Arthur; The Legend and Myth Chapter 5

5.

The landscape of Cotswold Edge was best described as a vast land of rolling hills intersected with the farm fields and the boundary of the line that demarked the owner’s border. The farm fields were shaded with the shades of its vegetation from the rows of cabbages to the potatoes spread with the lone farm horse dragging the plow to break the soil for the new growths. It was late morning and the farmers are at the shed or under the tree having their early break. On the far side of the field was the flock of sheep guarded by the faithful companion of Man, with its young master sleeping under the tree.

“Aye, it’s good land here. The water is pristine with the nearby limestone to give it taste to the drinker. Even the meads here fermented taste better than the stale rum they served in Londinium.” Merlin took a deep breath of the air. “Beyond that is Chedworth just off the Fosse Way north of Corinium Dobunnorum.”

Arthur recalled the Fosse Way when he had marched it with the Legion as part of an exercise to show the might of the Roman’s then. It marked the western frontier of Roman Rule then with the first dug out of a defensive ditch and later converted to be a cobbled road. Its defensive ditch still remained at certain stretches of its old boundary. Military camps were strategically located on the road which served as stop over for the Legion.

“Aye, the stone of the land.” Merlin leaned over to pick the yellow limestone piece from the grassland. “It’s common here at Cotswold. They are formed from the earth over the ages. See those strains there they are the remains of the time then. We studied them to know the passing ages of the earth.”

Arthur sat himself comfortably on the horse mount then looked to the robed figure. The later was trying to impress him with more tales. He had somehow agreed to come and assist the wounded man in his protection.

“Aye, the Bedyr line must fulfill its obligation. We will do also so when we are free ourselves of the invaders.” The wounded man then continued on. “The legacy told us that when we are our weakest, we must seek the Bedyr for the last service and then our obligation will cease upon the gift.”

The gift as stated by Merlin was the sword that many had strived to own and yet its whereabouts unknown.

“That gift is yours to keep if you are of the Bedyr lineage, or go mad if not.” The wounded man had replied. With those words, Arthur had embarked on this perilous journey but again Merlin had intervened to speak that he will not ride alone.

“The New King will have his own knights and they will all converge around the round table. From six you will double to twice the numbers and they will triple their numbers with their followers and in turn the followers will find four times the recruits to you. Then shall the new King rejoice with his knights around the round table.” Merlin frown his eyes brows. “Heed my words and all will be known.”

For those words, Merlin was not provided a horse but made to walk behind the cart carrying the wounded man. Arthur had used his horse to pull the cart while he remained mounted on it.

“By any chance, the horse is named Becephalus?” Merlin asked with a tinge of sarcasm. Arthur ignored him and rode on. Their ride had taken them across the Midlands. Arthur had tried to recruit mercenaries during the journey but none had accepted without the real coins placed with them. He had sold his armor and most of his belongings but the coins they were bargained for had little value. He had retained only the simple tunic and the waist belt with the gladius and pugio.

“Knights you named them but I think the proper terms will be knaves to be watched when my back is turned.” Arthur had complained to the wounded man who could sit upright then. He motioned to Merlin and then continued on. “He told me that the knights will converge around the round table but all I have are his irresponsible mutterings.”  

It was the thoughts of his hasty obligations were thwarted by the sound of thunder. Merlin had looked up with a smile and shrugged his shoulders.

“I wield not Fragarach or the winds will be mine to command.” Merlin laughed out loud. “But the fate of shelter offered to us maybe near.”

The journey took them to the crest of the hills and soon after was the small valley hidden by the round hills. At the center of the valley was the thatched cottage hut with the chimney. Merlin pointed down to the farmer’s cottage by the nearby field. Its smoke stacker emitted the sign inhabitants there. Arthur directed his horse there with the cart followed by Merlin at the rear. They reached the outer gate of the cottage and were greeted by the howling of the wolf hound that was crouched by the porch. The wolf hound had stood on its limbs still guarding the doorway to the cottage. Its howling brought the cottage dweller to the doorway.

“If its Christian charity you seek then be on your way. Here we worship the Devil in his real form.” The figure held a long blade with a wide ‘T’ hilt in his right hand while a round shield of linden wood, bound and riveted with iron inland bands on the side and across it. He wore a red tunic and drawers with a leather cloak to his knees and his feet cladded in sandal. His facial expression was taken up by the thick moustaches on his upper lip with the spat of goat tee at below the jaw. His hair on the top was short cropped with the sides shaven to make it looked like a plateau on the mountain top.

“I seek not shelter but a test of skills with you.” Arthur replied back and then he dismounted. He approached the red tunic figure. “I will fight you without your sword.”

“Will I be mad to discard the one only weapon which made me formidable?” The red figure replied. “I know of one named the Aron the Mad for he fought well with his fists and sword but was once defeated by another who was his peer at worst or better on the best days.”

“So you do well recall that. I thought you died in the battle with the Picts when your body was not found but saved your gladius with the personal markings.” Arthur stared at the other. “Did you desert the Legion?”

It was a personal insult to be called a deserter but the other laughed.

”Desertion was my last consideration. I held good pay with the Legion and with a year to freedom, would I sacrifice it all?” The red figure shook his head. “I will not be named Lancelot if I would to do so.”

“Then tell me Lancelot of the Legion. Why have thou disappeared after the battle?” Arthur asked.

“Of duty and loyalty. I was asked by the Prime to take a small detachment to track the Picts. I had lost my gladius then and picked up another. We tracked them for weeks and found their main camp. On the return, we were ambushed and fought to the last man. I made it out alive and told the Prime of the location. For that another annihilation of the Picts were carried out but they survived.”

“Like myself, the Picts may had picked up the survivals and revive the tribes but their threat was subdued with the loss. I was honored with an early release while the Legion was in the Ardennes. No one knew of my situation and it was best kept at that. My father was to honor me with a place at the Senate in Rome but fate took a twisted turn. My father enemies reveal a secret of myself. I was not of the Roman blood but of the Picts. They plotted against him and on hasten his death with murder. It was then I was to find out that among those I had led to the slaughter was my own people. My real name was Dun Lumce of Lumbria.”

With that, Lancelot turned to go back into his home leaving Arthur standing there. He then heard the voice from inside.

“If you do worship the Devil, the Gates of Hell is still open.” From those words, Merlin had rushed past Arthur to go in. He stopped at the doorway and then turned to look at Arthur.

“We as the Druid do so call on the other side at times. So I guessed I could be invited in.” Merlin was followed by the limping wounded man.