Chapter 7

Artoria

Smiling, I waved to the peasants—smiling and waving to the peasants. That was the only thing running through my mind as I rode through the city. While I wasn't being a complete machine about it, just smiling constantly and waving like some crazed lunatic, I was doing it every once in a while, focusing on occasional peasants or people of importance, giving them a wave and a smile too, trying to build some sort of rapport with the population of the town of York.

That was the only way I was going to get them on my side, after all. Well, that and my current attempt at getting the church on my side. I'd been riding through the city for the last five minutes. You would think, considering how small it was, I wouldn't have had much trouble getting through, but the crowds were rather large, with kids and people waving, happy to see a potential royal enter their world for the first time in their lives. With any luck, just my appearance would inspire them to join the military I would be trying to build once this fight was over. Although, that was hard to say. I could, however, see the church coming up now—a small building compared to what you might imagine for a metropolitan place named York. But then again, this was only the start of the Christian era. They hadn't had years to build monoliths to their religion.

Up on the steps, I could see the head priest—or whatever they called him—standing, holding a lamb crook in one hand, using it more like a walking staff. Next to him, looking absolutely annoyed, was the governor of York. His eyes told me everything I needed to know about what he was thinking. He saw this as what it was—me outplaying him. And though there may have been some grudging respect for me outplaying him, there was a general distaste in those eyes.

Finally, my band and I arrived at the square in front of the church, and I was allowed to dismount. The white gown underneath my armor barely avoided touching the dirty ground, not being soiled. I carefully did my best not to ruin this wardrobe, since I would probably need to use it again in the future. As agreed by the runners beforehand, I took the sword off my side and hooked it onto the harness of the horse.

Taking a deep breath, I looked over to Sir Kay, who had dismounted and started putting his weapons on his horse as well. Merlin dismounted from their beast of burden, though they only had a staff in their hand, as the other knights did as well. Most of them kept their weapons, as they were not going into the church, instead staying outside for safety.

Turning, I started to walk up the few steps, giving a courteous bow to the priest and the governor of this town. Smiling, I said, "It's good to finally meet you, Mister Awen Dosser."

"Indeed, indeed, it's good to finally meet you, young prince of the Pendragon line," the priest said, nodding before indicating with his left hand toward the governor of York. "Governor Awen Dosser here came over from the palace to meet you, although I believe you've met before."

"Yes," I said, "we met. That was my reveal," offering a hand. "Hopefully, we can come away with a better agreement than last time, don't you think, Governor?"

He gave me a bit of an annoyed look before saying, "Yes, Prince Pendragon, perhaps we shall come to a better agreement this time." He said that last part under his breath. He was not happy, I could tell, but I didn't need him to be happy. I had enough knights at my back and call to defend myself if he tried anything. I just needed the forces that were available to the city to pull off what was necessary to save Northern England from the assault of the Picts.

If I could pull that off, it wouldn't matter what he thought. After all, the thing that brought people together was success. If you can show people success, they will put their opinions aside for the betterment of everything. At least, that's what I believed. Perhaps the world would prove me wrong on that opinion in the future, but I would like to think that people were more logical than that and would come to understand, as I did.

The man gave me the continuous look of annoyance as the priest turned to the crowd and started speaking about how a good knight, a Christian knight, had come to save them and how I was that good Christian knight who would drive the enemies of Christianity back beyond Hadrian's Wall. Which, I was not so sure about, but hey, I'd give it a shot.

"And how I would be blessed by the spirit of Jesus Christ in the defense of civilization."

I attempted not to roll my eyes at that one, specifically because, with the mayor of York right there—the potential enemy of my new reign—I didn't want to give him any ammunition to use against me in this little game we were playing.

Turning to me, the priest said, "All right, the public part of this is over. Now we can move on to the private part." He gave a look to Merlin before saying, "I don't know who you are, but you look like a druid. I would ask that you stay outside. Not a fan of your type."

Merlin chuckled before saying, "You're not a fan because I don't fall for your tricks as easily, Christian."

The priest gave him a look before saying, "Believe what you will. The point stands, though—please stay outside."

Merlin nodded before saying, "Careful, Arthur. Remember who your friends are."

I nodded as Sir Kay entered the church. Annoyingly, I saw that there was a pool at one end, probably for the baptism. Thank goodness I was wearing metal armor over the white clothing, otherwise something might be a little bit noticeable that I would rather not have. Shaking my head, I followed the priest toward the baptism pool. Here we go, I thought, reminding myself that this was for assets.

Sir Kay

"Well, Prince of the Pendragon line, you pulled one off on me. I'll say this right now—that was a nice little sneaky move, getting the priests to back your play. And now my town is all in a rage about joining the war against the Picts, instead of trying to survive them. Real great on that. I really love that we're all going to die because of you, so you better have a damn good plan, Prince of Pendragon," the mayor of York said, sounding bitter to the core as he sat heavily in a seat across from us.

We were currently in the governor's mansion. Most of his staff were now technically our staff, as Arthur had more than enough knights patrolling the territory, making sure that there would be no attempt on her life or on anyone else's. We couldn't trust the governor, but she wasn't going to turn down the use of the mansion, since it was a central location and a good place to start planning.

As for her state, she was not in a happy mood. She was wrapped in towels, having been dunked in cold, blessed water. There was currently a roaring fire as she attempted to dry off. She looked comfortable, but I imagined she was probably thinking something random, like, I sure hope I don't come down with something from being in that water. She did tend to think of things like that.

Arthur, warming her hands by the fire, looked up at the mirror before speaking. "I have a plan. It's an okay plan, but it will require time, which we should have. The Picts shouldn't be coming for a few more months, should they?"

The mayor laughed. "We have a month, at most. A month to try and prepare an army to defend the city of York, and your life. We're all going to die, and it's going to be your fault," he said, as a servant girl came forward offering him a drink. He popped the bottle open and started drinking the alcoholic beverage.

Arthur looked at him, deep in thought, before asking, "Do we have an idea of how many troops the enemy has?"

"What?" the mayor asked, confused.

"I asked," Arthur repeated. "Do we have an idea of how many troops the king of the Picts has? He's been sending raiding parties south for thirty years or so. I would assume you have some idea of how many men he has under his control. Even if he doesn't send every man down here directly, you have to have some idea of how much loot they take back. And don't say they don't have trade south here. They have to send trade caravans down here to sell some of the loot for furnished goods that were already here. So, you must have some idea. I doubt a man as forward-thinking as you doesn't have some sort of espionage service taking up details about potential problems with your neighbors. So, do you have an idea of how many men the enemy king has under his control?"

The mayor sipped his drink before answering, "10,000 men, at minimum. There's a chance there are even more than that, but I believe he has 10,000 warriors he can easily draw upon without risking damaging next year's crops."

"Two legions worth," Arthur said matter-of-factly as she warmed her hands. "That's bad, but not undefeatable. 10,000 men protected by spirits and not much else is just 10,000 barbarians we have to deal with. Even if they're mountain men, strong men, men who are good at living off the land, they're still just men. So, how do we defeat two legions of untrained soldiers?"

I raised a hand and said, "Well, if we're a smaller force, we have to be more proactive, don't we? We have to hit them before they can gather into a larger force, make them unable to bring all 10,000 men to battle at once."

Arthur smiled at me. "I wonder if you're thinking the same thing I am," she said. "That's a good idea, brother. That's how we win. The enemy thinks we're going to prepare and hold this position. They think they can bring everything to bear at once, but here's the thing: the Picts are semi-nomadic. They live in the mountains and small villages. If we move faster than them and attack those villages, we can create chaos. We can bring that number down. What was it you said? He can bring 10,000 men to combat without damaging his food supplies? What if we damage his food supplies then?"

"That's madness," the mayor said, standing up and drinking deeply as he put the glass down on the tray the servant girl held. "You would take, what, 400 knights across Hadrian's Wall, past the Antonine Wall, to the land of the Picts? The last Roman legion sent north that far was lost with all hands, and that was a full legion of 5,000 men, with possibly up to 10,000 with reservists."

Arthur nodded before replying, "Yes, but that's also something they're counting on. For the last hundred years, it's been them pushing out the border. The civilized world isn't pushing it theirs. They're comfortable, they're not worried about us attacking northwards. Heck, they're going past some of the civilized territories between the Antonine and Hadrian's Wall because those areas are not worth fighting over."

The mayor shook his head. "It's an impossible task. You ask, how many knights do you even have?"

Arthur shrugged before answering, "Last count, I have 400 knights gathered from various lords. Currently, there are only 50 here with me, but if I put out the call, those other 350 will come."

"400 versus 10,000 is terrible odds," the mayor said, taking his seat.

"Agreed," I said, before adding, "But it won't be 400 versus 10,000, especially if we do what we're planning with your town of York."

"Oh, and what are you planning?" the mayor asked, scoffing. "I can only raise about 500 men here to defend the town—500. Putting it together, you've got 900, and my 500 aren't even knights—they're just people with spears."

"500 is a start," Arthur said. "Though we're going to expand that to 5,000."

The mayor looked at her like she was insane. She simply smiled. "I'm going to rebuild a Roman legion—call it a British legion, I guess—and we're going to use that to man Hadrian's Wall."

"Impossible," the mayor said. "We can't fund a legion. We don't have the economic resources to do such a thing. Even if I stretched my wealth to its limits, York itself could only fund a 1,000-man legion."

Arthur nodded before saying, "We'll see about that. I'm pretty good with numbers myself, mayor. But I have a feeling we won't have to rely solely on the men of York for this. This won't be a legion raised only from the men of York. As you said, a thousand men can come from there. But if I deliver on my promise, we'll have funding from many minor lords here in the north, not to mention access to many men across the north who have spent years running and hiding from the Picts, and are now being given the chance to take the fight back to them."

The mayor looked at her as though she were mad. She simply smiled and said, "I've already put out the call for my other bannermen to come. I've told them most of the plan—I plan to raise a legion. They'll be sending men here soon enough."

"Hah. You're nuts," the mayor scoffed. "Even if you could bring together 5,000 men to serve as the basis of this legion, we have no one to train them. Knights are not like the Roman legions. You may have some advantages with your horseback soldiers, but you can't train that legion of foot soldiers."

"Oh, I'm aware," Arthur said. "It won't be easy. We'll need a few months to make this force formidable."

"Which is why my knights will be indispensable in giving us those few months."

"Let me ask," the mayor shook his head, seemingly coming to the conclusion that she was nuts. He sighed before saying, "Well, you trapped me into helping you. I'm not going to be happy about it, and if you fail, make no mistake—I will say to the king of the Picts that you forced your way into control of my lands to try and save your own skin."

"Reasonable," Arthur said simply. "I mean, it's only reasonable as long as you don't betray me. But I'll simply say this: you won't live to see another day if you try to open those doors to the Picts."

The mayor looked at her, raising an eyebrow at the implicit threat, before nodding. "Loyalty is most important."

"Loyalty is everything. If I can't inspire loyalty, I'll demand it," Arthur said, sighing as she stood up, brushing her hand through her hair before continuing. "Now that that's all settled, I'm going to return to my bed for the night. My guards will keep an eye on things. Governor, mayor, whatever title you're going by today, don't push things. If you don't, I will deliver to you a frontier of wealth. Push things, and you'll be, at best, a forgotten memory in the history books. At best, a stepping stone."

The mayor nodded as she walked away towards her room, leaving me, Merlin, and him alone in the room. He looked at me before asking, "So, she's absolutely insane, right?"

Merlin laughed before answering, "She is absolutely the right kind of insanity to make sure Britain survives. Or would you rather live in a world dominated by the Picts to the north, who worship dark fairies and a dragon?"

"A dragon to the south?" I asked, sounding confused. "You mean Vertigon? It doesn't mean falling apart—his Anglo-Saxon mercenaries are fighting each other as much as the locals down there. I heard that the capital city, Londinium, has become a sort of chaotic capital, with minor warlords fighting over the territories around the main tower where Vertigon lives."

"Yes," Merlin said matter-of-factly, with a shrug of their shoulders before adding, "That's step one of their process of becoming something more—something more dangerous, something that will see the end of Britain. Yeah, more if they succeed," he said, leaning in. "Hopefully, our plans will succeed, and Britain will become a shining beacon to the world, or at the very least a safe and stable homeland in these trying times of chaos."

The mayor shook his head, getting up from his seat and saying, "You're all insane," before walking out of the room in a different direction from where Arthur had gone, leaving me with Merlin. I turned to them and asked, "Are we insane?"

They simply smiled and left the question hanging in the air.

Bedivere

"So this is York?" I asked as I looked to my friend, Cei, who glanced around the city, unimpressed. To be fair, it was hard not to be unimpressed by the place. Holding the reins with my one good hand, I could just about estimate the size of the town from what little I saw. It was one of the old Roman towns set up to try and civilize the North. It had been expanded through the years and had a good solid wall on one side of the city, but still, it was just not that big compared to something like Londinium. A mediocre town. The only thing of some interest was the fact that it was the closest major city to the border of England, created by Hadrian's Wall.

"You think we're going to find work here?" my friend asked. I shrugged.

"Supposedly the King of the Pendragons is trying to build a legion up here, and that's something we can know something about," I said, laughing as I looked at my friend, who nodded, his eyes dropping down to where my missing limb was.

"Are you sure it's okay to be trying this? I mean, you gave good service to the Emperor. There's no reason for you to continue to serve in anyone's wars, especially without the capability of two hands."

I shrugged, looking at him before saying, "I don't care about a missing hand. I've got one good hand still, and good legs. I can march. And if they really just need a man to teach people how to march and train, that's more than enough service for me."

My friend nodded, though he still looked unconvinced. To be honest, he was right. I didn't come up here just to train an army. I came here to find something—a reason to still be around. I'd served in the Roman legions, trying to rebuild connections here on the island. I hoped to find out who I was and where I belonged. I'd gone from some know-nothing youth, named after the God of War of the Welsh, to Bedivere, the Latinized version of my name, serving within the Roman legions, trying to regain control over a falling-apart region. I'd marched with Artorias from the border of Cornwall, the so-called King of the Britons, the White Dragon Lord. I'd killed a lot of Anglo-Saxons, I mean, a lot of them, before my hand was slashed off in the explosive magical weapon that Vertigon used to win the war against the Romans. Since then, I'd been recovering, and without a good hand for killing, I wasn't really sure what I was good for. Plus, I just had a bit of a hatred for the man, Vertigon.

I wanted to see his schemes fail, so getting my service to the other king of Britain made sense. At least they didn't seem to be using magical weapons.

Looking at my friend, I asked, "Are you good with this? I know you were thinking about heading back home to Wales, let the world fight it out."

He shrugged before saying, "Current homeland is run by an Irish king. I'd rather not even get into that mess. The current lords are trying to beat each other up more than deal with the fact that we're ruled by an Irishman—a heathen, not even Christian," he said, shaking his head before adding, "At least this king has had a public baptism to confirm that he's Christian. That's more than enough for me to serve them."

I nodded my head in agreement as we made our way through the town. I gave a few nods and smiles to the passing ladies; it's hard not to return what was being given my way. Even though I'd lost my hand, I still had my face, and my face, as one Roman had said, would have probably sailed a thousand ships. Not that I was much of a ladies' man myself, but apparently, if I ever became one, I would be very popular, based on that Roman's description.

Riding toward the center of town, I saw a booth had been set up. It was a wooden construction with some carpets lining the top. Men, knights, I realized, were taking in people who were signing up on contracts. Odd, I thought. I hadn't seen contracts since I joined the Roman Empire's legion. Seriously? I just mounted my horse carefully so I didn't fall, since I had to use one hand, roping it off to a pole before my friend did the same. Cracking my neck, I led the way over to the booth. A young knight was currently filling out some paperwork for some peasants who'd probably never seen riding before.

He handed it to them as he saw me coming up, saying, "This is your contract. It says you'll be part of the military for two years of service. After those two years, you'll be paid a bonus for seeing out your contract, as well as receiving a payment for your service during that time."

The peasant looked over the paperwork before saying, "Okay, I don't really understand this," he said, putting the paperwork back down, "but if it gives me a chance to break some skulls, I'm in."

"Well then, welcome. You're in. There's a camp down the road to the right."

He nodded, and the peasants headed off to the right, toward the road that led out of York and toward the plains that were facing the North. I hadn't come in from the north, so I didn't know what was going on up there. Maybe that was where most of the military was gathering. Shaking my head, I walked up and cleared my throat as I said, "Good sir, is this where one would sign up to help defend England against the Pictish invasion?"

"Yeah, this is the place," the man said matter-of-factly, reaching over for a contract and pulling out a new one. "Do you know how to ride, or do you need me to fill it out for you?"

"We served in the Imperial Army of Rome. We know how to make our mark and can read contracts pretty well," I said.

"Good," he said, putting the contracts down and setting two quills on either side. "Read them at your own pace. If you have any questions, feel free to ask."

I nodded and picked up the contract, quickly reading it over and realizing that this was a carbon copy of what one would see in a Roman contract. It used very similar language and even implied a military structure that was very similar to the Roman one. I raised an eyebrow at this before asking, "Are you basing this military off the Roman style?"

The man nodded before saying, "Yep. The king, or prince, depending on who you talk to, is not in favor of using mercenaries, so they're going to base the new army, or legion, off the Roman legions. Since, well, there was success with those before they were pushed out."

I nodded before saying, "I served within the Roman legion to the south, the one that was destroyed fighting Vertigon a few months back. Is there any way I could help with the training?"

The man nodded his head immediately, reaching for another contract and pulling it out, slipping it onto the table before us. "I assume both of you did, right?"

I nodded, and the man said, "Might want to read this contract instead of those two." As he got up and waved, trying to signal someone to come forward, I looked in the general direction, seeing a large crowd of knights and general activity near a large tent. Was that where the king was? A question for a later date. For now, I looked over the contract I had just been handed.

It was a longer period of service, four years; however, it took into account that I would have training that could be used to help train new soldiers and offered a higher commission—a higher officer's commission. Well, now that's new, but it made sense. I looked to my friend, who was smiling and already taking up the pen, drawing his mark where the name should go.

Since he had already made up his mind, I put the paper back down and reached over with my left hand to pick up the pen, quickly scribbling down a bad version of my name. I would have preferred to do better, but I was right-handed, and my right hand was missing.

"Wonderful," the man said, looking over the contracts before slipping them into another bin he had at the other side of the setup, smiling as he added, "Welcome to the new legion. You ready to go take the fight to the Picts?"

"I ain't ever ready," my friend said as I gave my agreement, only for a new voice to join the conversation.

Wonderful. Turning, I saw a blonde-haired man stepping forward, wearing blue and red garments. He smiled as he folded his arms across his chest and said, "Having actual Roman trainers is good. We've only managed to acquire three or four others, but we need to train 5,000 men. Three or four are not enough trainers; six is better. Still, could use a bit more though," he added. "All they got their hand in. I'm Arthur Pendragon, King of the Britons. Well, soon to be king, once I clean up the mess left by the last kings."

"Bedivere," I said, taking the hand and shaking it. "From Wales," I added. The king nodded. I took this moment to gather as much information about him as possible. He was young, maybe a few years younger than me. I would estimate he was about 15, maybe to my 17. He also possessed the same fine features that I had— a beautiful face that would likely draw many suitors of the female variety. I wondered if he was any better with women than I was. Doubtful, but he seemed rather honorable in his presentation at the very least. To come down and meet his new officers and even shake hands was a sign of either foolishness or an ability to connect with his underlings.

The king took his hand away and shook my friend Cei's hand. "Also from Wales, I assume?" he asked as Cei spoke his name.

"Yeah, yeah, we're both from Wales. We joined up with the Romans a few years back when we were like 14—stupid kids, really," Cei mused before adding, "But we're smarter now. And hey, we survived the fight against Vertigon. The guys say something about our capabilities."

Arthur nodded before saying, "It does say you're survivors. Many want to live through war, or a lot better than many want to die." Arthur looked at my hand before saying, "And by the fact that you're missing a hand, I'd say you withdrew because of injury and not cowardice, which means you are the right kind of people I need—men who know when to call it quits and men who know when to fight."

"Thanks," I said. Arthur gave a nod as he added, "There's a blacksmith in this town that's pretty proficient with metalworking. They might be able to make you some sort of prosthetic so that you can use your right hand, at least rudimentarily. You'll need that—at least to be able to lift a sword to leave the legion, won't you?"

"Yeah," I said, surprised by this shift in conversation, as Arthur simply nodded his head in agreement, as if his statements were the natural answers.

"Tell the blacksmith that I sent you, and they will build you something. I'll pay for it later."

"Thank you," I said, as Arthur nodded and said, "Good day to you too. I've got a lot of busy work to do to prepare for our activities and defending this nation, so I'll leave you to your work in preparing the legion." He turned and headed back toward the tent.

Cei let out a laugh once Arthur was further away, and I looked at him, confused. "What's up?" I asked.

He smiled before saying, "Oh, nothing. Nothing. I just think that the old Greeks would have written a few stories about you and Arthur."

"Oh, shut it," I said, flipping him off before heading toward the north entrance of town, where the legion—whatever condition it was in—was training.