Chronicles of the Brittany Kings Part 4

 4

The mood in the hall was somber, even the goblets of mead were drained by the parched throats from the sessions of voice raising to be heard. The gathered Lords and Commanders of the alliance to King Constantine were there to present their griefs to the King.

“My King, the raids are too frequent and far wide for my armys to counter them. Once we reached there, they would have retreated or moved to other parts of the land.” It was Lord Cecil; a short framed figure dressed in the green tunic and leggings, with the matching green wide-brimmed hat. The Lord is old by age but his expressions are still beaming with youth.

“Perhaps Lord Cecil should present himself there for the pleasures of the raiders lest they have to raid others for it.” Another rival Lord of the land roared out cynically where the remark was met with laughter.

“I resent that, Lord Anvil. I am a respected Lord of my land although I may hold a smaller retinue of armys like yours.” Lord Cecil snapped at the other.

“Smaller it may be but their ends may be wider.” Lord Anvil replied with the open knowledge of the others that Lord Cecil was an ‘imbecile’ in the arena of manly pleasures.

“My King, Lord Anvil is…” Lord Cecil looked at the fatigued King figure seated at the throne with the simple dressing of the tunic and leggings and his crown was on his lap. King Constantine had it there for he felt the weight of the crown was greater than his responsibilities. He heard the Lord’s call and turned to the one he assigned to handle such matters.

“Lord Vortigern, I think we need to have more armys at the North West borders. The raiders are bold for our far-out Lords are few in numbers.” King Constantine looked at the figure standing there to his left, by the side of his eldest, Constan.

King Constantine admired his eldest son for the lad have grown well over the years. He was the son of his Queen then, Constance, hence he named the lad Constan to match both their names. The Queen had left for her family home for some time; he was not around much and she may have felt neglected. The King’s woes were the squabbling and fighting that he need to handle every season, except perhaps during winter. The battles eased up then but of late, the Picts ignored the cold season for respite and harrassed the land.

“My King, I am ever willing to serve you.” Lord Vortigern having returned from the North East bowed to the King. He was dressed in a dark blue tunic and leggings with a dagger at the waist belt. At the top, he had on the black felt hat with the fine feather tucked at the left side. He had just returned from the campaign at the West, after defeating the roving Saxon raiders.

“I am aware that you have just returned, but the ….”

“Do not despair, my King. The menace of the raiders needed to be curbed or we will face a war soon.” Lord Vortigern interjected on the King. “I am still well, and my armys are raring to battle than to laze in the barracks.”

“I have my trust in you, Vortigern.” King Constantine smiled at his loyal servant of his. He knew the influence of the Lord have spread wide and deep, and even rumors that the Lord may topple him had reached his ears, but Vortigern remained as ever by his side. For his assurance, the King had placed his eldest son to train under Vortigern.

“Constan, do take heed to Lord Vortigern’s words when you are with him. He is a good man and warrior next. You will be as good as him one day.” King Constantine looked to his son.

“I am, my King.” Constan nodded to his father and King. The lad had been with Lord Vortigern for some years then. He may ride with the Lord, but of late, he was left on the flanks to guard the horses. He was told that he was not ready to battle in the front just yet. He knew he was exiled then.

“Lord Vortigern, may I join you in the new campaign? I want to battle the raiders like before.” Constan looked to the Lord.

“You will do it this time. Your new training needs to be tested in real battle.” Lord Vortigern smiled at the lad. “One day, you will do me proud to be seated at the throne.”

It was then the bell rang, and the retinue of servers stepped into the hall carrying with them the huge plates of food for the Lords. It was always a grand feast when the Lords are in the hall with the King as their patron. The earlier talks were placed aside with the mouths filled with food there.

“Hail to the King! May he live on in our land!’ It was to be a turn in the event to one of joyous mood. The King had then stepped off the throne to indulge with the Lords. He was stopped midway to the table by the figure in a robe and coif for the headpiece.

“My King, may I request that you take into the moderation of the mead? You need to be sober for the afternoon prayers.”

“Gildas, my adviser. I am beginning to get tired of you with my prayers. I have sinned and there is no redemption to it except to be drunk and sound asleep soon after. I will do my reckoning with God when he confronts me.” The King brushed aside the monk and approached the Lords seated at the table.

"Pray for redemption, my King.” Gildas the Monk spoke out watching the back of the King. He was there that day when the King did the unthinkable and had seen then advised the King to seek forgiveness from God.

“Spare him the day, monk. He needs his allies here more than his God.” Lord Vortigern standing behind the monk whispered to the other’s ears. “The King may one day seeks his redemption but not today. Today, he is in the Devil’s realm, fornicating the likes of Lord Cecil if we are not too careful when we bow.”

“May God forgive you, Lord Vortigern on your thoughts.” Gildas turned to look at the Lord. “Your words are like the Devil’s breath.”

“It’s better than the Devil’s preference for Cecil’s rear.” Lord Vortigern laughed and walked toward Lord Cecil. “Move your end or you may find yourself impaled.”