The Fox and the Bear: The Silurian

By L.A. WILSON

From the heroic tales of King Arthur comes a raw, riveting and passionate series of eight novels titled "The Silurian", by author, L.A. Wilson, who breathes fresh new life into this spell-binding mythological cycle.
Told as a first-person narrative by the conflicted prince of Gwynedd, Bedwyr, called ‘the Fox’ - the man closest to Arthur’s heart - 'The Silurian' series is an amazing journey into the past, where the social order was kept by the sword, by loyalty unto death, and the desire to be free: free to survive in the face of Saxon invasions, of violent internal conflicts, and free to love unshielded within their Dark Age war-hosts of warrior brothers.
Energized by L.A.’s powerful and unconventional story-telling, a whole dramatic world of war, love, hate, and betrayal is created and viewed through the exotic eyes of Prince Bedwyr, the Fox. This is his story. The story of Arthur, the Bear of Britain, and his rise to power, and ultimately his journey into the mythical realm of ‘The Once and Future King’.

In The Silurian, book 1: 'The Fox and the Bear', Arthur, at age fifteen is the winner of a great battle between British and Saxon forces, seizing the day from his own supreme commander, Ambrosius Aurelianus. This battle win causes Arthur’s father to formally reject his son, through fear of Arthur’s growing power. This rejection causes Arthur to begin his rise to take full control of Britain’s armies with the aid of his first cousin, Medraut, the son of Lot, Uthyr’s younger brother.
Yet Arthur’s rise becomes Bedwyr’s greatest challenge, and the Fox’s life begins a downward slide into rebellion, and he leaves on a lone path of confusion to fight his inner demons, to find who he really is as his greatest friend and foster-brother rises higher and higher in power—high enough to face his own father, Uthyr, in battle for the right to fly the Red Dragon banner of the Pendragon Warlords. Arthur’s battles will one day make Bedwyr the Fox a hero, if only he can stand firm as Arthur’s first man, his shield-bearer and brother-in-arms; stand to tell the tale of The Silurian in his own passionate words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9781446103739

Book preview

THE SILURIAN

BOOK ONE

THE FOX

AND

THE BEAR

TwoRiders Productions

2024

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

L.A. WILSON author of © THE SILURIAN series

©THE FOX AND THE BEAR

BOOK 1 OF 8

ISBN: 978-1-4461-0373-9

Author contact: [e-mail]

Cover Artist

https://selfpubbookcovers.com/billwyc

THE LEGEND BEGINS

1

CROWS gathered in great flocks overhead as we searched the battlefield through the dead and dying. Some of the birds landed on bodies and I slashed my sword at them, trying to send them back into the sky. I watched them scream again in their darkness before I turned to look for my brothers. All around me men were dying, their voices dying, already dead men, telling the crows they were ready to leave their bodies for the Otherworld. And as I waited for Cai and Medraut to reach me, as I watched them stepping over these dying men, I shook, and trembled. This was a terrible battle, our first as new warriors to the field, and I had never seen anything like it before. The horror of it, and I stood waiting in terror—for Arthur was missing.

He was out there somewhere amongst the bodies, and so far, we had not been able to find him. I stood where I was, frozen in fear to believe Arthur may have been killed in this terrible clash of arms, where the dead smelled like blood and not men. I began walking my way towards Medraut and Cai. When I reached them, me and Medraut fell on each other and held on tight. I cried at him, Where is he? Medraut, say he is not dead.

I know, Fox, I know, we will find him.

Not dead! I cried at him.

Na, not dead, not Arthur. He’s too young, too clever; this was his battle, he won it, how can he be dead, he won it, Bedwyr! Look at me; this is his doing.

We fell on each other again, trying to still our torment. Cai joined us. He said, Aye, Arthur’s doing, and he will have to pay for it.

Medraut said, We should put some of these men out of their suffering. I will do it, and he walked off to put his spear through the chest of a Saxon under his feet. And as he did, he turned back to us and cried, You know, I saw him earlier, somewhere over that way, he lost his horse too. Fox, come with me.

Again, we began searching.

We would not give up till we found him, and as we walked over the dead, with Medraut killing more wounded Saxons on the way, with the sky turning black above us and the bloody crows screeching, I thought I was dying. I began to lose my temper. It was naught but fear and horror inside me; I wanted no part of it. For I trod on the severed arm of a man lying under me, and I almost spewed up my guts to see it. I cried out in horror, a wail to the crows, and Medraut held me up as the sky darkened even more. Black rainclouds above—it was turning to winter already! I still held my sword, gripped so hard it chafed the palm of my hand. So many dead, I could smell them, the dead.

And the carrion crows of the Dark Goddess, Morgen, she sent clouds of ravens, wheeling and cawing over our heads, making my skin crawl, their wings black like the sky. I sank to the ground in despair. A day of destruction and despair was this battle. The sun was going down and the bitter wind snapped at my cloak. If Arthur was dead, then this day would also be my last in this dark world. For I would impale myself on my own sword and follow him, I would. There was no doubt in me that I would, for I would not let him go alone across the divide, alone to Avalon. I would go with him. He would wait for me on the shore, and we would cross the water together. For we were brothers, bound together forever; my foster-brother, my life. A sour taste from inside came up into my mouth and gagged me. I spat on the ground and came back to my feet.

Medraut with me, and we carried on searching, and every step we made, he cursed, Piss on their filthy Saxon blood! Saxon bastards!

And he kicked one of their dead, a dead Saxon under our feet. I looked down at the man, and there he was, Arthur. Lying next to the Saxon Medraut had just kicked. I dropped to my knees, dropped my sword and turned him towards me, saw his face covered in blood. I lowered to feel for his breath, touching his chest to see if he still lived. I felt a soft beat of his heart, steady but slow. His helmet was split in half and lying on the ground, his head was split too, but it seemed his helmet had taken most of the blow. Medraut called out for help and men came running. One of them shoved me out of his way as he fell on his knees at Arthur’s side. I watched helpless and in pain as the man tended him, one of our troop doctors, now ordering him taken off the field at once.

More men came. They lifted him, his body was limp, and they carried him towards the wagons on the edge of the battleground. I jumped up and followed. Medraut and Cai came with me, both of them protesting in anguish when their troop captain found them, and ordered them out to their horses. It was time to evacuate the field, but I had to stay with Arthur.

The men carried him roughly and this I did not like.

I cried at them, Be easy with him! But he did not wake even when they dumped him in the back of a wagon. I climbed up inside with him; put a hand against his face and called, Arthur? Are you going to wake up now? Come on, don’t do this to me, wake up!

I felt confused, why was he not waking up? I looked out of the open carriage doors; saw Medraut and Cai with the rest of their unit running for their horses. Lord Merlyn, our druid, and Ambrosius’ chief physician, rode up to join me. He said, Bedwyr, does he live?

It was so good to see him! Lord Merlyn was the best doctor in Britain.  I answered him, Alive, but why isn’t he waking?

The war-horns were blowing the signal to move out, and all the warriors began wheeling off the field.

By the Old Gods, I do not know why he isn’t waking, Merlyn answered me as he pulled closer alongside our wagon on his horse. He trotted behind, saying, If it is a head wound, it will bleed heavily, but he should have woken by now. The Greek doctors are whispering about a koma, the long un-waking sleep of the head-struck. If this happens, he may never recover his senses.

But that’s impossible, I said to him.

I was more afraid than ever.

Arthur was too young for this! He was only fifteen. I was only sixteen, and I could not even speak well because my mouth was so dry with thirst.

How can a man sleep and never wake without dying, Merlyn? This is madness. Please make him wake.

Merlyn said, Boys your age should never be allowed to lead battles. This will cause problems for you, Bedwyr, with your father. And Lord Ambrosius should be ashamed for letting both you and Arthur take this field—look at him, lying there with his head cracked open! You are both too young to fight against Saxons like Hengist, and as you are a noble entrusted to his care by your clan, this will lose Ambrosius the support of your father.

Nothing Lord Merlyn said made sense to me.

I looked back at Arthur; he was half asleep, half awake, he was in a dream, sleeping with blood on his face. And no matter how much the wagon bounced and rocked, he did not wake up.

A groom rode over with his horse, bringing my own with him. All around, I was crowded by warriors, smelled them like I had smelled the dead on the field.

There was blood still on my boots.

Merlyn rode off somewhere and left me.

I felt sick. I began to shake. I could not believe we had survived this battle. If this was what battle was really like, it was naught but hell-fire on land, and I sat and trembled, for the fear of it was still on me.

I put a hand on Arthur’s sweaty brow, he moaned when I touched him, and I knew he was struggling to come back to me.

Another medicus came running.

He climbed into the carriage with me and began binding Arthur’s wound, a deep gash there on the left side of his head. We were now off the battlefield altogether and moving from east to west with all our surviving host and our wounded. We had battled in the country south of the great Arbus-water, where the Germani were again trying to take our lands, where the terrible Hengist had joined alliance with the Angles, their forces cut to pieces by a fifteen-year-old boy. I laughed about it to myself, thinking, Arthur, what have you done now? It was not as if he had never done anything extraordinary before in his life.

Once, when he was twelve and I was thirteen, he rescued seven of our men from Saxons who had taken them captives and put them to work as slaves, and even before that, he had been amazing his elders, and angering his father. Arthur was starting to rouse himself now, and I made sure I kept close at his side as we made our way back home, victorious. I stayed with him all the way, looking into his face. Blood was dried and smeared down into his lips, and I tried to wipe it away, touching his face with my fingers wetted with my spit. I did it gently, so as not to hurt him. What if he died?

Could he still die? And the going did not get any better till we made a course south on the Roman road to Viroconium, and for most of the time Arthur slept, though he woke often, opening his dark eyes and looking at me as if I was a stranger to him. I told him over and over, We’re nearly home. Hold up, brother, we are nearly home.

He looked at me, he said, So glad they didn’t kill you…

Three long days. And by the time we finally got him back to barracks, the orderlies wasted no time in bundling him away into a warm room with a fire and women to fuss and feed him. Aye, this was good, and I began to feel better myself, as they fed me too. Often, I would stop eating when I worried, and other times, I fell into a black sorrow of gloom for no reason I could find, but now, with Arthur beginning to recover his senses, or so I thought, everyone important in Viroconium came to see him. Ambrosius the Supreme Commander of Armies in Britain came and looked down at him, as he lay still in bed.

Now Arthur, how is your head? the Commander asked him.

It’s still there, my Lord, Arthur answered.

Still sharp-mouthed, I see. This is a good sign. I have written to your father about this, and yours too, Prince Bedwyr. I hope your fathers will understand the reasons for putting you both to battle on the front-line. How else will you ever learn?

The Fox need not have gone, Arthur told him. Lord Tewdur will not like his son being used for front-line battle. I warned you of this, my lord.

Then he should not have put Bedwyr into my army, boy. Be quiet now and get some rest.

Lord Ambrosius put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder; looked at me with a hard eye, and then went marching out of our room. But Arthur did not pay attention to the old man’s words; he only looked at me and said, It’s a good thing you were not killed in that battle. Your entire clan would rise against him if you had. Not least having me kill him myself if you were killed.

He’s angry at you for taking that battle off him. You bested him in war, Arthur! You bested the Supreme Commander himself; you took control, and you are only fifteen, do you think he will stand for this? When you get better, he will knock you down to a foot-soldier.

He trained me for this himself, right?

You are too brilliant for him, you outshone him. And your first battle. And I curse the rotten gods for making you brilliant and then splitting open your head. What were you doing? You don’t fight Saxons in single combat! You were almost killed, you bloody fool. Do you think I can stand it if you die, if you die and leave me?

He laughed a little. I did go wild, aye? I thought I saw Hengist himself, but it wasn’t him. I didn’t kill that Saxon who brained me, someone else did, I don’t know who it was. I fell in a swoon.

Well, it doesn’t matter now; just do what you are told and get some rest. I was still angry with him for almost getting himself killed. He was too brilliant to get himself killed. He needed a rein around his neck, or else, have me at his side so I could always protect him on the battlefield. He would take me to war whether I wanted it or not, just so I could protect his disobedient hide. Oh aye, I could see all this coming—sons put to battle in the wars of our fathers.

I said to him, You deserve to shine, not die at age fifteen.

I won’t. Fox, stop looking at me like that. Bugger off looking at me like that, or I’ll throw you out! I’m not going to die yet.

I’ll let you sleep, you prick.

So he slept.

OVER the days that followed, he slept a lot more, and his skin grew pale. That wicked wound on his head, it began doing things to him none of us could have foreseen. He was not healing right, as the very next morning when we were alone together, when our woman healer had gone to make us some porridge, I saw his body shaking as he slept. Not all of him, only his right arm and right leg. He started convulsing on the bed before me, like a man felled in battle and dying. He began moaning. I did not know what to do, so I stayed with him till the tremor stopped. And when it stopped, he slowly opened his eyes, unfocused, like a baby just squeezed out of his mother’s body and born. I knew he couldn’t see me, because even though he gazed right at me, he looked as if he did not know me.

But he said, I was looking for you… He was all pale and groggy like a man still drunk.

His lips were so dry I lifted his head for a drink of water.

He sipped it, and said again, I was looking for you, Fox.

I’m here, where do you think I was? I gripped tight to his hand and started to shiver too because it was so bloody cold in this room.

I told him, I’m going to light the fire then get the doctors. Lie still, don’t try to get up. I pulled out of his grip and began at once to build up the fire. My hands were shaking when I put the logs on the flames. I said, What do you mean, looking for me?

My head is pounding!

I stood up and went to him, looked at him. He seemed half asleep again and I leant down and shook him. He opened his eyes. He moaned again and said under his breath, Let me go… and he went suddenly quiet and still. I dropped down beside him, shook him again, but he would not respond.

I got up and ran from the room. I could not find anyone in charge, so I ran to Caan, our drill-master, and told him to send help, then ran back and was on my knees again at Arthur’s side. Some of the wives of the camp had come in to help nurse him, one of them was already there when I got back. She was trying to rouse him, to feed him with her hot broths, but he was limp in her strong hands.

She said, He is starved. He is suffering, poor lad. She spooned beef broth between his lips and he tried to swallow. I told the woman, That blow to his head has knocked him brainless. I’m scared.

As I spoke, a crowd of men came rushing into the room. Master Caan and Lord Merlyn; after them, two Greek doctors with their orderlies, also Ambrosius’ personal favourite kinsman, Cynan Aurelius, sent everywhere as the Commander’s representative whenever Ambrosius did not want to make himself seen. I wondered if the old man was feeling guilty about Arthur’s wound, for he had not come to see him since that first visit of his. All these men wanted to throw me out so they could work, but the woman healer stopped them. Can you not see the bond between these two boys? she cried at them. See how Arthur needs this boy? Leave him alone!

I loved her for saying this, though it failed to make Arthur any better.

2

ONE crisp cool spring morning, Uthyr Pendragon came to Viroconium with a band of followers. With him came Lot, his brother and Medraut’s father, at his side. Lord Uthyr had sent letters to say he wanted a private meeting concerning his son in the presence of Lord Ambrosius Aurelianus, and my father, Tewdur, king of Dogfeiling in Gwynedd. My father, being high chieftain of the Stag Clan, my kinsmen, we were all of us kinsmen-allies to Uthyr Pendragon of Rheged. And as my father was Arthur’s foster-father, he rightfully belonged at all meetings concerning him. Even I was to be there, called in as Prince Bedwyr of Dogfeiling, as I was, though always I preferred to be called Fox, the name Arthur had given me when we were boys. I was the Fox, and he was the Bear.

Yet as we dressed for our meeting, the Bear was so uncomfortable about seeing his father again that I saw his hands shaking when he was doing up his belt. He said to me, He’s going to hurt me. I can sense it. I can always sense when Uthyr’s going to hurt me. This is his final cut. And he made a cutting sign across his throat. He’s going to try and break me in front of everyone here, in front of you, my foster-father and Lord Ambrosius, even Medraut. All of you.

Why? I said.

Because of the battle I won, why else? Uthyr will see this as a threat to his own power, that me, his only son, is a greater warrior than he is. Now he fears me, he will reject me so he can fight me legally. You watch, I bet you, Fox, he will reject me today.

A hard look came into his eyes when he said this, but I knew him well enough to know his look was one of pain. Uthyr did not love him. Uthyr was waiting for his chance to reject him, and I thought he was right.

The time had come for Uthyr Pendragon to cast out his own son for fear of Arthur’s growing power.

Crows were cawing over in the trees when we left together to go and join the meeting in Ambrosius’ campaign room in his private villa. And when we walked in, everyone was already gathered. Uthyr and Lot both seated behind a long-table, facing Ambrosius and his attendants. Behind Uthyr stood his own warriors on guard, his Gododdin Guard of the Clan Lothian, powerful and hardened warriors from north over the great Wall, from the land of the Votadini, our forefathers. With us was Medraut ap Lot, and in the background as a witness stood Ambrosius’ priest of Christ, Calros Clement of Eburacum.

Next to him stood Lord Merlyn, our own mediator between Uthyr and Ambrosius’ opposing camps. And dominating the room was Uthyr’s old Red Dragon banner, hung up on the wall behind him as a challenge to Ambrosius of the Cornovii, whose banner was Roman—the Roman Aquila. Still the Pendragon banner was taken with Uthyr wherever he went; so beautifully embroidered, hand-stitched by Arthur’s mother, Igrain, herself. And there in the middle of the room waited a single chair, facing the table. I knew at once this single chair was meant for Arthur.

No-one needed to tell him to go and sit on it, which is what he did without comment. He sat staring not at his father, but at the banner, the Red Dragon there on the wall in front of him. The room was in shadow, just one small window above to his left. Arthur sat in a shaft of light. And even though he sat in a shaft of light, he looked darker than any of us, with his thick straight black hair and ebony-black eyes, his skin a deep honey-brown when he got out into the sun, and his hair had grown since his illness and he wore a band around his forehead, holding back his fringe. Handsome, even more so than his blond-haired angel of a cousin, Medraut, the son of Lot. For all of us, it was easy to see Uthyr had eyes only for his son, sitting before him with his legs splayed open, arrogant, staring back at his father.

While in the shadows and against the wall I stood next to Medraut, as we boys were not allowed to sit. Uthyr began it. I see, Ambrosius, you have failed to keep this—this black-dog son of mine under control. Did I tell you to let him go to battle, and win them? Why did you let this happen?

Ambrosius replied at once, I am the Supreme Commander of Armies in Britain, my friend, and you were the one who put your son in my army. I knew you did not expect Arthur to become so brilliant at war. I suspect, Uthyr, that you were hoping he would be killed in my battles, and not your own. You are a devious ally to have. What I do with my enlisted men is my own to command, not yours.

Uthyr smarted at this truth.

No, he had not expected his son to be so brilliant at war. He said, Well, that may be so, but I asked for this meeting so I can give you all a formal declaration—and have your lawyers note this down. I no longer recognize Arthur here as my son, born of my loins. He is Silurian born, born on Silurian soil of a Silurian mother of Silurian descent, aye, his Silurian bloodline is noble, but even so, he is no longer a member of my nation, but to his mother’s and her Clan of the Bear. To her side he is legally bound. I reject him. And in exchange for my son, I want my nephew, Medraut. He will come back with me today to Caer Luel.

Medraut jumped forward, crying, No! I want to stay with Arthur; fight with him! And I cannot do this from the north! Please, uncle, let me stay here with Lord Ambrosius’ army.

Uthyr growled back at him, No, lad, Lot and I want to train you to fight the Picts, not Saxons. Leave fighting the Germani to the southerners here. To Arthur, the Silurian, and Aurelianus of the Cornovi. We Gododdin stay in defence of the North where we belong. So, Medraut, you will come back with us when we leave here, boy, and so should you, Bedwyr. Are you not also Gododdin?

I glanced at my father when the Pendragon spoke to me.

My father stepped forward on my behalf and said, My son will stay where I put him, Uthyr.

My father then looked at Ambrosius when he said this, and I sensed something between them, an unspoken conflict.

Ambrosius nodded to Uthyr, Prince Bedwyr will stay with his foster-brother and they will both continue to fight in my army. They are both enlisted men: sons who you yourselves gave to me for training, for war and leadership. But if you want to reject your son from your own clan, Uthyr, what is this to do with me?

Uthyr looked at Ambrosius with a hard eye; he said, Nothing, other than I wish you to keep my son here under your full control. Keep him under control, and do not give him a command. Let him be a soldier and nothing else. Do you hear? He is not to have a command.

All the time as the men debated, Arthur sat restless in his chair, biting his jaw closed, dying to have his own say.

So be it, Ambrosius said.

And this was when Arthur finally broke.

He jumped out of his chair and advanced on his father, who sat behind the table, saying to his face, You don’t know what you have just done by rejecting me! You don’t know what you have done to yourself. He glanced at the Red Dragon on the wall. He said, I want that banner. And I will take it from you one day soon. My mother made it, and I want it. It should be mine. His hand clutched into a fist, and he burned his father with his black-eyed stare, so that the great Uthyr Pendragon paled.

Medraut, in exchange for you, Uthyr replied. And you will never take Igrain’s Red Dragon from me.

Arthur seemed unable to breathe when his father said these words, but he answered, Aye, Father, I will. I am Igrain’s son. I am hers, you just said so yourself, and what she makes is rightfully mine, my inheritance as a Silurian. She made me. She made the Red Dragon and one day it will be mine.

Uthyr turned white with rage.

He answered, When I went to Igrain after she had given birth to you, all I saw was blood. You had split her open and blood was everywhere! You, Silurian, you split her open. You came out the wrong way! You came out feet first, as if you dared to stand on your own two feet from the very moment you were first born. So bright, so clever, so different from the rest of us. You split her open and killed her. You will take nothing of hers because you killed her.

The Red Dragon, Father, it’s mine, and Arthur turned away and walked out of the room, leaving us all standing, with Uthyr breathing hard like a bull in a charge. Ambrosius was forced to dismiss us before more trouble could come.

Uthyr turned and walked away, taking his followers with him, taking Medraut with him. So Medraut was suddenly gone, and I followed back to our barrack, found Arthur sitting on his cot, complaining of a deep headache. Lord Merlyn came in with me; he mixed a potion with some herbs in it to ease Arthur’s pain.

He drank it down in one gulp and almost choked himself doing it.

Ambrosius said for you boys to take a full day off, Merlyn told us. Said why not go out riding later for some air and exercise. But he wants you back on duty tomorrow. But wait till this drink clears your head, Arthur, before you get on a horse. No more head pain.

No more, he answered.

And he looked at me with a veiled smile.

Go riding? Riding was freedom to us. The two of us alone and away from barracks, just us, the Fox and the Bear. Out into the wilds, where I saw the fire inside him burning. I believed his heart was made of flames and his blood of molten steel.

He rode his horse harder and faster than any other barrack-boy, and grown men stood back when they spoke to him, because to touch him would set afire to a man’s skin. But on that day’s ride together, Arthur kept his flames to himself. All day we stayed out. And when evening came, still we did not go straight home, but picked up our horses to a run, racing each other over the flats towards the Wrekin, chasing in circles, tighter and tighter till our horses were almost up each other’s arses. We laughed and laughed, going around and around till we were giddy. I stopped, breathing hard. Arthur looked at me.

What? I said. But he kept on looking deep inside me.

He said, I think, one day, I will die in your arms—one day.

And it turned unbearably cold.

Mist began rising over the fields.

He said, Let’s not go back tonight. Let’s stay out all night, out here.

We cannot, I warned him. The old man will flog us, and we will get broken to foot-soldiers again. We haven’t got any blankets, we’ll freeze.

His breath was on the air when he answered, What if we go after Medraut? My father will take him to Deva before going home. We can sneak up there and steal the Snake back again.

Don’t act mad, Deva is leagues away. You’re feeling wild tonight because of what happened today. I know what you’re like when you get like this, so dangerous. I moved my horse closer to him. I said, What do you mean, die in my arms?

He leant towards me and whispered, I dreamt it. You are going to hold me while I die.

He shocked me, like a knife cutting deep and I answered, low, No death can separate us, you know that.

And we were so alone in the world, so cold in the air. Cold over the ground. Cold under the trees and it was dark.

There’s no meaning in the world, I found myself saying. It came out of my heart. No meaning if you die. If I had life and you did not, I would hate it; I would kill my own heart to follow you. Don’t say these things to me.

Somewhere in the forest a dog-fox barked, and a black shape of an owl flew over the treetops. Our horses hung their heads and we sat on in the night. We were afraid.

A moment later, he said, You saw what my father did to me. It hurts so bloody deep inside me, my mind. Fox, I dreamt I died in your arms.

Listen to me, I whispered. You took a bad wound on your head. Ever since then you have been having weird dreams, and now you have falling-sickness. Come with me, let’s go home. We’ll be deep in the dung-heap by now!

I turned and took the reins of his horse, just so he would follow me and not linger in the night-time cold. A few days later, we were released from barracks, for a message had come from my father asking to have me and Arthur sent home at once. My mother was dying. Well, my mother had been dying for a long while now, so slowly it was a snail-crawl to her grave. So my father’s request to call us home for mother’s death-day did not come as a great shock to me. Lord Ambrosius gave us unlimited leave. And once we were home again in my villa in the mountains of Dogfeiling in Gwynedd, we spent all our time in with my mother. All her sisters were already home, with my uncle, Lord Tannan, and his wife, Lady Una; also, my two cousins, Lucan and Manos. The villa filled up and no-one could move. Everyone came to see her die, my mother. It was harsh. We sat at her bedside, me and Arthur, and watched her dying. She never moved. She seemed deep asleep, breathing as if asleep. Her sisters washed her body even as she was still alive, preparing her for death. Washing her body like they did, softly, gently, lovingly, it meant she was soon to pass over, and I cried. We all sat and sat. Everyone wept. I looked at Arthur and he looked at me, the tears on his face were like my own. I looked at my father. He was not crying.

As king of the Stag Clan, he would not cry.

And when it grew very late in the night, my father told us boys to go to bed. Arthur got up and kissed my mother’s cheek, then I kissed her. But Arthur was feeling her death deeper than I was. Her death was going to break him. Another mother he would see to the grave, for his own mother had gone to her grave so young, only nineteen years when Igrain died. And this time, it was my mother, his foster-mother, and by the time we came out of her sleeping-room, Arthur was ashen white. We said goodnight to my father, who said that tomorrow, Medraut was coming over to be Uthyr and Lot’s representative at my mother’s funeral, for it was certain she would die this night. And when morning came, it was a horrible morning, lashing with rain, and the cold went into my mother’s heart later in the day and killed her.

We all gathered by her deathbed, and when she passed, I saw a look of peace touch her face. A smile touched her lips as I fell at her side and took her cold hand and wept. I cried on my knees, listening to the keening of her sisters, a banshee wail. I cried and Arthur stood at my side. His hand came down on my shoulder, but he did not move, and he did not speak. Not even when Medraut arrived did he speak, but went out and sat before the fire in the main room while the rest of us cried on at mother’s bedside, mourning. The rain came down all day.

A day that was a lifetime to me.

We mourned for another three days, till one day, the sun came blazing out of a clear rain-washed sky, the air so clear and fresh my sorrow lifted, and I knew somehow that my mother would be happy to lie under the soft soil of Britain on such a glorious morning. I felt sad about it, but happy, and going outside, I found Arthur and Medraut sitting together on the log-seat, eating porridge. I found him and Medraut smiling about some private jest. The Snake was telling him about the goings on in Uthyr’s camp, and when I sat down to join them, they told me they were going hunting.

I swore at them, You bastards! I have to go with my father today to visit some ol’ mad relative of his. Why can you not wait till another day? I want to go with you.

Medraut said, It has to be today. I have to go back to Caer Luel tomorrow. Sorry, Fox. He shrugged, and a smile came on his lips as Arthur looked at me with a cock-sure grin. I thought, bugger you two with sharp sticks.

They took up their pig-spears, got up and left me sitting alone. They took their ponies, and went away up into the hills over my villa. I did not see them again till the following afternoon.

Over the time they were away, I did naught but worry. I worried and fell into the black sorrow that came on me whenever I worried. My mother had died, my father was black and bitter, my clan was brooding: they were soon to go to battle again against the Gaels, and I was grieving, and Arthur and Medraut were so bloody good together they shook the ground they walked on, I knew this. I hurt inside, a kind of jealous pain, and I never once took a bite of food while they were gone. Together, they were the light and the dark, bound together forever. Though it was the blond and beautiful green-eyed Snake who was the dark one.

And my sorrow, a terrible aching black sorrow came when I thought about the skill of Arthur and Medraut together, how they worked the army to perfection, while I hated every stinking moment of army life. Hated it from the very first day I had been sent through the gates of the military city of Viroconium, south of Deva, at age thirteen. Why had my father put me to Ambrosius’ army in the first place? Tricks of alliances? I was old enough now, I thought, to be suspicious of the actions of battle-chieftains, and my father was king of the Stag Clan of Gwynedd, ally to Lord Uthyr Pendragon, allied to Lord Ambrosius Aurelianus, and my father had put me in Aurelianus’ stinking army, contracted and enlisted, legally. And now, I was beginning to rebel. Ambrosius had put me on the front-line! That man surely did not care for the lives of the sons of nobles, and Arthur and Medraut had left me to rot in this feeling as I grieved for the loss of my mother. And just as I was about to go and look for them late the following afternoon, I saw them racing down from the hills, out of the trees, shouting and yelling, brandishing their pig-spears at me from pony-back. They jumped off and came running up to meet me, wild as painted Picts.

My father came out of our house at that moment, and stood with me, ready to pounce on them, as I could see he was now as mad as all bloody hell-fire for them staying out all night, without permission.

They came running home, all sweet and full of themselves. We stood waiting as they came running up to us, filthy with sprayed pig-blood, and I could tell straight away from Arthur’s look that something had gone on between him and Medraut overnight. It was all there in his smile, the enigmatic smile he always used. And the first thing that happened was my father stepped forward and clouted Arthur hard across the side of his head. The side where he had taken his battle-wound. Arthur staggered back from the blow and almost fell.

I jumped to help him, but he righted himself and brought up his spear and dived its point at my father’s chest. He stopped within inches and warned in a savage voice, Do not ever hit me again, Tewdur! That is the last time I will ever let any man hit me. I am not for hitting any longer, and whether you acknowledge it or not, my lord, I am still the son of Lord Uthyr Pendragon, your ally.

He rejected you, boy.

They both stood in silence, eyeing each other.

The moment was black. All around us the world had stopped. Arthur standing before my father, immovable. My father relented first.

He moved aside, saying, Arthur, you know well enough you were supposed to have come home last night, but you disobeyed me. Medraut, there is a horseman waiting to escort you back to Caer Luel.

He then turned away, back into the house.

I put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. Let’s go back inside; you have a lot of explaining to do to my father. You shouldn’t have done this to him. What if something had happened to you? You want to put our clan into conflict with Uthyr?

Arthur steeled himself and glared at me.

He came following me inside, Medraut with him.

When we got back into the house, my father was sitting in front of the hearth, frowning. He looked at Arthur and Arthur looked at him.

My father said, Arthur the Bear—you are no man’s to control any longer, and I can no longer foster you. I have just lost my wife, and Bedwyr his mother, and you run off into the wild and stay out all night with your cousin here without permission. So, it is good that while you were gone yesterday, a messenger came with a letter for you, from Ambrosius.

He stood up and took a black-leather wallet out of a bag, which hung over the back of his chair. He handed the wallet to Arthur. Straight away Arthur took the letter out and pulled open the Eagle seal. I looked over his shoulder, the letter was written in formal Latin. And I could not read formal Latin. The feeling in the room went from cold to hot in an instant when Arthur explained, I’ve been ordered home to barracks. Immediate return.

Good, my father said. The army is where you belong.

Arthur looked at me, and I knew this was no ordinary mandtum.

This letter had fired him so much he turned to stand before my father and say, Bedwyr and I have been ordered to return to Viroconium today, both of us, not just me. There was a moment of silence, and Arthur went on, I am to lead a unit of my own. Ambrosius has given me my own unit to command—and against my father’s wishes.

I could see the fire burning in his dark eyes, the look on his face, his first command! The way Medraut came and stood beside him, looking at him, awed. The Snake said, Wait till Uthyr hears about this! He forbade you a command; now look what’s happened, the old man has ignored your father’s order.

Arthur looked at Medraut, then back at my father; told him, We have to leave now. He turned and began gathering his things to go.