Arthur, King. William Speir

over at the three princes, who had stopped their spear practice to watch the prisoners.

      Merlin hobbled across the soldiers’ training ground and reached the princes just as the last prisoner disappeared into the guardhouse.

      “Why don’t you put your spears back in the armory and come with me to the great house?” he suggested.

      “Are those the men that we saw cutting trees at the base of the cliff yesterday?” Bedwyr asked.

      “Don’t you recognize them?” Merlin asked.

      “I do,” Arthur answered. “Three of them, anyway.”

      Merlin leaned on his staff and waited while the princes put away their spears. Just as they were returning, the Captain of the Guards approached Merlin.

      “How did you know, Lord Merlin?” He held several iron tools in his outstretched hand. “Each one of them had these hidden in their shoes and in parts of their bodies that we wouldn’t normally search.”

      Merlin looked at the tools. “What are they for?”

      “Cutting ropes, opening cell doors, killing guards…” He pointed to a curved knife in a thin leather sheath. “Notice the curve on this knife. It’s designed to fit unnoticed between their butt cheeks. If we hadn’t stripped them, we never would have found these items. I believe that they definitely wanted to get inside the hillfort. What they were supposed to do when they got here is another matter.”

      “Chain them to the walls of the cell so they can’t break free or help each other break free,” Merlin instructed.

      “Already being done, my Lord.”

      Merlin smiled. “Good work, Captain. If they try to escape, kill them. But make sure one remains alive for interrogation.”

      “Yes, my Lord.”

      Merlin led the princes to the great house. I’m starving, and I’m sure the boys are, too.

      As they walked, a thought kept nagging at him. Who would want to send six men to get inside the hillfort, and what were they supposed to do once they escaped from their cell?

      The next day, the prisoners were interrogated one at a time. They never spoke, and they never cried out. The Captain of the Guard reported to Merlin just as the sun had set.

      “No luck, my Lord,” the guard captain said. “They won’t talk.”

      “Have you tried everything?” Merlin asked.

      “No, my Lord,” the guard captain replied. “The Romans taught us many torture techniques that we haven’t used yet. I wasn’t sure if you wanted us to employ them or wait until General Galerius returns.”

      “Dead prisoners don’t speak,” Merlin reminded him. “Unless you or your men are proficient in Roman methods of torture, I’d leave it to General Galerius. Just make sure that they’re secure in that cell.”

      “Yes, my Lord.”

      More than a week passed before General Galerius returned with the Gododdin cavalry. The weary horsemen passed through the gates at mid-afternoon. There were a few riderless horses, but the losses appeared light.

      “You were gone longer than I expected,” Merlin said when he met Galerius at the stables. “What happened?”

      Galerius shook his head. “I have much to tell you, but not here. Let me get my horse settled in his stall and my gear put away. I’ll come find you in the great house. Oh, and the princes should be there. They’ll want to hear this, too.”

      Merlin raised an eyebrow, but he just nodded. “We’ll be in the great hall.” He left to find Arthur, Bedwyr, and Cai.

      Galerius arrived in the great hall an hour later and found Merlin and the princes waiting for him. Servants had already brought food and drink.

      Galerius poured himself a drink and reached for a piece of roasted chicken. After he finished the meat, he washed it down with the wine in his goblet and tossed the bones onto an empty plate.

      “The battle went well, but things didn’t go as expected. The Picts invaded with more warriors than I’ve ever seen. But their objective didn’t make sense at first. They didn’t raid any villages, and they didn’t pillage livestock. They were trying to expand their territory and hold the captured lands without destroying anything.”

      “Why is that?” Merlin asked.

      “I’m coming to that,” Galerius replied. “King Ceretic’s men held the Picts’ advance in check when we arrived. Our forces hit them on their left flank, and their lines broke quickly. It was running battles all the way back to Strathclyde’s northern border. We killed nearly thirty percent of their warriors, and suffered few casualties of our own. Strathclyde’s army secured the border, and I decided to pursue the Picts. I don’t normally pursue an enemy into his own lands, but their attacks have been happening to frequently, and I wanted to teach them a lesson.”

      Galerius devoured another piece of chicken. “We moved north and chased them for more than a day. That’s when things became strange. We had just reached a ridge and saw the Picts in a large mass below us. I deployed the men across the ridge, and just as we were about to attack, another army attacked the Picts from the north!”

      “What army?” Merlin asked.

      “An Irish one,” Galerius said.

      “Irish?” Arthur exclaimed. “What’s an Irish army doing in Pictish territory?”

      “I asked the same question when we got back to Strathclyde, my Prince,” Galerius said. “The Irish attack was furious, and they slaughtered the Picts left and right. I withdrew our forces in case the Irish wanted to fight someone else.”

      “And what did Ceretic’s men tell you about the Irish?” Merlin asked.

      “They’re colonists who arrived a few months ago. They’re Christians, and they left Ireland to establish a separate kingdom free from Irish rule. They call their colony Dal Raita, and they’re building a fortress at a place called Dunadd, north of Strathclyde’s border. They attacked the Picts just south of there.”

      “I can’t imagine that the Picts are welcoming them with open arms,” Merlin said. “I doubt that the Caledonians are, either.”

      “Oh, they’re not,” Galerius assured him. “King Ceretic told me that the Picts are barking mad that they lost land to Dal Raita. He thinks that’s why the Picts raided Strathclyde. They wanted to replace the land that they lost to the Irish.”

      Merlin leaned back in his chair and took a drink. “This could work well for us.”

      Galerius nodded. “Ceretic thought the same thing, but he reminded me that the Picts are a tribal people. The western tribes lost land to the Irish, but the eastern tribes haven’t. It may be a while before the Picts attack Strathclyde again, but we’re still at risk.”

      “Is there a risk that these Christian Irish will try to establish more colonies along our western shore?” Merlin asked.

      “I think so,” Galerius replied. “So does Ceretic. He’s writing to Ambrosius to inform him about the Dal Raita colony.”

      Merlin shook his head. “Vortigern invited Hengist and Horsa to Britain to help repel Irish invasions and keep the Picts and Caledonians behind their borders. Now the Irish are colonizing over here, the Picts are raiding more frequently, and we can’t get the Saxons and their allies to leave Britain, because they don’t have a home to go back to. What are we going to do?”

      “Protect what’s ours. There’s nothing else we can do.”

      Merlin nodded. After taking another drink, he said, “We had something interesting happen here as well.”

      “What?” Galerius asked, reaching for a leg of mutton.