Welcome back, the next major chapter in a four part climax. Read on and enjoy!
Gathering of the Armies
Salazar's words proved to be prophetic as events came to a climax rather quickly. Sir Godric gathered his Saxon forces and marched them to York, the closest major city to the Scottish border. William arrived, keeping his horseman and infantry to the southwest of the city while Fearghas reoccupied Ravenclaw castle and the town. Sadly, the Ravenclaw clan found everything burned to the ground, but dug into rebuilding with renewed determination, aided by the witches and wizards within their ranks. By April 20th, the city of York once again played host to armies totaling some 20,000 total men (and women).
Rowena Ravenclaw remained behind, relieved at the departure of her people. Salazar interrupted her musings one morning. On the days (20th) before a great council to decide what to do, Salazar broke into Rowena's new housing accomdations, dashing before her quick minded handmaids; almost.
"Hey, why are you doing this?" Salazar demanded. He got past everyone but Brytha, who promptly slammed him against a wall. Three other ladies all joined in, overpowering him and were on the verge of tying him up when laughter caused everyone to stop.
Behind them, in matching blue dresses, Rowena, Mina, and Helga were giggling uncontrollably.
"Rowena, call them off," Salazar demanded, his serpent tunic askew.
"Why?" she cried, tears streaking down her face. Helga was gripping her shoulder for support.
"I need you to look at something," he said. Despite Rowena's strong urging, Mina and six other handmaids had refused to leave their mistress and Rowena found she didn't have the heart to force them to go.
"What?" Rowena asked, sparks in her eyes. "Sorry." She really should be a better friend as this friendship thing was still very new to her. "I've had a bad morning."
"This," Salazar said, holding out a piece of paper.
Rowena's eyes widened as she recognized the writing.
"You went back to Camelot," she deduced. "You could've been killed!"
"Anything to win this war," Salazar dismissed with a lazy wave of his hand. "You haven't been very careful either if I might point out."
"Daighdear," Rowena swore.
"I do have a fair point," Salazar smiled, relishing in his small victory over the impish Princes
The ankles of Salazar's pants caught on fire.
"Aquamenti!" he shouted, shuffling in disgust. His ankles were now very exposed to the world.
"Keep your tongue," Rowena reprimanded, as her handmaids giggled around her. "Give me an hour. This thing is written in many different languages, but enough is in Latin I might be able to render a partial translation."
Salazar didn't actually leave. He wittled away the time by trying out some new spells he'd invented on the trees outside a new house Rowena had recently erected ('I've had enough of that bloody cave!') along with Helga. It was much bigger than their small flat in Godric's Hollow, was constructed of log walls and sported a thatch roof. The back half of the house had four beds for Helga's clinic, while the front half was a room with a chair, two desks, and bookcases for Rowena's work as the Princess.
Rowena emerged flanked by Brytha and another one of her ladies-in-waiting, with a barn howl hooting quite happily on her left shoulder. Of the six, Mina had managed to find three that were magical and three non-magical, to give the Princess some form of protection, something she conveniently neglected to tell her monarch.
"I've got the translation done," she said, quite pleased with herself. "I have other news as well."
"What is that?" Salazar asked.
"My brother sends word to keep me updated by owl," Rowena said, at the same she transferred the owl on her shoulder to her arm. She tied a piece of parchment to it and it flew off towards the north. "Our scouts have reported a huge army assembling in the Scottish Highlands, a region dominated by the Picts."
"How huge?"
"Scouts have a habit of overestimating enemy numbers, but their guess is 20,000-25,000 in camp. I'll wager they are about accurate. They've seen a woman giving out commands in a tunic. I think it's safe to assume that idiot who calls herself Morgana is in personal command now."
Salazar gulped.
"How many do we have?"
"Well, my clan can supply 8,000 at most, we have William's 7,000, then Sir Godric's army as well. That leaves us at less than 20,000 total and that's if we can get three different nationalities to work together."
Salazar scrutinized the princess, who didn't seemed even perturbed by the disparity in numbers. "You seem quite confident."
"I have to be," she said. "My people depend on me. Court manners you know, hide your true emotions."
"Must've been rough."
"You have no idea."
"Remember to be here tomorrow," she reminded him rather sternly. "At the council in York when we all get together to plan on how to hopefully eliminate the enemy. Here's the translation as well."
Salazar read it, his face darkening with every word.
"What does this mean?"
Rowena switched over to Saxon, so only that Salazar could understand her.
"It means somewhere in the Scottish highlands is a place where the real Morgana collected and practiced necromancy before Merlin and King Arthur slew her after a fierce duel."
"That's just what the legends say."
"I think we've seen enough to say King Arthur was very real. And I'd argue that library near Wales proves it."
"Fair point," Salazar conceded. "But...that means Morg..I mean whoever it is after whatever it is is there."
"Precisely my point," Rowena explained. "According to this, the real Morgana was spirited away and hidden to rest in Camelot to await her...resurrection...what a bunch of idiots."
"Where is it?"
"Here's my secret," Rowena whispered to him. "I'm pretty sure I already know. I've been there many times, but haven't looked. I've dreamt* of it, on a hill overlooking a large forest and lake, somewhere around there is her lair."
"Well, if you do, we must get it first."
"Easy," she said. "We don't have the numbers and I don't want to risk anyone else getting it either. However, I have an idea. We build a school on top of it to prevent anyone from getting to it. And make sure we win tomorrow, if we don't, we're in twice as much trouble."
Salazar wasn't sure what to say to that pronouncement.
"School, really?"
"Yes, school. I'm dead serious. It'll just take some time, I want you to help me as well as Sir Godric Gryffindor and Helga. With the four of us, we can create a safe place for our youth."
The Great Council took place the next day in the largest church building in York*. William had taken the pleasure of temporarily 'borrowing' the building from it's priests and had his wizards go over every inch of it, enchanting it against eavesdropping. Rowena and Fearghas arrived first, she was wearing a blue dress with the Eagle emblem emboidered on the front and Fearghas was bare-chested with the same eagle emblem tattoed on his body.
Behind them was Salazar and Godric, both wearing the serpent and lion emblems of their houses, along with Helga in a simple yellow dress. When they entered the church, all of the benches had been cleared to the wall, with a round table for eight people in the center of the church.
William and two of his subordinates already occupied three of them. What drew everyone's attention though was the presence of a palmino colored Centuar, a creature known only from Greek mythology. The five took their seats from left to right; Godric, Salazar, Helga, Rowena, and then Fearghas. Never had such a meeting taken place before and Rowena was sure it would probably never take place again.
Rowena stood up first.
"Before we get started, let's put aside our customs," she pointed out. Every one of the leaders had used Helga's translation spell on themselves to make the meeting go as smoothly as possible. "Our focus is on defeating Morgana, who threatens us all."
"Us too," the Centaur added. "My name is Barjon, Mars is bright tonight. The God of War's star predicts us victory."
No one said anything to this; most at the table didn't put much stock in astrology.
"Well said," William added. "No titles either. I'm not 'King' or 'Duke' here, I'm just William. Can we all agree on that?"
A gentle murmur of assent sounded through the church. Fearghas opened his mouth, but quickly shut it under a scathing look from his sister.
"Bishop Earlred, please brief us all on the situations."
Bishop Earlred was the Catholic Bishop of York, a man widely respected among both the wizarding and Muggle populations in Scottia and the Saxon kingdom. Everyone could not but help trust the prominent church leader, who was renowned for helping the poor and often mediated peace during wartime.
Up on the wall was a crude, but somewhat accurate map of Scottia. Earlred motioned to the area that was covered by mountains.
"Somewhere in here, Ravenclaw and Norman scouts have each reported the same situation. A massive army of Picts, mercenairies from abroad, Vikings, and magical folk has been gathering here. Based on the state of the camp, we estimate it will leave and march south towards York within the week. As we speak, spies continued to track their movements."
"Numbers?" Godric asked.
"Number don't win a battle, strength and determination do," Fearghas snorted dismissively. Godric ignored the slight.
"Twenty five thousand."
Everyone gasped; Fearghas snorted.
"Twenty five thousand," William's subordinate said. "We'll be massacred, especailly if we have to fight with the likes of them."
He pointed in Fearghas and Rowena's direction.
"Really, I bet your men will run when they crest the ridge," Fearghas retorted, cracking his knuckles. Only Rowena's firm grip on his shoulder prevented him from pummeling the man on the spot.
Arguments broke out along the table. William sighed; this was worse than the Battle of Hastings where the Bretons, mercenaries he hired from a nearby kingdom, nearly costed him the battle.
"ENOUGH!" William shouted; all bickering died at once.
"This bickering is pointless," he said, taking firm control of the meeting. "The biggest challenge we face is how to stop this threat before it takes all of us out."
William's authoritative voice, plus his experience in such meetings, allowed him to quickly establish himself as the firm leader in the room.
"In consultation with Godric, Fearghas, Rowena, and Salazar," he said. "This what I'm thinking."
He held up a board and nodded at one of his wizards; white lines appeared on it. Three circles appeared first, each representing an army.
"Our armies have never fought together before and they won't."
"They won't?" Salazar squeaked out. "Then..."
He feel silent at Helga's glare; clearly Rowena and Helga knew what was coming.
Let him explain, she mouthed to him.
"Our armies will attack in three different locations with the goal of wiping out Morgana's forces piecemeal."
"How'll that work?" Sir Godric asked.
"According to our scouts the army is mostly composed of Picts, mercanaries, but most importantly, enemy troops from France."
A wave of murmuring broke out amongst the leaders.
"Why would France want to help a lady like Morgana?" Rowena demanded.
"This movement is far from being an Angelland based movement," William said. "My rivals for the territory of Maine, they are willing anything they can to weaken me."
"What sad..." Fearghas began before his slips sealed themselves. He threw a dirty look at his sister, who rolled her eyes.
The lines on the board changed to a map of the local area. A city labeled 'York' in four different languages appeared, along with a silhouette of the nearby valleys, mountains, and rivers.
"Everyone will announce their own part of the plan," William said, tracing a road that lead from the city of York northwards. "My troops will advance along the only Roman road that leads to York. Right here is a wooded field that will allow us to hide our numbers. They will see my army first and, hopefully eager for battle, will break ranks and charge."
"Godric," William announced.
Sir Godric stood.
"There are two valleys here," he said, pointing out lines that were astride the main road leading north from York. "My fyrdman will be in this valley across from William's men. Morgana's army will be strung out along this road; we'll attack and draw off part of her forces."
A wave of murmuing broke out among the Ravenclaw clan representives.
"Shut it!" Rowena shouted at them. "I'm up next."
Disgruntled, they waited, envious of being the ones to go last; another glare from their monarchs was enough to keep all of them quiet.
"The Ravenclaw men will do what we've been doing for the past four hundred years; fight."
Anticipation grew among her generals; Rowena blessed all the time she'd spent watching and learning the weakness the men of her father's court. She had them right in the palm of her hand.
"The woods along these ditches will provide the perfect cover," she said. "When Morgana's men see William's troops, they'll charge thinking they'll have an early victory. When they are about forty yards from him, we'll let loose on them with arrows, then smash into them from two sides. In effect, we'll be in the main vangaurd of the fight.
"Fearghas."
Fearghas came up next while Rowena took her seat.
"A small force of about five hundred of our best warriors will be in reserve here," he said, pointing behind the lines of the Ravenclaw troops. "When our troops engage, I will let them loose on the rear of our enemies."
Barjon trotted forward to speak next.
"We have five hundred Centuars, but we'll come when the stars are aligned."
"Aligned to what?" one of the Saxons asked.
The Centuar clopped out of the meeting without another word. William quickly stood up again, taking control of the meeting once more.
"The floor is open to discussion now..."
The next while was filled with talk of provisions, revision, more revision, arguments, glares, and suspicions. Eventually though, the plan to divide the armies into three spearate sections remained largely intact. After five hours of planning, the meeting broke up. As Rowena walked away, Helga caught up to her.
"Some plan uh," she whispered.
"Yeah, have you ever heard of a plan that could go wrong in so many ways," Rowena muttered so that only Helga could hear.
Helga gulped.
Some major historical notes. For centuries, the church was the largest building in York as the city changed hands during the Age of the Vikings. Brittany is now part of France, but for about seven hundred years, the province fiercely remained independence of it's larger neighbor's attempt to control it, even harboring some of England's fugitives (including King Henry VII, father of Henry VIII), often allying with many of France's enemies to remain independent. It would often rent out soldiers, and a large portion of William's invading force was from Brittany. They retreated during the Battle of Hastings, almost costing him the battle. But in 1532, France finally absorbed it and it's remained a part of that country ever since.
