“There is also a summons for all village, town and manorial militia,” Lucan added. “One in every three men or lads entitled to bear arms must respond. They will be divided into ordered companies of twenty and must bring full packs and rations. Turold…” The pain Alaric had seen in his master’s expression earlier had departed, replaced by a cold severity. “Turold, my entire host must be on the road within two weeks, or you will answer to me. It must be here — at Camelot — within four. Or you will answer to the King.” Turold made to leave, but Lucan stopped him again. “For my own household, black livery and black banners.”
Alaric felt his neck-hairs stiffen. Only in times of extreme crisis were Earl Lucan’s household colours of black and crimson dispensed with for the full black that his father had notoriously worn. It wasn’t completely unknown — Lucan and his mesnie had worn full black when they’d ridden against the Danes on the River Humber — but there was always something disconcerting about it.
“Bring Heaven’s Messenger,” Lucan added.
Turold nodded. Heaven’s Messenger was the earl’s great battle-sword. This, too, had been inherited from his father, though Lucan had ensured the pagan runes with which it was once engraved had been worked out by a smith; and once, in the early days of their marriage, Trelawna had tied a red scarf of hers around its hilt as a favour before a tournament — this was still in place, and softened the sword’s appearance a little.
“And bring me the wolf-fur?” Lucan said.
There was brief amazement among his knights, particularly those old enough to remember the bad old days when Lucan waged all his wars without mercy. Then, he had always worn the black fur cloak — made out of hides flayed personally by his father from the corpses of the pack held responsible for Countess Gundolen’s death. Long before Lucan took ownership, it had been a symbol of brutal savagery. Only in time, at Trelawna’s insistence, had he put it away.
Turold nodded and hurried off. Wulfstan arched a bushy grey eyebrow. He was perhaps the only one who would dare voice disapproval. And he did so now.
“Haven’t you learned yet, my lord, the trappings of barbarism don’t suit you?”
“And this from a man who never in his life has attended to his person,” Lucan said. “Who has presented himself to dukes and kings in worsteds and sheepskins.”
“True, my lord. On me, the wolf-fur would mean nothing. On you it means too much.”
“In due course we’ll see if there can ever be such a thing as ‘too much.’”19
Twelve
As soon as Emperor Lucius’s spies brought him news that King Arthur was mobilising his forces, he acted to remove Brittany from the equation. So long as the kingdom of Brittany remained in defiance of New Rome, Arthur would have a safe beachhead on the continent. He could bring his forces ashore whenever he wished, and there were also castles and walled towns there which he could occupy and turn into fortresses.
But still keen not to appear the aggressor, Lucius contrived an incident.
First, he consulted with the Frankish king, Childeric, whose court was in Paris. Childeric, who’d held sway over much of northern France during Rome’s absence, was quickly purchased by Lucius. Though formerly a foederatus of the Empire, Childeric was not entirely content to return to that status, but part of the bargain he struck with Lucius held that once the whole of the Western Empire was restored, he would be rendered client-sovereign of a much vaster realm than he’d held previously; a realm incorporating all the lands from the Rhine to the Pyrenees, and maybe beyond.
Even so, he resisted any suggestion that his own Frankish subjects might be used to strike at Brittany’s borders. Childeric knew full-well that Lucius was involved in a wrangle with Arthur of Britain; two more formidable foes, he could not imagine. Were he to side openly with either, it would go badly for him if the other were triumphant. However, Childeric did give permission for his so-called ‘free-companies’ to participate in the coming fight.
The free-companies were drawn not from the Frankish nobility or their supporters, but mercenary contingents who had been called upon from time to time to shore up Childeric’s power in the face of internal challenges. They were a rabble: lawless bands of killers and cutthroats who would fight for anyone prepared to meet their price, and who specialised in looting and burning villages, and capturing women and children who they would sell in the slave-markets of the East. When Childeric’s rule was reinforced by the return to central France of the Roman legions, various troublesome elements — bandits and rebels, rogue knights, wolf-heads and other desperadoes — began to join these mercenary ranks, for in the free-companies they could not only follow their natural inclinations and still avoid the noose or the breaking-wheel, but actually be paid for their efforts. As such, they didn’t just hail from France, but from all over Christendom. Soon the free-companies had become armies, and yet still were maintained at Childeric’s expense, which he found increasingly irksome. Now that he had the legions to hand, he saw no further use for his hired thugs and was only too willing to put them in the service of Lucius, and secretly hope they would be destroyed in the war to follow.
Over time, the free-companies had fallen under the command of an individual named ‘Gorlon the Ogre,’ a seven-foot-tall fellow so hideous and misshapen that one female captive dropped dead with fright the moment he entered the stable where she was being held. Gorlon was particularly pleased by the thought of a fight with Brittany, for his island stronghold, Mont St. Michel, was located just to the north of their coastal fortress at St. Malo, and Breton shipping was a regular harassment to his comings and goings.
It was said that no man could stand against him. He fought with a double-bladed battle-axe in one hand, a spiked club in the other. It was even rumoured that he was a cannibal.
This was the deranged killer whom Emperor Lucius now planned to unleash on the small kingdom of Brittany.
Gorlon and his free-companies were charged with two tasks. The first was to cross Brittany’s borders covertly, but once inside to wreak havoc and murder — which would be made easier for them, as King Hoel would initially think this common banditry, and would continue to hold his main forces in readiness in his castles on the border. The second task was to drive westward towards Brittany’s royal city of Rennes, which they were not just to attack, but to despoil. They were literally to do their worst; steal everything they could, massacre its population — anything to lure King Hoel and his men from their secure enclaves on the border; that should not be difficult, as Rennes also housed the Royal Mint and Treasury.
If Gorlon wondered what would happen after this, he did not trouble to ask. All he could see was the booty that would soon be his. The manor houses would provide jewels, tapestries, silver plate, and silken robes. The chapels and roadside shrines could be stripped of their chalices, candlesticks and gem-studded reliquaries. From the monasteries they would take the manuscripts and precious books. Even the ordinary farmsteads would have livestock they could herd away, granaries and storehouses they could plunder. And, of course, there would be a harvest of women and girls to gather — the mere thought of which set his jackals drooling. And if all that wasn’t enough, there was still the promise of Rennes itself, and the Royal Treasure.
The Breton border was guarded by four strong castles. In the north lay the bastion of St. Malo, which overlooked Couesnan Bay. Further south stood Fougeres, and south of that Vitre. As the central strong-points in the chain, these two were less than half a day’s ride apart, so their garrisons could support each other if needed. Furthest south was the fortress of Nantes. This was more a city than a castle; located on raised ground close to the River Loire and enclosed by many towers and concentric walls, it made the most fearsome obstacle of all. King Hoel had his headquarters here and concentrated the bulk of his forces within its ramparts, for this was the position facing into the region of France along the Loire Valley, where New Rome’s closest legions were reported to be massing. However, though all of these castles would need to be taken in the event of a massed invasion of Brittany, they could easily be bypassed if an enemy had other, more specific motives.