The Dragon's Banner (25 page)

"Let me tend to that." It was Merlin who
spoke, and he retrieved a small wooden box from his robe. He
removed the top to reveal a foul-smelling black salve, which he
then smeared on Uther's arm while the others made faces at the
stench.

"Gods, Merlin," said Leodegrance, "from what
rotten carcass did you harvest that evil concoction?"

"My concern is not the delicacy of your
nostrils, my friend, but rather the effectiveness of my remedies. I
daresay we have greater need of kings than to watch them die
needlessly from festering wounds. Indeed, you are next, for that
filthy wrapping covering the gash on your shoulder is far from
adequate."

"Mercy, Merlin. For they shall mistake me for
last year's compost when I enter the camp."

"It is better than this year's corpse."

The taunting exchange finally dragged words
from Uther. "I beg you, no more. Allow Merlin to finish spreading
this hideous ointment, for no chance is there he will relent."

They all laughed, even Merlin, and then were
silent while both wounds were treated and wrapped in swaths of
fresh linen.

"It shall soon be dark. Uther looked grim,
his face stern and resolute. "We have yet have hard business this
day."

"Still mean you to slay the prisoners?"
Leodegrance fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Such was my declaration.” There was no
compassion in Uther’s voice, no emotion at all. "For we shall set
an example for all time to any Britons who would take the part of
an invader against their own brethren. What we do here shall be
remembered for a century. Though I loved battle once, I have had my
fill of war. I would have the legacy of this conflict give pause to
any who might conspire in the future. Perhaps today's harsh
measures shall forestall tomorrow's war."

He could see hesitation still on their faces,
and he continued, his tone darker, more ominous. "You are my
closest friends, but I need neither your counsel nor approval in
this, only your obedience. Will my orders be obeyed, or must I see
this done myself?"

Chastised, Leodegrance bowed. "Now as always,
I shall obey your commands." He turned stiffly to go and give the
orders, with Caradoc following close behind.

"I see you remain behind, Merlin. There was a
grim smile on Uther's lips. "No surprise should this be, for I can
scare everyone but you, old friend. You disapprove, no doubt."

Merlin looked at Uther, his expression
uncertain. "It is not my place to approve or disapprove of your
commands. I, too, am aware that harsh methods are ofttimes needed.
Yet, I would have you rule with justice and not fear if such be
possible."

Uther laughed bitterly. "Men forget justice,
Merlin. They speak of it with great longing, but they value it not
unless it serves their needs. They cease to regard it as just when
it goes against their desires. My father was a just king who held
back from enforcing his rights to the high kingship. His diplomacy,
bribery really, forged this alliance, but only my victory has held
it together. These kings fight because we win battles, and because
they know that if they betray me I shall seek them out wherever
they may run and destroy them utterly. Thus is the true basis of
their loyalty. They fear me. If they value me otherwise, it is as a
leader our enemies also fear."

Merlin looked sadly at Uther. "Are you sure
you do not strike out at the world to ease your own pain, my old
friend?" His tone was gentle, sympathetic.

"There is no easing for my pain, Merlin. I
shall bear it to my grave. These prisoners for whom you weep, these
lords and barons and warriors, they are the cause of my pain. I
hate my father for what he did, yet I also recognize that he had
little choice. But these traitors, they are the root cause, not
only of my heartbreak, but of the pain of thousands of wives and
children, those of the many warriors who shall not return home. Now
they must pay the price of their perfidy. If they wish forgiveness
they may seek it from God, for they shall not have it from me."

"But surely there is also a place for mercy,
Uther."

"Is there?” His tone was bitter. "Is there
indeed? For whom? For Huarwar, who rewarded my father's loyalty and
charity with treachery and murder and nearly took both you and I as
well? Had he succeeded, all of Britannia is like to have been sold
to slavery. For Vortigern, the architect of this calamity, who
tortures young girls to recruit his assassins? Nay, Merlin, for men
believe what they want, though life seeks to teach them otherwise.
They find truth in whatever cause serves their base needs at each
moment, and I do not believe most of them capable of more. My
justice will be soon forgotten, and my mercy but a passing
remembrance. Yet the fear shall remain."

"Long indeed have I lived, my dear friend,
and little trust do I place in men's goodness. Yet also I have seen
that some worthiness there is, often in unlooked for places. You
must rule as you see fit, but I beseech you not to discount the
good in all men because of the hurts you have endured."

Uther said no more, but he looked
thoughtfully at Merlin and nodded an assent he did not feel. He
then took his leave of the counselor, for he wished to be alone for
a time. He pulled his cloak up over his head that he might not be
recognized, and he strode down the hillside to wander the
field.

Before long a new sound was added to the
wails of the wounded, for Uther's orders were being carried out,
and from the pens where the prisoners had been confined there came
terrible cries. Uther’s warriors moved in from all sides, grimly
putting the defenseless captives to the sword. His warriors were
tough fighters all, and hard men, but they disliked this work.
Butchering unarmed captives was not to their liking, yet they were
bound to carry out the king's commands, and they did so with
expediency. They surrounded the makeshift camp where the enemy
warriors had been herded and moved inexorably forward, tightening
the ring and slaughtering the prisoners like so many cattle.

Kelven commanded the force tasked with the
job, and though he liked it no better than they, he pushed his men
forward ruthlessly until not a prisoner was left alive. Whenever a
man slowed or stopped in the work, Kelven would be there, slapping
him with the flat of his sword and shoving him back to the task.
When they had finished he dismissed the men and walked slowly
toward the woods where, once he was out of sight of the field, he
fell to his knees behind a great oak and wept.

Throughout the host there was no elation, no
shouts of celebration, just a grim satisfaction that they had
prevailed. Though the victory was theirs, it was tempered by the
losses they had borne, for fully a third of their number had
fallen. They slept that night where they were, on the field among
the dead and dying, for they were too exhausted to move, or even to
care.

Hengist ran quickly through the woods,
surrounded by his most loyal warriors. For two days and nights they
had fled without stop, for they sought the relative safety of the
stronghold at Canterbury. Ten thousand men had Hengist led to
Verulamium. There were fewer than a hundred with him now, though he
was certain that several thousand had escaped from the field. Some
were themselves also bound for Canterbury, while others had, no
doubt, fled to the coast to seek any boats that might sail them
home. Yet others had surrendered to Uther's men, but by the king's
order, all of these had been slain. Still, Hengist was hopeful he
could rally perhaps two thousands when he got back to his
stronghold, for he had left a garrison of 700 there when he had
marched out to join Vortigern.

The men still with Hengist were mostly his
personal guards, and they were the best of his warriors. Many had
light wounds; Hengist himself wore a bloodied bandage around his
head. Those more seriously injured had fallen behind and were
likely to be taken by Uther's men, which meant they were likely to
die.

"Vortigern is the architect of this
disaster." Hengist spat the words bitterly. "We have squandered our
strength supporting his war, and now we must look to hold our last
stronghold. At least we laid in supplies before we marched; we are
well-provisioned to withstand a siege."

"How are we to hold, father?" Octa spoke with
difficulty, breathless from running. "We have but a handful of
warriors remaining. We cannot even man the walls."

"More will rally to us in Canterbury, for not
all were slain. And forget not that we left a strong force behind.
Those men are fresh and well-armed." The exhausted king tried to
sound confident, but the doubt in his voice was obvious.
"Nevertheless, we must try to make peace with Uther Pendragon, for
we cannot hold Canterbury forever without relief. There is naught
else for us to do, unless we would flee to the coast and take ship,
and never shall I relinquish my kingdom."

"But father, what have we to offer to Uther?
We have at best the strength to delay him, not defeat him. Indeed,
we are not even strong enough to hold against him in our fortress
if he is determined to take it."

Hengist stopped running and turned to face
his son. "We will give him Vortigern. Indeed, we will rid him of
all his enemies, and in so doing, become his friend."

Octa wiped the grime from his face as he
considered his father's words. "Uther Pendragon is without mercy,
without fatigue, without pity. He will not make peace with us. He
will never accept us."

Hengist stood and stared into his son’s eyes.
"Indeed, were Uther alone then nothing we could offer would make
the peace. But though he is the high king, and now basking in glory
and triumph, he must also reckon with those who follow him. The
kings, who long to return to their lands; the men, who have fought
to exhaustion and seen so many of their number fall; the peasants
facing starvation as lands lie fallow."

"So how shall we achieve this, father? How
shall we deliver his enemies to him?" Octa was doubtful, but he saw
no course of action other than what his father suggested.

"We must get word to Vortigern. To him and to
all of his allied Britannic kings who yet live. All flee now in
disarray. We must convince them to come to Canterbury."

"And how are we to do this, father? The army
is scattered and in flight. All know the losses we have taken. We
are in no better condition than they. Why would they come? They
will flee to their strongholds and look to their own defenses."

"They cannot hope to hold their own castles
against Uther now. Canterbury is a great fortress, vastly stronger
than their own keeps. And we are the only ones who could hope for
aid from across the sea. We will tell them we have made an alliance
with King Clovis of the Franks, and that his army is even now
sailing to our aid."

Octa looked doubtfully at his father. "Why
would they believe this? We have said naught to them before of any
effort to secure the aid of the Franks. And you know that such an
alliance will never happen. Clovis is not our friend."

"They will believe, my son, because they are
desperate. They cannot go to Uther, for he will surely put them to
death. And they have not the strength to fight him off when he
invades their lands. They will believe because they want to
believe, because they need to. We shall tell them my brother Horsa
has been in the court of Clovis for many months seeking this
alliance. They know not that he was slain fighting Leodegrance, and
it will seem right to them that I would send him to forge this
alliance. We will offer them protection and guarantees to help them
defend their lands. They will come."

"Perhaps you are right, Father. Indeed, it is
true they have few options. We must convene this meeting before
King Uther puts Canterbury under siege. How much time do you think
we have?"

Hengist smiled grimly. "Uther considers us
invaders, but he thinks of them as traitors. He will look to take
their castles and lands before they can regroup and rebuild their
strength. He will attack them first."

Octa looked skeptical. "Likely he could split
his army and deal with them and us at the same time. He has many
able commanders. If he should march both north and south we could
be hard-pressed within days."

"Nay, my son. Uther's victory was total, but
not without cost. His army has suffered grievously, and he will
have to feed and supply his men before he can march on anyone. He
knows he may have to conduct sieges to take his enemies'
strongholds, and he will not want his forces divided. He feels he
has little to fear from us if he first moves against his Britannic
rivals. Indeed, such is but the truth, for what can we do given
several months except rally what few men remain and lay in more
supplies to feed us for some weeks? Except, perhaps, to deliver
King Uther's enemies unto him."

Vortimer was troubled, and for long he rode
in silence through the shade of the deep wood. Where once they had
led an army, now they had but a few dozen ragged retainers. His
father had accepted Hengist's invitation to gather at Canterbury to
seek safety and meet with the emissaries of Clovis, King of the
Franks. Vortimer did not see any choice, but in his gut he did not
like any of it.

The army of Uther Pendragon ravaged the
northern kingdoms, exacting a terrible price from the kings and
lords who had supported Vortigern. All were stripped of their
kingships, and any who were captured were condemned for high
treason and hanged like common thieves. All those who remained now
rushed to Canterbury, seeking the hope and protection offered by
Hengist and his new Frankish allies.

Finally, he could hold his tongue no longer.
"Father, I fear that naught but ill can come of this. I trusted
Hengist not when we wielded great power and now, in our
vulnerability, my faith is weaker still."