THE SHIELD OF LOCKSLEY
PART FOUR: BY PAPAL DECREE Chapter 34. The Roman War
Yes, this is paywalled…
I always tell you that so you can decide whether you want to read this part of the post, or ignore it. We’re starting PART FOUR, which I suppose, in hindsight, I should have labeled as “BOOK”, but hey, no biggie, I can fix that. Anyway, this is the beginning of the Papal Wars between Arthur and the Pope…or is it?
This is the part that amazes me when I write sometimes. Although this is “Magical Realism”, or Historical Fantasy”, whichever you want to call it, I had to look things up. I mean, I know there were no battles, or a war, with Rome and Briton at this time, the problem was how to make it convincing enough so that the reader would believe it might have been possible. All I can say about that is: Thank Fuck! for the internet and ChatGPT, Wikipedia and Google. Had I wrote this when I first thought about it all those years ago, I doubt if I would have found the same trail of information. But writing this now, sort of centred the story. I needed a time to place it in, and with the path I had set, I was able to narrow it down to somewhere around 535-38 AD. I could take events that happened during that short period of time and use them for my story. I was able to find the name of a Sainted Priest who was in England at that time. I found out that the Pope had died while on a trip to Constantinople. There were Pictish uprisings among various tribes.
And so, BY PAPAL DECREE just sort of slipped in there as an added piece of the political manipulations Modred took upon himself, hoping to start a war and thereby distract Arthur while he himself carved out his own country Beyond-the-Wall. It’s also something supported by his Aunt, who sees events, but doesn’t understand exactly what she sees.
So yes, this is paywalled…
Because I did a lot of “working things out.” I did my due diligence looking up the facts I could weave the story around. It doesn’t matter if you didn’t read the previous Three Parts, I think you can slip right in and sense how the story is going. You can see that Grummer and Bedivere have left for Camelot with Bors and Bedivere’s brother, Lucius, (Lucan the Butler, if you’re reading along with the Mallory playbook.) The challenge with writing a story like this is trying to keep all the players in line. I know there are writers who use programs, like Scrivener, and a bunch of others I don’t know. Me? I have a “Hilroy” notepad that has 300 pages/3 subjects. I write notes to myself, dates, places, names, just to keep me on track.
I’ve given 170 of my 5 STAR readers free 90 day complimentary Memberships into what I am now calling: THE PORTAL CLUB. Membership is $30 for the year. That’s 8¢ a day. Hopefully, some of you will take me up on the offer. If you don’t, you’ll just resort back to free after the 90 days have elapsed. I’m hoping for more than a 10% conversion rate. I want you to see how much effort has gone into this story, because this is the tragic part of the story, and you don’t want to miss out on that — as well as the upcoming battle. This is one of those multi-part chapters. (Seven parts for this one, but the sections are longer than normal.)
Anyway, enough of that, let’s get on with the story. This is the shortest piece of the chapter, but it has a lot of PUNCH!
Leave a message, and tell me you saw it coming from a mile away, and I’ll call you a LIAR! I didn’t even see it coming.
PART FOUR
BY PAPAL DECREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR…
THE ROMAN WAR
Locksley sat in the warm waters of the Roman bath, comfortable in the immense heat, and hating himself for it. He looked at his wrinkled hands, noticing that the once hard callouses were almost gone. He’d gotten soft since his injury, he told himself; he was a hazard to himself. He needed to hold a sword, or swing an axe — anything, aside from sitting in the stimulating waters of Aquae Sulis day after day.
He looked at the other men in the pool — old merchants, and the last of the Roman aristocracy trying to maintain a grip on their land-holdings — all of them soft and pink with the water’s heat, and he wondered if he looked anything like them. He felt young sitting among them, their bodies bloated through years of over-indulgence and sedentary living. He wondered how much longer before he looked like them?
Brennis didn’t use the bath as much as Locksley did — if he even used it at all, he told himself — but that’s because Grummer had told Locksley that after the leeching, soaking in the warm waters of the bath would be the best thing to help restore his energy. Brennis was young and full of energy, and thought the baths were for old men who were weary with life. Locksley was starting to think that maybe his young Squire was right.
Brennis still went out every morning to hunt, bringing back whatever game he’d found to the Inn, where the Innkeeper’s wife gratefully added it to whatever stew she had in the pot that morning. He spent endless hours throwing his battle axes and knives, practicing and challenging himself.
With Locksley, it was the opposite. But then, that might’ve been all the blood the leeches took out of him, he thought. He’d seen the slick, bloated slugs Grummer pinched off his flesh and wondered why he wasn’t feeling any better with all the sickness they sucked out of him. There was no energy he could feel growing inside of him — not while he was sitting in the warmth of the bath. The bath had not been what he’d call restorative.
He stood up, the water’s depth coming to the middle of his expansive chest, and he looked down at the scar on his ribs. He noticed that it hadn’t been affected by the water. It wasn’t as if he thought sitting in the water would help with his scars and old injuries, or that it was meant to take the pain away — which it had, he reminded himself — but then, that might’ve been as simple a thing as time itself. It’d been close to six weeks since Grummer and Bedivere left with Bors and Bedivere’s brother, Lucius. They were meant to go to Camelot, for some secretive adventure that involved the King, Grummer said, as well as the Papal State in Rome.
He’d learned through the single pigeon Grummer had sent out, that they were on their way to Rome where they were to meet with the Pope himself, in an effort to negotiate a peace. Locksley remembered looking at the tiny note, telling himself he didn’t even know there were hostilities. He’d been too out of touch with what was going on, and told himself it was time to leave.
The road to Camelot’ll be a long, cold ride, he told himself, looking at fallen leaves.
Walking to the edge of the bath, he followed the steps up and graciously took the towel the young serf held out to him. The boy seemed embarrassed with Locksley’s nakedness, and he smiled, thinking how people south of the Wall were shocked at things he felt were normal. There were too many Christians in the town as far as he was concerned. Gwenellyn enjoyed the company of the Christians, but Locksley was still apprehensive when it came to Christians, thinking she was unguarded and unprotected when she walked among them. And the more he thought about the attack that night, the more he feared for her safety.
Dressed in his Huntsman’s leathers, he told himself he needed to practice with the elance Erik the Blacksmith had crafted for him. He walked through the narrow, cobbled lanes to the small inn Grummer made arrangements for them to remain in until he was fully recovered. The innkeeper’s wife was busy, making home-made loaves, but smiled as he entered, and began tending the huge cauldron of stew hanging over the fire. Locksley slid onto the bench behind the table.
“I trust the waters were enjoyable for you today, Sir Locksley?” she said, bent over the stew pot and ladling out a bowl she placed on the table in front of him.
“Indeed, Birgitt,” he smiled. “A mite too enjoyable,” he added with a laugh. “But if e’er there was a reason not t’ enjoy a spot o’ the hot, I’ve yet t’ find it. Have ye seen young Brennis hankerin’ about?”
“Well, near as I can say, he’s made it a point of personal interest to be with some young tom-rigger in the town about, a real bed-wench some have been known to call her, or so you might say,” she added with a slow shake of her head.
“From the brothels, is she?”
“Oh, no Sir Locksley, and I’ll be saying this right now, that I’ll not be having that kind of talking about in this house,” she said.
“Nay?” Locksley grinned. “Ye need have nay worry on that, dear Birgitt. Brennis has long said he’ll ‘ave nay doin’ with brothel wenchin’, or the wenches at all,” he added.
“No?” she asked, looking at him over the loaves of bread she was pulling out of the wood oven. “Is he not a venereous lad, same as the rest? A lad of that age, I mean? All hale an hearty? It’s been to my understanding that boys of his ilk are in constant need of release, when it comes to that sort of thing.”
“Brennis?” Locksley laughed. “He’ll nay say aye when it comes t’ brothelin’ with Sir Grummer an’ Sir Bedivere. An’ I’ve yet t’ see him visit amongst the whores, so as ye say he’s taken to some tommyrig of a bedwench, I’m at a loss t’ see how that is fer ‘im.”
“Are ye sayin’ my Brennis is not a man for the wenches? A flit?”
Locksley almost choked on his stew at the thought.
“Nay,” he smiled. “I’m sayin’ there’s nay been a wench yet he’s taken to, an’ I’m thinkin’ it’s on account as we’ve nay been rested in a place long enow.”
“And now?”
“Aye,” he said slowly. “Exactly that. An’ now?”
The door opened and the room was bathed in a quick sheen of light as Gwenellyn entered the Common Room. Locksley could see she was holding a small note in her hand and looking at Birgitt dismissively; the woman quickly fell silent he noticed, as Gwenellyn slid onto the bench beside him and held the note out to him.
“It’s from Grummer,” she said softly, looking at Birgitt who busied herself with the loaves of bread, still not looking up. “He’s leaving Rome and hopes to see you in Camelot when he arrives,” she said.
“An’ how soon’ll that be?” Locksley asked, wondering why the two women were so obviously trying to avoid each other.
He looked back at Gwenellyn as she shook her head. “I’d be guessing if I said it was at least ten days. They’ll be coming by ship, but I know little of the shipping lanes between Rome, and here.”
Locksley nodded, still looking at her. His eyes narrowed perceptively as he nodded again.
“What?” she asked.
“Is it to Camelot ye will, or Glastonbury?” he wondered.
“Why would you—? Something’s come up,” she said in a slow, purposeful voice. She appeared to hesitate; seemed unable to look him in the eye, he noticed, but he saw her looking at Birgitt, as if the woman had the answer she needed. Locksley was certain the woman nodded. It was all in the eyes, he told himself — he would attest to it, if he were asked — but he was positive he saw a slow, indiscernible nod meant only for Gwenellyn. It was something he sensed more than he saw.
“What is it then, ye say?” he asked, leaning closer and looking at Gwenellyn as he pushed his bowl aside, leaning on the table.
“I’ve not been regular this past month,” she said, her voice trailing off.
“What d’ye mean, ye’ve nay been regular?” He looked up, saw Birgitt looking at her before turning away, and at the same moment saw Gwenellyn looking at the woman, before turning her attention to Locksley once again.
“What’s that apposed t’ mean? I’m nay reg’lar?” he asked again.
“I’m with child,” she said.
Oh she asked Birgitt for advice! Was wondering if B. disapproved of G.