Adventures of Tiberius the Scribe: Featuring the Birth of Merlin

By Robert Barker

Herein resides the tales of Tiberius of Devin, a young scribe of vast learning, existing in a land of ironic dichotomies.
Rome teeters on its final leg as she fades away Tiberius faces the early death throes of the old social order and the barbarian hordes waiting to penetrate the rich Roman Empire. A time of altering circumstances and remerging druidic influence, Tiberius’s interaction with both worlds reflected on these pages.
Demon rapes, near death escapes, druid’s enchantment and young lust laced with guilt, village children’s lives in danger and the times of yore revealed in long ago Devin Britannia. A story of the turmoil surrounding the world’s greatest sorcerer’s {Merlin’s} nativity, and the uneasy ground the Roman world stood on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 21, 2008
• ISBN: 9781462828708

Robert Barker

Mr. Barker is an entrepreneur, entertainer, professional photographer, world traveler and writer from Eureka Ca. Born in Ohio he has lived and visited all over the globe, a lifetime of historical research and archeological enjoyment has led him to this genre of historical fiction. Robert and his wife Mary have spent their lives in search of cultural variation and historical perspectives, and thoroughly enjoy the quest. The Barkers raised three children and have two young grandkids, they continue to travel and do research for love and enlightenment. They now reside behind the Red Wood curtain in Eureka Ca. The Quest never ends………..

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Copyright © 2008 by Robert W. Barker.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 08/04/2020

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Contents

CHAPTER 1 Looking back on Devin as an aged scribe

CHAPTER 2 Riding to the initial encounter with the Demon

CHAPTER 3 Encounter in the Wooled

CHAPTER 4 Dangerous confrontation

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6 The Samhain event

CHAPTER 7 My Sin

CHAPTER 8 Myth and Nativity

CHAPTER 9 Harrowing Encounter

CHAPTER 10 Return to Britannia

BIBLIOGRAPHY

The writer’s perspective and an introduction to the story

Natura hoc est vita narratur

Nature which is to say life is my subject

Pliny the Elder

Tiberius the Scribe

A quick glance at the whys and how’s of a writers philosophical perspective, the vision correlation and formation of the story in merry old England

Prudent etiquette dictate a few words on the perspective of the writer and the ways and means from which this tale was formed, or risk the appearance that it fashioned from out of a void; which of course is fanciful.

Stories of the human past set in certain geographic locations and eras inherently demand a familiarity with the geography, history, culture, epoch, art, technology and politics of the chosen location and time.

Imagination is only a part of the criteria, particularly in the genre of historical fiction the reader demands and should expect the author to be familiar with the chosen time and place or it lacks an actuality foundation.

That does not mean the writer cannot take certain liberties with characters and circumstance, yet only in some reasonable and plausible manner, within the frame work the paradigms of that time and place.

Tales of the human spirit or chronologies of past personal lives drive us to relate as humans, and give us a petite insight into our fellow beings; we find human beings from other times are very much like ourselves.

Socrates advises mankind to know thyself and understanding ourselves means comprehending our collective, economics, history, cultures, legends, art and social motivations as well as our own introspective failures and personal insights.

Connections to our selves as it relates to all mankind can and should be explored, and a quest of insight and discernment results.

This tale you hold in your hands concerns a quest, and a quest is common to every human being in one way or another. Life is an ongoing mission or pilgrimage if you prefer and our efforts to get to know ourselves drives many to pursue travel and investigation as a psychological, social and soul expanding experience; and self introspection unites the quest.

Quest for pleasures, quest for success, quest for comfort or sustenance and everything we need or desire is a form of a quest. Then of course the poor souls that numb themselves to quiet the constant ambition and confusion of life are involved in a quest to be anesthetized and the quest goes on.

Motivations and qualifications of the author

Since childhood this writer has been on a cultural quest, being bitten by the Curious Bug, a raging inquisitiveness on human habits and customs borne of the inherent soul. Research, informative travel and exposure to the culture in question, therein resides the bone of the story the muscle skin and hair are to be added by the author.

Travel quest is a search for our collective roots as a member of the Human race, or it may be to seek personal roots, either way it is a quest to know thy self.

Wanderlust is a symptom of the bug that afflicted this life and the curious bug had other symptoms, like respect towards cultural variances, and admiration for the wandering souls that were fulfilling their adventures. An undying inquisitiveness that cannot be quenched completely, only temporarily relieved by travel and research, is the most telling symptom of all.

Select a time and culture in history, find the spot on Earth that corresponds to the era, research the area’s history previous to departure, locate the archeological sites, and visit each one with notes in hand, that is bliss to this writer.

Reading and researching the culture and location then going there and exploring and discovering in anthropological historical based research; these variable combined amplified every journey and the quest is on.

Usually the emphasis’s was on classical times, Hellenic and Latin historic research and tourism in Rome, Athens, Turkey or other parts of the world including the lovely Aegean islands.

Despite the emphasis on classical times our taste run extremely eclectic; travelled the Nile and spent time at Luxor, Thebes and the Ptolemaic era sites. Visited Biblical locations in Palestine and Israel and studied the Mesoamerican pyramids of the Yucatan, and the Mound builders of the Americas such as Serpent Mound in Ohio. Explored Maori culture in New Zealand and Buddhist Temples in Thailand, attended Ashrams in India, historical and archeological sites of many cultures stimulate our curious bone.

As the work for a historic based novel is delved into, one must focus in depth on a particular narrow period of a given location’s historical perception and socio political platform in order to be specific and accurate. Striving to be precise and reality based is incumbent upon the writer; and this is true for the historic fictional novelist as it is for the historian.

We must {as mentioned earlier} endeavor to be aware of the variables of the times and the cultural paradigms labored under in any given moment and place, or the work losses it perspective and legitimacy.

Therefore as an admitted die hard eclectic we start to view other alternate realities of ancient times and their connections and influence on each other. No culture exists as an Island, even island populace usually participate in cultural interplay.

The overlaps, social conditioning and cultural prejudices of mingling societies and clashing beliefs were frequent. Adaptations of spiritual paradigms between tribe’s countries and cultures were uncovered in libraries, research and travel.

After all this entire undersized planet that circle’s the diminutive nearby star is coexistent and interdependent far more then we realize even in the most ancient of times.

Nothing occurs in a vacuum and one culture often overlaps another or brushes against each other in an ongoing exchange of ideas, values, technical and artistic methods. Ethnocentric cultures are by no means isolated completely and absorb various attributes from many sources.

In Ireland one spent some time involved with the mysterious Dolmens of ancient Ireland, and we encountered the theatric fairies and magic gardens of Findhorn in north Scotland. Spain has a Celtic population in the north and was the progenitor for the Irish Celts, so we visited many Celtic locations.

And of course one had to throw back a few ales with the locals, another great cultural experience.

My wife and I go on pilgrimages to discover ourselves in the faces and places of the globe, and it has broadened our outlook on life.

We found that when portraying a time or place in literature not only the daily lives of the times must be considered, we need also be acquainted with the myths and legendary influences of the given ethnicity or the tale related is void of cultural depth.

This is especially true of the Celtic traditions as they were and are drenched in myths and legends and they seemed to be more influential on their lives than in many other Indo-European ethnicities.

Hecateus of Miletus and Herodotus of Halicarnassus {Fifth century B. C.} were given credit in historical accounts as the initial exposés of the existence of the so called Kel—toi’ as they called the Celts. Yet we know that they were a force in Western Europe previous to the timeframe the Greeks reported.

The so called La T’ene culture and the Hallstatt sites or the Celts of early times have drawn our attention for years; and these archeological sites have been a part of any itinerary one pursues in Europe.

The Indo—European idiom connections prove that the Celtics like most Europeans were inheritors of the customs and basic verbiage of the ancient Indus Valley and Caucasus mountains. These cultures and language that spread West from across the Eurasian steppes and into Europe over five thousand years ago are continuing today.

We view and study the medieval castles, Renaissance art, Classical Greco—Etruscan—Roman ruins and the other historical and tourist interests, yet the La T`ene burial sites are intriguing and exotic in impact. They left no large structures or monuments that stood the test of time as a predominantly pastoral culture they had no need of such things, yet they left us an enormous amount of cultural heritage. While the Celtic ruins are generally grave sites and recreated villages, hill circles or small yet elegant artifacts, they impart a way of life most Europeans and westerners are directly connected to.

Then there is the mystery and unexplained magic that the Druids and Bards have been associated with from time out of mind. In Celtic oral mythology we find a strong and powerful verbal literary contribution yet weak written historical narrative, leaving the Celts in a fabled realm.

Like the Romans and Greeks, Celts were existent; in fact the Celtic culture stretched from the British Isles to Asia Minor before the Romans took them down and Latinized much of their population.

Celtic lack of a major inherited language and the embrace of strictly oral tradition has been a double edge sword for the culture. The very essence of their ethnicity robbed them of an early historical platform and our basic knowledge regarding the Celts previous to Ireland becoming literate is written thru Roman and Greek ethnic filters and perspectives.

The vision through Quest

Like so many characters Tiberius the scribe arrived in a vision, while travelling through England on the roundabout direction to Scotland. Rented a vehicle in London as we often do and headed south before turning north for the Edinburgh cultural festival.

A few weeks in southern England and we viewed many places, Salisbury, Glastonbury, Lime Regis and other locations of general interest.

Driving around the south of England can be tricky as the roads are terribly narrow in places, and of course you’re on the wrong side of the thoroughfare; if you’re an American. Automobile journeys give vast flexibility and getting lost is part of the fun of motor coaching in Britain, or anywhere.

Trains and other modes of transportation we utilized have certain advantages yet an auto opens up those back roads you cannot see on a train, a different perspective and hidden rural scenes encountered directly.

We departed Lime Regis and halted in the Salisbury plane to witness Stonehenge again, and then we stopped for the night in Bath, a quick dinner and a good night’s sleep.

Walking among the upright megaliths, time took on new dimensions, the stones are millions of years old and the configuration designed by man is thousands of years removed from the time we exist in. Dragged here from many miles away and constructed on astral, solar and lunar alignments. A connection of Earth to humans and humans to universe, materials produced by mother Earth, construction performed by fellow man.

Touching the stones one can sense the surge of energy as if they were magnetized or energized somehow, psychological perhaps, still a connection was made that is undeniable in the mind.

Our encounter with the standing stones that August eve deepened the feeling of mystical enchantment, the alignments and message they sent is celestial and yet connected to the Earth and every human being.

Visions often accompany those exposed directly to the upright stones of Stonehenge; a power that reaches into the soul seems to emanate from ancient astronomically placed boulders.

Perhaps our collective imaginations or a preconceived psychic suggestion brings us these visions. I like to think it is the alignment of the stones and the touch of millenniums of souls that stood in awe of this ancient structure.

Though Stonehenge is much older than the first Celtic druids who arrived in Britain around 500 B.C. it has an energy essence that the druids would have recognized and utilized, as has been amply proven.

The mystery of this ancient site is captivating and from a personal perspective it extrapolates dreams of ancient days following a visit. Imagination, excitement, or anticipation perhaps, yet it always happens after one sees certain historic locations, visions of historical events commence in our dreams. The Acropolis or the Taj Mahal, Stonehenge, Giza, Tulum, all mere structures, yet each taps a varying vision of the past contained in a nerve of the spinal cord of inner revelation.

Structures and their history are only a small part of this quest; the real adventure exists in the eyes of the people in the various locations, human eyes impart something that edifices cannot. Eyes tell us of genetic cultural heritage those architectural mediums cannot impart, eyes that are the windows to the soul speak to us in volumes of the past, the present, and the future.

Communication with locals we met or trained guides to the many sites gave us an insight that is steeped in our minds, as the souls of the people are exposed in the eyes.

Tiberius visage initially appeared in Southern England and he returned in subsequent dreams while in the British Isles, and later in other places, his countenance inescapable. An essence of the being seeps into the realms of the dream world and plants its countenance in this heart and it will not depart.

Tiberius a stubborn vision and one that developed into a actuality in the mind as time moved forward, his story played out in vivid dreams and later written down in modern English.

The account formed in visions there in Britannia and continued on various visits to London, Milan, Rome, and Jerusalem over the next few years.

Story held in your hands is a direct result of night visions and research working hand in hand to form the adventures of Tiberius and this is the first issue of his tale.

The Rome of Tiberius days was one of evolving instability and semi or fully fledged chaos, following years of the Roman Empire’s generally peaceful stability of the Pax Romana.

Roman political power had been fading for years yet she held on like a jealous mistress and the Latinized population stood on the precipice of a great change.

The Roman paradigms of materialism, vast organization and state based religion existed in complete conflict with the spiritual animist and mythical dwelling Druids. So to rid them of this threat Rome declared war on those bothersome forest priests. Their power protracted in dormancy until the Roman Empire began to show signs of deterioration and the druids resurged and relished the Latin Achilles’ heel.

Lo though the vacuum left with the departure of Roma would not be filled with Celts, but Germanic and Frankish tribes, Saxons, Jutes and Angles, and they had their own myths and priests.

Tiberius finds himself caught in the middle of the three local contemporary philosophical dogmas that dominated his world, Christianity, Greek Latin Logic, and the resurging power of the forest Gods and Druids.

Herein a tale of the amalgamation of the magical forest glen with the emerging Christian paradigm and its mounting secular powers, as it was in Britannia of the late fourth century A. D.

The colliding of two cultural paradigms that are diametrically opposed and mince in tension at times, the forest Druids and the Roman scribe meet in confrontation for the lives of the village children of Devin, and the resulting nativity of Merlin.

Tiberius calls out to relay his tale of a long life and grand adventures in a forgotten moment in time.

How can one say no to such insistent sprits, and besides the Coventry of Muse’s will not allow that.

Robert W. Barker

CHAPTER 1

Looking back on Devin as an aged scribe

Tours 446 AD

A race curious to know the lives of others, slothful to mend their own. Why seek they to know from me what I am . . . . And how know they when from myself they hear of myself whether I tell the truth . . . . ?

Augustine of Hippo

The above quote from Confessions, by Aurelius Augustinus, the tenth book in that series and tis perhaps the appropriate logos to initiate an autobiography.

A caveat is demanded when reading autobiographies, including this story.

The very fact that one writes concerning personal life; is evidence enough to query objectivity. Augustine is correct in his assertion that we are slothful to mend our personal fences and anxious to gaze over at another’s in disdain.

As Augustine further asks, how does one go about determining the truth concerning another human’s life story?

Further we might add, what gives a biography its inherent value and literary worthiness and why should one abide curiosity over another’s life, no matter how eventful?

Rhetorical these questions may be, yet to ascertain the validity and value of scribed personal life, it seems prudent to ask.

Determining motivations for any human action is precarious at best.

Great men like Augustine inscribe logos concerning interpretations of God’s logos and even endeavor to speak of God’s motives, one as humble as this scribe would never claim to be the great man that speaks to, or for divinity. Explaining God’s motives tis outside the realms of the station one held in life, and ner felt the need to develop into the theological giant.

Try one does however to be a voice of reason in a darkening world.

For Augustine authority twas natural as his ego loomed tremendous and twas a great man in the literal sense of the word; for this humble scribe that would be the ultimate in hubris. Aurelius Augustine wrote the world’s first autobiography {Confessions} and his work contained that superiority that one cannot compare. This humble biography will display the warts and open wounds of our times with less ethnocentric prejudice and sans the political glossing over the failures of time and place. Great men have grand needs to display a certain image and boast of accomplishments therefore the great often scribe with an agenda that does not influence old Tiberius.

The only agenda here is to tell the story, of an old scribe.

Oh comrades of the logos; please allow this old man a short regression to provide some background and philosophy of this time and place. A few mere paragraphs are in order to set the stage of the saga of Merlin’s birth and keep it in proper perspective, as it relates to this personal life.

They call me Tiberius Gwyn of Devin and herein resides mine life in logos and recollections from these years on Earth. Ramblings of an old man seeking a handle on the story, at what point to commence this narrative of existence, after lengthy consideration time in Devin Britannic Albion won that dubious honor.

My cell and our world

Luminosity fades from the minute cell window as the daylight wanes and the sun weakens, shortly one must strike flint to kindling fuel to light a candle to provide the illumination to scribe. Existence follows the identical progression, born in the morn and faded in the eve of life, as our flints once sparked in radiance fade into useless stones.

Slight southerly breeze passes through the porthole, captured in the lungs and one inhales deeply the reassuring evening air; it brings a sense of being, rarely contemplated or fully enjoyed in youth. Breathing becomes labored and the eyes dim a bit each day, hearing grows increasingly deadened and therefore the appreciation is augmented over the simple things.

Quill to ink and ink to parchment the process a long accepted habit, a way of being as common to this life as ink stains on these old hands.

Gazing at ripened digits one can recall younger fists, thicker skin and agile movement, now they betray one as ancient. Rubbing them together brings the blood to the surface and sooths the ache that never escapes the aged digits; or for that matter the entire faltering corpus. Our physical prowess diminishes with time, and our mental capacities fare modestly better.

Death beacons, as it has since the moment of conception.

Birth tis the beginning of a solemn enjoyable or desperate march to the grave, which is our only legitimate option in life, either be miserable or happy; so we usually choose or are obligated into a blend.

Age fetches that point of reflection often planned yet rarely experienced, as the annuals passing tend to leave us infertile in the previous gifts of life.

Those fine healthy days taken for granted by the young are cherished in the elder years; still one would not trade his collective memories for youthful ignorance.

Initially arrived here in Tours as a nineteen year old lad easily impressed and enthralled with the innovative monastic approach of Bishop Martin of Tours.

Living in caves and preaching to pagans, gaining converts to Christ, appealed to youthful exuberance and stimulates young imagination.

Martin twas like no Bishop I have met previous to him or since, truly a man of God, abstinent without the arrogance, he embraced poverty and dedication when he could have had material possessions, he aspired to be frugal for the lord.

Martin of Tours, now there is a Great man that deserves the title.

He single handedly brought Christianity to the Amorican peninsula and the area between the Seine and the Loire Rivers. Martin twas the first of his kind and the innovative monastic lifestyle gained a Celtic twist with his influence.

Today I find myself again in the embrace of the monastic cults of Tours.

Living here in the cell tis warm and comfortable; therefore it behooves one to inscribe three quarters of a century of existence. Years of stories and tales of an old scribe’s life, stimulation and experience too vast to capture in mere language yet compelled to attempt that miracle of recollection from this minute stone cell.

Surroundings here in the Priory of Tours are familiar and affectionate, austere perhaps yet that is a destiny accepted and embraced. Bare walled cells with dirt floors or covered lightly with straw, limited window, austerity cuddles me; stone walls reassure these old eyes and create accustomed comfort.

Destinies vary for all men and mine is here in a dimly lit minuscule cell, surrounded by manuscripts, scrolls, parchment, papyrus, ruler, compass, vellum and ink.

A stool and a minute scriptorium table, a wood framed bed and two waning candles make up the furnishings in this comforting cell.

Two bowls of gruel and a half pint of goat milk the daily fare, and occasionally on Sundays a lamb dinner tis offered in the Bishops quarters.

Stone walls are cool in summer yet lethal cold in winter and no fire burns in this cell, no chimney to release the fumes. The chamber pot in mine quarters is changed daily, one bathes weekly and washes the two robes I own; and that tis far more hygiene then my colleagues.

On coldest winter days, a thick wool blanket covers the body and a curtain draped over the port, nightly two heated stones are placed snugly under bed by young monks for comfort, thank God the brothers here revere this old scribe.

Summers bring garden duty and the bounty from our collective efforts provides us fresh vegetables for part of the year, yet usually it is gruel; and more gruel.

Reflect on John the Devine’s humble conditions and his years of exile on Patmos in a cave writing those sacred texts he handed down to us’ his great legacy to mankind. Calling the wrath of God down on Rome with cloaked and surreptitious allegory to conceal his dissent and protect his fellow Christians from reprisals, John twas an inventive and resourceful man.

Aye, this scribe is no John the Devine, and certainly not under exile, still a life transpires that has been exciting at