"The truth against the world. What does that mean Myrddyn?” The young boy asked as he hurried to keep up with the vigorous long legged stride of the middle aged Myrddyn.
” It means that the whole world opposes truth little pig. The world prefers darkness to light, and lies to truth. Thus the world seeks to hide the truth. To destroy truth. But truth cannot be hidden or destroyed.”
The boy considered this in silence. They walked on, Myrddyn pausing to gather herbs, or occasionally to check a snare.
“Why would the world prefer lies to truth?” The boy asked, troubled and perplexed. “Because men fear the truth of themselves and their deeds. Men lie to themselves, to hide from their fears and their shame. To hide themselves from the sight of Celu” Myrddyn answered. “That’s stupid! How can anyone hide from the eye of the creator or from themselves ?” The boy muttered, deeply offended “Precisely little pig, precisely!” Myrddyn chuckled.
The white raven , perched on Myrddyns shoulder, in her now long accustomed spot, ruffled her feathers and cawed in agreement. “Why do you call me little pig Myrddyn?” the boy asked, in the midst of his continual questioning of everything.
Myrddyn paused, “Because you root for answers like a little pig in the roots of an old oak, snuffling for treasures.” The boy grunted and followed Myrddyn.
” Celu is the source of all little pig. The hidden secret one. He who spoke his name, I Am because, I am, The pure loud tone, The sound and cause of creation. He who brought everything into being with his word. We and all that surrounds us are but echoes, like ripples on a pond, of the word of creation. ”
The young boy idly tapped a hammer on the anvil he stared at. ” We are words Myrddyn?” he asked. ” More like the noise you are making with that hammer lad, leave off little pig.” Myrddyn replied, massaging his temples.
” We are words, yes Little pig, words of power and full of grace. Full with the probability of all possibilities.”
Arthur climbed onto the anvil, His toes scarcely brushing the dirt floor. ” Like the rocks we have been smashing and burning. You say they will become Iron and steel. And I can fashion anything I wish from that.” Arthur said doubtfully.
Myrddyn smiled at the boys quick mind. ” Yes little pig, we are like those rocks, We can be anything, and thus are everything, until the smith chooses the form we take. Then we become that thing. From imagination to choice, to action, Stone into iron, Iron into plow, or sword or hammer. The boy contemplated this, turning a misshapen, burned black lump of slag about in his hands.
” Words are powerful lad. Understanding and manipulating the meanings behind those words. That is the true power of the druids little pig”
Arthur dropped the rock, and looked hard at Myrddyn, brows creased In concentration. Clearly struggling with thoughts. “Illusions are mastered with whispers of night.” Myrddyn murmured.
At Arthur’s blank look, Myrddynn laughed. ” My master, Dinys, said that little pig, I am sure I had the same look that you are wearing myself when I first heard that." Myrddyn paused ,to frame his thoughts.
"You see, Power is an illusion. The power of a king exists only in the minds of the people. The Bards, shape the minds of the people, with the songs, poems and stories. The histories and tales of the Gods, are parables, molding our behavior, our very thoughts.” “Then the Bards hold the power? Then why bother with kings?” Arthur scuffed the dirt with his bare toes ashamed by his own rude interruption.
“Kings serve to unite the people, to be the living symbol of the people. To set the example that the people follow. Kings serve also to protect the people, leading the armies, administrating the laws. Most importantly, kings serve the people.” Myrddyn continued, amused by the boys chagrin, pretending to ignore it.
The anvil rang, singing with the hammer blows that shaped the bright, glowing iron. Myrddyn watched, amazed at the focus and intensity of the boy now nearly a man, at his task. The boy was forging a pattern welded axe head.
A gift he had said. For one of the wood cutters, who’s sole treasure, a good iron axe. Had been misplaced or stolen somehow. The boys inherent kindness and generosity brought a smile to Myrddyn’s face. The boy was crafting an axe fit for a king, to gift a casual friend.
The brine barrel hissed and steamed when the glowing axe head plunged in to temper and harden. ” I think I understand Alexanders secret, Myrddyn.” He quietly spoke.
” Oh? What secret is that Arthur?” “It came to me as I worked. The Hammer and the anvil, with the iron between. King Phillip refined the phalanx by deepening the ranks and longer spears. Alexanders genius was to use this as an anvil with his heavy cavalry becoming the hammer with the Persians crushed between. The Romans sort of did the same thing with the Maniples. Catching the enemy between formations, crushing them."
Myrddyn never ceased to be amazed at the brilliant insights of the boy’s mind. Even though Myrddyn and the white raven had labored long and hard to shape that mind.
The white raven perched above watching with a demanding approval. She startled Arthur when she cawed and loudly spoke. ” It is time! He must learn the dance of spear and sword.”
Myrddyn sighed loudly. He had dreaded this moment. Since the time of his madness, Myrddyn had shunned iron. refusing to even touch the metal in any form.
All of his daily tools were good flint or antler and bone or bronze ” We must go into the land of the Brigantes. Where I have prepared a place for Arthur.” The white raven explained. Arthur stared open mouthed at the white raven.
Three full generations had passed since the final Roman military withdrawal. In the north west of Britain, Logres properly. The Brigantes had been little troubled , They had reverted to tribal rule with the hated Romans gone. With little more than the occasional Irish sea raiders to contend with.
The numerous Brigante had little to unite them. The Angles and Jutes, along the eastern coast troubled them only slightly.
Even so, the Rio-Brigante had an impressive force larger than any of the chieftains. The high king of Brigantia held court in the abandoned Roman colonial town of Mamucium. It was there that the white raven led them.
Arthur’s face showed only curiosity gazing with a clear eyed intensity at everything around him. As they entered the Stone and timber gate, The city was laid out like a roman camp. It had started life as a roman garrisons camp. The earth works deepened and raised higher over the years, layered in timber and stone were well manned.
The soldiers in mail with curboili loricas. Though Roman in initial appearance, the Ravens beak helms and flame tongued belly spears marked them as Celts. Arthur was drawn to the Long swords hanging on their baldrics. He had never seen a sword before. His hand itched to reach out and touch one. But Arthur was too well mannered to do so.
That is beautifully written Don, I love those stories. You are such a wonderful story teller. Thank you 💙💫
Brigantes - Britons?
Excellent description of the roman town and weapons.
Arthur is well versed indeed.