Arthur II; Artorius; The Legend and Myth Chapter 9 & 10

9.

The Optio on his rounds stood a distance away to watch the fight between the mercenaries. He had seen such fights and it was his instruction that none of the Legionnaire was to intervene. He held no love for the mercenaries whom he had fought many times on the battlefield. They knew no loyalty and love for each other except the coins in their purse. He had seen them do atrocious acts on the innocents and have sworn never to aid of them in battle. Lamorak was not of noble bloodline. He was the son of a butcher whose village was one day visited by a Centurion. He was Estrucian by citizenship but with Rome calling for recruits, he was obliged to comply. It was either him or his brother then, Lamont but his father sent the younger one to join.

“Lamont is needed here. He will take over my trade.” The older man told his son. “You will serve in the Legion.”

Lamorak having no other to consult on; his mother had died during his birth nodded to his father’s consent. He left the hut and was stopped by Lamont.

“I will join you soon.” Lamont told the younger brother. “Despair not. I will protect you.”

“Lamont, take care of father.” Lamorak had replied. “I will be fine.”\

“No, you are my brother. Not …. never mind. Take care. Your mother loves you.”

Lamorak could only nodded then. He held onto his pack and coat of fur with his hands hidden inside; trembling with fear. He was not the fighter in the family but it was his father’s decision. Lamorak spent four years in the Legion to fight and kill; he learned hard and harder when the instructor pushed him. He found the training tough initially and soon he was sent to the battlefield. His first kill was another warrior bearded and huge but the younger man had the better in skills. He recalled the gladius cut into the torso and the blood spurting out while he twisted the blade. He was not trembling then in fear but of anger. The other had slashed Lamorak’s face on the left cheek. A mark that he still held that day. Since that day, killing was not his fear but to die was. He fought hard and moved his ranking to his rank of Optio after twenty one years of service. He gripped the hilt of his gladius; not his first but of the few he was to owned. He knew that his next few years will be how he held it.

“Optio, we have …” The Legionnaire handed him the dagger found. Optio Lamorak was a collector of small weapons. He held a small collection from the campaign he was in.

“Good one.” Optio Lamorak weighed the dagger in his right hand. It rested comfortably on his palm. The dagger was a inwardly single edged blade decorated with the horse head design. It was Celtic in design. He had seen it when he was in Gaul. He had a few but not of that design.

“Thank you, Tristam.” Optio Lamorak smiled at the young Legionnaire. He had seen the young man raw in the service but he was diligent in his action. “I will remember you.”

Tristam smiled and then left for his duty. It was essential to be recognised by your officers for that was the way to move up the ranks. Tristam had joined in the Legion less than ten years but he had shown promising moves. He stepped away to his last duty which was to clear the dead barbarians. It was a dreary task but the reward was to do the pillage on the dead. He had seen seniors fighting for such task and then gloating over the findings. He was hoping then to get a signet ring or a valuable stone but the dagger caught his eye. He knew whom to give it to.

“Lamorak, you may not remember me but I do.” Tristam muttered to himself. “Cousin…”

If only bloodline run deeper.

“Gawain, I will not tolerate this …” Galahad was in anger at his brother.

“That I will be caught or was it you held no share of it?” Gawain looked up from the findings that he had retrieved from the dead. “They are dead and nothing of this matters to them.”

“They may be dead but those are not ours.” Galahad glared at his brother. He then turned towards Gaheris. “Spare no thoughts on your brother’s action. He is a …failure to the family.”

“I may be …that failure, but don’t you shrink from your duty as the head of the family. Punish me and get me to confess my sins, brother. Or do you have yours which is failing to guide your brother?” Gawain snapped in anger. “Do you fear me telling you this here? We have nothing to fear. There is no fireplace and we are alone. We are beyond the hearing of the others.”

The three brothers were at the boundary of the camp on the far wall, watching the lands at the north.   

“Gawain, we are part of the Legion. We are….” Galahad reminded his brother.

“We are brothers. Poor brothers with little food on the table.”: Gawain reminded his brother.

“No, we had food on the table….”

“Not when you were away. Gaheris was a poor hunter. I had to the hunting. And the farming.” Gawain glared at his brother. “You don’t get tired of it, huh?”

“I was enlisted not by choice. It was either me or you or you. Maybe not Gaheris.” Galahad looked at Gawain. “I send the coins back.”

“Mother used it all. What? To buy all of you another piece of land. Before you come back and Mother died and the two us went missing. What about the land? She did not buy it. She had paid for the land but the Lord cheated her. We had nothing,” Gaheris cut in. “We had no choice. It was the Legion or starvation.”

“Yes, you told me many times but does that mean you can steal.” Galahad voiced out his protest.

“You told me many times but then coins are not growing in my purse.”
 Gawain defended his action. “We …”

“This will be the last, Gawain., If this happens again, I am putting you in for punishment. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Decurio.” Gawain nodded to his brother.

“Remember that we are part of the Legion. We are not barbarians. We are…”

“We yet to be citizens of Rome. Till then we are what we are.” Galahad reminded the other. “But we are not barbarians. Not ever.”

It can’t be said for the Marcellus.

“Antonio, we can rebuild again.” The mother of the man voiced out. “None of us are hurt. Not even the girls.”

Antonio looked at the girls huddled there at the open field looking at then remains of their tent. They were unharmed in the attack but they looked traumatised. He had tried to take care of his family but it was only his own bloodline. His wife died some years back in a miserable mood; she was beheaded at the family altar at their home. He looked at his mother.

“Mother, we cannot be …”

“Son, we have to. Our ancestors will protect us.” The older lady assured the other. “We need to …”

“Mother, we were …. removed from our home because of …” Marcellus voice broke on that.

“What we believed in? My son, you are a Marcel. We are a …”

“Stop! Mother, we cannot go back…” Marcellus was close to tears. “I will have my other case of coins sent here.”

“You don’t have to. I will handle it. No one harm my family without our retributions.” The older lady replied while she reached for the bones in her tunic. “The Marcel will let others harmed their families.”

That family protection was not only in the Marcellus. It also ran among the ones considered as barbarians.

10.

Lancelot placed the sword he had inherited from his father. He knew his father until death separated them at the age of ten. It happened at their home in Normandy. There were mornings when he used to walk at the beach with his father. It was always peaceful with the tall grasses swaying to the breeze and the roar of the waves onto the sandy beaches. If you pay attention to the creatures there., you might get glimpses of the gulls and the occasional fishing boats. The fishermen could be from either side of the channel but then no one cared. It was not about boundary but of survival. Food was an essential part of the need to survive.

“Lance, you are mon fils.” The young lad then aged ten looked to the towering figure draped in the thick coat with his broad sword hung at the waist belt. He wore the fur lined footing which he had no trouble stepping on the sandy beach. They were not alone; there were followed by three guards. The elder man was cautious. He has a number of enemies.

“Lance, this is your land. When I am gone, you will inherit all of his.” The elderly man told him. “I am King Bon of Normandy. I held a kingdom that spanned the beach as far as you could see. This is the land I fought and won with this sword, Arondight.”

Arondight looked like any broad long sword in the design but the difference is the hilt. The design on the hilt is that of the creature known as the Dragon with its wings tucked and the flame spurted from the jaws was on the head of the hilt. The tail of the dragon formed the handle on the hilt spread from the left to the right. The blade itself was moulded from two pieces of metal melted and moulded into one before it was sharpened to its length of three feet. The blade was engraved with characters that were taken from the runic designs.

“Arondight was mine given by an old friend. He gave it to me as a gift before he left the land. He was not a warrior but he was more powerful than one. Before he left me, I was told that my legacy was only up to this stretch of the land but my son will take on more fame that I can envision.”

“Why are you telling me this, father?” Lancelot  then as a young lad asked him.

“See the boat there.” There was a man standing on it by the beach. “I want you to follow him. Here, take Arondight with you. Prove me right.”

The elderly man pushed his son towards the boat. The later was reluctant but the elderly man was insistent. The lad climbed into the boat holding the one item cherished. The boat pulled away with the lad. The lad kept on looking at the father of his. It was then the boatman told him to look away.

Lancelot saw then the three guards that followed his father drew their swords. His father was unarmed. What he saw next was the murder of his father by the ones that was to protect him. He was to jump off the boat but was restrained by the boatman.

“Did you come to see me or was I to see you?”  Lancelot heard the druid whom he was waiting for. They were by the pond and that time Lancelot held no sack of foods.

“You called me.” Lancelot replied. The druid nodded. He motioned to Lancelot to seat by the pond banks.

“I sensed trouble, Lancelot. It’s on the wall.” The druid voiced out. “It’s not the Legion. It’s something else. Something that may had followed me from the old days.”

“Merlin, you have a long history from what you told me.” Lancelot turned to pick up the sword.

“Arondight…. I can feel the vibrations. How does the sword feel on your hand?” Merlin motioned to the sword. “I gave it to your father.”

“Don’t ever mention my father, druid?” Lancelot did like to hear the memories. That was why he called himself the Ghost. He was already dead to the present.

“I rescued you from death. It was the trade your father arranged for you. He died so that you can live. He died because it was fated. One of my sad things that I do occasionally get to see before it happened. I ….”

“Druid., stopped talking. Tell me of the vibration.”

“Morgause is back.” The druid told him. “We need to stop her.”

“I have not the last time we … clashed.” Lancelot muttered in reply.

“Morgause is not one you will like to have dinner with.” The druid replied.

“She was mine but due to some misunderstanding we went our ways but journey that brought us together clashing on our roads with us bitter after each encounter.”

“Enough, druid. If its Morgause, what will she be doing now? Another army of undead perhaps? The last one was defeated by …us. With my sword and your….skills.” Lancelot snapped at the druid.

“It’s Merlin. That’s my name. Please don’t address me as the druid. I have the name.” The druid raised his protest.

“If we are not barbarians perhaps I would have.” Lancelot glared at the druid.