Percivale orders the precious Grecian literature onward to Ireland, for even Britain may not be safe for long, and thence to Iceland if need be.
The Grecian ship’s captain reports, about the war, that those sailors which survived have fled to the Misty Isles, while the remaining soldiers flock to Constantinople vowing to defend her to the last.
Appeals to Percivale to aid Constantinople are turned aside: “It is true that if Constantinople were to fall then the Eastern Roman Empire would be forever lost, but, the city cannot be conquered now, and can withstand a siege of a year or two before its only possible conqueror, starvation, can take it, and, believe me, we will not then let that happen, but better now that she draw the Moslem like a magnet to his slaughter, thus diverting his attention from other, weaker, regions.”
Yet, by two’s and three’s, so as to not attract attention, British warships are sent to that great inland sea, the Mediterranean, for this is where the war must begin if the great plan of cleaving enemies apart, those known and those as yet unknown, is to be accomplished by distant and separate invasions.
A fast ship now bears into Camelot’s harbor, carrying another dreaded messenger, dreaded because they always bring bad news of late. The news: The Hun has crossed the Rhine to take unfair advantage of Europe’s plight; the Vandal marches to sack Rome and mark its final fall; the Turk retakes Jerusalem; and the Visigoth pushes the Franks toward the sea in Gaul; and the Franks ask for your evacuation aid.
{Out of that Ocean’s wrecks had Guilt and Woe Framed a dark dwelling for their homeless thought.}
Clovis II, King of Gaul, facing certain defeat, does what he must do and calls a retreat to allow the finest of the Frankish troops to seek refuge across the channel so they might live to fight another day when the odds are better.
Percivale immediately dispatches every available ship to the shores of Gaul in one of the largest successful evacuations of an army that the world has known—and it succeeds because Clovis II will not leave his beloved land, and entices the Goth with the bait of his ready capture as he draws inland with a few brave men, and so diverts his pursuers away from the fast retreating Frankish army.
The French soil that he loved so much now surrounds Clovis II in eternal and everlasting comfort in an unmarked grave where a few dedicated followers buried him while the twelve Goths that he took with him rot in the fields abandoned in death. But where, oh where, is young Clovis III?
A defeated, but mostly intact army, arrives safely in Britain, and it is then declared that if and when Europe is invaded, that Frankish shock troops shall lead the way home to retake all of French soil or join Clovis II beneath it.
Our continuing story: The time for invasion is not yet at hand. However, equipment arrives daily in Britain from free foreign shores; blacksmiths work day and night, early and second plantings continue in the fields; spring freshens the air; regiments are formed and trained; Frankish troops grow healthy once again. King Percevale can only hope that all will be in readiness by the time that the geese fly south and the leaves begin to fall.
Constantinople
The scene: The Moslems and Turks are laying on the longest siege that the holy city of Constantinople has ever known. Great siege engines have been constructed and rolled hundreds of miles over roads carved ahead of them to reach the wall of the fabled city. Hordes of crazed madmen encircle the city on every side.
Constantine IV supervises the action at the latest trouble spot on the wall and watches yet another mighty siege tower go to blazes from the effect of his newly discovered Greek Fire. There, on another wall, comes a human wave assault with ladders. Archers on the ingenious triple tiered walls let loose arrow after arrow into the mob. The slaughter is endless, for when one Turk falls, another takes his place to meet death and glory. To die in war was the ambition of every Turk, or so the Great Khan would have them believe.
Finally, the blessed darkness falls as the attackers retreat to their camps for the night, and the city’s defenders sneak outside the walls to make repairs. The attacks begin anew the next morning at some other gate or portion of the wall, but Constantinople was built to last! Well stocked with food, water, warriors. and weapons, the Christians’ finest city has easily survived the first one hundred days of siege.
Indeed, as Constantine IV turns from the wall and looks inward, his city and its churches look quite eternal in the bright summer sunlight, especially Holy Sancta Sophia, the most magnificent church in all of Christendom, its gold glittering dome a symbol to all of that which is forever good and eternal. Constantinople! Unconquerable for centuries, heart and soul of the Eastern Roman Empire, New Rome, sister city of Camelot, built on seven hills and ever protected by the mountains, the sea, and three solid walls. Constantinople now stands alone in the East as the world crumbles around it.
When founded and laid out by Constantine I (declared Caesar in wild and old Roman Britain), his followers were aghast when he walked out the boundaries of the city he was to have them build—for the walls were to be several miles on each side! But no site was so fortified by nature: The hills gave it height and view, the harbor of the Golden Horn and the Sea of Marmora gave it access and control of the sea and protection from attack, and cold winters helped, also, as did the strong winds on the Bosporus. Many a Caliph had attacked it, over long periods of time, and each went home in despair, never to return to power.
Blockaded for two hundred days now, the city yet stands solid; where outer walls weaken, new inner walls are built overnight. There is no longer any grain left from the steppes of Russia, but the city is large and every spare patch of dirt is put to the task of growing food which is to be carefully rationed, two portions a day to warriors, one to all others.
…and elsewhere, the Huns cross the Danube, the Vandals enter Rome, casting an eye on North Africa, and, somewhere, in the uncharted waters of the foggy Aegean Sea near the Misty Isles, a nation of born sailors goes to war while another great navy enters at the other end of the Great Inland Sea and passes the Rock of Gibraltar. A crippled sailor looks out from the first ship—it is the man with a peg leg and a hook hand, the one who built the ships that he thought he would never sail, Sir Gundar Harl, now commander of Britain’s war fleet.
Our Story: Deserted for decades now, Rome falls easily to the Vandals, but the words “Rome has fallen” still hang heavy in the air as the messenger speaks them before the King’s court. In the great Inland Sea a spy notes the passage of the Vandals to North Africa and eventually takes the news to Gundar and his fleet. This is a lucky break since the Vandals could be easily isolated in Africa, and all of the commanders knew that isolation and separation of enemy forces was a most essential part of the war strategy. If the Mediterranean Sea could be soon taken, then much enemy shipping and communication could be brought to a standstill.
The Vandals are followed by a small ship, painted blue to match sea and sky.
The Boy Who Carved Ivory Ships
Many years ago a valiant prince of Thule gazed at a ship model carved wonderously of cedar and ivory. The prince, after many moments spent lost in admiration, asks the origin of such a fine piece of work. He discovers that it is the work of a crippled carver of ivory named Gundar Harl, and so seeks him out to learn his story.
Gundar tells him: “I was an ivory hunter and sailed to the icy north in search of the walrus. We were successful, but then a terrible storm broke and it was many days before the broken ship’s survivors were found. My foot was so badly frozen that I lost it. Later, we were attacked for our valuable ivory cargo and in the ensuing fight I lost my hand. Now I am but half a man and carve the ships I’ll never sail.”
But the young prince knew of Thule’s need for good shipbuilders and hired Gundar to build full scale ships. Soon Gundar rediscovered his worth and became the finest shipbuilder Thule had ever known. Gundar implemented many new concepts and his ships took to breeze and sea like none that had come before. Knighthood followed.
Many years later, Percivale and Arn, upon hearing the terrible prophesies, put every craftsman at Gundar’s disposal—and he began the construction of the great fleet that now sails into the Great Inland Sea. Commanding the ships that he visualized as a boy Gundar Harl fights the feared and swift corsairs, plunders the pirate of his plunder, and begins the long process of laying open Europe’s soft underbelly.
Yes, at last, Gundar Harl, now Senior Knight of the Round Table, Commander of the Navy, sails the many ships that he carved as a boy!
Spain is bypassed, for its barbarian forces are easily cut off by sea power and its own mountainous hem in the northern inland portion. Italy is retaken and will be used as Gundar’s base, for it is undefended and is taken by surprise!
Back home, the victory-starved soldiers of the allied forces rejoice at these first naval successes of the war, for they know that when the sea is secure then the land invasion can begin.
And the eastern Mediterranean? It is the domain of the sailors of the Misty Isles. One of Galan’s fastest ships reaches Gundar’s fleet and delivers a load of pigeons, each tagged with the name of the city that it will fly to.
{Do we write the tales that we live
or do we live the tales that we write?}
The Misty Isles
(the story backs up slightly)
Somewhere to the east of Greece, in the Aegean Sea, lie the Misty Isles, forever shrouded and protected by nature’s moist embrace of mist and wave.
To the far north the brave men of the Eastern Roman Empire make their last stand at the city that Constantine built. To the southeast the Infidel has taken Jerusalem. To the southwest the pyramids stand resolute against the sands of time and mock the impermanence of man’s frail empires, but here the Vandals land to conquer all.
The misty sea itself is infested with barbarian sailors who will aid whatever madman rules with the most power and money. Hidden in the middle of this sea are the Misty Isles. From her temple on the main island, Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty, watches in stone as her rapidly growing fleet puts to sea.
A flutist sets the tempo as oarsmen pull against the morning winds. Then, when out into the open sea, the sails swell and another day’s work begins. Galan leads a crew of native mariners that know the sea as well as their mothers breasts.
One day a fleet of pirate ships is seen, bound for occupied Greece, and filled with plunder, and the chase is short. Galan unfurls vinegar-soaked hides to save against fire on his ships. Crosscutting through familiar winds Galan slices into the rear of the enemy fleet, thus causing the lead ships to waste time turning about. Archers set their flaming shafts to the sinew, and the untreated wood of the barbarian warships takes readily to the fire. Hooks are thrown on to the wallowing plunder-ships so they can be pulled to safety. The pirate soon loses his courage when faced with men that draw theirs from love, kindness, and family ties.
Our story moves but for a page back to the Great Inland Sea that separates Europe from Africa. While Gundar and his fleet attend to the healing of Rome’s wounds, the pride of Gundar’s navy, a blue spy ship, follows the trail of the Vandals towards Africa.
Yes, the ship is blue! There are not many things in this world that are blue, other than the sky and its reflection in the sea, but the blue spy ship blends with both of them and as a result is nearly invisible. The sails, once white, have been stained through and through with blueberry juice; the mast is, of course, blue spruce; on its flag flies the bluebird on one side and the bluefish on the other; the ship’s bell is in the shape of a bluebell; and the captain’s nickname is none other than Bluebeard, the original. Thus the ship blends with and “becomes” the sea.
The ship also carries grey sails for overcast days, but today is azure and the Vandals are seen landing on the Dark Continent. Then, from deep within the hull, the captain brings to deck the only thing aboard ship which is not blue—a startling white pigeon which knows only the Misty Isles as its home! The bird is released as all the sailors cry “Fly!”.
The pigeon is unsure at first and circles the ship three times before heading in the correct direction. The bird is alone now over seas its has never known, but all it does know is that there is no place like home and that it must return there at any cost. On its leg is an important message, but the bird is not aware of the band. It only knows that it must land soon or grow weary from flying, and drop into the sea. Finally, the first isle appears and the pigeon lands near some of its own kind. It would be nice to stay, but home’s magnetic attraction seems overpowering now that the bird is so close.
Misty Isles (con’t)
Day after foggy day, Galan’s swift triremes set forth into the familiar azure Aegean Sea, weaving among the Isles, searching for, and destroying pirate and Visigothic vessels of war, with underwater rams on strengthened bows to leave the cargo ships without escort vessel protection.
The triple-banked ships are a fearsome sight, slashing through the quiet blue sea, oar blades flashing wet in the golden sunshine, spray curling white above the powerful rams, or with large single sails swelling in the soft, warm, misty breezes.
Then, homeward bound, comes the protection of the enveloping mist that gives the Misty Isles its name. So, little by little, the Gothic/Turk sea power is whittled away to the point that even the hardiest barbarian will not take to sea.
On this day it is deemed safe to leave the Misty Isles to the more senior citizens, and Galan’s navy sets sail southwest across the Mediterranean Sea, in a fog, towards the shores of Africa controlled by the Vandals. This then is the path to victory, for the pigeon has landed and given up its precious message.
To protect the Misty Isles, a mighty chain blocks the harbor entrance to all who might chance upon it by accident in an enchanted sea.
{The good man cannot be bribed —
he is good for nothing.}
A Little Bird Told Me
Galan takes most of his fleet on the long and dangerous voyage far from home. Little Galan waits on the railing until the last ship is nearly out of sight. One last wave and his father is gone.
Alexis wonders if she can find the heart to tell her little boy that she, too, may have to leave soon, to give hope to the people of Gaul where she rules the many lands of Lancelot’s father—her grandfather, where she has been declared Regent until young Clovis III can grow up, if indeed he yet even lives and remains well hidden.
Little Galan turns and looks deep into his mother’s eyes, “Father left in a hurry, so I know the sea is awash with great danger. Was it the bird messenger?”
“Yes”, she replies, “The pigeon arrived a short while ago with an emergency war-directive. Your father kissed me farewell, said that the time and the day-winds were already right, and left immediately with his swiftest ships and his best men. It seems that the world is crumbling to pieces now as never before.”
“Mother, why does he not take me with him? I want to be a part of history, too!”
“One day you will be, my son, one day you will be…”
…Meanwhile, in Africa, Huneric, Vandal King, is proud—oh, he has miscalculated a bit and has landed in a desert part of Africa, but he never-the-less rests to reflect on his other luck and accomplishments: he has carried off Rome’s treasures, and Gundar’s fleet is tied down in Italy undoing the damage he has done to the land and people; the winds have just changed for the season and Gundar cannot therefore sail forth, at any rate, even if he could resist helping people in need, which he can’t—oh at what a disadvantage is the good and saintly man, for he is not free to do whatever he pleases, as do I, Huneric, soon to be King of all Africa.
“Let the Goths, Huns, Turks, and Moslem, divide up the states of Europe,” Huneric announces to his troops, “for here we will rule an entire continent! Even our landing spot is lucky! Yet unseen by anyone worthwhile, we can easily send out many scouts and spies to size up the country’s strengths and weak spots. And, when Africa is taken, we’ll come to rule the Great Inland Sea as well!”
Sailing all day and through the night, Galan spots the thinly guarded Vandal fleet at the reported spot. Now the flutists stop, as the oars hang silently in the air just above the water, and the vessels coast out of the early morning mist into the harbor while the the Vandals rub their eyes in both astonishment and sleepiness.
“How did they know!’’ cries a Vandal captain, sighting Galan’s fleet coming out of the mist,” and so soon!”
A little bird told me, thinks Galan silently.
Cries go out for help but the bulk of the Vandals forces are far away, looking for more wealth. Soon their war fleet is in flames, stranding the Vandals in the hot, bare, sandy, desert of Africa!
Our Story: We are back in Britain now and our story is but slightly behind in time from the events in the Great Inland Sea. Never has an island nation, outnumbered ten to one, brought men and horses to oust an enemy of such magnitude from Europe and been able to sustain such an attack, with its long and tenuous supply lines and without holding a single castle in the enemy’s wide territory, but such preparations were even now taking place in Britain, because good men cannot stand idly by while their brothers cry for aid.
However, the time is not yet right but is drawing ever near as the ships of Thule fare forth to make safe the local seas. From far away comes some bad news: the Huns, Goths, Vandals, Moslems, and Turks have formed an uneasy alliance for their common good. Each day it grows stronger and they have formed a central headquarters in Vienna, in the heart of their collective empire, equidistant from the edges of the known world. Britain’s warriors grow rash and restless, but Percivale forestalls the invasion because summer’s heat reigns over Europe now and there is still much preparation to be done at home. “Soon,” he calms, “soon”.
Percivale begins to think out loud while his new squire, Arslan, stands by. Arslan is so young, just a boy really, and too small to make a good warrior, but he is determined to make his mark in the world on the face of war.
“Arslan, the Earth is surrounded in its orbit by warlike Mars on the one side and by peaceful Venus on the other—we of the Earth are bound by love and beauty in the orbit above and by war and destruction in the orbit below. Mars and Venus, two extremes, with us right in the middle! What shall we do? Fight?”
“I will be a great warrior someday, my King! If not on Earth, then in Heaven!”
“But Arslan, is there not life to be lived and enjoyed.”
“If I die a warrior, my King, it is so that others might enjoy life, I suppose.”
What To Do?
“What to do, my boy?”
“I know not.”
“Well”, replies Percivale, “since Taliesin is long gone, I shall go one last time to Avalon to find out what must be done, although I believe I already know the answer to the terrible decision that must be made.”
So the King travels to Avalon. But where there was once mist and bog, there is now only clear sky and solid ground. The gods have departed, Taliesin gone with them! There is no more Lady of the Lake, no more Avalon. It is gone forever as if it had never existed! So, Taliesin and his people, perhaps not gods, but certainly much more than men, had finally departed, as they’d said they would. Having made man in their own image it was time for them to move on now to seed other worlds. When will we meet them again, thinks Pervicale, the King and Commander, as he returns.
“Well Arslan, perhaps we do survive, after death, immersed in the mind of the gods, but what matters now is social justice. Man, in his love and beauty, is the Divine Essence itself perhaps. Maybe in man alone is our vision of God, a god created in man’s image, but, certainly, if we fail now against the barbarian, then God dies with us and all is lost forever more and the devil reigns supreme.”
Now comes what many believe and hope to be the final call to arms, but, even so, the King and his captains know that there is yet much training to be done in a short period of time. Britons, Celts, and Scandians heed the mobilization call. Many who were once enemies of Britain are united by the common foe and come, as well: the Scots, the Saxons, the Jutes, and the Danes.
As summer begins to fade, the Arabs take Tunis, and Gundar’s fleet wends its way far from whence Rome in eternal grandeur stands, but some feel that the largest crusade ever to be taken by man will fail and they have many questions for Perceval.
“How will we gain food and drink in Europe if our supply lines run out?”
“If we are right and good, then the people will feed us!” comes the answer.
“How will we take Europe’s strongly fortified castles?” the doubters ask.
“Well, we helped build those castles, didn’t we? So we can easily unbuild them.”
Meanwhile, the Huns cross the Rhine, and the Ostrogoths, the gentler cousins of the Visigoths, leave the Ukraine, carrying all that they own and hold dear, driven from their homes.
King Percevale drills his knights and foot soldiers without rest to perfect them in his new tactics. His captains grumble—there will be no individual heroics, just machine-like efficiency. The bugler calls the troops to the King’s standard at the end of another day as the horsemen practice the “Taunting of the Boar”. In this particular drill, an enemy which holds high ground is patiently taunted by bowmen into charging into a valley of death. This day there is a chill in the air as the dry season begins and the natural world begins its annual decay. But there are many drills and calls yet to be perfected. There is the “Flight of the Seagull, in which several flocks of horsemen seemingly float and flutter about the field of battle to feast on scraps of enemy garbage. There is the “Sting of the Bee” in which the best of the lancemen suddenly converge and swarm from the wide field of battle and head straight for a vital enemy area. There is also the “Charge of the Wounded Bear” in which reserve horsemen hide inside caves or woods while defeat is feigned on the field, then, when all seems lost and the enemy breaks ranks to partake in the slaughter, the reserves rush forth into the confused flanks of the enemy as the retreaters suddenly turn back on the enemy.
All such calls of the bugler must be memorized, with each man knowing well his part, since there is little else that can be heard above the sounds of battle. Each day near the end of practice, a special call, “The Crane”, is signaled, although it is practically useless in battle due to its complexity and intricate timings not well suited to the wildness and emotion of the battlefield. Invented by Gawain, its use now in practice is necessary if only to build discipline and attention to memorized detail under pressure. In “The Crane” the enemy is given many openings wherewith they could easily totally triumph while the perpetuators seemingly stand first on only one leg, then on the other, then on neither until apparently unrelated wide field maneuvers finally come together in pincer-like movements which devour the enemy from the end to the middle in slices.
Autumn comes early in Britain and its weed-flowers invade the fields of purple heather as the dry season begins. In September the earth rests, after having given itself wholly to the sun. The sunflower embodies that idea for all to see, but soon, it, too, begins to droop its head and die. Soon the leaves will grow brittle and make their return to mother earth.
The Moors from Morocco grow greedy and invade Spain from the south and Vienna is hailed by fiend and foe alike as the center of a new and evil empire from which the entire world can be controlled. Indeed, the world is truly in decay.
However, the Goths in northern Europe begin to cast a wary eye at Gundar’s deep incursions into Italy and begin to send several divisions south. But, sly Gundar, after drawing these Goths south, will only put to sea and make his next move, already planned as part of a master plan mapped out long ago. For, his navy, and Goth armies, are but pawns jostling in the early stages of a global chess game!
Percivale joins the hunt for winter’s meat and his guide tells him something which sets his destiny for all time. “See there, my liege, high up in the sky all alone: it is the leader-goose come to take the flocks south. It’s quite amazing that the leader-goose can know the precise day that the flocks will come to him and the exact place in the sky to wait for them. See him there, just circling and circling, biding his time. And sure enough, here come the flocks of geese that he is to guide! The seasons turn now, the goose is flown!”
“And now, Hogarth, my guide, I must be the leader-goose, for the allied leaders have just elected me Supreme Commander of Allied Forces. I fear the time is near. Now I ask you, are there many leader-geese?”
“Yes, my king, there are many, but all are driven by a single overriding force, a supreme leader-goose that drives their souls. And now, my king, I ask you a question, how can we win against a united enemy in foreign territory who outnumbers us ten to one?”
“Not to fear, my guide, like our friends in the sky, we’ll split up and follow the leader-geese in separate flocks so we do not have to face the enemy all at once, and so he will be forced to spread out his forces thinly. Also, note that the enemy is in territory that is foreign as well. Then, when the enemy is worn down, the flocks will join together in the final battle. When it is over, and this may be many years from now, I will sit down and say ‘hello’ to the other leader-geese, that is, to the friends that I have not seen for years, namely Arn, Galan, Gundar, Alexis, and Gawain.
{The days are bright and sunny now,
but the year dies in the night while we sleep.
It’s time for old friends to meet,
old wine to drink, and old wood to burn.}
Drama, a Cheer, and a Prayer
The Scene: Camelot court, where King Percivale is giving his monthly address. Many soldiers and knights attend, for they feel that the time has finally come for them to carry out their occupation as men-at-arms for good cause.
Percivale speaks, first giving the latest news, both good and bad: “The Seljuk Turk now marches to take Jerusalem from his Turkish brethren of the north—at least some of our enemies fight amongst themselves, but not so much as we had hoped, thanks to the unity of the Vienna Pact signed by Hun, Moslem, and Goth alike. Worse, the Western Roman Empire no longer exists—and even proud Constantine has sent me a desperate message—they need food in Constantinople! But there is good news, too. Our fleets now rule the seas, we have retaken Rome with our navy and the Vandals’ fleet has been destroyed by Galan.”
The assembled knights clap and cheer the good news as Gawain senses the surge of feeling and cries out “Let us invade Europe now!”
The King gives him a discouraging look, perhaps only to set up the bit of drama which now follows.
Percivale continues, “I have decided to call a meeting of the senior knights of the Round Table…” He pauses to allow the tension to build.
A silence fills the room. All are dumbfounded! Here they came ready to hear a declaration of war and the King calls for an impossible Round Table meeting, for the senior knights are far away, in other countries.
Bogar can take it no longer, and, being one who can interrupt the King, having once been his squire, says what everyone in the room is thinking but dare not say:
“The Senior Knights of the Round Table are mostly all Kings now and are thus scattered all over the world. It would take months for them to get here, even if they could, which they can’t! Another long delay? Just to have a meeting to decide what we already know we must do? Galan and Gundar are a world away, Arn is far off in Thule, Taliesin is gone away forever… Indeed, Gawain is the only one who could attend the fool meeting!”
During Bogar’s ranting, Percivale looked somewhat pleased, and this was perhaps why Bogar went on so long. As Bogar finishes, the knights in the room nod their approval. Gawain, knowing well a twinkle in the King’s eye, walks to the forefront and asks: “Percivale, what are you up to?”
Percivale begins walking toward the nearest door. “The meeting of the senior knights is to be held in Vienna! Dismantle the Round Table and prepare to bring it there.”
A short silence of disbelief follows, then it dawns on everyone in the room: the invasion of Europe is at hand! For, in order for the senior knights to reach Vienna, the heart of the enemy empire, the war will have to have been won in no uncertain terms. A grand cheer breaks out, the tension is broken, and a page of history turns to reveal the story of a nine-pronged attack… (But we get ahead of our story now so let’s slow down just a bit.)
Percivale now reenters the courtyard carrying his King’s shield of the Grail’s Golden Chalice. “Arslan, bring me my broadsword and the hope of your youth!”
“Now, all my knights, gather ‘round. During this last decade you’ve been romancing all the local women and living well, as well you should, for it is your granted privilege because now and again the time comes when you must risk your lives as protectors of the world’s innocents and earn your keep as knights.
Percevale continues, “In six days we land in Flanders!” Other allied forces will land elsewhere, at intervals. The first forces to land will naturally draw the greatest enemy strength to them, but they will then perform a feint retreat and land at another spot. Shortly thereafter, Frankish shock troops will lead us into Gaul, their homeland, as I have promised them. Independent but allied Saxon units will then retake Saxony deep in the interior, their homeland. Do not soldiers fight best in their own territory? We will retake castles along the way by use of tricks that I have learned from the Chronicles. And here, to rule at home in Britain, I appoint Sir Gawain as Regent in my stead .”
Gawain is quick to pick up on the compliment and says: “I am flattered to be so selected, but, as a senior knight, I have received an invitation to sit at a certain table in Vienna which I cannot very well decline…”
Early one morning, the cool wind being from the far North, the last geese all soar so suddenly and feel the wind in their wings, and a strength comes upon them, and a strange old knowledge and a more than human faith—and flying high and sailing south they leave Britain behind, and see, at last, the huge and homeless sea, and, steering by the grey sea-currents, go ever southeastward with the wind.
During the day the rolling sea has its way with with the multitude of small ships that dot its surface. At sunset, the Last Knight looks back whence he came. More than once he finds himself longing for the West and sees, in the shimmering bands of sunset clouds, his dear love in her bright flowing dress calling him home. The sun soon sets, as all the colors of the world and heaven hold a last festival with him over the sea, then slip one by one away before the sure approach of the darkness of war.
Soon after dark many go to sleep as best they can, for they will have to rise early in the blackness. By song the helmsman cheers himself in the loneliest of nights. When land is sighted, the helmsman’s song ceases, and due to this absolute quiet, suddenly all awake and know that this is the beginning of the longest day…
Invasion!
Our Story: Crossing the English channel at night is a fleet of 800 ships. Ten miles from the shores of Gaul the lights are doused in the lead ships, and, shortly thereafter, in the rest of the fleet. Sailing in the eerie and utter blackness, the knights tighten their mail and feel for the comfort of their weapons. The only light that shines now is the desire in the hearts of knights and soldiers to relight the flame of freedom in plague and war ravaged Europe. Meanwhile, the allied forces head for other landing spots…
Foothold
During the next few days, nine leader-geese land their forces land on the shores of the motherland—headed by four Kings, two Queens and three Knight-Commanders. All know that they must take and hold a beachhead for at least twenty-hours at any cost in order to allow time for the unloading of the ships. The first ships to reach shore are driven over shoal and rock and grounded on the beach. Any damage can be repaired later. On the prow of the first ship there is a model of a brazen child bearing an arrow with a bended bow. The face of future man is turned towards the continent, and thither he looks…
The breeze comes soft and sweet this morning, and the sea is smooth for the landings. The ships run on dry land now and each ranges by the other’s side. There we see the good sailors, knight’s and their squires, captains, and commanders.
All sally forth onto the sand and unload the ships, cast the anchors, haul the ropes, bear out shields and saddles, and land the war horses and palfreys. All the while the archers come forth, touching land first, each with his bow already strung, and with his full quiver of arrows slung at his side. All are ready to attack, to shoot, to wheel about and skirmish in order to give cover until the first knights can come off and take the initiative. And so, after the archers go forth, the knights land, all armed, with their hauberks and mail on, their shields slung at their necks, and their helmets laced. The knights form together in the clearing gained by the archers, each armed, and mounted on his war horse: all have their swords girded on, and ride forward into the gathering enemy with their lances down…
Soon they go forth in success.
Arn and his men of Thule and Scandia land in northwest Saxony; the Jutes in Russia; Dheryle and her Icemen in the Nether-Land; Percivale’s main force of Celts in Flanders; the Franks in Calais, headed by Alexis; Cheldric’s Saxons in northeast Saxony; Gawain and the Scots in Little Brittany; the Danes on the mid-Baltic coast; Rory Mor and his Irish troops on Land’s End in Gaul. Galan and his navy enter the North Aegean to fight their way by water towards Constantinople, while Gundar leaves Italy, swings around the boot and makes war in the Ionian sea, preparing to land in Greece to aid the Romans.
Too late the Goth troops in Italy realize that they now have no one to fight and are now hundreds of miles from the front.
Inland, after the landings, Percivale and Arn meet moderate resistance as expected, while Rory Mor meets none and begins a daring maneuver to cut behind the lines of the coastal Visigoths; Alexis also enters easily, and each day the ranks of the Franks are swelled with the arrival of members of the rebel underground, who are soon outfitted. At the coast, the remainder of the ships are called in and are unloaded, day after day. Soon the final cargo comes off the last ship: it is the actual Round Table itself!
The next few days are a race to surround and trap the northern Visigoths in one of the many valleys before reinforcements from the south can arrive.
As Percivale’s forces relentlessly drive south, stopping but briefly for food, young Arslan, being the King’s squire, rides with the King’s Guard and has become the mascot for the army, his youth and joy a wellspring to all. He rides point, a position of great honor, in front of, and protecting, the King.
But too late is a sniper seen in the tree, and too swift is the arrow meant for Percivale which pours pain and death into Arslan’s heart in a lucky hit in the lightly armored zone about the arm’s pit, an area exposed only when the arm is completely raised as in a salute or cheer, as Arslan’s was in an answer to cheers for victory coming from the back ranks. Bogar quickly fells the attacker from his tree perch with his axe, but the damage has been done: young Arslan is going to be the first casualty of battle. All is silent now and it is a pivotal time for all as the absurd reality of war hits home so very dearly, a single death somehow much more meaningful than that of the multitude.
Arlsan is still alive, but fading fast. They lay him down on a warm stone and the physician makes the sad call that death is near. Percivale kneels over Squire Arslan, perhaps now the fallen symbol of the army’s hopes and dreams. The squire speaks his last words to his King: “Foolish me, so young and untrained, I often fancied my self to be a pirate bold, a brave soldier, or along-shipped sea-warrior… I am sorry my King; I have failed!”
Percivale holds the dear boy near and replies: “I fancy you a hero that will live forever in song. That arrow was meant for me!”
Sweet life ebbs from a hero as Percivale’s tears wet the stone, a stone warm from the sun’s heat Oh, that sweet life… with its face of tears and sun, of salty seas and warm stone, of sadness and joy, that life as we know it and love it in its duality of yearning and fulfillment… that life ebbs as a hero dies. Tears from a King’s eye continue to fall but a new resolve fills soldier’s hearts now as the war for Europe begins. Finally, Percivale looks up and, seemingly dreaming, and sees the familiar tip of Merlin’s three-headed staff rising over the crest of a nearby small hill…
But it is not Merlin, it is a middle-aged man, strangely familiar behind his new growth of beard.
“Does not anyone know me? Have I been gone so very long? I am Taliesin! Did you think that I could leave you forever! Oh, think it never!”
Taliesin puts his hand on the King’s shoulder and says to one and all: “Tears and sunshine, yearning and fulfillment—you see, you cannot have one without the other. It is the way of things—and what makes us fully human, and I say ‘us’ because I am truly one of you now! Though Merlin is gone and Avalon is gone forever, I remain. Yes, I remain—and here I must die, for in this world my immortality can no longer be sustained. Never leave you! Arslan lives on in all of us now! Let us ride towards Victory now! I sense that many of the Visigoths have foolishly left their castles to see what all the fuss is about. But first, let say a few words for Arslan…”
{Every time you lie you murder a part of the world.}
—Merlyn
The “Serpent”
On the third day the setting sun gleams on helmets and spear points as the Visigothic horde appears, filling the vale with its vast numbers. As night falls, a thousand campfires flicker in the darkness. “We are much outnumbered,” says Gawain, “but the ‘Snake’ can swallow a prey larger than itself,”
In the “Serpent” maneuver, the snake encircles its prey, the enemy’s struggling mass, on their only open side, squeezing hard so that only the front of the enemy line can strike a blow.
At the morn of the next day, the leader of the Visigoths, knowing he can’t hold back his savage warriors because they have no discipline, sends them toward their waiting foe.
The serpent then sheds its skin and renews itself as follows: Percivale’s foot soldiers form in three lines across the valley floor. Every quarter hour a trumpet sounds and the first line steps back and the line behind takes its place. The Visigoths, hampered by their great numbers, must always face fresh troops!
When part of the line gives way, the adjacent parts weave back with it. Though, like a snake, the line has many bends, its gaps are immediately filled by roving men called “scales”.
Many are the deaths of the Visigoths this day, but they, never-the-less, gradually gain ground through their sheer numbers alone, so the time has come for the “Serpent” to die. A trumpet sounds the snake’s time-delayed death knell. Twelve minutes later, so as to disassociate the next maneuver from its trumpet call and disguise its prearrangement, the allies give way in apparent panic. This causes the Visigoth to break ranks in a wild scramble for blood. However, the Visigoth has not yet been introduced to the mounted knight.
The introduction is not a pleasant one! From the woods where they were concealed, fully-armed knights on mighty steeds come crashing into the disorganized Goths, lance points gleaming and thirsty for blood…
Now, for the first time in quite a while the mighty Goth tastes defeat—and repayment for his evil deeds. Those Goths who run away and are lucky enough not to be ridden down now do what they should have done in the first place—they retreat to their well fortified castles.
After the battle, the liberated villagers eagerly invite the victors into town for rest and refreshment and toasts of chilling ale… But much difficulty lies ahead in the taking of castles in central Gaul and Saxony.
