R5 Gerraint: Meryddin, part 2 of 2

At once there came a flash of light and a tall woman, the most beautiful woman Arthur had ever seen, stepped up beside him and waved her arm once.  The fog cleared off in an instant, like waving her arm created a great wind, though Arthur felt no wind.  The clearing revealed six blue painted Picts, crouched like hunters, but utterly unmoving.

Meryddin got revealed, standing still as a statue on the edge of the forest.  The woman stepped up for a closer look. She saw the grandfather, a djin, a lesser spirit of evil that terrorized people to the point where they died of fright and then it sucked out their souls.  He had gone over to the other side, but before he went, he allowed a young woman to live.  She had a son who soon enough ate his mother.  His reign of terror came to the end at the hands of the people, a Frankenstein-type mob, but not before he impregnated a fifteen-year-old girl.  She had a son, Meryddin, one quarter djin.

Suddenly it made sense.  By the time Meryddin turned ten, his mother, then twenty-five, looked more like fifty.  She had no life left to tend the boy.  He went into the hands of the druids who worked their mightiest spells to bind the thing inside the boy.  They were partially successful, and Meryddin seemed normal after that.  But he never lost the ability to see and hear at great distances, though he could not exactly control it, and his power of illusion stayed great.

The woman turned when Arthur turned and saw, not Gwynyvar, but Gwenhwyfach.  The woman knew Gwenhwyfach participated in Meryddin’s scheme, and she took a deep breath before she acted.

“Go home, trollop,” the woman said, and Gwenhwyfach disappeared from that place.  Arthur stared at the woman until she gave her name.  “Danna.”

“Goddess,” he responded.

“No, Gerraint,” she smiled for him.  “And it would seem strange to be my own goddess, but he is a Christian now.”

“Yes.”  Arthur came more to himself and nodded.  “As am I, but…”  He quickly looked around.  He felt mortified by what he did and it showed on his face.

“No one saw,” Danna said.  She waved her hand again and Arthur became clothed.  “For you it will be like an unpleasant dream, but you must remember it because there will be consequences.”  Another wave and Arthur appeared back in his tent, on his bed, asleep.  Then the goddess turned to the others.  She started with Meryddin, and when she opened his eyes they almost popped from his head on sight of her.

“I see you,” she said.  “I see what is inside of you, driving you.  Will you see it?”

Meryddin’s tongue came loose.  “You cannot be here.  How can you be here?  My goddess, do not turn against your servant.”

“I will show you,” Danna said.  “This is in your heart.”

Meryddin got set free even as the vision formed. He saw himself as a child slowly draining the life of his own mother.  He saw his father eating his own mother and he screamed.  He saw his grandfather and ran, wild abandon in the dark, with no thought for his life, and indeed, no thought at all beyond his fear. How far he would run and whether or not his mind would ever be whole again, even Danna could not say.  His influence over Arthur ended, but his wickedness continued and she did not have the right to intervene.  There would be consequences, but in the meanwhile, she could do something about the six Pictish statues

Danna looked at the men and thought the compulsion should pass in a week.  One madman per night should be enough.  She waved her hand once more and all six men appeared, five in villages along the coast and the sixth in the city that would one day be called Aberdeen.  They attracted an immediate crowd, night or not. Danna made sure of that.  Then the men spoke, but the only thing they could say was, “We should not have gone beyond the wall.  Now we are all dead.”  And they said it whenever they opened their mouths.

Danna turned to the forest and said, “Hear me.” That voice echoed through the Highlands, rippled across the lakes and blew like the cold wind in the remotest islands of the north.  “The time has come.  The iniquity is complete.  The Picts will be no more.  Do not hinder the men from the south.  Arthur must have his way.”  Then Danna vanished instantly and Gerraint returned, Salvation in his hand as it had been when Danna filled his shoes.

Gerraint looked up at the stars and moon, now clearly visible since the fog pushed off.  He returned his sword to its place and climbed off wall.  Uwaine stood there, but the boy did not see.  Just as well, Gerraint thought, and he thought of those men saying the same thing over and over for seven days, if they should live. He spoke out loud.

“My name is Inigo Montoya.  You keelled my Father.  Prepare to die.”

Uwaine nodded.  “Weird,” he said.

Arthur found Gerraint at dawn, said he had the weirdest dream and since he could not find Meryddin and since Gerraint was king of weird he wanted to share it.

Gerraint interrupted.  “I did not see anything through that fog, and there is no power on earth that can make her tell anyone.”  He paused when he saw a tear come up into Arthurs eyes.  “Meryddin ran away,” he added.

Arthur grasped at that change of subject.  “What do you mean ran away?”

“He got scared.  He ran, off into the forest, into the wilds of the Celidon.  I don’t know if we will see him again.”


 “He saw himself, what he really is.  He might not be in his right mind.”  Gerraint shook his head, sadly.

Arthur sniffed, dried his eyes and stepped to the tent door.  “We have a job to do.”  He stiffened, and Gerraint could not even guess what might be running through Arthur’s mind.  “We can’t run away,” Arthur said, and he lead twelve hundred men into the wilderness of Caledonia.


TOMORROW: Cat Coit Celidon. Don’t miss it.


R5 Gerraint: Meryddin, part 1 of 2

It almost took less time than Arthur thought before the sons of Caw came charging out of the north.  The Scots made no effort to stop them.  They dared not.  Loth and Kai were hard pressed to keep a safe zone for twenty miles around their forts and hundreds of people flocked there while thousands fled South, to York. Outside of those forts, the Picts had free reign, and they slaughtered whole villages and burned farms to the ground with the people inside the farmhouses.

Things balanced a little when the RDF arrived after the first month.  The RDF, particularly out of York, saved hundreds of people, and fought the Picts about even, with losses at first on both sides.  By the time Arthur got on the way, the RDF started gaining at Pict expense, particularly the men from York who had spent much of their time surveying the land to become familiar with the terrain.

With Arthur’s arrival, the Picts went back above the wall and took all the loot they collected up until then.  There were oxen, wagons, horses, sheep and cattle, and there were tons of farm implements, hoes and plows, and even some gold and silver. All Arthur had to see was the burned remains of one family, burned alive in their own home, and he became uncontrollable.  It took until the end of the day before he was able to talk.

“We are going to Caledonia,” he said softly. Everyone hushed to hear him.  “We are going above the Antonine wall.  If no one wants to go with me, I will go alone.” He walked off.

“Even the Romans never dared enter the Celidon Forest.  There are ghosts and terrible monsters up there.”  Bedwyr summed up what everyone thought.

“There are,” Gerraint agreed, his eyes fastened on Arthur’s receding back.  “But this time the ghosts and terrible monsters will be fighting on our side.”  People looked at him like he might be as mad as Arthur, but at least Percival and Uwaine smiled.

Twelve hundred men were brave enough to follow Arthur into the wild north.  Mostly, they were RDF and members of the Round Table, but some were men who lost homes and loved ones.  Arthur left the rest of the army at Edinburgh, Guinnon, and York in case some Picts circled around and tried to come back, “Or if the Scots get restless,” Loth said.

Then it became a simple matter to march north. The Scots stepped aside.  The Picts had been wild and angry, but these men showed something on their faces and in their silence that felt far more frightening.

In the afternoon, the army reached the northern wall. The men and squires set camp while Arthur, Gerraint and Percival climbed that portion of the Antonine wall where the stones still stood.  The forest that started some distance away looked shrouded in a strange mist, more like a cloud that had fallen to the ground than an ordinary fog.  The sky seemed otherwise cloudless.  The stars would be out in the night, and the moon that looked nearly full would shine down on the world and light the way for weary travelers.

“This has gotten serious,” Gerraint said. Arthur nodded and looked to the northeast so the sun set at his back.

“They are mostly in the east,” Arthur said. “The city of the high chief is on the east coast.  The islands and western wilds have begun to fill up with Ulsterites.”

“Where did you hear that?” Percival asked.

“They made a mistake attacking the Norwegians along with the Britons south of here,” Gerraint explained.  “If it was not for the coastal watch, the Danes would have swallowed up Caledonia long ago.”

“Now they are inspired,” Arthur said.

Gerraint took a good look all the way around. Meryddin, defender of the Scots and Picts went missing, and that bothered him.  His little ones were anxious to help, but he was not convinced he would let them beyond guiding lights and bumps in the Pictish night. He felt afraid to let them get too close.  He feared what Meryddin would do if he captured one.

Percival said nothing.  He simply looked around with Gerraint before he got down and went to his tent.  After a moment, Arthur and Gerraint got down and went their ways.  The morning sun would dawn on a different world.

Deep in the night, Arthur heard a cry.  He thought at first that it might be a sheep or goat trapped in a twist of briars. He heard it again and thought it might be a songbird disturbed in the night.  On the third call, he sprang out of bed.  It might have been Picts sneaking up on the camp, but this sounded like a woman in distress.  He snuck out to the wall where the mist had fallen over all the open ground and slowly crept over the wall.  Arthur hesitated, but then he heard the woman again and he understood the word, “Help.”

Once over the wall and covered in the thick fog, he had only his hearing and internal sense of direction to guide him. “Hello?”  He spoke softly in the hope of eliciting a response.  He shook his head several times.  The fog seemed to be penetrating his brain.  “Hello?”

“Arthur?”  The word struck him like a hammer and he lost all sense for a minute.  He knew the voice.  “Arthur?”

“Gwynyvar.”  He raised his voice, but in a moment, she fell into his arms and he held her tight. “How did you get here?  What are you doing here?”  He asked, but found his voice again in a whisper.  The fog seemed to require silence.

“Just hold me,” she said, and then she reached up and kissed him.  “The fog,” she tried to explain something, but he got busy kissing her and his mind was not right.  He couldn’t think straight.  Her nightgown fell away and she tore at his clothes until they were naked in the mist beneath the moon.  They made love in silence and not a thought between them until something clinked nearby.

Arthur sat straight up.  “What is it?  Who is there?’  He saw a blue hand and then a blue face in the mist and he jumped back, reached for his sword, which he had abandoned on the ground, and he pulled Gwynyvar behind him. The face grinned a grin of stark yellow teeth, and the eyes were wide to show plenty of bloodshot white, but the man did not move.  Gerraint called out into the dark.  “Arthur, stay where you are.”

R5 Gerraint: Gwynyvar, part 3 of 3

When Arthur came back he appeared all smiles. Gerraint held his tongue, but Percival could not help it.  “Did you hold her hand?  Did you kiss her?  Are you going to marry her?”

Arthur shook his head before he spoke.  “She is the most brilliant and sensitive and lovely woman I have ever met.  I told her the truth, the whole truth.”

“What?”  Percival looked stunned.

“What if the old lady tells Leodegan?” Gerraint asked the practical question, because he knew Arthur had not been allowed ten seconds alone with the girl.

“The lady said she had been keeping Gwynyvar’s secrets since she was born and saw no reason to change now.”  Arthur sat up and got quiet.  Meryddin poked his head into the tent.

“Interrupting?” Meryddin said, and grinned like he knew something.

In the morning, everyone got somber.  They were very open about their intention to attack the Irish lines, and not one person said anything about joining them; not the horsemen who came to get a closer look at those lances, not the footmen who stood on the walls and watched from the gate, not Mesalwig or Badgemagus, who they finally decided had to be somewhere in hiding.  Ogryvan, when out from under his father’s eye, talked about the distant Arthur, who he only heard about, like he was some kind of a god, greater than Julius Caesar, greater than Alexander the Great, but even he made no mention of joining the war party.

“This will have to be a swift strike, in and out,” Arthur reminded them.  “Our chief weapon is surprise.  Let us not lose that advantage.”  He nodded, and the men who manned the gate opened it, but never let go.  They looked determined to close it as soon as they could.

Even as Arthur crossed the threshold, a great horn sounded that echoed throughout the fort and down into the valley.  The Irish all looked up at the very gate Arthur and company were exiting.

Percival figured it did not matter, so he yelled, “For Arthur!”

“For Arthur!” The men echoed as they raced toward their objective.

Up in the fort, both Ogryvan and Captain Cleodalis came running up to see who blew the horn of assembly.  Men stumbled out of their barracks, while others brought horses out of the barn.  Captain Cleodalis looked like a man facing disaster.  Ogryvan looked mad.  Gwynyvar stood there, hands on hips, ready to spit.  Gwenhwyfach stood right behind her, worried about Lord Lot.  The big blacksmith puffed away, though almost out of breath.

“Why are you blowing the horn?” Ogryvan yelled at his sister, but he knew better than to give full vent to his rage. “Stop that this instant.  I said stop it.”

“Keep blowing,” Gwynyvar said between gritted teeth. The blacksmith knew the score.  He kept blowing while Gwynyvar stepped up to Ogryvan and slapped his face, hard.  “You coward. And you,” She turned on the Captain who shrank before her fury.  “You sniveling coward.”

“Your father said let Lord Bassmas go.  He said win or lose, we still gain.”  Captain Cleodalis broke under the pressure of Gwynyvar’s stare.

“Bassmas?”  Gwynyvar did spit.  “What a stupid name.  That is Arthur, Pendragon, and you cowards are leaving him to fight alone.”  Ogryvan stopped rubbing his jaw long enough to stare at the locked gate.  “If Arthur dies, Arthur’s people will wreak such vengeance on this place, not one person will be left alive.  And if Arthur wins while Father stays safe behind his cowardly walls, Father will be lucky to live as a blind beggar the rest of his life.  How dare you…”  Gwynyvar stopped, but only because she could not think of words terrible enough.

“Captain Cleodalis!”  Leodegan showed up and roared.  He evidently heard something.  “Why aren’t you out there on the battlefield?”

“But you said…”

“Never mind what I said.  You better get out there and quick.  If you are too late, you won’t be too late for the headsman’s axe.”

Cleodalis ran and started yelling, “Go, go, go!” even before men were properly outfitted or the horses properly saddled.

Arthur’s men cut an easy path to the tent of the Irish King.  Once again, Gerraint got a glimpse of Meryddin’s illusion.  The man stayed back this time, on the castle wall, so he could focus his effort on his work, and Gerraint saw it, five hundred riders in place of fifty, and the Irish saw it too and moved aside, or were cut down.

Arthur, Kai and Bedwyr made short work of the few guards around the tent.  Tristam and Percival found the old king still sleeping in bed.  Loth disarmed Prince Marat, though the young man continued to rage threats until Bedwyr banged him on his noggin.  Bedwyr smiled.

“I once had a horse that I had to do that to get him to go.”

Gerraint alone kept his eyes on the surrounding fight. Many of Arthur’s men were coming up, ready to form a wedge around Arthur for the return trip to the fort, but the Irish were coming awake and getting organized.  The company counted on the fact that the Irish had fifteen hundred men, but they were spread fairly thin to circle the fort.  The men around the King’s tent did not number more than two hundred, not an impossible number for lancers and well trained horsemen.  But that condition would not last long.  The Irish started gathering.

“Surrender,” Arthur said.  “Tell your men to cease hostilities and throw down their arms.”

King Rience looked around at his dead guards and the strong, young men who held his arms, and bowed his head.  “Whom am I addressing?”

“I am Arthur, Pendragon of Wales, Cornwall and Britain, and by rights you and all of your invading friends should be hung as pirates.”

“I yield, Arthur Pendragon,” the old man said and bowed his head again before he shoved Percival away and grabbed at Percival’s sword in the process.  Percival kept his sword, and Tristam slipped his knife into the king’s chest before he thought about what he was doing.  The king did not linger as Tristam’s blow cut the heart.  Prince Marat screamed, and since Bedwyr made sure the young man had been disarmed, Loth let him go to his father where he fell down and wailed.

“We need to go,” Gerraint yelled into the tent. The foot soldiers appeared to be waiting for more distant reinforcements, but a party of some thirty horsemen with spears looked ready to charge.  Gerraint jumped up on his horse and called, “RDF.  Form up.”  Gerraint took one second to lean over to Uwaine and Gawain and yell.  “Stay here.”  Then he charged, before the Irishmen could get fully organized.

To be sure, Arthur’s men killed or wounded or at least knocked the thirty Irish right off their horses.  The RDF suffered three casualties and twice as many wounded, but then they were able to return to protect Arthur even as the gates in the fort opened and men began to stream out.

Loth, Kai and Bedwyr packed up Arthur and Prince Marat and led the way back to the fort, the body of King Rience draped over a spare horse.  Some of the Irish saw and immediately headed back toward their distant ships.  Many of the Irish continued to fight bravely and there were casualties on both sides.  Given the time and the thirty lances Gerraint became able to train on group after group of the enemy, the Irish finally surrendered.  When Gerraint left the cleanup to Leodegan’s men and rode back into the fort, he found Gwynyvar and Arthur kissing.  She was afraid he was going to die.  Gerraint imagined he just wanted to kiss her.

Later that evening, Arthur, Gerraint, Loth, Kai and Meryddin walked again into the great hall, Arthur holding tight to Gwynyvar’s hand.  Leodegan came out from his chair to fall to his knees.  He dared not say anything.

Arthur looked around the hall, casually. Badgemagus sat there with his foot up on a stool.  His gout looked really bad, and that explained his absence up until then. Mesalwig sat with him, and so did Ogryvan.  Once they lead the men out from the fort, they acquitted themselves well, so Arthur had no complaints.  Gwenhwyfach stood by her father’s chair, trembling.  She wanted to run out to Loth but did not dare.  Curiously, everyone knew Loth would have accepted her and no one would have complained, but she was young.  Captain Cleodalis sat at the table, trembling, but Arthur decided that he was Leodegan’s headache.  Meryddin went over to stand beside the druid when Arthur spoke.

“Stand up, Lord Leodegan.  This is your lucky day.  I just can’t think bad thoughts about the father of my bride.”

Leodegan got up and his face visibly brightened. “I know you are Arthur, the Pendragon. Who else could defeat the whole Irish army with just fifty men.”  And so, things were settled with a feast, and while Arthur kissed Gwynyvar, Loth took Leodegan into a back room for a private talk.


MONDAY…yes, returning now to the regular schedule of Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday at 8AM

so … MONDAY, R5 Gerraint.  Peace is nice for a while, but the Picts and the Saxon raiders and pirates appear to be building something, and no one wants those two working together.  Until Monday, Happy Reading


R5 Gerraint: Gwynyvar, part 2 of 3

“Father?  We have company?”  two young women came tumbling out of the tower door.  They were followed by three older women who Gerraint imagined in the future would be called ladies in waiting.  Gerraint also imagined that one of those ladies had been waiting a long time.

“Gwynyvar, come give your old father a kiss.”  She did, but her eyes never left Arthur. “And Gwenhwyfach, my baby.”  She also offered a kiss on her father’s cheek, but her eyes were eating Loth, a man twice her age, and Loth did not seem to mind. Gerraint thought it must be Loth’s long, straggly blond hair.  He did have a bit of a Saxon look about him.

“Are you going to introduce us?” Gwynyvar asked.

“My daughters, Gwynyvar and Gwenhwyfach” Leodegan said.  “Meryddin you know.”

Both girls nodded their heads but lost their smiles.

“These others are Lord Bassmas, leader of the men newly arrived, Lord Goreu, Lord Lot, and, I beg your pardon,”

“Cecil.”  Unfortunately for Kai, Meryddin remembered.

“Lord Bassmas.”  Gwynyvar clearly liked his look but did not sound thrilled with his name.

“Lord Lot?” Gwenhwyfach tried to mirror her sister, but Leodegan caught it.

“Gwenhwyfach is the younger.  She is sixteen.  Gwynyvar is my eldest, full grown at eighteen and at the center of this trouble.”

“I cannot imagine her at the center of any trouble,” Arthur said, and watched Gwynyvar turn red.  “But do tell the story so that we may know what we are willing to die for.”

Leodegan nodded and waved for everyone to sit.  Of course, he did not mean the girls who stood at the two sides of Leodegan’s chair, and the ladies who stood a step back. Meryddin pushed in front of Arthur. Gerraint let Loth and Kai in front of him, which put Loth next to the druid.  Gerraint sat on the end and faced Arthur.

“It was about fifteen years ago.”

“Fourteen years, father.” Gwynyvar whispered loudly, like her father might be going deaf.  “Five years after Uther died.”

“Ah yes.  It was fourteen years ago King Rience sent an invitation to visit him at Tara, in Ireland.  He invited all of the Welsh lords from the coast, and I, and two others accepted. He mentioned the Irish pirates and wanting to put a stop to them and instead build good relations with what he called his cousins across the sea.  I remember Gwynyvar turned four or so.  Gwenhwyfach was definitely two and kept her mother busy.  Her mother was alive in those days, before the flu took her…  I remember Rience was very taken with Gwynyvar who he called beautiful as a fairy queen.”

Arthur nodded, and Gwynyvar saw and looked away before she turned red again.

Leodegan continued.  “Thinking on it, I don’t know what his real plan was, but he seemed to hit on a plan that involved getting me stinking drunk.  He talked about marrying his young son Marat and my daughter Gwynyvar when they came of age.  I thought he was joking.  I was passing out drunk.  But now that Gwynyvar has turned eighteen, Rience has come to collect.  It started with letters, you know.  He cannot have my daughter.”

“I agree,” Arthur said.  “A cause worth dying for, but one better to live for.” Gwynyvar looked at Arthur and had a different look in her eyes.  It appeared like longing and just a little hope.

“What about the Brit from Somerset, Mesalwig?” Ogryvan asked.

“Yes,” Leodegan laughed a little.  “Lord Badgemagus brought him here to woo for Gwynyvar’s hand.”  Gwynyvar made a face and shook her head for Arthur.  “Now he has gotten caught here with the arrival of the Irish army.”

“So, tell me,” Arthur got suddenly serious, not wanting to get too distracted.  “What of the forts along the coast that Uther built against piracy?”

“Still there, I suppose.  They were not built to withstand an army.”

“No,” Arthur agreed.  “But one of them better be burnt to the ground.  If they got paid to look the other way and let Rience just walk in here with his whole army, I will burn them to the ground myself.”

“Yes, I see,” Leodegan turned thoughtful.  “But now that the Irish are here, my Captain says there is nothing we can do.  We are running out of options.  I sent messages to Caerleon to appeal to the pendragon for help, but I don’t know if any got through the Irish lines.”

“We have options,” Kai said.

“We got through,” Loth said at the same time, with a glance at Gwenhwyfach who presently looked fetchingly shy.

“Fifty well-armed men got through,” Ogryvan pointed out.  Gerraint had his eyes on Captain Cleodalis by then.  He guessed the Captain was good at running a fort and maintaining discipline among the troops, but when it came to battle he got completely lost.  His men would defend the walls, but attack would not be on his list of things to do.

“Very well,” Arthur stood, so his men stood with him. “Lend me Captain Cleodalis and Ogryvan. We need to take a walk on the walls and see where we can find weaknesses in the Irish lines.”  He turned and walked to the door.  Gerraint went with him, but he looked back, since Arthur refused to look back.  Arthur started going overboard on sounding decisive and confident, and Gwynyvar had her hand over her heart.

Once out the door, Gerraint got to whisper. “So, are you going to marry her here or take her back to Caerleon?”  Arthur hit Gerraint in the arm and Gerraint said, “ouch,” but Arthur smiled.  Then Ogryvan, and finally Captain Cleodalis caught up and they climbed to the top of the fort wall.  Arthur, Loth and Kai all pointed out serious flaws in the way the Irish laid their siege, beginning with the road they so easily came up. Gerraint remained quiet until at last, he asked one question.

“Where is Rience located?”

“There.” Ogryvan pointed.  “That big green tent with the different flags.”

“So, that is our objective,” Gerraint said. The others basically understood, but waited.  “I have it on good authority that a snake is not worth much without a head.”

“There are no snakes in Ireland,” Captain Cleodalis objected.

“Then they should not have come here,” Arthur said. “We have snakes in Britain, and we know how to deal with them.”

That afternoon got spent preparing for a morning attack.  Horses got extra attention, weapons were sharpened, armor got cleaned and polished. Gerraint had been called to talk to the squires when one of the ladies from the tower came to speak to Lord Bassmas.

“What does she want?” Arthur wondered.

“I don’t know,” Gerraint said with a sly grin. “You’re the bass master.  Maybe she wants to know how to catch a fish.” Gerraint paused.  That got spoken half in British and half in an English that would not exist for a thousand years.

“Weird,” Arthur said as they stepped out of the tent.

The old woman curtsied.  “Your pardon.  My Lady Gwynyvar has composed certain questions about the defense of her people and her home and wonders if the kind lord may attend her and give answer.”

“He would be delighted,” Gerraint spoke first, and gave Arthur a little shove.  Arthur gave him a mean look, but at least this time he kept his fist to himself.

“I suppose I can take a small break from our preparations.  I will do my best to answer whatever questions the lady may have, at the lady’s convenience.”  He followed her and Gerraint thought, henceforth everything will be at the lady’s convenience.  Arthur might as well get used to that right from the beginning.

Gerraint stepped over to where the squires gathered. Ederyn and Bedwyr were there to assist as they might be needed with a group of unruly teenagers.  “Listen up,” he began.  “Tomorrow morning, we will be riding out to kick some Irish butt.”

“What?” Tristam didn’t follow.

“Hopefully, kick it right back to Ireland where it came from.”

“Weird,” Percival mumbled.  At Nineteen, he stood at the back of the crowd with Urien while most of the younger ones were seated.

“I have no doubt that Percival, Urien and Tristam will fight bravely, whatever the odds.  To be honest, a young man is not much of a squire after eighteen anyway. But there are a couple of thousand screaming, wild Irishmen out there and we are only fifty, not counting you squires.”  Gerraint paused and got serious for a moment.  “Truth is, we may all die tomorrow.  You young ones should not be part of that.  You haven’t had the time and training to know your left hand from your right, much less how to kill a man. And that is what it means.  You have to be willing and able to kill a man. Son.”  He looked straight at Uwaine.  “Killing and trying not to be killed takes a man’s full measure and concentration.  I won’t have one second to watch over you and protect you.”  And he thought, but if you go out there, my worry for you might get me killed.  He did not say that, because he knew the squires would make up their own minds, and in the end their Lords could not stop them—even as Gerraint and Arthur and Percival made their own decisions.  It was an important part of growing up.

“Come on,” Gerraint waved to Ederyn and Bedwyr to follow and leave the young ones alone for a while.  Ederyn patted Gerraint on the shoulder in support of what he said.  Bedwyr had a different take.

“I never thought of it that way before,” he said. “I mean the part about killing and not being killed.”

Gerraint had his ears turned behind and heard Uwaine ask, “So do we saddle our horses now or wait until morning?”