DUX BELLORUM

—o—

CHAPTER SECOND

ARTHUR CASTUS

—o—

ARTHUR WOKE UP TO A SKY BEGINNING TO BRIGHTEN, HERALDING A NEW DAWN STILL AN HOUR SHY OF THE HORIZON. Crisp and cold, the air of Winter breathed life onto his face, lifting him off from the cold stone balcony. After stretching his body awake, he walked into the warm chambers where Princess Guinevere lay fast asleep on her bed, left bare to the elements with various bear-furs bundled around at her feet and clutching the cross-pendant necklace to her chest. He wasn't sure when she'd moved back inside but at the sound of her peaceful sighs, he could not help but smile, and drew the furs over her slender form. He took his father's sword, leant against the bed and left.

When he departed from the princess' bedchambers, he found the hallways of Ogyrvan's Fort still empty and quiet. He wondered how far he could take his luck and return to the guest's chambers where he and his family were permitted to stay.

That is to say…not very far…

"Going somewhere, are we?" The commanding voice of Caius Castus had the power to stop him in his tracks.

He turned around, meeting his brother's furious glare, finding their fury plastered upon a battered and dirtied face, a couple of minor bruises on his temple and even some scars barely visible on his cheek. Arthur had to admit that he found how his brother looked extremely comical. "Rough night?" he asked and then broke out into fits of laughter.

"Yeah, laugh it up, genius." Cai grabbed his impetuous brother by the collar of his gambeson, snatched the sword from his grasp and forced him to tip-toe onwards. "That little street-brawl you started lasted the whole night. I think someone even died."

"Hope it was Prince Wuffa."

Cai stopped walking, and once again, narrowed his eyes over the boy. "You're lucky that you didn't lose your head last night. Anguls are ruthless warriors, Arthur. More than a match for even the best of our own knights—"

"Then I should consider myself among them," Arthur declared. "Since I held my own against that pompous edling in single combat and beat him."

"Hah! The way I hear it, you got your arse handed to you."

"You don't know. You weren't there!"

The older brother chuckled again, moving him aggressively onward. "Victorious or not, brother, what you did do was not help a delicate situation with a horde of barbarians that have already taken Icheni territory within a month and is now about to march on Tameliard. So, dad's pissed and King Ogyrvan's thinking about taking your head and gifting it to Wihstan himself."

At first, Arthur was amused and chuckled at his brother's indignant tone, but when he saw that long, grim and hard look on his face, Arthur's eyes went wide and fear gripped him. "Wait, are you serious?!"

His big brother did not answer and simply urged him on with more force. They got to a pair of large black doors on silver hinges that seemed very heavy to budge but without strenuous effort, Cai pushed through into a medium-sized throne room. Drab and poorly lit, a shocking contrast to Guinevere's room. The walls were left bare save the unlit torches hanging against the cold stone.

At the end of the modest throne room, below a large banner: a gold lion passant standing over an obsidian field, stood a kingly if not simplistic chair of wood, with a mixture of Celtic and Christian motifs carved into it.

Sat upon this regal throne was a regal man in fine tunic and furs cloaked over him. He was large and beefy, even taller than Cai if he were to stand, with a big, light brown beard to match a head of long and luxuriously well-coifed hair left wavy upon his broad shoulders. He was handsome in the traditional sense, nary a blemish visible on his pale face. Though he was not wearing armour, the king had on obsidian bracers on his forearms and muddied greaves.

Some called King Ogyrvan Leodegrance a giant for his stature, or speculated that he may have some giant's blood in his veins. The old king did little to dissuade the rumours, even spread a few more for good measure. Strength of his reputation added to the security of his kingdom.

Beside the king on both sides were two equally tall figures in deep contrast to each other. An older man on his righthand side, in grey robes that ought to have been white at some point and a big, wooden cross rosary necklace around his neck. Father Tomos not too old though the troubles of court had robbed him of much vigour. His was the job of advising the informing the king and his kingdom of religious matters. Apparently keeping close communication with the Imperial Bishop and was often the only source of news regarding the Imperium itself.

Father Tomos had his arms and eyes crossed, shaking his head at the boy being driven in before them. Arthur could see him leaning in to whisper into Ogyrvan's ear, it was safe to say he was not a huge fan of Arthur, or the rest of the Victrix Horselords.

The person on the king's left, rolling her eyes at the priest's general sliminess was much older woman: with grey hair left naturally flowing, she held her age proudly, brown eyes like a badge of honour for her wisdom and experience. She was a Celtic woman, advising the king on many topics especially in the more magical aspects of the lands, though she refuted the idea that she was a druid. "The druids are gone," Lady Ganieda had once said to the young boy when he had come asking in between Latin studies. "Undone by the folly that effects all men."

"And what folly is that?"

The old lady gave the boy a hard stare. "War," was all she said.

At the very foot of the throne stood Cai and Arthur's Lord-father in full Imperial armour—a white long-sleeved gambeson, over which was a short-sleeved shirt of chainmail and then protected overall by a muscled cuirass of black hardened leather. His shoulders were draped by a cape of blood red fastened by a gold bullhead clasp.

Lord Ectorius Castus was a big man, tall like Caius with a thick neck propped upon strong broad shoulders, capping a broad and muscular body, despite his advanced age. A hero who had fought alongside High-King Ambrosius in the Battle of Badon Hill and the Battle along the Imperial Wall—grizzled, tired, hardened. Like his two sons, Ector fashioned a short and straight cut, slightly forked on his forehead, a staple of an Imperial trend, particularly in the armies. On his side was an empty scabbard and when he spotted it, fear gripped Arthur even tighter.

"Father. Your Highness. Sorry I'm late." Cai chucked his little brother to the king's feet. "Found the little gremlin lurking about the castle." He presented his father with the weapon that Arthur had stolen.

Lord Ector, ever the stoic, glared with indifference at his youngest boy with his arms crossed over his chest. Arthur made to say something, to apologise to his lord-father but the deepening stare from the old knight was all the incentive needed to shut him up again, possibly for good if Ector had his way. Lord of the Sixth Legion took back his ancestral blade and returned it to its sheath.

"Father, please. I can explain—"

One hand was raised by the Imperial knight and there was silence again.

Ogyrvan looked on with a bemused smirk, reclined in his seat as he watched the family feud taking place before him. "Now. Last night you raised a sword to a prince," said the king.

"No, Your Highness…I mean, yes, but—"

"No 'buts', boy. You raised a sword to a Prince Wuffa of Lindum Colonia, shattering a peace that was still in the works and trashing my streets in the process."

"But Lord-king—"

This time, Ector was the one who stomped his feet— the THUD did more to frighten him than any verbal threat. "For the love of God! Arthur!" Fear once again wrapped its talons around his carefree heart, the boy retreated into himself. "Forgive my son's insolence, Your Highness. I assure you that his mother will personally see to his punishment."

"Hah!" The Giant stood up from his chair—true to his name, towered over his guests like a mountain among ferns. "I have no doubt, my friend. No doubt." He then turned to the bashful you boy and inquired after his name.

"It's Arthur, Your Highness," he answered.

"Arthur?"

"Artorius, Your Grace," Ector clarified. "A strong, Imperial name borne by my ancient forebears. My wife is a Celt however, so she insists on calling him Arthur whenever she can."

King Ogyrvan looked between his two advisors, then held his broad chest as he laughed aloud and clapping Ector's shoulder. "I commend the Lady Gwanwynn's loyalty to culture and tradition. Say what you want about the Cymry, but they have not forgotten the face of their forefathers and I throw no blame upon you or hers for the way this one turned out. He is not of your family?"

Arthur couldn't tell if his father had just winced at the sting of his royal friend's words, or if he had simply shrugged his shoulders. Lord Ector was a man of few words, a proud practitioner of Marcus Aurelius' brand of stoicism…or a prideless practitioner for that matter. The commander of the Victrix knights was scarcely prey to intense emotions and his anger was always balanced by his empathy…or indifference. Ogyrvan's dismissal of Arthur was a bit more complicated. Ector never spoke of this openly, never revealed even to the boy of how he came to adopt a child.

There was some resentment in Ogyrvan's voice whenever he spoke of Cambria, being on the threshold of his kingdom with only a thick and equally dangerous forest to separate them. Why have Gwynedd to worry about when you can have bloodthirsty wolves and faefolk gnawing on your face. Only bitter thoughts for the king. At once the king gestured for his advisors to come down to them. The king then started talking quietly to Ector, in vain as Arthur could hear their conversation clearly.

"…This is not a particularly good time for this, Ector."

"I know, Highness."

"Anguls openly raid my borders, Deira enters into alliances with those invaders while Brandagores and Urien remain silent, and our own High-King does the same, holed up in his little sea-fort in the east." Ogyrvan released a deep breath of exasperation. "I am naked in the dark, Ector, and I was hoping to acquire some semblance of that security with a marriage pact to the prince of a prominent Angul tribe."

"I'll send my knights to intercept Prince Wuffa and explain the situation, maybe convince him to return and reconsider the marriage—"

"But you can't," Arthur started quickly. "Guinevere can't marry that brute—"

Cai swooped in a hand over his brother's big mouth, apologising profusely.

The king chuckled. "That won't be necessary, my friend. Prince Wuffa has not left the city and I have invited him here to talk. Perhaps I can salvage this. But, as your ward has pointed out, Wuffa is a brutish young man, so I may need you here, Ector."

The Imperial acquiesced.

Lady Ganieda the brought the conversation back to Arthur. "I think that it is time for Master Arthur to retire. Wouldn't you agree, Your Grace?"

The king did agree and Ector gratefully bowed his head in compliance commanding his eldest son to dutifully escort him back to their room.

As they left, Arthur saw the Angul prince approaching with a handful of his retinue beside him. They were being escorted by Bedivere, one of Ogyrvan's men though he did so begrudgingly, rolling his eyes from beneath his long hair and only Cai and Arthur could see.

What was not hidden however was the smirk, that obnoxious grin playing on Prince Wuffa's face. He had a very punchable face, Arthur decided.

"Don't try it, Arthur." Caius squeezed his arm. "Just look away and keep walking. Turn the other cheek."

So, he did. It took every ounce of will power in his body, but as the priests preach on Sunday, he let bygones be bygones. It was the most humiliating walk in his life…well, most humiliating so far.

The moment Arthur and Cai entered into their common room, they were set upon by two hard hands smacked against the back of their heads, and then their ears were held up in a vice grip. "What were you two blockheads thinking?!"

"Mom, ouch, ow?!"

The enraged noblewoman cast her two boys before her. Slender hands found her hips and chastising eyes burned with fury over them. "I let you out for one night and you go and pick fights outside a tavern?!" She then pointed a single finger like a sharp dagger at the boys, particularly at her eldest who despite his tall frame seemed to shrink before her. "You were tasked, Caius Castus— no, entrusted, to keep an eye on you baby brother!"

"I'm not a baby anymore, mother—" Arthur tried to cut her off but that had become just another point on his list of mistakes of those past few days.

"Well, your actions beg to differ, Arthur!"

"It was a matter of honour, mother!"

It wasn't just his words that had the lady paused, but that hard, unwavering stare. Her boy knew as well as any raised within the Sixth Legions, that honour was not to be taken lightly. She shook her head and like a commander of armies, dismissed her boys, ordering them into their room.

Caius, reaching a new level of annoyance, sent a volley of punches at his little brother, all the way back to their shared bedroom, slamming the door behind them.

It wasn't long before Lady Gwanwynn entered their room, seeing her sons on opposite walls. Cai was coating his sword with oil, a daily routine of his. He was Ector's son alright, and par from being of Imperial stock as much as Celtic, he also had some Sarmatian mixed in there. A barbarian twice over.

Now, Arthur was a different being altogether. Reading an old book in a language that was neither Latin, Prytani or Greek— languages already under his belt. Whatever pictograph or squiggly lines he was reading, kept him rivetted on his bed and…well, neither of her sons bore her attention. It was quite comforting at times as it meant that she still had her children.

She sat herself beside his youngest son, peering over his shoulder to make out the text on the page. But she wasn't there for that. Stroking his auburn hair, she asked him if he was alright.

"I didn't do anything wrong, ma," he finally said. "I kept to the Knightly Code and fought by Wuffa's rules."

"Some traditions are incompatible, sweetheart. We teach you how to which will."

Arthur sighed but that was when his mother caught him off guard.

"Do you love her?"

The boy looked up at his beloved mother with a mixture of bewilderment and fear. How could she have known?

"Princess Guinevere," Lady Gwanwynn clarified, "Do you love her?"

Arthur wanted to say yes but he felt guarded, like he shouldn't say it. Guinevere was a princess, the daughter of one of the oldest clans in Albion. Despite being of an Angul mother, her blood was of this country, which was leagues more than what Arthur could speak about himself. Even if he ignored the fact that he was an adopted child—not knowing where exactly he came from, he was fostered by Imperial soldiers, little better than slaves by most regard. Sure they came off as nobility. King Uther after all is of the Imperium, and commanded legions. But the Imperium abandoned them to barbarians, and the people on this island could certainly keep a grudge.

He wasn't a bastard, but there was no future with the likes of him.

His mother once told him that the one advantage the poor and unfortunate peasants of this isle had above the nobility was that they were not entirely bound by political marriages, they could marry for love, but what if he had fallen in love with someone far higher than he?

"You know, above all else, that a mother wants most is for her children to be happy," said Gwanwynn, still combing through his hair. "Whatever that means, for you. She is a lovely girl, a Christian girl."

"But she's a princess and I'm a..."

His mother gave him a look of sadness and remorse as she nodded. "And she's promised to another," she reminded him.

She was about to say something else when the door was blasted open and Lord Ectorius Castus charged into the room, eyes aflame with rage. Immediately, Arthur shot up onto his feet.

"You boys just cannot keep to your own businesses, can you!" he roared, shoving his fourteen-year-old boy up against the wall. "O, why has God in Heaven forsaken me with two reckless, irresponsible and destructive sons?!"

"Father, please. I never meant to give King Ogyrvan any grief."

"Don't give me that shite, Arthur!" Lord Ector was not given to his boy's whims, either of them, even with his wife's half-effort to implore some calmness from him. He kept his dark brown eyes narrow and iron, down at his young boy. No one could mistake him for his son or Gwanwynn's, with his golden-red hair, bright blue eyes and fairer complexion, it was no secret he wasn't Ector's but he loved him as his own, and assumed he would acquire some of his stoic traits as Caius did. "You wanted to create strife and draw Ogyrvan's attention to Prince Wuffa. Do no think me deaf and blind, boy. You fought the Angul in single combat, he ignored the rule of respite which would have dishonoured him had you not taken the easy way and picked his pocket in the middle of the fight."

Speechless as any rebuttal he would have had was suddenly stuck in Arthur's throat.

"You became arrogant and showed your hand, son. You should have fought him, picked his pocket and lost. Watch him wonder where he'd put his little trophy while you were already in the wind." Arthur felt himself shrink further as his father approached, "Or better yet, you could have just kept you nose out of people's business."

"Well, I doubt you'd have done differently, fath—"

"I swear to God, Arthur, another impetuous word out of you and I will cut off that venomous tongue of yours."

"Love, please calm down," his mother separated them, holding the palm of her hand firmly on Ector's armoured chest. Even Caius had gotten up from his seat, sword already drawn and ready.

Immediately, Ector ceased his advance, holding up his arms is surrender. "I am calm, Wynn. I am calm." The old soldier, took a deep breath in. Absent was that stoic warrior in the presence of his sons, the only people worthy of his anger and frustrations. It would appear that none more than Arthur incurred his wrath that day. "The king of Tameliard is willing to forgive you, but after tomorrow he wants us out of the city—"

Both sons blew up with outrage but was put down once again by their father's cold stare. There would be more to find indignation with.

"Only temporary," he clarified. "Only until the marriage of Princess Guinevere and Prince Wuffa is finalised and the alliance between Ogyrvan and the Anguls is solidified. That's right, Arthur, Ogyrvan knows that you spent the night in his daughter's bedchambers. Don't deny it."

Arthur hung his head down in shame.

"He also knows that nothing actually happened in there that would tarnish her honour. That is why your punishment isn't death. As for how I'll deal with you— you will become Caius' squire until Cyntefin next year."

Once again, the two boys broke out into disgruntled complaining. Cai didn't want to babysit his little brother for five whole months, and Arthur was very familiar with the shame of squiring. The did not want this but neither of them wanted to contest their father's resolves or suffer worse. They

"The king does have one small price for you and your friends to pay for some oversight, Arthur."

…

Within two hours, Arthur was put to the stocks along with Percival, Dagonet, Bors, Erec, Morien, Brunor and Dinadan. The wooden pillory forced the boys onto their knees, knelt side by side in the middle of town with their arms held through the wooden constraints by the wrists.

"I'm so sorry about this, lads," sighed Arthur, trying to turn his head to look at his friends and only managing a peripheral view of Percival. He could just tell that his closest friend was mired with anger.

"Urgh, King Ogyrvan's going to bludgeon us," Erec panicked.

Bors tried to rock his holding in hopes that brute strength could match iron and hard wood. "Not unless he dispenses with the pleasantries and just kills us!"

"Are you kidding me. He'd probably turn us over to the Anguls—"

"You're being dramatic, Brunor," said Percival. "Ogyrvan the Giant isn't going to turn tail fir the Anguls just because he roughed up their prince."

"The whipping will be the worst of it," Morien piped in, sombrely looking into the middle-distance.

"No," said Arthur. He watched as citizens, peasant and noblemen passed by, some taking the time to laugh, point and jeer at them. "No, this will be the worst of it, and then the end of it. When we leave for home tomorrow, I'm never come back to this place again. I'll have to go by sea in order to travel to Cambria next year."

"Right, and you're just going to give up on Guinevere then?" Dagonet snickered.

"Don't underestimate the princess," Arthur retorted. "She can handle herself for a while."

"That's not what I meant."

The young red-haired boy sighed. From where he was positioned, he could stare straight out over the hill-fort of Ogyrvan's Keep, at a particular tower that he knew was Guinevere's. He recalled her last visage that morning, peaceful and happy. He wondered if she was there looking at him from her window. He wondered if she'd care.

His friends could give a crap.

DUX BELLORUM

…