not, and give the marching force its due berth and passage. Relief is felt by many.

Farther north, for several days. The Salisbury muster finds, protecting the southern edge of Lindsey, a great fort. The bastion is surrounded by the rest of Uther's force, and the King himself. The men of Salisbury are late, and are thus not greeted warmly. But the latest are the folk of Cornwall and Duke Gorlois; indeed, the old Duke and his men are absent! Again! We hear that the King has been cursing Gorlois' name under his breath among his court...

The united force, the best and greatest of Logres, marches north without Cornwall. Through Bath, Corinium, Leirstown, and to Linden Pool. At this latter fort, great standards in the Roman style greet us, a golden eagle atop each, marking the boundary of these proud lands. North once more, to meet the Centurion King; north, to relieve the siege Eburacum. 

Over the journey, the Wolves of Logres, being in the same Eschille, spend time mostly with each other. But yet some others become regular companions: Sir Elvorix spends some time with his neighbour Sir Cynon, Lord of Chitterne. Sir Iwan rides alongside his father-in-law, Sir Brannoc, and his old Mentor Sir Myles. Sir Vandagild has found Sir Cadel, who has few other friends, and is grateful to spend time with the generous Aquitanian.

__________ War, She Comes! __________

So arrayed, the men ride a narrow path through thickly forested lands, approaching the city of Parisium.

An eruption of shouts! A booming roar from either flank, thousands of violent voices, and a crash of steel on wood! Saxons!? Horses rear, and men spin to and fro; blades whip free of scabbards! Orders are shouted, but the scene erupts into chaos. A horde of Saxon warriors thunders from the woods into the thin, unprepared column! Javelins and arrows rain into the disordered ranks of knights and men! The Wolves of Logres each turn to Sir Amig; the rough man shouts gravelly orders, and they turn to face their many foes! 

Trumpets blare: Some order retreat; some to stand; mount-up; charge… yet more gruff, Saxon shouts from behind! Surrounded!

Sir Iwan, lance held high, watches in horror; time slows as a heavy javelin whips in past his eyes; he follows it doomed flight as pit plunges into the chest of the man beside him; punching through the tabard and maille, sinking through the centre of his chest. The impact knocks the man backward, falling slowly from his horse. Iwan sees his face: Sir Brannoc, his wife’s father, who helped secure Father Perticus for their Fae Adventure. The man twists, falling face first to the churned earth. He hits the ground hard, awkward and twisted; he writhes, reaching weakly for a moment, and is still.

The handsome swordsman blinks away the shock, and pulls into formation beside Sirs Vandagild and Elvorix with Amig, just in time for the Saxons to crash into the line! A thick swarm of the burly, blonde men is a wave, crushing inexorably from the treeline, their long weapons poised to wreak havoc on the Britons. From among the nearby foe, the familiar, disquieting rhythm of a fevered chant punctures the chaos of the met battle: Wo-Tan, Wo-Tan, Wo-Tan... 

Roderick's banner is ahead in the British Lines.

Sir Amig yells to his men: “Fight through! Fight through, damn thee! To Roderick! For Salisbury!”

Alas! The forces of Logres are sorely disorganised, surrounded, and terribly beset! No man's leadership could succeed here; it is the best Amig can do to get his men to formation in time; his eschille braces as best it can: A dense horde of ferocious Saxon infantry slams into the shocked line, Wotan Warriors swarming among the light javelin infantry... Each slings a hail of heavy missiles, which thud and crack against the British armour and shields.

Elvorix and and Vandagild are hit with heavier javelins from the Wotan; Iwan and the luckless Aquitanian are struck again with lesser missiles each: Light wounds amount from the barrage. Sir Elvorix, impassioned with rage at the sight of Saxon monsters, hefts violent slashes at the hulking warrior before him; alas, the footman's own fury and spearmanship are the greater; the long weapon crushes past the Roman's shield, ripping through the mail and opening a broad wound in his flank... Meanwhile, Sir Iwan glances to see his fallen father-in-law still in the reddening earth; his passion builds, adding fire as he thrusts his blade into his attacker's shoulder! The hunter, Sir Vandagild, aims his blow perfectly, slashing a clean blow into his attacker's head; alas, the robust Saxon stumbles, his eye gashed clean in two, but does not fall!

Sir Amig, too, roars with rage: "Come on men, grind these Saxon Dogs into the dir-!" the call cut short! His ferocious blow is parried, and as he shouts with rage, a great Saxon spear punches hard through his open maw and out the top of his skull; the blow flings his helmet into the air and rips his mangled head from its perch; the man’s limp body, rapidly drenching in his own blood, slips from his saddle with a clattering thud. Woe!

__________ A Desperate Defence! __________

Sir Vandagild, filled with hatred for this treacherous and brutal foe, shouts for the remaining knights to stay firm! Their efforts have cut a path, and the beleaguered warriors and are closer now to Roderick. Alas, in the chaos of the ambush, and with the traumatic death of Sir Amig, the Aquitanian struggles to bring order to the struggling men around him. Still, they press forward, fighting through a new swarm of wretched Saxons: Two groups of interspersed Saxons, some are clad in vibrant blue cloaks; these wield well-wrought armaments, and fight with skill and discipline.

The Wolves let their passion guide their arms; Sir Elvorix sees Roderick’s wavering banner before him; a chance to save his Lord! Sir Iwan summons wrath for the revenge of his fallen family; Vandagild fights for the safety and glory of his companions.

"For Roderick!" Elvorix roars; he leaps his horse over a stumbling Saxon; the impetus of its descent lends wrath to his well-aimed blow, slashing his long blade full through the collar of a blue-cloaked warrior; the tall blonde man drops, red blood streaming behind him. Dissuaded by Elvorix's furious assault, no Saxon can find a home for their treacherous blades!

Sir Iwan slashes about him; the blue-cloaked warrior times a rapid thrust, but Iwan catches the weapon with his sturdy shield, snapping the trapped shaft with a quick twist of his sword! His broad, warding slashes keep the other encroaching Saxons at bay…

Success is not shared fairly, however: Sir Vandagild defends from his blued-foe with skill, but the Saxon spear snakes through his shield and mail; another light wound. But Lo! The Aquitanian’s split attention pays dividends: A Saxon warrior is caught by one of Vandagild's prudent, powerful thrusts; his blade opens a modest wound in the man's chest!

The men’s success nets them opportunity; the crippled eschille rejoins the steady, reliable command of Earl Roderick! Alas, the Saxons have the disarrayed force surrounded on three sides; only the north is open. The battle is not going well. The army's signallers are blowing the call of retreat; anxious, staccato blares. Worse, the Saxons have split the British forces: Pockets of men fight desperately for survival. Earl Roderick heeds the call, and wisely orders a retreat.

Vandagild leads the Wolves onward hunting to find a breach in the endless line of foes. There, he spies! Javelineers, undefended! He leads the knights through the chaotic melee; A barrage of crude Saxon missiles weapons whips forth in unison; once more, the luckless Aquitanian bleeds, a glancing blow that rips his thigh shallow. The knights then hit home, cutting into the unarmoured Saxons and spreading red ruin on the road-side; with vengeance and vice do they ply their sanguine trade.

With that breach, the eschille is clear, cantering free of the terrible killing-field. Earl Roderick leads his decimated forces through the gap, north once more toward Parisium; Around us, several more groups of knights ride free of the butchery. Many more do not. No infantry are among the free. The men search ahead, scanning for signs of the King’s banner, hoping he still lives; They ride north to meet him, and any other men of Britain  that still draw breath... 

__________ The Wizard at Mount Damon __________

The grim remains of the mighty Logresian army camp atop Mount Damon; many wounded men groan, and others search among the disorganised mass for friends and family. Officers careful recover what is left of their men, trying to come terms with what has just happened. The King lives, and he is an avatar of rage in his war-tent.

Sir Vandagild, searching for lost comrades, spies an old man approaching the King’s camp. He carries a long staff, and is swathed in heavy robes. Uther emerges, and is clearly happy to see him. The barons around him, too, seem invigorated, and they gather to hear him speak. After a short conversation, Uther gathers the decimated forces of Logres.

He orders a night attack, this very evening, on the celebrating Saxons in Parisium.

“Worry thee not for thy tired arms and torn flesh; the Wizard, Merlin, will see thee fit and healthy for the battle to come! Victory and vengeance will be ours!” he declares, gesturing dramatically to the man beside him. The wizard holds aloft his enchanted staff, and it glows impossibly at the tip: as the light bathes the gathered men, wounds heal and vigor returns! Blood stops running and cruel rends are sealed. A great cheer goes up!

Vandagild stiffens, his face twisting; he steels himself against the wave of Fae energy washing over from that unknowable rod. His wounds still bleed, though some, alas, are lessened by the eldritch light. In shock and dismay, his eyes flicks to the gathered men about him, cheering and smiling at this treatment. Do they not see this Fae sorcerer for his truth? So easily they accept his deceptive powers and suspicious schemes? He spits, and storms to his friends.

“Harken thee, Iwan; Elvorix! This Demon casts its spells on thee, and with glee and gratitude ye stand? Know thee well the deception of the demons of Fae! Let not thy freshened wounds distract; knoweth, do thee, that no man stands there beside the King, but some twisted Fae, driven only to seek what suits its own evil designs! How can thee tolerate the touch of mischievous, wretched sorcery from this demon in human form?” Vandagild storms these words; but his friends respond weakly, grateful only for the healing and promise of victory.

The Aquitanian shakes his head, and marches furiously to the Earl.

__________ Aquitanian Abhorrence __________

Sir Vandagild approaches Earl Roderick in a rage; “My lord! I beg of thee a moment to speak!”

The Aquitanian’s face is a rictus of hatred: His dead wife’s necklace still hangs from his throat; the woman he loved, dead at the hands of a Fae curse that yet lingers; a curse befallen him searching for his trapped and lost friend, squire, and brother-in-law, Uvan; a curse oozed forth of the foul deception of the Demon Beaver and Knight of Names; and yea, the boy himself was lost while they hunted for another wretched demon, which did stalk the hardy, honest folk of Imber; a quest embarked not days gone from their dishonorable and wicked treatment at the hands of the Fae-touched rogues of Summerland. Yea, Sir Vandagild has exhausted his patience and love for the Fae. His heart yearns only for their destruction.

Thus, he tells Earl Roderick similar.

“My Lord, know thee well my trials this past year, and my grief at the hands of demons and Fae alike. I tell thee now of how the Fae entreat - with familiar, honeyed words they will bait thee. Yea, delivering fine phrases like the courteous words of good men; but yet, t’is only a lure! Their wretched, evil nature will soon reveal itself! This Merlin-creature seeks to lure us so!” he thrusts a sharp finger toward the bearded demon.

“To a trap, my Lord, to our deaths! Its demonic nature breeds only a selfish, twisted morality. We escape barely, where many friends did not, from the savage blades of the monstrous Saxons… and with poisoned kindness he washes us over with despicable sorcery? Hoping, no doubt, to build our confidence thus to ride once more? Once more into the slaughterhouse of the Saxons?! Nay, I say! He will make them ready for us. My Lord, more than any in thy court do I know of such wiles. The King must be warned. Be it my Lord’s will, of course.”

The Aquitanian is not finished.

“This enchanter wishes the slaughter finished, my Lord, and with secret, foul hope wants for all these good men of Logres dead this night at the hands of his Saxon Demon Friends! Ask thyself, I beg of thee: How came he to this place, at this time!? He rode not beside us, the good knights of King Uther! Of this we are sure. And yet here he is; striding right upon us, right at the site and time of this secret ambush? How knew he of this fight, my Lord!? And why for did he not warn us! Yea, my Lord, each dead man yonder falls on this demon’s conscience! I declare it true! This Unholy cretin knew of this ambush, yea, for he marched hence with the Saxons, scheming our death with those wretched men! And here, now, he plots only to secure our demise, my Lord; his magical “cures” serve only to deceive, to bid us once more return into the teeth of the Saxon Dragon and thus end the line of good British Kings once and for all! I beg of thee: Trust him not, my Lord; and warn the King of his treachery!”

Roderick is patient. But with a new battle looming, he has much to attend; his patience wears thin.

“Sir Vandagild: Merlin is a friend; of mine and of King Uther. I have heard thy concern. I expect thee to ride with us; I have little more patience for desertion” he says sternly, glancing toward the tents of Elvorix. He holds the Aquitanian’s gaze; he does not invite further discussion.

Vandagild looks back, pleadingly, then bows respectfully.

The Aquitanian has no fear of dying in battle. Indeed, he can think of no finer way of earning his passage to Heaven than dying beside Elvorix and Iwan, against the inexorable Saxon scourge, so twisted and manipulated by the unholy forces of nefarious Fae. He steels himself.

“Of course, my Lord.”

So dismissed, he seeks Atticus, to hone and maintain their arms, and a priest, to smooth the pavement for his passage to God. He prays for his children.

__________

Image 1. www.etsy.com/au/shop/BabylonSilver

Image 2. “The Battle of the Teutoburg Forest in 9AD”; fresco on a school wall by H. Knackfuss (1890). Norddeutsches Schulmuseum, Friesland.

King Arthur Pendragon 5.2