Through the Valley: Martyrs, #1

By Allen Saulnier

At the dawn of victory, Ambrosius Aurelianus sets out to abandon his legacy of war, for an age of peace and mercy. He plans to spend the remainder of his days with the woman he loves. Britannia needs a king and he will serve as the custodian ruler, until Arthur Pendragon's coronation. Deceit, betrayal and a powerful curse, from the ambitious witch, Fatimah, changes Ambrosius forever. The Demon Queen, LIlith, transforms Ambrosius into The Crimson King, the world's first vampire.

 

Ambrosius, rises from his grave, and cannot resist his terrible thirst for living blood. The atrocities of his affliction lead him to begin his campaign to end the plague of his immortality. As he unravels the mysteries, of both the Physical and Spiritual Planes, he discovers the awesome and terrible traits of what it means to be a vampire. Meanwhile the witch that placed the curse must contend with her half brother Kotzebue, as she tries to destroy the evil that she has beset upon the world. All the while, powerful agents of darkness pull the strings from the shadows

 

Ambrosius must overcome the one thing that compounds his suffering. With his enemies moving in from all directions, he must embrace the darkness and accept the nature of the beast he has become. What will a victory mean for the demonic forces, that orchestrated the birth of the Crimson King? The only way to know, is to walk through the valley of The Shadow of Death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allen Saulnier
• Release date: Nov 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223549154

Allen Saulnier

Allen Saulnier is a storyteller of many formats.  He writes for film, TV and novels. His work spans a variety of genres.  His favourite authors range from George Orwell to Stephen King. 

Book preview

ACT I

I 

Despite his impending victory, Ambrosius had fought his way into a trap.  The four Saxon soldiers had lured the commander into what was left of a burned-out church.  Though the ceiling had long since collapsed, the stone walls had concealed the soldiers from him. Ambrosius was surrounded.   The doorway was blocked by Leofwine, the most formidable of the group.    Ambrosius would offer them a way out.

You cannot win... Ambrosius announced in a consoling tone.  The war is over, and your army, defeated. His Roman accent was unexpected by the soldiers.  Even your commander, Vortigern has abandoned you and at this moment, flees to the north. Surrender, and I will order my troops to let you go with your lives. Ambrosius tightened his grip on his sword.  He feared that if he loosened it, his tired, trembling hand would lack the strength to grasp it again.  

You will not know victory! Aelfgar threatened.  You die, here and now! 

Ambrosius looked at the soldiers on his left and right.  He could see that the one with the birthmark on his left cheek had considered his offer, but he was the only one who had.  They had a chance to kill Ambrosius Aurelianus.   To slay the leader of the insurrection.  He was the driving force in raising the army of farmers and merchants that had conquered the Saxon occupation.   A war that lasted two brutal decades.  Killing him would make the four of them heroes to the Saxons.  Ambrosius was too tempting a prize to simply walk away from.  

Kill him! Aelfgar ordered. 

Ambrosius knew that he had to move fast.  Instead of swinging his sword, he stepped to his right and punched the sword’s cross guard into the face of the soldier with the birthmark, sending him back against the wall, crumbling to the floor.  The soldier on his left swung his axe but came up short.  Ambrosius held fast his shield, protecting his left flank as he spun right and clockwise.  His sword slit the throat of the immense Leofwine who had been blocking the door. In a continuous motion, the sword descended and sliced the knee of the soldier with the axe, severing the leg completely.  At the completion of his spin, placed him once again facing Aelfgar.  Aelfgar lunged forward with his spear and Ambrosius deflected it up over his head.  Aelfgar retracted his spear and prepared for a second lunge.  Ambrosius raised his shield arm, forcing the incoming spear along the flat and then drove the bottom of the shield into Aelfgar’s face.  The impact crushed the Saxon’s cheeks and jaw, killing him in one swift hit.   

Ambrosius dropped the shield and stepped away from the sound he heard on his right.  Expecting to have to defend against the soldier with the birthmark, he was relieved to see that the young man was more than happy to retreat.  Ambrosius watched and waited for the soldier to leave the ruins before relaxing.  The horrid sounds of the three Saxons dying at his feet were dampened, as were the final sounds of the war raging outside the church by the overwhelming relief he felt.  Ambrosius Aurelianus had done it.  He had won the war, avenged his family and defeated the tyrannical Vortigern at long last.  It was finally over. 

Ambrosius looked to the cross laying on the ground in front of the crumbling altar.  His eyes then fell to his discarded shield.  It was the shield of his father.  Roman in design and marked with the Christian symbol of that age.  He had maintained his family name and the nobility that came with it.  He adhered to the code that his father and older brother had preached.  For the first time in his life, he would know peace.   

Ambrosius stepped out of the church and walked into the battlefield.  Soldiers from both sides of the war, lay dying or dead all around him.  Young and old suffered equally.  Ambrosius wandered into the field without direction or an objective.  He was in a trance.  His skin and armour were soaked with the blood of his enemies.  When he could walk no more, he let loose his grip on his sword and stood blind to the horrors that surrounded him.  The weight of his weapon vanished from his grasp and along with it went the weight and burden he held as a commander.  He was done fighting, forever.  He had been longing for this moment for years and over the final weeks of the war, he felt a darkness creeping into his heart and body.  It was one that he knew would consume him if the fighting did not stop.  

Ambrosius closed his eyes and slowed his breathing.  The muffled sounds vanished, and he felt such a warm and wondrous wave come into his body.  That feeling was pulled away by the troubling sound of his captain calling out to him.  

Ambrosius!  Sadok cried out.  Are you hurt, my lord?  Sadok was running to him, frightened that his commander and dear friend had been mortally injured.   

Ambrosius didn’t want to answer.  He wanted to hang onto that feeling of peace for as long as he could.   

Ambrosius?  Sadok’s voice softened, and his pace slowed as he approached his commander from behind.  He leaned around to get a glimpse of his face. 

Ambrosius’s face was relaxed but difficult to read.  Sadok had witnessed every way a man’s face would look as he approached death.  Some screamed in agony, while others looked into oblivion.  He could not be sure if Ambrosius was facing death or deep in thought. 

My lord?  Sadok attempted one last time.   

It’s over, Sadok.  Vortigern has abandoned his troops and flees north.  Victory, at last. Ambrosius maintained his vacant gaze on the horizon.  Scores of dead soldiers lay amidst abandoned weapons, banners and dead horses.  He had never seen so much death and destruction.   

You did it, sir!  Sadok stood in front of him, stealing his focus in the process.  You led us to victory.  Sadok took Ambrosius’ hand in his and shook his congratulations.  It was clear that the captain was as proud of his role in the war as he was proud of the man he served under.   

Thank God it’s over. Ambrosius smiled and placed his free hand on Sadok’s shoulder. 

The thundering sound of four horses approached from the right.  Ambrosius could feel the weight and burden that came with the sound of the steeds.  He couldn’t find the strength to look at the animals or the riders atop them.  Sadok turned to see Uther, Uther’s son, Arthur and Fletcher riding up.  Alongside Fletcher was Ambrosius’ horse.  Sadok let loose Ambrosius’ hand and hurried over to the other captains of the rebel army. 

Victory!  Sadok shouted with pride and vigour.  The war is won!

You celebrate too soon, Captain,  Uther announced.  For the enemy has not yet been slain.  He makes his escape into the north.  Uther looked from Sadok to young Arthur who obediently climbed down from his horse and brought it to Sadok.  It is time to put an end to Vortigern’s rule.  The only way to do that is to kill him.  Uther was no longer speaking to Sadok.  His attention had been directed to his commander, Ambrosius.   

He is defeated.  He knows it more than you.  His army is laid dead at our feet. His wealth is scattered across the very land he now abandons.  He will never again be able to challenge us. 

"You are wrong Ambrosius.  For was it not you who raised this army from commoners, without wealth or weapons and laid waste to the very army that lay dead at our feet?  Come.  Let us drive the dagger home before it is too late to fulfil our destiny.  Let us finish for vengeance’s sake."  Uther did not wait for his commander’s protest.  Instead, he stirred his horse in pursuit of Vortigern.  

Fletcher waited, still holding the reins of Ambrosius’ beautiful, black warhorse.  He could see that something was different in his commander.  He was the only one that really recognized that something in him had changed.  Sadok climbed on his horse and followed Uther.  Arthur hurried off to take control of what was left of the rebel forces.   

Ambrosius contemplated the words that Uther had said.  He did not believe that Vortigern would be able to ever again wage war on the people of Britannia.   However, if he was wrong, it would mean the peace that he was about to embrace would be cut short.  After all, a man driven by revenge is a dangerous foe.   

When you are ready, sire...  Fletcher said in a softened tone.  His feminine demeanour perfectly reflected his kind and gentle spirit.  Despite being one of the deadliest men with the bow, he was very empathetic to those around him, especially towards his commander.   

Ambrosius turned toward Fletcher and made his way out of the battlefield and to his horse.  He didn’t even reclaim his sword.  It remained where he had dropped it before Sadok had found him.  He had no intention of fighting.  He would participate in the pursuit of Vortigern.  He would witness the Saxon king’s death, but he would not fight.  Ambrosius stopped abruptly on his way to his horse, having realized that he had stepped on the face of one of his fallen soldiers.  He quickly jerked his foot up and off the young man’s lifeless gaze.  The corpse seemed to stare at him with disdain.  Ambrosius was disgusted with himself.  He was ashamed for all those who had died because of his orders and all those that had fallen under his blade.   

Once Ambrosius was on his horse, Fletcher stirred and made pace to catch Uther and Sadok.  Ambrosius pushed his horse, only hard enough to keep sight of Fletcher. The pursuit would not be a short one. Vortigern had a good head start.  The Saxon had a small band of his own captains, and they rode on horses of equal quality and breeding.  The chase would go on for days if not weeks.  

By the time Ambrosius caught up to his three companions they had travelled over thirty miles. Uther, Sadok and Fletcher had set up camp just north of Arden.  They could see Vortigern’s campsite atop a hill north of their position.  After a long night of brutal fighting and a full day of riding, neither the rebels nor the Saxons would be fit to stand off with one another.  Instead, they stopped, rested and watched each other from afar.  Ambrosius brought his horse to rest next to the three other steeds and silently climbed off and joined his companions.   

I am surprised to see you, my lord.  I feared you had given up the pursuit and returned to the battle camp.  Uther taunted Ambrosius in anything but a playful manner.   

Ambrosius would not take the bait, instead, he sat next to Fletcher, giving him a courteous smile as the archer handed him a flask of wine.    

"When did you have time to catch that?" Ambrosius inquired as he looked at the rabbit skewered above the fire. 

Just before stopping.  It’s not much, I will find something else before we embark again tomorrow.  Fletcher promised. 

I suggest you sleep first, Fletcher.  I would imagine Vortigern will be recommencing his escape before first light.  Uther suggested.   

If he does not send an assassin throughout the night.  Sadok warned them as he poked at the rabbit, almost knocking it into the flames. 

We will be ready.  I will keep the first watch, then you Sadok.  Fletcher can hunt while Ambrosius takes the last shift.  Uther ordered. 

Sadok and Fletcher weren’t used to Uther giving orders, at least not in place of their rightful commander.  Uther Pendragon had been second in command before either of them had joined the fighting.  The two men were close but argued with one another often.  They looked to Ambrosius for permission to follow Uther’s orders.   

That’s fine.  Ambrosius gave no resistance.  He didn’t even look up from the coals and glowing embers of the fire pit.   

Fletcher was the best at reading people, but even Sadok and Uther could see that Ambrosius was not himself.  The change was more and more evident with every passing moment.  They had all sensed it over the last few weeks but now the change was glaring them in the face.  Only Uther would speak on the subject. 

Where is your sword commander?  Uther said at last.  Tell me it is on Merlin?  

It is not on my horse.  Ambrosius answered reluctantly.   

You did not bring your sword?  Uther snapped.  "Do you wish to conquer Vortigern in an unarmed battle?  Uther was trying to rekindle the anger that once existed in Ambrosius.  The same anger that started the insurrection two decades prior.  The same rage that fueled Ambrosius to train and practice swordplay as a young boy.  Uther had looked up to his commander for the overzealous and relentless resolve to avenge his family.  He did not recognize him anymore and the stranger he saw sitting across from him at the campfire made him furious.  Answer me!" 

Ambrosius looked up to Uther.  There was a time he and Uther would argue all night long.  They would debate everything from battle tactics to what they should eat for supper.  He didn’t want any of that ever again.  He wanted to laugh and sing.  He wanted to celebrate all those things that he could not have, because he had chosen vengeance.    

I will fight only if I must.  Fletcher will offer up his sword, should the need arise. Ambrosius explained.  

"Does Fletcher not need his sword?"  Uther was eager for an argument.  He had been hoping for this subject to finally come up for many weeks.  

I will use my bow.  Fletcher compromised as he began removing the sword and scabbard from his hip. 

No, you will not!  Uther exclaimed.   

Calm yourself, Uther.  Ambrosius defended. 

Calm? You want calm?  Uther laughed.  You have no right to ask for such a thing! You spent the last year being calm.  Being kind and being merciful.  Uther accused. 

Uther, it is almost done.  We will catch and kill Vortigern.  There’s no need for this. Ambrosius conceded.  

There is need, need enough for this, and then some.  For we are at war.  We hunt an enemy that killed your family, captured our homeland and kept us underfoot our entire lives.  For the last few months, you have been dwindling in resolve.  Why?  Are you fearful of what awaits us, if the war should end? 

No. 

Are you reckless with the lives of the soldiers that serve under you, because your ever-growing gentle approach to battle cost many lives? 

Uther... 

What is it then, my lord?  What diminishes your fire?  Vortigern is all but defeated.  Victory is within our grasp, and you falter from your lifelong legacy.  Uther was standing, too heated to remain seated. 

"I want it to be over.  All of it.  I am tired of battle.  I have endured wounds that will never heal.  Wounds that go deeper than that of flesh or bone.  My limbs move like rusted metal and my strength leaves me, before it even comes.  War has taken the life from me.  With every man I kill, I chip away at what is left of my soul.  I want it to end.   

It will end with Vortigern’s death.  We shall claim what is rightfully ours.  Vengeance, and your place as ruler of what is left of this land.  Uther promised.   

Let us save the last of our vengeance for Vortigern and let all hate and fury die with him.  Ambrosius stood up and went to go to sleep, down in the long grass. 

II 

The four men took turns keeping watch and, in the morning, Fletcher went hunting and had caught enough to fill their bellies, before Vortigern was on the move.  Uther kept his eye on Ambrosius as they prepared to ride, though Ambrosius avoided eye contact.  In fact, Ambrosius didn’t speak to anyone, save for his warhorse, Merlin.  He was a radiant black steed that had also grown weary of war.  When the work was done and Vortigern was dead, Ambrosius had planned to set free, his loyal horse.   

Come, Merlin.  Ambrosius secured the saddle.  The riding will soon be done, old boy.  The fighting too.  He looked into Merlin’s eyes, and they conveyed the same longing to rest.  Ambrosius placed his head against the horse's neck and closed his eyes.  His hands running along the other side.

Vortigern is on the move!  Uther shouted and the party hurried to give chase.   

Once again Uther was charging ahead.  His poor horse would have to endure the constant push from the captain.  Sadok and Fletcher also kept pace but kept a quarter mile between each other.  Ambrosius once more remained in the flank.  The spacing of the four riders would allow them a better vantage point of the enemy.  Should Uther lose sight of Vortigern and his party, Fletcher or Sadok would possibly keep them in sight.  Luckily, they all knew Britannia well.  They each had spent twenty years on the offensive, defending or in hiding throughout the land and it required them to know where the enemy held up.  They had, over two decades, travelled the width and the length as far north as Hadrian's Wall.  They had done this several times.  The rebel army was, if anything, mobile.  

They chased Vortigern for days.  They followed him and his captains, resting only when the enemy rested.  On occasion, they would encounter a small village or town.  Sadok or Fletcher would enter that town for supplies and then rejoin the group by the time camp was being set that night.  This gave them the advantage over Vortigern, who could not afford to rest or restock their provisions, or at least that’s what they had thought.   

Ambrosius slowed his horse as he rode into the tiny village in the Mercia region.  The place had little more than ten homes, most of which were farms.  There was a smith and a mill. Nothing in the way of a market or even a tavern.   It was a sleepy little village that had avoided the nasty Anglo-Saxon war, until then.  Ambrosius could see that Vortigern, and his captains had stopped long enough to sack the village.  As far as they could see, the four veteran soldiers had cut down every man, woman and child in the village.  The Saxons had needed to restock their supplies to continue their retreat.  The unguarded village was the opportunity they had been hoping for. 

This is why we chase our foe!  Uther shouted from across the village to Ambrosius.   

The bodies were left where they were killed but Sadok and Fletcher were doing their best to move them to the centre of the village.  Uther prepared a pyre to burn the bodies.   

How far behind do you think we are?  Ambrosius felt sick at the sight set before him.  The pit in his stomach grew heavy with guilt.   

Fletcher piled the body of a young boy atop his mother.  Four hours.  The blood has barely set.  

Ambrosius looked to Uther before speaking.  Uther was looking back at him.  He was judging Ambrosius’ response to Vortigern’s destruction.  Leave the bodies.  We will return and give them proper burials once Vortigern has been stopped.  Let us not lose the advantage that the Saxons gave up while slaying these good people.  This sacking for supplies will grant us time and distance over him.   

Uther was pleased to hear this latest command.  He didn’t speak.  Instead, he hurried to his horse and was off and riding before Fletcher and Sadok had placed the bodies in which they were carrying, back on the ground.   

This will end soon.  We need only catch him before they reach Hadrian's Wall. Ambrosius motioned for them to get back on their horses and he looked at the fallen villagers as the two captains went after Uther.  Perhaps Vortigern wouldn’t have had the need to kill everyone if they weren’t being chased.  Perhaps they were pushed into such desperation. Ambrosius didn’t want to debate whether Uther was right, not even in his head.  He urged Merlin with a light kick and recommenced the pursuit.   

They rode for two more days and during the last part of the chase, they did not stop.  Vortigern was just beyond Deira in the Northumbrians and was almost at Hadrian's Wall.  The Romans had built the wall almost a century before, thinking that it would keep the Picts and Saxons out.  They were not successful for long.  The vacuum of power in Rome had drawn all those Romans that had been living in Britannia, back to the motherland.  All but a few nobles remained to try and keep the region under Roman rule.  When the Roman forces left, the Saxon invaders had little to stop them.  Ambrosius still remembered the day that they had reached his family villa.  His cousin had been instructed to take Ambrosius and flee out a secret passage, while his father and elder brother Constans negotiated with the Saxon leader, Vortigern. Vortigern never took noble prisoners.  When word that his family had been murdered reached Ambrosius, it was suggested that he should conceal his nobility.  Should he be discovered living amidst the local farmers, Ambrosius would be considered a threat to the Vortigern’s new rule. 

Ambrosius refused to change his name and luckily was not discovered by Vortigern, the Saxon King, would only come to know of Ambrosius’ existence after, the rebellion started.  He assumed that he had put an end to the noble line and went off to settle in the eastern part of the island.  Middle Saxon and eventually East Saxon, would be Vortigern’s home.   

During the next ten years, Ambrosius would remain devoted to avenging his family.  He studied swordplay every chance he got.  He watched the occupying forces training within their camps.  He would sit nearby and evaluate their tactics and techniques.  Little did the enemy know, but they were training Ambrosius to lead a successful campaign against them.  At the age of sixteen, Ambrosius, with Uther at his side, had spent their nights sneaking into Saxon camps to steal swords, armour and whatever else they would need to start raising an army.  Men from Britannia were not permitted to carry weapons, so Ambrosius and Uther had to hide what they stole.  

To train a force that could be big enough to face the Saxon army, Ambrosius knew that he would need to recruit young and impressionable men.  Adolescents, like himself, were easily inspired to fight.  What started as them playing at war, quickly led to Ambrosius preaching the importance of national pride.  The essential need to live free of oppression.  He was a natural leader like his father and a charismatic speaker like his older brother.  He would instruct the gang on tactics and technique like the Saxon’s had, while Uther managed them, keeping them in line when needed.  Ambrosius would mix in a political message as the young rebels trained.  Soon he found that young men were repeating back his own philosophies and declarations. They often would cheer Ambrosius’ name.  Ambrosius worked hard to not let this praise make him arrogant or proud.  Instead, he took it as a sign that what he was saying and doing was virtuous and just.  A message of wisdom and righteousness is what inspired his troops, not Ambrosius himself.  In truth, it was both.  The young men believed in what he was saying, but more than anything they looked up to a Roman that was fighting for Britannia’s freedom.   

By the time he was eighteen Ambrosius had almost every single young man in his village, secretly a part of his rebel army.  Tensions between the Saxons and Anglos were high.  The first rebel attack was a staggering success.  The rebels took the camp by surprise and not a single rebel had died in the fighting.  This victory sparked such pride and enthusiasm with men and women of the village, soon every farmer, merchant and labourer were being trained to fight the Saxon army.  Villagers quickly pooled their resources to help outfit, prepare and mobilise the rebels out of the region to avoid a counterattack by the Saxons.  

As the years went on, the word spread.  Ambrosius instructed Uther to go and train a separate faction in secrecy.  Ambrosius led his troops across the land fighting small skirmishes with Saxon outposts and scouting parties.  He drew the Saxon forces away from Uther and allowed their numbers to grow with every passing month.  Soon every region had secret rebel factions that would destroy supply lines, disrupt soldiers and pick away at the Saxon might.  With ten years of growth, Ambrosius had waged open war with Vortigern.  It was at that moment his observations of Saxon strategy really paid off.  Vortigern had the numbers, but Ambrosius could predict and counter Vortigern’s manoeuvres almost every time, combined with the Roman strategies his father had taught him as a child, made Ambrosius a formable commander.  When Ambrosius’ rebels did suffer losses, the response from Britannia was not what Vortigern had expected.  With every fallen rebel, two more would join the ranks to ensure victory against the occupying forces.  The Britons would not be ruled by the Saxons.  Twenty years of fighting had led Ambrosius to a final moment.   

On the last day of their pursuit, the dark clouds opened and a cold, heavy rain descended upon them.  The downpour was relentless.  Uther was in the lead as was usual.  Vortigern’s forces were just a few miles away from Hadrian's Wall, but the distance between Uther and Vortigern was only a few hundred feet.  They had all been riding for almost twenty-four hours straight.  The horses were nearing their limit and Ambrosius feared that Merlin might push without surrender, until his heart gave out.  

We have them!  Uther cried out.  He looked back at his companions before continuing the chase.  He lashed his horse with fury and rage.  His poor horse was in such a state of panic and exhaustion that it looked wilder and more crazed with every passing second.  Sadok, who was closest to him, kept watching for the horse to crash to the ground, most likely crushing Uther in the process and was relieved when it did not happen. 

The Saxons were close to Hadrian's Wall and were approaching an abandoned fort that served as a gate to the north.  A single tower was built along the wall and at the centre of the fortification.  Most of the other buildings were burnt out husks of what they once were.  A Roman outpost that served a futile shield from a ravenous invading force.  Ambrosius knew that the Saxons would not be able to pass through the gate with their horses.  He had seen this fortification just a few months back.  The gate had been intentionally collapsed years before when the Roman army had abandoned the fort.  

Slow down, Uther!  Ambrosius ordered.  Do not enter the fortification alone! Ambrosius was trying to warn Uther.  Uther was clearly too enraged to see the danger he was riding into.   

The Saxons entered the ruins and disappeared from their view.  Ambrosius was half a mile from Uther, and even though Sadok and Fletcher were closer to him, Uther’s lead was considerable. 

Sadok!  Tell Uther to stop!  Sadok could barely hear Ambrosius over the sounds of the horse, the pouring rain and howling wind.  He slowed his horse and turned to face his commander. 

"What say you?"  Sadok shouted back.  

Uther is riding into a trap!  Fletcher called out as he caught up to Sadok.   

Sadok spurred his horse again and he and Fletcher did their best to catch Uther before he reached the fortification.  Ambrosius was pushing Merlin as hard as he could, and he knew that his horse was reaching its limit.   

Hang on boy! The end is near...  Ambrosius promised.   

Ambrosius had almost reached Fletcher and Sadok when Uther breached the outer gate of the old Roman fortification.  The three of them watched in horror as the Saxon captains emerged from hiding and surrounded Uther from either side.  Uther suddenly realized his mistake, brought his horse to a stop and attempted to retreat out of the entrance.  The Saxon captains closed the gate doors preventing him from doing so.  As the gates closed, the three rebels could no longer see Uther.  They all feared that it was the last time that they would see him alive again.    

No!  Sadok cried in outrage.  Cowards! 

Ambrosius took the lead and as Merlin pulled out ahead, the commander reached for his sword.  His heart sank as he felt it missing from his scabbard.  He clenched his fist in regret and rage for his own foolish mistake.  Merlin came to a quick stop, yards from the gate.  Ambrosius was off his saddle and leaping to his feet.  He charged the gate and to his surprise he was able to pull open, one of the massive doors, without any resistance.  The gate had been closed to stop Uther’s escape, but not secured to prevent the rebels from entering.  As the large wooden gate swung open Ambrosius could see Uther lying next to his shield and sword, in what looked like a river of blood.  Uther’s horse was snorting and coughing near him.  It had been speared in the belly but was not injured enough to die quickly.   

Uther!  Ambrosius was cautious not to make the same mistake that Uther had.  He wearily entered the courtyard of the fort.  He looked to the shadows and through the heavy rain for any sign of his enemy.  It was clear from where the Saxon’s horses were, that they had taken refuge in the high wall tower.  Ambrosius hurried to Uther.  He knelt next to him and turned his body over, so as to see his face.  As he did, blood gurgled up from his throat and out of his mouth.  The blood poured down his chin and onto his armour.   

Uther!  Ambrosius moved into Uther’s distant gaze.  

My lord...  Uther choked. 

Fletcher and Sadok hurried into the courtyard and climbed off their horses.  Fletcher drew his bow and knocked an arrow, fixing his aim to the windows and arrow slits of the wall tower.  His eyes searched for movement of any kind, the sweat and rain stinging his eyes as he looked for the enemy.  Sadok took their horses and moved them out of harm’s way, then hurried back to help to move Uther to safety.   

We have to move you, Uther.  Ambrosius informed Uther as he placed Uther’s sword in his own scabbard. 

Mmmm.  Uther let out a laboured grunt of agreement and then let his head fall back.  He was exhausted.  Breathing was almost more than he could bear.  His life was fading. 

As soon as Sadok and Ambrosius picked up Uther, one of the Saxon captains fired an arrow from the tower.  Luckily it missed all of them but the next one would not unless they took shelter.  Sadok let go of Uther and pulled his shield from his back and stood out in front of Ambrosius and Uther hoping to save them.  Fletcher returned fire at the attacker.  He was able to fire several arrows in just a second or two.  However, he fired reservedly in order to save his ammunition.  Ambrosius could barely lift Uther who was dressed in heavy armour and had gone slack from his injuries.  He opted to drag him in order to quickly get him to safety.  Fletcher and Sadok moved with Ambrosius, doing their best to guard their retreat.   

They took shelter in a stable, just right of the tower wall.  The stables had only three walls, but the roof provided the only real protection they needed.   Once safe, Sadok and Fletcher dropped their weapons and moved to assist Ambrosius.  

Help me get his armour off!  He shouted in a panic.  The two captains did as they were told.  Sadok pulled the boots away as Fletcher removed the gauntlets.  Then the captains started undoing the straps. 

Cut them!  Ambrosius rarely lost his temper, but in this circumstance his harsh, sharp words were understandable.  Neither Sadok nor Fletcher realized how much Ambrosius seemed to care for Uther, until that moment.  They always fought, and despite making Uther Pendragon his second in command, they barely seemed to be friends.   

Sadok and Fletcher cut the straps to the breastplate away and as they removed the front plate, Uther’s guts spilled onto the ground.  The armour had been keeping his organs in place.  At the instant his wound was exposed, Uther’s skin went from a light orange to a sort of sickly green colour.  The look on his face told them that Uther knew he was about to die.   

Leave us.  Uther whispered.  Let me alone, with my commander. 

Ambrosius didn’t look away from Uther’s eyes.  Sadok and Fletcher understood that there wasn’t enough time for all three of them to bid Uther goodbye.  Uther had only moments left to live.  They stood up with their weapons and moved to a defensive position to watch the tower and fend off any Saxon assault. 

Lay still, Uther.  Ambrosius wiped the blood and mud from Uther’s face.  He was suddenly calm.   He would be there for Uther’s final moments.  What would you have me tell Arthur?  What shall I tell your son?  

Uther coughed and let out a low gravelly whimper before speaking.  My last words are reserved for you, my lord.  Uther closed his eyes a moment to gather the last of the strength that he needed to say what had to be said.   

Ambrosius was heartbroken.  He wanted all this to be over.  When will it be over?  He screamed inside his mind. 

"You must promise me. You must give up on mercy.  He gasped for air.   Wisdom and courtesy are for peace.   Your enemies must only know rage from you.   For if you do not cut every last one of them down, they will rise against you.  They will steal back any victory you take from them.   It will go on and on until vengeance is fulfilled."  Uther could not keep his eyes open.  His words were taking the last of his life from him.   

Rest, Uther, do not worry your mind with the troubles of this world.  You are beyond them now.  Find the path to God.  Ambrosius said calmly. 

Promise me!  Or your mercy will be your downfall.  Vengeance is the way to victory...  Uther suddenly felt something shift from within his core.   His heart stopped beating.  He could no longer cling to life.  He did his best to hold in his final breath, but as he exhaled, the air scratched out of him, in a rattling and horrific growl.  His eyes descended into a dim gaze.  Ambrosius had missed his chance to make the promise.    

III 

Ambrosius’ mind was swimming with guilt and regret.  He couldn’t help but think that he was the reason that Uther was dead.  If he had been in the lead, where a leader should have been, he would have seen the trap at the gate.  Instead, he was lingering behind.  Sulking and whining.  He stood up and began removing his own armour.  He pulled off the black breastplate with a gold lion head in the centre.  The emblem of his family.  The face of the lion fell into the mud and Ambrosius couldn’t help but wonder if that was an ill-gotten omen.  Foreshadowing the fall of his family line.  Would he too fall that day? 

He still felt the strain from the years of war.  He was exhausted and feeling weak.  Too weak to fight, but he knew that he had no choice anymore.  Ambrosius tossed the last of the armour to the ground until he was wearing nothing but his breeches, boots and tunic.   

It was at that moment that Sadok saw Ambrosius.  He hurried over to him.  

Are we resting for the night? 

"No! We are not resting for the night...  Ambrosius gripped Uther’s sword in his hand, feeling the shape of the handle and gauging the weight versus his own familiar sword.  Uther is dead.  I will have vengeance."  

Sadok could see that Ambrosius was in a state of grief, not rage.  He had never seen his commander so out of sorts, let alone abandon his armour.  Why have you taken off your armour?  Sadok asked. 

I’m storming that tower.  I’ll have to reach the top.  It will be narrow passages and my armour will weigh me down.  It will make moving in such tight spaces difficult.  My armour will kill me. 

Fletcher!  Sadok called out, hoping that the other captain would be better equipped to talk Ambrosius out of his plan of lunacy.   

Fletcher hurried over just as Ambrosius left the shelter of the stables.   Fletcher looked upon Uther’s body for a moment and then up to Sadok.  Where is he going? 

"To storm the tower!  Without his armour."  Sadok followed Ambrosius, pulling his shield to the ready as he did. 

Fletcher drew his bow and knocked an arrow.  Once out of the shelter of the tiny stable, he knew that the rain and lightning would hinder his ability to see clearly.  It would be hard for him to hit anything.  Still, he had little choice.  He moved off to the side so that he would not be an easy target.   He found shelter next to a water barrel. He knelt in the mud and took aim at the lowest window.   

Ambrosius was standing at the entrance to the tower.  The door was barred and locked. Probably barricaded with whatever the Saxons would have found inside.  Ambrosius tried only a few times to open it.  Sadok reached him just as Ambrosius walked out from the door and into the main courtyard.  He turned and looked up at the tower.   

Vortigern!  Coward Saxon filth!  Come now and fight me!  Let it come to us to end this war once and for all!  Ambrosius raised his arms up, in hopes to taunt the Saxon leader into battle.   

Instead, one of the captains leaned out the highest window and fired an arrow at Ambrosius.  Ambrosius stepped to the side, the arrow nearly striking him in the shoulder.  After which he called out a second time. 

You have killed all my kin, save for me!  I am the rightful king of this land!  Ambrosius declared.  I will hunt you to the end of the earth.  

Another arrow whizzed past Ambrosius, this time a half foot from his left ear.  Ambrosius didn’t dodge, shift or even change his expression.  Fletcher fired back, using the light from the distant lightning to spot the attacker.   Then once the Saxon archer retreated within the tower, Fletcher called out to Sadok.   

Sadok!  Get him to shelter, he’s crazed from Uther’s death. 

Sadok would not protest, for it was the only explanation for Ambrosius’ sudden lack of self-preservation.  He dropped his shield and grabbed hold of Ambrosius’ arm.  Sadok was a larger man.  Stronger than any of the captains, stronger than Ambrosius.  He was a bull!  Still, Ambrosius would not be moved.  He was lodged in his stance and despite Sadok’s attempts, Ambrosius managed to stay fixed and ready to fight Vortigern.  Sadok gave one last pull, but the rain and mud caused him to lose his grip on his commander and he fell away and onto his backside.   

Ambrosius suddenly saw Vortigern appear at the crenelations overlooking the courtyard.  The two leaders locked eyes.  The moments stretched out, but they only stared at each other for a few seconds.  The two men had been pitched against one another for two decades.  They were mortal enemies, but this was the closest either one had been to the other in all that time.  Usually, there were thousands of men, battlefields or fortified barriers between them.  They suddenly stood in silent opposition with equal disdain and curiosity.  Neither knew what to say or do at that very moment.  Neither would get the chance.   

As if willed by God, a sharp white tentacle of electricity descended from the sky.  The lightning curved in a jagged arc that connected with the peak of the wall tower.  An explosion of sparks and flame combusted at the moment of impact.  The sound was immediate and as sharp as was the intensity of the brightness of the strike.  The crack split through the air and startled the three rebels with equal intensity, though not as vigorously as Vortigern.  The Saxon leader bent clean in half, almost toppling over the battlement of the tower.  His face contorted in fear and disbelief.  They all thought it, felt it and wondered just how natural the lightning strike was.   

Vortigern struggled to his feet, looking up at the roof above him.  The peaked tower was engulfed in flames and the fire was spreading.  In addition to that, the roof had endured structural damage from the lightning and planks of wood, splinters of flaming rooftop were raining down over him and to the courtyard below.  Vortigern fled to the hole in the floor leading to the ladder and down to the rooms below him.   

Sadok got back to his feet, and with the aid of Fletcher, was able to pull Ambrosius away from the tower.  Ambrosius was in awe.  He couldn’t believe what he had witnessed.  Was it providence?  Was it divine intervention, or sheer luck that the lightning had struck the tower? When the three rebels were far enough away, they stood and watched as the top of the tower became more and more encapsulated by fire.  They could hear the Saxon’s inside shouting to one another.  They were determining how they would escape.  They knew that if they left the tower they would have to fight.  They also knew that the tower would not stand for much longer.  The voices descended from within the tower, until the three rebels could hear Vortigern and his men at the door.  They had blocked the door with tables, chairs and barrels in order to keep Ambrosius out.  As the tower was beginning to collapse, their time to clear the passage was running short.   

The fire at the top of the tower was illuminating the entire courtyard of the fortification and the orange glow was radiant and triumphant to the rebels.  They all felt a sense of victory.  Sadok and Fletcher cheered and shouted as Ambrosius silently watched the upper levels of the tower collapse upon itself, piece by piece.  A section of the wall broke away and descended to the stables below.   The stone wall crushed the tiny stables, burying Uther’s dead body in a pile of rock and rubble.  This silenced Sadok and Fletcher.  They joined their commander as they awaited the outcome of Vortigern and his captains.  

When Vortigern had finally cleared enough of the blockade away from inside the tower entrance, he pushed past his own men and crawled outside into the courtyard.  Ambrosius knew at that moment, exactly why he had obtained victory.  

An honourable man would order his captains out of the tower first.  Ambrosius thought.   

It wouldn’t matter.  No sooner did Vortigern step out of the door and in front of the tower, then the building collapsed in a colossal spectacle of debris, fire and smoke.  Vortigern’s shriek of fear just seconds before he died, was muffled by the collapse.  He vanished from their sight and would never again be seen.  Ambrosius felt a wave of guilt and regret.   He had won the war, but he could not say that he defeated his enemy.  The Saxon King was dead, just not by his own hand.  Ambrosius closed his eyes and let the rain pour over him.   He wanted it to cleanse him, to baptise him of all that he had seen and done in the last two decades of his life.  While he stood there, Fletcher and Sadok remained awestruck by what they had witnessed. They looked to Ambrosius, then to one another and back to the pile of rock that was once the tower.   

The men stood there watching the collapsed tower for some time.  Some small part of them expected Vortigern to crawl out from under the rubble.  The idea was absurd; however, they had known the enemy to be so resilient and so tough to defeat for so long, that none of them would have been surprised by anything at that point.  When the men were too tired and too hungry to remain standing, they found a tiny structure that hadn’t completely fallen apart.  They secured a few planks of wood within it and set up a place to sleep for the night.  Before any of them could sleep, they would eat.   

Fletcher prepared the food.  A side of beef, that he had taken from the last village.  The men salivated as it cooked.  Filling the time with talk of what they had just witnessed. 

It was an act of God.  His virtue and might struck down upon Vortigern for the final insult and cowardice murder of Captain Pendragon.  Sadok insisted.   

Ambrosius looked contemplatively at his friend.  He wasn’t convinced that it was God’s doing.  He couldn't be sure it wasn’t,   

He died as he lived.  A coward and fool.  Fletcher remarked.  

He wasn’t a fool.  Ambrosius spoke at last.  He captured this land and held it for nearly thirty years.  He obtained wealth beyond imagining.  He won many battles before losing the war. Ambrosius recalled. 

Surely you do not praise the man that killed your family?  Sadok retorted. 

Not praise.  Ambrosius pulled his long black hair back, straining as much water from it as he could in the process.  Respect.  He was a powerful adversary.  To say the least.  

Fuck him!  Sadok snorted, then pulled out a whet skin and took a swig of his mead.   

I have never seen anything like that.  Fletcher redirected the conversation back to the lightning strike. It was as though you summoned the lightning down upon him. 

Careful.  You make me out to be a witch.  I did nothing to bring forth his death, I regret to say.  I did not summon the forces of nature.  In fact, I did not even summon the fury to finish the job myself.  It is a regret I will live with my entire life.  Ambrosius concluded.  Then removed the side of beef from the spit, divided up the portions of meat and hurriedly consumed his meal.  After which he laid back to sleep.   

Despite the night being wet and cold, Ambrosius slept deeply and did not wake until late the next morning.  Fletcher and Sadok were in the process of trying to recover Uther’s body.  The section of wall that had fallen upon him was massive and even should they find his corpse, it would most likely be a pulverised pile of flesh and bone.  Still, they were obligated to recover it.   

Ambrosius sat up and could hear them working in the distance.  He would stop them from their attempt to find Uther, but he was not yet fully awake.  Instead, he sat there, trying to muster the strength and energy to stand.  His thoughts were heavy.  Burdened by the final words Uther had said.  How he failed to promise him. How those words were suddenly empty and held no value.  For this day was the first of a new age for Ambrosius.  This day marked the end of war and the beginning of an age of peace and prosperity.

Put it out of your head.  He thought.  Push it away.  Leave behind the guilt and regret, for like the vines of war, these poisoned seeds will grow into something, that makes black, your soul.  Ambrosius took a deep healing breath and let go the weight of all that he knew before.  He stood up and went to cease the captains from their futile task.  Sadok. Fletcher.  Come away from there.  He waited until they were looking at him. There is no point in finding his body.  Let us remember him as a man, not whatever we would find beneath the tomb of stone and debris he was buried under. 

Sadok and Fletcher were about to protest but having witnessed what they had and having endured such a long pursuit, they too were ready to accept the end as it came.   

I will fetch us some food before we make our return.  Fletcher went to collect his bow and arrows. 

Sadok walked over to Ambrosius.  He took the waterskin from Ambrosius and drank 

most of its contents.  He wiped the sweat from his brow and struggled to find the right words to speak.  Sadok wasn’t much of a vocalist.  He was a warrior and captain.  He could instruct soldiers on how to kill.  He wasn’t much for soothing words.  So, he opted for silence.  He assumed Ambrosius would appreciate it more anyway.  

Ambrosius looked at the final resting place of Uther for only a moment and then went off to tend to the horses.  He guided them to outside the fortification and let them graze in the long grass around the outer walls.  He stayed close to his war horse, soothing and talking to it as he ate.   

We have done it, Merlin.  We have survived war.  Despite the odds.  You and me boy.  We have endured it all together.  I suppose that means we have won the freedom to live however we want to.  From now on we will indulge, my friend.  With any luck, we will make raising a family our true legacy.  Let us let a legacy of war, vanish from our past.  Ambrosius abruptly realized that Sadok had overheard him.   

Fletcher is back and preparing a meal.  Sadok was kind enough to pretend he hadn’t heard Ambrosius talking to his horse.  He gave Ambrosius a courteous smile and then returned to the fort.   

...And perhaps a reputation for talking to animals.  Ambrosius laughed at himself before collecting the horses and returning to eat breakfast with Fletcher and Sadok.   

IV 

It took almost twice as long to return to where the final battle had taken place than it did to reach Hadrian's Wall, though it felt twice as fast.  The three rebel leaders were in no hurry to get back.  They eased their way across the countryside.  They stopped at the village that Vortigern had sacked and as promised, they gave proper burials to those that had died at the Saxon assault.   They weaved from village to village on the route south.  Stopping in and confirming rumours and stories that the Anglo-Saxon war was finally over.  Delivering such good news made the journey back effortless. 

Fletcher did most of the talking, though none of the rebels ever explained the strange events that led to Vortigern’s demise.  Somehow, without ever discussing the reasons why, they kept it secret, they each understood that it would not be taken as a good sign.  So, the stories always went the same.  Uther, Ambrosius, and the two captains chased the Saxon King to the edge of Briton and at the very last, defeated them once and for all.  

When they reached Wallop, the location of the final battle, the camp was not how they remembered it.  The battlefield was pillaged of lost weapons, the corpses of the soldiers were gone.  Husks of pyres remained in the distance, but little of the aftermath of the battle could be seen.  It was a sight for sore eyes indeed.  As Ambrosius and the two captains neared the camp, a scout had spotted them.  He respectfully greeted them and then rode with great haste to inform Arthur that his commander had returned.  

As Ambrosius, Sadok and Fletcher entered the camp.  All the soldiers were standing, lined up against the main route leading to the centre.  The men began clapping and cheering as the three proceeded.  Drums were being pounded upon with rhythmic and triumphant grandeur and even though Uther was not amongst them, the three rebel leaders marked the end to war.  Sadok was beaming with pride and honour.  He had helped lead those men to victory, many of which were commoners, tradesmen without an occupation of war.  Fletcher also felt proud, but mostly was satisfied that so many men had survived the final battle. Ambrosius on the other hand was not willing to celebrate the victory, not until he delivered the dark news to Arthur.  They reached the centre of the camp, and all three men dismounted their horses.   

Arthur Pendragon had seen long before that moment that his father was not with them.  He knew that his father didn't survive.  The terrible truth of his absence was obvious to everyone, still they celebrated the end of the war.  It was a luxury Arthur would not hold against them.  He too would celebrate, in honour of his father.  Arthur held in his tears, tightening his gut in defiance of his sick and weakened state, that hearing of his father’s death would deliver.  He waited until Ambrosius was off his horse before walking up and kneeling before him.  

Ambrosius was about to instruct Arthur to his feet when he heard the sound of thousands descending in unison.  Ambrosius turned in a full circle, his eyes cast over the army that served him for two decades.  They knelt for the first time, before their new king.  The lord of Britannia.  A lump ascended into his throat and despite feeling honoured and humbled by their respect and courtesy, he wanted to run and never look back. 

Ambrosius Aurelianus.  My commander.  My king!  Let us mark today as a day of victory and triumph!  Arthur spoke with such grace and dignity.   

Waves of men called out with three boisterous cheers, to authenticate Arthur’s statement.  Arthur then looked to his left and motioned to a young boy to bring him a small chest, decorated with elaborately designed draw bolds, slat clamps and a lock plate, all of which were made of gold.  Once given to Arthur, he removed a key from around his neck and unlocked the ornate chest.  Inside it was a crown.   The crown was simple, but elegant.  It was graceful but still made for that of a warrior.  The only jewel encrusted within it, was a rectangular ruby placed at the front of the winged shaped guard.  The inside was lined with plush, red velvet.  Arthur removed the crown with care and decorum and stood up, walked over and motioned for Ambrosius to bow his head so that he could be crowned.  

Ambrosius looked at Arthur.   He could see that the young man was fighting his own pain.  Arthur was struggling with the loss of his father.  Ambrosius wanted to take that pain from him.  He knew that there was only one way to do that.  He would have to reveal a secret that he had been keeping almost his entire life.  There would be no better time than then to do it.  Ambrosius lowered his head and waited for Arthur to crown him. 

Ambrosius Aurelianus.  Conqueror of the Saxon King, tyrant and enslaver, Vortigern.  No man has ever been more deserving of this title!  No noble has ever served his people as you have over these past two decades.  You are a warrior, a leader and saviour of the people of Britannia.  Its people can never repay the sacrifice you have made to bring this land to freedom.  Therefore, there is no other honour that we can bestow upon you that would best demonstrate our thanks, than that of King!   King Aurelianus!  All hail the king!  Arthur stepped back and once more knelt before Ambrosius.   

The men knelt yet again.  This time there was a vast silence that befell the soldiers.  The entire populace of the valley seemed to hold their breath.  The birds stopped singing their song, the wind paused its relentless push and even the sun bowed behind a pure white cloud.  It was as if all the land had acknowledged Ambrosius’ sacrifice.  

Rise!  Ambrosius spoke at last.   

The men stood up, but all remained quiet, except for Fletcher, who spoke what everyone was thinking.  Speech! 

Soon men were echoing his sentiment and Ambrosius knew there would be no avoiding it.  He knew it was his duty to say something and with such a captive audience he would not miss the opportunity to reveal the secret once and for all.  He climbed back up onto Merlin to ensure that his voice would carry across the audience and each of his vital words would be received.  That all would bear witness to the proclamation he was about to give.   

Soldiers!  Friends!  Fellow countrymen!  Today we are free!  Free from the grip of a tyrant.  Free from a foreign king.  Vortigern is dead!  Ambrosius punctuated his attestation by throwing his fist into the air.    The men cheered and hollered in celebration.    To reach this moment in time, we paid a toll that can never, nor should it ever be forgotten.  For we paid with our blood, our sons, our fathers and our brothers!  A cost that can never be repaid to us.  For once blood is spilled, it is forever lost.  Let us pay heed to those that fell for this freedom! Ambrosius led his army in three vengeful cries for the dead.  The chorus of homage echoed throughout the valley.   

Arthur lowered his head in leu of shouting in rage.  His father’s death was too fresh in his heart and mind, to bring to sound.  Ambrosius looked over to Arthur and waited for him to look back up before speaking again.  When at last he raised his head, the two locked eyes. Ambrosius remained fixed looking upon the young captain.   

As you know, I am of noble Roman blood.  My family remained after Rome called her soldier's home.  We remained because Britannia was our true home.  I was born in this land.  I will die in this land.  I would die for its people!  Ambrosius paused as the soldiers cheered.  He remained looking at Arthur, who was starting to wonder why Ambrosius was so fixed on him.  Although I am of noble lineage and have earned the right to be your king.  I will not maintain that privilege.   

The crowd grew into a clamouring of murmurs and disbelief.  Ambrosius strengthened his gaze at Arthur.  The boy was even more confused.

Uther Pendragon laid down his life to ensure victory and he was the first to join the rebellion under me.  He did this because he was brave, he was honourable and because he was noble!  Uther Pendragon was my brother.

The crowd exploded into gasps and conversation, but all sound fell away as Ambrosius watched Arthur’s expression.  Ambrosius had always watched over Arthur, and now he knew why.  Ambrosius was his uncle.  His kin.  His only remaining family.

Uther changed his name to protect our lineage.  Should I be killed, my younger brother would step into my place to avenge our family.  As he ensured our victory, he solidified his nobility.  So, for my first act as your king and ruler of this land.  I declare that I shall pass my title and command to Arthur Pendragon!  Son, of Uther Pendragon!!!  Let us give a new land, free of Saxon rule, free of Roman rule, to a noble born in this land.  It’s true king.  Arthur! King of Britannia!!! 

Arthur looked dumbfounded.  He was stunned at the news of his lineage, his newly appointed title and most of all, the overwhelming acceptance of his