Trelawna listened with fascination, wondering if the Emperor genuinely believed what he was saying or if it was simply bravado. As far as she was aware, so far he had not won any kind of notable victory. Rennes had fallen to a horde of brigands, and Nantes, which faced the full might of New Rome’s army, was still holding out.
“Things have turned out better than I could have hoped,” Emperor Lucius said, his eyes bright. “Not two hundred miles from where we now stand, Julius Caesar signaled his power to the world with an extraordinary triumph over Vercingetorix at Alesia. Our triumph will be greater still.”
Again, Trelawna recalled her histories. Julius Caesar had been in command of a highly professional force, and the ancient Gauls had been disorganised savages. She appraised Lucius as he continued to enthuse about the inevitability of victory. He was clearly a charismatic leader. He seemed young to her, almost boyish, but he was likeable and energetic, and it could not be denied that so far at least, his conquests had run smoothly and to schedule. But she could not help wondering how many of his foes had been cowed by his Imperial name, and the sheer size of his armies, rather than his proficiency on the battlefield. King Arthur and his knights had trod a more difficult path. They had scrapped and schemed and fought and parleyed, in the mud and rain, in the frost and snow, enduring every conceivable hardship. They’d used brawn and brain in equal measure, through one war after another, never knowing defeat. In every way they had earned the power and reputation they enjoyed.
Even as Emperor Lucius drew Rufio to the table where the plans and maps were laid, and even though the other Roman officers, seasoned and well-trained, crowded around in quiet confidence, Trelawna felt her first pang of concern that she might have joined the losing side.
Fifteen
Despite Emperor Lucius’s soaring confidence about the campaign, New Rome was not to have everything its own way in Brittany.
Serving in Emperor Lucius’s army were two North African princes, two bothers — Jalhid and Priamus. Their lands in Cyrenaica had been overrun during New Rome’s reconquest, and they and some twelve thousand of their finest warriors had now been compelled to serve on the campaign in Gaul. The brothers had differing views on this matter. Jalhid was the older by twenty years; he knew better than his younger sibling, or so he assumed, the value the Romans placed on their loyal allies, and the riches and power that could be had in the service of the Empire. Priamus saw only that his tribe, who had finally established their own rulership after rising against the Vandals and destroying them, had suddenly been made slaves again. Priamus also did not share his brother’s belief that all men were cruel and lustful, and that suffering was the inevitable consequence of Man’s quest for power. As such, when Emperor Lucius’s spies brought news to Nantes that the first of King Arthur’s contingents were landing at Brest, and Priamus was dispatched with his six thousand troops to reinforce Consul Gainus at Rennes, the Moorish prince was appalled to witness the depredations committed by Gorlon and his forces.
All the way to Rennes, they encountered villages laid waste, fields and vineyards reduced to blackened ruins, trees groaning beneath the weight of dangling corpses. The final straw came when Priamus’s scouts drew his attention to the remains of a free-company camp abandoned by the roadside. Concealed amid the trees was a fire-pit with a charred pole laid across it, on which were mounted the remains of several children, broached like young birds. Priamus at once convened a meeting with his senior officers, and the decision was reached that they would sooner serve the Devil than pay fealty to any potentate who permitted such atrocities. They thus proceeded west, but now veered away from Rennes, intent upon traversing the whole of Brittany if necessary until they met Arthur’s forces, with whom they would hold parley.
News of this mutiny reached Consul Gainus, who, having finally opened the Treasury, had been living in Rennes like a king. Enraged, Gainus called ten squadrons of cavalry from the Roman force now barracked in the city — five thousand men in total — and rode out at their head, determined to capture and punish the transgressors. Twenty miles west of the city, in a barren, rocky region, they were ambushed by Breton irregulars bolstered by forward companies of Arthur’s army acting under the joint command of Sir Gawaine and Sir Lancelot. A fierce melee was joined, and for a brief time the numerically superior Romans looked to be getting the better of it, until a third party arrived on the battlefield — Priamus and his Moorish warriors. The Romans had pushed the Britons onto a broad hillock, where they subjected their shield-wall to relentless attacks, but now Priamus charged into Gainus’s right flank, causing panic and confusion.
The Roman formation broke, and there was a stampede to escape. The Britons took advantage, mounting up and galloping downhill, overrunning what remained of the Roman camp. Many Roman officers were slain, Gainus among them. The rest of the Roman force fled east towards Rennes, a shredded relic of what they once had been.
On the battlefield, Prince Priamus surrendered his army, explaining that his days of servitude to Rome had ended. The Moors made a strange sight for the eyes both of Briton and Breton alike, with their dark faces and curled black beards. They wore polished steel corselets over flowing silken garb, and steel helms only the upper spikes of which were visible above their ceremonial turbans. When they fought, they did so with great courage and skill, wielding lances, short, double-curved bows which they could shoot from horseback, and long crescent swords.
Despite the strangeness of such allies, Gawaine — as always, energetic and hearty — congratulated Priamus on this decision, and said that he should join his host with theirs. However, Priamus was reluctant. He knew that his brother, Jalhid, still lived in Rome’s favour and would never switch allegiances, which meant that Moor would at some point be fighting against Moor, and Priamus could not be party to that. Lancelot thus proposed a compromise. He suggested that Priamus and his troops should voluntarily become prisoners-of-war. If they laid down their arms, they would be escorted out of Brittany and into the lands held by Childeric — maybe to Paris itself, a neutral capital from where they could watch the rest of the campaign as observers.
Priamus and his men did as requested. They turned over their weapons, and allowed Lancelot and Gawaine, with four hundred knights and men-at-arms and six hundred infantry, to escort them to the kingdom’s northeast border.
When news reached the garrison at Rennes that Consul Gainus was dead, there was great concern. Second-in-command to Gainus had been Romeus Baldoni, a portly fellow who in civilian life had been a merchant and land-owner, and whose main position in the military was as Staff Prefect. Throughout the many campaigns of Emperor Lucius, he had organised logistics, built camps and served as secretary to the various fighting-men he had served under. He had never himself seen the face of battle.
Baldoni now sent a frantic missive to Nantes to the effect that he and his reduced command were in dire peril. The return mail, signed by Emperor Lucius himself, instructed Baldoni to re-fortify Rennes, and reassured him that fresh forces would soon be en route to relieve him. In the meantime, the traitor Priamus could not be allowed to escape and Baldoni was ordered to send the only mobile force he had left — Gorlon and his free-companies — in pursuit. Relieved on several counts, not least because the free-companies themselves made him nervous, Baldoni passed the orders to the ogre captain, who yet again was given express permission to ‘do his worst.’