495 AD: The Battle of Saint Albans

King Uther was dying.

That was the rumour that flew from lip to lip across Britain that year, as heavy snows fell. The King was more than fifty years old now, and the loss of two sons had aged him further. And with their loss, there was no heir to the throne in Logres’ darkest hour. The Supreme Collegium would not meet to appoint a new king, not after the fiasco when they had met four years earlier. Nor was there a lord powerful enough to be acclaimed king or to seize power: Duke Ulfius of Silchester, the most powerful landholder in the kingdom, had lost much political capital when he had foolishly allowed the Saxon King Octa’s half-brother Eosa to walk free in an attempt at appeasement. Marshal Talferyn, leader of the armies of Logres in the King’s absence, was rumoured to be seeking a private settlement with the Saxons.

And it was indeed Logres’ darkest hour. From the north, Octa and Eosa had struck from Deira into Lindsey, supported by their ally the Centurion King, driving the Duke into his fortress at Lincoln. With the Duke powerless to stop them, Lindsey was being ravaged, and only the snowfall had stopped the enemy from pressing further inland. Once the thaw came, however, they would surely strike from the north, supported further by King Oisc of Kent from the east. And what was to say that Aelle of Sussex and Aethelswith of Anglia would not join in as well, wolves tearing meat from a dead lion’s carcass?

A royal summons bearing the seal of the Pendragon arrived in Sarum, calling Earl Roderick to London. There, the decision would be made about what should happen. Some sort of resistance against the Saxons had to be organised. But, not trusting the others lords, he took a retinue of many of his most trusted knights with him: his son-in-law Sir Arnulf, Sir Aeronwy’s younger sister Sir Brietta, the cunning Sir Cadfael, gentle Sir Esther, outspoken Sir George, and many others. They spent the winter with their loved ones. When they fell, the spring rains would presage only death.

As the knights were about to depart to London, they had a visitor. Saint Gwiona of Amesbury herself, leader of the controversial feminist Christian movement that was spreading throughout Britain, wished to accompany Earl Roderick to London. She had dreamed that her presence would be required in the events that would unfold. The Earl agreed. It is never a bad thing to have a Saint accompany you!

When the knights reached London, they found that it was as they had heard: the King was weak and listless, barely attentive to what was happening. If he had sent the summons, he gave no indication of it now. The other lords had also brought their own followers, and so armed camps were set up about city. Violence seemed about to erupt at any minute, when one or another lord decided to simply seize power for himself. And every day brought the spring thaw closer and closer…

The knights spent their time waiting as well. Sir Brietta tried to keep an ear to the ground, monitoring the tensions between the different lords and their followers, but with little success: no one wanted to talk to a six foot warrior woman! Sir George and Sir Esther withdrew to their lady's side, spending the time in prayer with Saint Gwiona. Sir Cadfael, feeling fatalistic, also visited Saint Gwiona. In a roundabout way, he had caused the sect's existence, by courting Gwiona and then failing to live up to her expectations. Now, he went to seek her forgiveness. The woman who received him was unrecognisable as the one he had romanced. The Saint chastised him gently for his despair, and then gravely forgave him and blessed him,, knowing that whatever path he strode, it was always with the best intentions of Logres in his heart.

Meanwhile Sir Arnulf spent his time practicing, and making sure that everything was prepared. He encountered a few old friends as well: the remnants of Prince Madoc's bodyguard, the so-called 'Rainbow Guard' (since they bore heraldry from all across Logres). Sir Glesni, the most veteran of the Rainbow Guards, bemoaned the Prince's untimely death. If he had been here, surely the fight would have already been taken to the Saxons! She also mentioned an interesting rumour - that Prince Madoc had had an illegitimate son. If this rumour was true, the child might be an heir to the throne! Sir Arnulf also spoke to Sir Bertram of Leucomagus, who had decided to come to London to help with the inevitable battle against the Saxons. Sir Arnulf and Sir Helbur had convinced him that it was important the previous year.

The tensions festering below the surface boiled over as the snows began to melt and the first blossoms of spring to bloom upon the branch. The Saxons would surely begin to march on every side now, and still no decision had been reached. At a feast, Earl Roderick lost his temper, leapt to his feet and angrily denounced Duke Ulfius for his failures. Another lord then rose and shouted at Roderick for failing to recruit Malahaut, and soon the entire room was on its feet, shouting at one another, while the king sat listlessly in its midst, waiting for his end.

"Enough!" a voice roared. There was a flash of light. It was Merlin.

The court stood still and silent as the great enchanter strode amongst them, despite having been outlawed by the King's edict for abducting the heir, and chastised them all like children. "The Saxons are on your very doorstep, and yet still you squabble!" Octa and Eosa had not been slowed by the winter snows - instead, they had marched throughout the winter, avoiding settlements and roads to stop from giving their deadly purpose away, with the intent of killing King Uther himself. Saint Albans, a day's ride north of London, had just fallen to their wrath, and now the heart of the kingdom itself was imperilled. Merlin Ambrosius revealed that it was he who had summoned the lords of Logres, in hope that they would be able to come to an accord, but now the hour was too late.

One lone knight in the court challenged Merlin: the wizard was a wanted outlaw for stealing the young prince. "If you believe this more important than the safety of the realm, then step forward and seize me now," Merlin challenged, and the room was completely quiet once more. WIth no reply, Merlin strode over to the King and slapped him. "Hearken to your duty! Your children are gone and you mourn them, but behold that your son the Prince is kept safe and shall be revealed when the time is right! But now it is time for you to step forth once more in the defence of your kingdom. Rise to war, King Uther Pendragon!"

Uther rose, weakly but with his eyes blazing with anger. "Bring me my sword!" he shouted. "To war!"

Merlin slipped away, to talk to his friends once more (returning to his guise as Ambrose the scholar in the process.) For starters, he admitted that he was terrified that something would go wrong when he bluffed the entire court! His knowledge of the Saxon was nothing magical, certainly - Archbishop Bartholomew of Canterbury and Sir Julius of Saint Albans had just arrived from that city, having fled to London as soon as the Saxons were sighted. Sir Esther presented Merlin with the cheese from Carmarthen, which he ate with gusto. Sir Arnulf contemplated asking Merlin about his sister Ganeida, but decided not to raise the topic.

The army was already mostly assembled, thanks to Merlin's foresight. King Uther's sickness was as much the result of depression at the loss of his two children as any physical ailment, and so he led the army to battle, albeit borne in a litter. The army that travelled northwards was small, but it was elite: the lords of Logres, and their mightiest retainers. The windsock banner of the Pendragon fluttered boldly, as did the banner of Prince Madoc, borne by Sir Glesni as the Rainbow Guard rode one last time, and the banners of all the other dukes and earls and knights.

The army arrived at Saint Albans to find the Saxons occupying it. There was barely any sign of their presence: the town had been taken swiftly and secretly. If the Archbishop had not escaped, then the surprise attack would have worked for certain. Sir George rode forward to parley with the Saxons, and found a strange sight: the gates of Saint Albans were open. "King Octa disdains to fight a sick, old man, and so we Saxons have withdrawn into the city," the Saxon envoy jeered. An unlikely story - clearly, the open gateway was a trap! However, it would allow the use of the knights' horses, which was their most significant advantage over the Saxons, and which would be denied to them if they assailed the walls. Furthermore, Octa was clever enough that the seeming bluff could be a double-bluff, or a triple-bluff... Waiting was also clearly not an option: the most likely reinforcements to arrive would be more Saxons from Essex or Kent. The only thing for it was a forward assault, with the flower of British chivalry charging into the maw of Octa's trap.

The knights charged boldly in, and soon found themselves out of their depth. Octa had armed his troops with long-spears, to negate the advantage, and had secretly created simple traps, like hidden holes, to slow or cripple horses. Then, once the knights were engaged, heorthgeneat warriors led by Sir Eleri the Traitor swarmed in to attack them, driving them back from the gate in hours of fierce fighting. The knights of Salisbury, incensed by the sight of the traitor, and sensing a way to possibly turn the tides of the battle, charged to attack Sir Eleri's Saxon bodyguards. Sir Brietta was the first to strike down her foe and confront the former Captain of the Yeomen of the Guard: but Sir Eleri was too experienced a warrior for her, and struck her down with a blow that would have surely slain any less-harder mortal. Sir Cadfael suggested to Sir Arnulf that the two could dishonourably engage Sir Eleri to strike her down, but Sir Arnulf refused, and a furious Sir Cadfael went to what he was sure would be his doom, while Sir Arnulf kept other Saxon warriors at bay. Sir Cadfael and Sir Eleri were both hardened veterans, and their swords splintered shields and cleft mail asunder, but in the end Sir Cadfael fell from his horse, blood streaming from his many wounds. Now Sir Arnulf charged in, and the mightiest duel of all ensued, for Sir Arnulf was one of the foremost swordsmen in all of Britain. Both warriors were exhausted now from hours of fighting, but it was Sir Arnulf whose blade struck true, badly wounding Sir Eleri. She fled from the battlefield, while other Saxons attacked Sir Arnulf to cover her retreat.

Despite Sir Eleri's defeat, the forces of Logres had the worst of the first day. Morale was low - Octa had successfully tricked them into attacking the open gate, and they had suffered losses before being repulsed. Some of the more experienced knights realised that cunning Octa had set up a position where no matter where the Cymric forces struck, they would have had the worst of it - so no matter what choice they had made, it would have seemed that he had predicted their actions. Sir George used his pre-eminent skill as a harpist that night, moving through the camp and singing songs of past victories against the Saxons to give heart to the knights. Meanwhile, a few reinforcements did arrive, for the Cymric forces. Sir Cadfael was in the first aid tents, where he was being tended by Saint Gwiona and Sir Esther (who, gentle soul that she was, had avoided the battle in favour of helping to save lives), when he had a visitor. Sir Cador, now the commander of a small mercenary force, had come to repay his debt to Sir Cadfael by taking the field, even though in his view King Uther was scarcely better than the Saxons. In addition, a small column of determined peasants appeared and asked to join the fighting. Saint Albans was sacred to more than just Christians, they said - for they had come to defend the place where their own hero, Sir Albrecht, had died in the name of Wotan!

The next day dawned, cloudless and dry. A wind whipped through the camp, teasing through the unfurled banners of Logres. The army of the Saxons emerged from Saint Albans, to take the field against the Cymric knights and their allies. Straps were tightened. Shields were set. Prayers were said. The lords of Logres, outnumbered, mounted their warhorses and set their lances for a charge, against a shield wall screaming the name of Wotan. Hooves churned up the soil beneath them. A terrible, splintering impact as the force of riders drove into and through the wall. The battle was joined.

Only Sir Arnulf and Sir George took the field that day, Sir Esther again staying with her lady to attend to the wounded, and Sir Cadfael and Sir Brietta being amongst those wounded. They found themselves fighting for their lives against a sea of Saxon warriors - but the vast majority of the Saxon forces were only ceorls, inferior warriors recruited to bulk out numbers. The two struck down an innumerable host of enemies, as did the other knights of Logres. King Octa released his berserkers immediately, a small group of senseless ravagers wielding mighty axes, who tore into the side of the knights' charge. Sir Neddig fell there, cleft asunder by the axes of his enemies. Cursing and swearing every oath he had learned over his many, many years as a knight, Sir Elad of Vagon Castle, who had personally trained almost all the knights of Salisbury, led a counterattack against the berserkers. Old he may have been, but experienced, and under his leadership the berserkers were slain to a man.

The sun continued to rise in the sky until it reached its zenith. The initial deadly momentum of the knights had slowed and ceased, and now the knights were beset on all side by Saxon ceorls, Now King Eosa the half-giant led a group of elite heorthgeneat warriors against them, and none could stand before them. Sir Lycus, veteran warrior of Salisbury, tried to challenge Eosa and was slain. Then a hardened contingent of mercenary knights rode to confront the giant: the men of Sir Cador. At the Battle of Lindsey, his father had defeated Eosa, and now his son Sir Cador completed what his father had done. Sir Cador boldly confronted the immense warrior and struck him down, and the Saxons wailed as his fall shook the earth.

The tides of battle were turning. The Saxons were greater in number, but the knights of Logres were greater warriors, and Eosa's fall sapped their fighting hearts. The attackers began to fall back, and the Cymricmen assailed them with fresh vigour. Sir Arnulf and Sir George rode for the Saxon war banner, and Sir Arnulf struck down every man about it with deadly vigour, before trampling his second battle standard into the mud. Sir George was less skilled: a Saxon axe struck him down, and he fell insensate to the ground.

With the falling of the sun and the falling of the Saxon banner, the fight left the enemy and they began to flee, to be struck down by the pursuing knights. Through the press, Sir Arnulf caught sight of his archnemesis, King Octa, trying desperately to rally his routing forces. This was the enemy who had created the bandit menace, had subverted Sir Eleri, had engulfed London and Lindsey in war, had claimed Malahaut. Sir Arnulf had sacrificed much of his life in his quest: his loyalty, his lands, his estates, all for the greater good, all for this moment: saving Britain by slaying Octa. A red rage took control of him and he flung himself forward, ignoring the hulking Heorthgeneat bodyguards, and darting past them to strike at Octa himself. The Saxon king never saw it coming. He was flung from his horse, his blood running into the ground. However, he was not dead. Desperately he scrabbled away on hands and knees from the grim Sir Arnulf.

Sir Arnulf never saw the blow that struck him down. His passion had consumed him so that he ignored the bodyguards, one of whom struck a mighty blow at him, opening him wide and sending him to the ground, his life swiftly running from him next to the Saxon King. But Sir Helbur, his former squire, and Sir Barr of Salisbury, saw. The two charged the roal bodyguard, and Sir Barr felt, his head cleft asunder. With a scream of incoherent rage, the former squire cleft the head from the shoulders of the warrior who had felled his friends, and then dismounted to attend to Octa. A single blow downwards, and the king stopped moving. Sir Helbur ignored him and went to Sir Arnulf's side. "Good boy, Helbur," the dying Sir Arnulf said for the last time. "Find him... Prince Madoc's son. Find him..." As Sir Helbur's tears fell upon him, Sir Arnulf closed his eyes and went to sleep.

Nearby, there was a spluttering, bloody cough. Octa spat out a gobbet of blood upon the ground, and tried to speak, very quietly, and gestured for SIr Helbur to come closer. "I didn't think I'd die here," the king gasped. "Not the plan. I'm... afraid. What happens now? What.. waits for me?" The king asked Helbur to hear his last confession, in case it was the Christian God who waited for him, and Helbur bent closer to hear the king's last words. "My... worst... sin... I said.... I'd never die alone." And with his dying breath, Octa drove a knife at Sir Helbur's throat, cutting deeply. Sir Helbur fell into a swoon, but the blow was not fatal: he would have a beautiful scar, but he would survive.

With Octa's death, the battle was over. Against the odds, King Uther Pendragon had won a decisive victory, smashing the armies of Octa and Eosa once and for all. There were many casualties: Sir Lycus, Sir Barr, Sir Neddig, and Sir Arnulf amongst them, and many lay wounded: Duke Ulfius and Sir Brastias both were grievously wounded, and being attended by the healers, as were Sir Cadfael, Sir Helbur, Sir George, and Sir Brietta. In fact, only Sir Esther had escaped unharmed, by virtue of the fact that she had used the excuse of protecting Saint Gwiona to avoid the entire battle. A mass funeral pyre was arranged for the Saxon dead, while inside the great hall of Saint Albans, King Uther prepared a victory feast of special extravagance. Everyone who had taken part was invited.

Meanwhile, Archbishop Bartholomew returned to the cathedral, along with Saint Gwiona. The two had much to talk about. Gwionaism had become a major new religious movement, but apart from its focus on the feminine, it promoted Christian ideals of charity and compassion, and had spread throughout Britain (in large part because of the good work of Sir Esther). The Archbishop had decided that it was time to come to some settlement with Gwiona. As it happened, Bartholomew was a follower of the teachings of Saint Pelagius, who denied the concept of original sin - and if there was no original sin, then Eve was not responsible for damning the human race, and women were not the root of all sin. The two managed to reach a compromise: of the Trinity, God the Holy Spirit is genderless; God the Father could be reinterpreted as 'God the Parent of Humanity' and be seen as either male or female; and God the Son is Jesus Christ. This compromise warded off potential internal conflict in the British Christian Church, but both were aware that it was sure to be unpopular with the distant Pope Gelasius.

Sir Esther attended the feast briefly, though her heart was burdened by her wounded friends, and so she did not intend to stay long at the feast. However, she saw something in the crowded, carousing hall which drew her attention: a familiar face, hidden beneath a hood, moving surreptitiously from the hall. It was Sir Eleri. Sir Esther slipped out and followed. The streets were quiet as everyone in the town was at the feast, and so the two were uninterrupted as they moved through the darkness. Sir Esther called out to Sir Eleri to get her attention, and then finally confronted her by name, making her stop and turn.

Sir Eleri was clearly still wounded after her fight with Sir Arnulf the previous day. Sir Esther called on her to surrender and be treated with mercy, and Sir Eleri laughed bitterly. There would be no mercy for anyone that night. Her life had fallen apart completely, and she was consumed by despair. In a fury, she drew her sword and attacked the warrior-nun, screaming at Sir Esther to kill her. Sir Esther fought back to defend herself, and tried to reason with the maddened woman, but to no avail. Screams began to sound through the night, from the King's feast, as Sir Eleri battered Sir Esther down. Instinct and training took over as Sir Eleri knocked Sir Esther down: the nun was no warrior by nature, but she had drilled extensively, and she automatically parried Sir Eleri's blade and then slashed her across the stomach. The traitor fell bonelessly to the ground, and her blood mingled with the falling rain and Sir Esther's tears. Sir Esther tried to bandage her enemy and save her life, but Sir Eleri was dead, and her empty eyes stared at Sir Esther: she had claimed her first life.

There was no time to think about it now. Screams were still coming from the king's feast, and so she turned and sprinted through the night, to discover an unspeakable horror behind her. The King was dead, lying face-down in a pool of foaming blue vomit and blood. So were the rest of the court. Sir Eleri had managed to poison everyone at the feast. Earl Roderick was dead, as was Sir Leo of Salisbury. So was Sir Bertram of Leucomagus. King Canan had fallen from his chair to stare sightlessly at the ceiling. Both Admiral Gwenwynwyn and Marshal Talferyn were dead, leaving the army and navy of Logres leaderless. Sir Ifan of the London Guard was dead, as was Sir Owen, the last of the Tower Guard, and Sir Glesni of the Rainbow Guard. In addition to these familiar faces, many other lords, nobles, and knights had been poisoned. Logres was leadership. There was only one survivor: somehow, Merlin had managed to survive. He had used some of the magic which he did possess to protect himself, but at a steep price: Merlin had been driven insane in the process. Sir Esther moved towards him, and Merlin failed to recognise her, fleeing the hall like a cornered animal.

The first part of Igraine's prophecy had come true. Merlin had been destroyed by a woman for the first time. And Logres was without lords.

Two mass funeral pyres were set by the survivors, for the Saxons and the Cymric. The few survivors, those who had been wounded or who had not attended the feast, or had left early, dispersed. King Uther's remains were taken to Stonehenge, where he was buried next to his brother and his son. Sir Brietta, Sir Cadfael, Sir Esther, Sir George and Sir Helbur returned to Sarum, to break the news to Countess Ellen. Her son Robert, a three-year-old boy, was now the Earl, and Ellen was the ruler of the county until he reached his majority. Sir Elad, the veteran Marshal of Salisbury, had also survived. But enemies would beset them from every border. Octa and Eosa might be dead, but the Saxons of Anglia, Essex, Kent and Sussex yet remained, and Malahaut and the Irish would continue their raids. With no King in Logres, Logres was surely facing a time of anarchy...