Stuart William Hagan

Feeling life ebbing away from me, I struggle with all of my might to remain conscious, trying to find a way of escaping the power that holds me, killing me slowly and inevitably.

More lightning bolts of pain are shooting from the aliens’ hand and I wish I could scream out in an agony of release but I cannot.

“Soon, your life force will disintegrate and be spread into the poisonous air of your little world.  Soon, you will be set free,” laughed the alien voice.

With the pain continuing to strike me, I could do nothing but suffer the agonies and torments and then, after a time when I could see the lights hitting my body, striking me, burning me, I began to see strange colours around the room and I knew then that I was losing the ability to concentrate.

I could feel something pulling me towards it and I fought back, not wanting to be taken there.  If death was coming to claim me then I would fight back with all of my might.

‘I don’t want to die!’ I screamed inside my dying skull.

Slowly, the light began to vanish and the pain began to recede… I was drifting away, I wanted to stay but I could not.  ‘I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry…’

Darkness came swooping in upon me.

For a length of time, which I could not determine, I was nowhere; feeling as though I did not exist anymore and yet, within me, a spark of light in my consciousness continued telling me, ‘It is only darkness.  It is not nothingness.’

Greyness began to seep into my darkness, a blank screen of no details began to swim across my vision and I realised that I was actually seeing something tangible.  ‘I am alive!’ I exclaimed to myself, feeling immense joy and immediately beginning to wonder about how I could deal with the alien who was trying to destroy me.

The greyness began to take on form and I could see a mist swirling in front on me.  ‘Where is this mist coming from?  There was nothing in the room that was ablaze.’  Fearful for Wendy’s life, I wondered how long I had been unconscious for.  ‘Had the alien set fire to the building to cover up his evidence as he said he would?’

I try to move forward, to break through the mist, but I am held as if by an invisible hand.  ‘Even my chest does not seem to breathe for me.  What good am I as a statue with only eyes?’

Through the grey mist, I see something moving, a dark shape beyond the mist, and I am fearful that it is something new coming to harm me and then, for just a moment, I see a face that I recognise.

‘Ashley!’ I try to call out, though lips that are immobile.

I can see that she is speaking but I cannot hear her though I think I see her call my name.  ‘Can she see me?  Where am I?’

Suddenly, the mist begins to pour away from me and it then just as suddenly halted as another dark shape races into view in front of me, sending Ashley flying to the side.

I try to move but I cannot and then, as I realise that the other shape is that of a unicorn, I know that it is my mother.

Searing pain shoots through me, I see red and blue streaks of light seeming to erupt from the lower section of my body and then a huge bolts seems to come from my head itself and I feel it pulling me, unresistingly, with it.  I try to stay, but I cannot.  Something is taking me, taking me away from my Ashley, and something deep in my heart tells me that I will never see her again.

‘No,’ I scream in my mind as I feel my body being ripped apart, almost as if every atom and molecule is being distributed throughout the bolt of energy that leapt from my head.

‘Is this more of the work of the alien that attacked me or have I really seen Ashley?’

Then, from nothingness, I feel extreme coldness around me and, as I realise that I am falling, I turn in the darkness, seeing the twinkling of night stars above me.

‘What is happening?’ I ask, as I continue to fall.

I realise that my reactions are slow and then, as I try to understand what is happening, I see something in the air beside me.  ‘It is the sword from olden times,’ I tell myself, just a huge flash of blue light erupts in the air above me and I suddenly see the sight of a huge dragon emerging into the night sky.

Disorientated, I see that dragon look toward me as it plummets downwards, bringing its huge and powerful wings into play, fighting desperately to keep it in the air.

The dragon begins moving upwards as I continue falling and then, twisting my frame, I catch a glimpse of the falling sword beside me just before my eyes catch sight of dark tree tops below me.

Awakening to a new danger, I ignore what is happening to me and try to concentrate on avoiding a sudden collision with the ground.  ‘What can I do?’ I scream at myself, recalling instantly that I have powers that can save me.  I do not know where the dragon has gone but the looming ground is taking up all of my attention and, in desperation, I stretch out my arms, pointing them toward the ground, and command powers within me to stop my fall.

I know confusion is affecting me but still I command powers to help me and then, in an eruption of blue light, I see a pulsating blue light leap forth from my fingertips, powering down through the canopy of trees below, and I know I am trying to make the beam force me into slowing down my plummeting fall but, in horror, I realise that I am too late.

Branches and leaves are ripping against me; I crash into a large branch and then continue my fall.  My flailing arms try to grab a hold of something to arrest my fall but everything is ripped easily from my grasp.  I recall Megan.  ‘She too had been killed by the Strange Invaders.  Is that what is happening to me?  Megan?  Are you here Megan?  Can you hear me Megan?’

Suddenly, the leaves are gone and there is a pin-prick of silence that seems to last an eternity, before I spy a large rock upon the ground below me.

Closing my eyes, I know I am too late to stop my fall and darkness rushes in upon me as my head glances on the rock and my downward plunge comes to an immediate halt.

I am sure I hear the wind knocked from my lungs the instant before I black out.

***

With two hands gripping tightly around the handle of his sword, he forces upwards with the sword, blocking a sweeping blow that sent tremors crashing through his arms.  Roaring loudly and mustering his strength, he lashed out with his foot, causing his assailant to stumble backwards and then, with a deftness more born of animal than man, he leapt to his feet, racing toward the knight ahead of him.

The enemy knight swept his sword up from the ground, carving an arc in the air, readying himself to defend his flesh from the attack of any sword and then, stopping as if ‘frozen still’ for the merest fraction of time, the knight realised that the sword of the one called ‘Arthur’ had finally and totally beaten his defences.

Looking down at the shining sword protruding from his chest, the knight was watching Arthur haul the sword’s tip back into daylight whilst feeling a sharp pain receding to a burning heat as his knees buckled and he fell forward.  Kneeling before the one called Arthur, who was already in the process of turning away and moving off to do battle with another, the knight’s eyes began closing as his body toppled forward into the mud; another victim of battle, another human now deceased.

With the clamouring and shouting continuing to echo across the fields, Arthur could tell that there was still fight left within those who were still able to wrestle with their tiredness and minor wounds though, noting the hint of dusk that had began creeping into the sky, he knew that the battle needed to be ended quickly.

Letting rip with a mighty battle cry, Arthur went charging toward the shape of one of the enemy standing nearby whom, upon hearing the battle cry, began turning around and looking at the fast approaching figure of Arthur.

Turning to their left, the enemy assailant lowered his sword and began to run off across the field, his legs leaping over and around the bodies of the fallen, even allowing his sword to fall into the mud and flesh that he raced through in order to increase the speed by which he departed.

Trying to come to a halt, Arthur dug his feet into the ground but the wetness of the soil caused him to slide and, with one leg twisting awkwardly, Arthur fell to the floor; a meal of mud and grass entering his mouth as his face hit the slushy earth.

“My liege,” a familiar voice came from behind him and then, quickly rolling over onto his back, Arthur began to spit the mud and grass from his mouth whilst stretching out one arm to engage the grip of the hand that was being offered to him.

“Ah ha,” declared Arthur, using the outstretched arm to pull himself to his feet, “I think that the enemy has had enough this day.”  And then, standing, he shouted out to all that could hear him.  “Do not let them flee like women!  Instead, take them down like the dog’s they are!”

His words had an immediate affect and those of the enemy who were within earshot began to panic, believing that their fight was lost.  Stooping low and racing across the body filled field, a number of the enemy ran, some dropping their swords in order to better manoeuvre their shields for protection.

An eerie clanking sound came upon the field, and Arthur commented, “There, they run with their tails between their legs.”  Then, shouting, “Go on, run you cowardly scum.  Run to your homes and tell your clans that Arthur defeated you this day!  And Arthur will defeat you every day!”

“Should we give chase,” asked the knight standing before Arthur.

“No, there is no need,” replied Arthur, surveying the field and noting that there were fewer men standing still than there were those that were running.  “We have indeed taken a beating this day,” said Arthur, regretfully, and then adding, “It is good that they turned to run.  We must find those that may live and take them home.  Maybe the witch can save some of them.”

“They run because of your words, Arthur,” said the knight, lifting a blood covered visor and allowing Arthur to see the deep, dark eyes looking back at him.

“Yes, my words helped speed them on their way but if only one had the sense to reorganise and come back then they would find only a few battle weary men able to take them on.  We would be lost.”

“Yes, they run and though we have lost many this day we have come out as the victors,” replied the knight, plunging his bloodied sword into his sheath.

Wearily, Arthur said, “Round up the men that can walk and get the injured onto the carts and prepare to take them back to camp.”

“Sire,” acknowledged the knight, turning slowly and beginning to call to those around him that were still standing.

Slumping to the bloodied and wet earth, Arthur sat with his sword stabbing the ground between his knees, his hands wresting on the handle of his weapon.

‘The enemy numbers are great and it is only a matter of time before they unite and organise themselves properly,’ thought Arthur, forcing his sword deeper into the ground.  ‘And when they do…’

With darkness descending, he knew that the enemy would not return this day and so allowed his battle weary body to lie back, ignoring the leg that he wrested upon, not caring if it was one of his own men’s legs or one of the enemies.

‘It may not even be attached to the body,’ thought Arthur, not even bothering to turn his head and see.

Staring into the sky overhead, he listened to the sounds of his men gathering the wounded and taking them to the carts, readying for the journey back to their camp.

Darkness fell quickly as did the temperature and, concentrating on stopping his body from feeling the cold, Arthur’s plans for the next time they fought were only interrupted by a deep growing voice overhead.

“We are ready to leave, Sire,” said the voice.

“Aye, well, get the men back to camp and get them rested and tended,” he told the knight.

“Are you coming with us,” the knight asked.

“Soon, soon,” replied Arthur.  “I wish to think a while.”

“Do you want men to stay with you?”

“No, take them all back to camp.   I will lay here a while.  If any enemy does return they will only think that I am one of the dead.  I will be easily able to outrun them if I have reason to.”

“Sire,” said the knight, turning away and shouting out orders to those who were to drive the carts.

Watching the bobbing torches that hung on the wagons, Arthur watched his men move slowly out of sight, taking their noise of clanking metal with them.

‘Peace at last,’ thought Arthur, as the sounds of his men vanished completely and he could only hear the blowing of the wind that ran around the fallen on the field.  “Rest in peace and in heaven, lads,” said Arthur quietly.  “You have earned your rest this day.”

The light from the wagons was soon lost amidst the trees that bordered the field that Arthur was facing and, sitting up, he looked around the field, making sure that none of the injured enemy had any intentions that involved them sneaking up on him from behind.

Something caught his eye and then, looking up above the forested area, he saw a swirling mist of light seeming to push out from a singular point.  Mesmerised, Arthur stared, thinking, ‘What manner of wizardry is this?’

Standing quickly, he kept his sword unsheathed, thinking, ‘Your work for the day does not appear to be done.’

Realising that he had cowered back a little at the sight of this strange vision, Arthur shrugged his shoulders, forcing himself to stand straight and then began walking towards the edge of the forest.  ‘The trees will afford me more cover than this open field,’ and then, as he began to run across the field, ignoring whatever it was that squelched beneath his feet, he thought, ‘Is it something come to take away the souls of the dead?’

With his fear unsettling him, he increased his speed, reaching the edge of the forest at a fast pace.  So much so that his face was whipped by branches hidden in the dark as he came to a halt, cursing the darkness.

Estimating that the strange light and mist were not too far ahead of him, he began to creep through the forest, cringing every time a foot fell and broke a hidden twig.  With two hands clasping his sword that was raised high in front of him, helping to push back the branches that he must pass through, Arthur believed he was as prepared as he could be for whatever was happening in the night sky above him.

A strange glow now began to filter down through the high branches and he knew that he was approaching close to the area where the light and mist played in the sky overhead.

Slowly advancing, he saw an area ahead of him that glowed brightly, immediately realising that he was approaching a clearing.  He continued advancing until he got to the edge of the clearing, his eyes staring in disbelief at the strange light that made the grass, and the large boulder in the clearing, seem to turn blue.

Seeing that his hands were shaking holding his sword, Arthur lowered his sword so that the tip rested upon the ground but he kept both hands tightly upon it, ready to raise it in defence if the need should arise.  ‘If there are witches here I swear I will gut them before they can cast one line of a spell upon me!’

Leaning forward and turning his face upward, he saw that the strange mist was disappearing in large snake-like wisps and, thinking that whatever it was had now departed, he jumped when there came a flash of light that sent forks of lightning streaking silently through the sky.  But, unlike lightning the light did not suddenly cease, instead there came a large glowing ball in the sky and, as Arthur stared open-mouthed, he was shocked when he suddenly saw the body of a naked man appear in the sky, seeming to float there.

“This is indeed strange and powerful magic,” he whispered low.

The floating body was high, almost overhead, and there was something else off to the right of it that seemed to shine and reflect light, though Arthur could not determine what it was.

Wanting to retreat, but fearing that he needed to be a witness to whatever this strange phenomenon was, Arthur held his ground.

The body started to descend, slowly at first and then, as if released by some giant invisible hand, the body began to plummet downwards.  Another flash occurred in the sky and there now appeared a huge and terrifying sight.

“A dragon!” Arthur gasped, leaning backwards into the tree line lest he be seen.

Watching, Arthur saw the human body continue to fall, the dragon fighting to fly and then chase the falling body.

Instinctively, Arthur rose and ran forward with his sword wielded high, screaming a battle cry he was determined to confront the dragon.  He had heard tales of such creatures and now, here, was his chase to destroy one.  His mind said to him, ‘If I can slay such a beast then many more clans will join with me.  I will have an invincible army!’

“Yahhhhh,” he screamed, racing into the clearing, his sword held up towards the dragon as he began racing towards a large boulder to his right, with the intention of using it as protection when the dragon attacked.  However, upon reaching the boulder, Arthur was disappointed when the dragon gave out a large cry and then began to bank away to left, seeming to be fleeing the area.

Almost above him, there came the sight of two blue beams to light extending from the falling figure towards the ground and then, suddenly, there was a crashing through the branches at the edge of the clearing and the body that he had seen falling, came crashing to the ground, landing with a solid thump and remaining completely still.

A whistling sound caught his attention and then, looking upward, he involuntarily leapt backward as something fell from the sky and crashed into the boulder that he stood beside.

In a sudden silence, Arthur saw the huge handle of a sword protruding from the rock before him.  Looking upward again, he saw that there was no sign of the dragon in the sky, nor any sound of the beast’s strange wing beats.

“It is gone,” he said aloud, noting the disappointment delivered with his own voice.  ‘Methinks I wanted that battle more than I realised!’

A groan, ahead of him and to his right a little, remained him of the one who had fallen from the sky.  Walking cautiously towards the naked body that lay sprawled upon the ground, Arthur held his sword ready to attack or defend, whichever he had need to have to do.

“It is just a man,” whispered Arthur to himself, “And, judging by the blood on his head, he has caught a blow upon that rock lying there as he landed.”

The sound of Arthur’s voice caused the naked figure to stir a little and, after weighing up his options, Arthur decided, ‘If he has strange powers at his command then I want him to be my ally.’

A sound came from the figure lying prone upon his back in front of him.

Cautiously moving forward, Arthur tried to listen to the mumblings from the man upon the ground.

“Megan,” mumbled the figure.

“What you say?” whispered Arthur, not familiar with the strange dialect.

“Megan,” whispered the man.

“Myrddin?” Arthur asked.

“Megan,” repeated the figure.

“Myrddin,” repeated Arthur, finding a word that he knew that was close to the sound that the figure made.

“Myrddin,” the figure repeated and then said it again, as if hearing it for the first time, “Myrddin.”

Slowly, the eyes of the man on the ground opened, making Arthur flinch, moving backwards warily.

Watching the figure roll over onto his stomach and beginning to rub the wound on his head, Arthur said, “Will you live?”

As if aware of Arthur for the first time, the man looked up at Arthur standing above him, holding his sword in the air.

“I am… not… here to fight you,” said the figure.

“By what are you called?” Questioned Arthur.

Staring blankly at the figure ahead of him, the man on the ground pulled his hand away from his head and looked at the dark, wet mass of blood that stained his hand.

Sounding lost, the man upon the ground said, “I do not know!  I… cannot remember.”

“You used the name Myrddin when first you spoke,” said Arthur, slowly lowering his sword as he felt no real threat from the figure lying in the clearing.

“Myrddin?” repeated the man, using his hands to push his weight up from the ground as he brought up his legs and moved into a kneeling position.

Watching the figure rubbing at his head wound, Arthur said, “You can move and talk all right, so the wound cannot be serious.”

Looking up at Arthur the figure nodded and began to climb to his feet.

Seeing his unsteady movements, Arthur dropped his sword and offered the one that he called Myrddin his hand.

Myrddin clasped the hand and pulled himself upright and then, standing there, he rubbed his arms, acknowledging the cold in the air.

“Come, this way,” beckoned Arthur, “I can find you some clothes back on the field.  There are none there who will need them this night.”

Looking dazed, Myrddin looked at Arthur and then nodded slowly.

Taking Myrddin by the upper arm, Arthur began gently but firmly pulling the man back into the forest, heading back towards the battlefield where he would be able to secure some cloth from one of the dead.

Myrddin stumbled on a few occasions as they moved through the trees and Arthur had to use all of his strength to keep the man upright.  He only had one arm to support the injured man.  ‘My other arm holds my sword,’ he thought, ‘And I am ready should that dragon try to return.’

Knowing that Myrddin must possess great powers, Arthur was going to ensure that he befriended the man.  ‘I do not know what magic or wizardry he possesses but, if I can command him, then I will have a weapon that will strike fear into all of my enemies.’

The light in the sky had all but vanished now and the woods were dark and silent, except for the occasional hoot of an owl as it went about its business of hunting and feeding.

Reaching the battlefield, Arthur commanded Myrddin to remain standing while he went in search of clothing to warm him.  The first bodies that Arthur came across were so bloody and wet that their clothes were of no use to him.  Moving to the left to continue to search, and making sure that he did not move too far away from the stranger, Arthur eventually found a large wrap that was fluttering upon the ground, too heavy for the wind to carry it away.

Picking up the cloth, Arthur could only see that it was dark in colour and that it had the crescent shape of the moon upon it.

‘Well, the enemy’s witchcraft and wizard failed them this day,’ he thought wryly, as he turned and began walking back towards Myrddin.

“Here, Myrddin,” he said, throwing the wrap upon the shoulders of Myrddin, “This will keep you warm until we can return to my camp.”

Nodding, Myrddin began walking forward and, once again, Arthur grabbed his upper arm and began to lead him down the side of the tree line, heading for the dirt track that his carts and men had taken earlier.

Moving onto the track, Arthur had only wound along its distance for a small while when he glimpsed a light ahead, partially hidden by trees that were on a bend in the track.  Glancing upward, Arthur was relived to see no further strange activity in the sky though he allowed his eyes to stir long and hard into the darkness, looking for a dark shape that may obscure the sight of a number of stars.

Satisfied, he said, “At least the dragon seems to have fled for the night.”

“Dragon?” repeated Myrddin.

“Do not worry.  The beast is long gone and I doubt that we will see sight of it again this night.”  Concentrating on the light ahead of him, Arthur heard the faint talking of voices that he felt he recognised.

“Thomas?” he shouted, “Is that you?”

The voices became silent and then, moving from the light behind the trees and out onto the dirt track, Arthur saw the familiar outline of the voice that he recognised.

“Is that you, Sire?” shouted Thomas, waving a torch in the air.

“I thought you would be back at camp by now,” Arthur shouted, increasing his pace and half pulling Myrddin along behind him.

“A wheel split, Sire.  We have only just finished mending it.”

“Then it is good that I caught you before you set off,” shouted Arthur.  “I have another body for your cart.  Make some room for me.”

“Aye, Sire,” shouted Thomas, immediately running back to the other torches and beginning to do as Arthur had instructed.

Maintaining his pace, Arthur pulled Myrddin along the track and then around a bend, whereupon they could see the cart ahead of them.  There were moans and groans coming from the back of the cart as Thomas and his companion moved those already there to make room for another.

“Help him up,” said Arthur, pushing Myrddin forward, adding, “And look after him.  I think he will be very important to us soon.”

Thomas stood looking at Myrddin for a moment and then crouched down, offering a hand that Myrddin grabbed and then pulled him up onto the back of the cart.  Pointing, Thomas then told Myrddin where he could lie down.

Arthur watched Myrddin slump to the floor, lying on his back and called to Thomas, “If there is any straw there then place it beneath his head.  He has taken a blow and it still bleeds.”

“Aye, Sire,” replied Thomas, as Arthur walked along the side of the cart, moving up to the one horse that pulled the cart.

‘I wonder what my new friend will be able to do for me.  I know that he has powers and I have to assume that he was fighting the dragon in the sky when I first saw him.  I chased the dragon away and so my new friend should be somewhat in my debt.  I have no doubt that the dragon would have come for him if it had not seen me waving my sword.’   Slapping a hand upon the handle of his sheathed sword, Arthur recalled the large sword that he had seen falling from the sky before it had embedded itself in the boulder in the clearing.

‘I should have taken it with me,’ he thought, kicking at the dirt ground before him.  ‘I will go back early in the morrow.  No one will be wandering the forests this night as all the wounded will be getting tended to and preparations will be being made for the burials that will take place at dusk.’

Slapping the neck of the horse beside him, Arthur said, “I bet you would like some straw this night too, my beauty, eh?”

“Are you climbing up, Sire,” Thomas asked.

Turning, Arthur saw Thomas settling himself, preparing to drive the cart forward.

“No, Thomas,” he replied, “I will walk along beside you.  I have much to think about and, besides, that is a smelly crowd you are carrying.”

Laughing, Thomas said, “Yes, Sire, that they are.”

***

My head hurts and I feel a darkness within me.  I struggle to recall where I am and how I got here, but I cannot.  A name comes into my mind, ‘Megan.’  I repeat it over and over in my head, wondering who or what it is.  I hear a groan coming from my lips, and know that it is because of a searing pain in my head.

I can think of nothing except the word Megan.  It seems important to me and something tells me that Megan is somehow linked to me now; there is something in common that we share.  ‘But what?  Is it a place, a person…’

I hear a voice, but the dialect is strange to me and I feel the pain my head once again.  I cannot suppress another groan of agony.  I wonder if the voice is Megan.

“Megan,” I try to say, though my voice sounds weak in my ears.

“What you say?” whispers a harsh voice near me.

“Megan,” I repeat.

“Myrddin?” the voice says and, though it sounds similar, I feel it is not right.

“Megan,” I repeat.

“Myrddin,” repeats the voice.

“Myrddin,” I say back, thinking that perhaps I am saying it wrong and the other knows the true sound of the word.  I repeat the word, “Myrddin.”

Slowly, opening my eyes, my vision tries to focus on the grass in front of me and I catch sight of a figure moving a little away from me.

Rolling onto my back, I feel the cold air around me and then, raising my hand, I touch my hand upon the painful place on my head.

“Will you live?” asks the voice.

Raising my eyes, I see a figure of a man, his posture is of someone who is wary and he looks as though he knows how to wield the sword that he clutches.

“I am… not… here to fight you,” I say as loudly and honestly as I can.

“By what are you called?” questions the figure.

I am about to answer, but halt when I find that no name comes forth into my mind.  I concentrate hard but the knowledge eludes me.  I feel it is something I should know but I do not.  Pulling my hand away from my head I find that it is covered in blood and I know that it is my own blood.

“I do not know!  I… cannot remember,” I reply to the figure.

“You used the name Myrddin when first you spoke,” said the voice and I was grateful to note that he began slowly lowering his sword and I could see that he was relaxing a little because he could perceive no immediate threat from me.

“Myrddin?” I repeated, using my hands to push my weight up from the ground as I brought up my legs so that I could get into a kneeling position.  I am conscious that I am naked, that I am cold, and I feel weak.

As I begin rubbing my head wound carefully, the figure says to me, “You can move and talk all right, so the wound cannot be serious.”

I nodded towards the figure, beginning to climb to my feet.  My attempt was clumsy to say the least and I was only saved from falling over by the offered outstretched hand from the stranger.

Clasping the hand gratefully, I pulled myself upright and then, standing there, I rubbed my arms as the cold began to eat into me.

“Come, this way,” said the voice, “I can find you some clothes back on the field.  There are none there who will need them this night.”

I did not know what he meant and, I realised, I did not know who he was.  ‘Should I ask him?  Or might that offend him if it is a friend of mine,’ I ask myself.  Looking back at him, I nodded my acceptance of his offer.

Taking me by the upper arm, he began gently but firmly pulling me deeper into the forest.  I did not know where we were going and had no choice but to accept the assistance that I was offered.

I almost stumbled and fell on a number of occasions as we moved through the dark trees and I knew that the one who guided me had to struggle a few times to keep me upright.  I could see him searching the woods with his eyes and I wondered what he was wary of.

Eventually, we left the forest and stood in an open area.  My ‘friend’ commanded that I should wait where we stood as he went off into the dark night, moving through the dark silhouettes of bodies that lay upon the ground before me.  I shivered with cold and tried to recall who I was and what this place was.  From the dark field I could only smell death and I wondered if perhaps I was a soldier in an army and had been injured; it seemed a logical conclusion.  ‘Perhaps I have suffered a blow to the head and am in need of more urgent attention.’  I felt as though I should be able to help myself more but nothing came into my mind to tell me how to do this.

With a bitter wind blowing across me, distracting my thoughts, I continued to rub my arms, trying to generate heat with friction.  It seemed to be a long, long time before my friend returned and placed a slightly damp garment around my shoulders.  The fact that it stopped the breeze from hitting me directly brought me much comfort and I quickly gathered it tightly around my neck, feeling my shivering beginning to subside a little.

As my companion pulled me along by the side of the trees, I tried to understand my predicament but found that no matter what I thought about, because I had so much missing from my memory, I was not able to make any decisions about what I should try to do.  My mind was cloudy and slow, seeming to be working against me, for every time I tried to dig into my past, seeking any scrap of knowledge that could help me, I only saw a swirling fog that held mysterious shapes that would never fully be revealed to me.  I asked myself over and over, ‘What is my name?  What is my name?’ but received nothing in reply, only a silence and a woolly grey blanket that seemed to be spread across a jumble of thoughts, hiding their shapes, their substance, their meaning.

The long grass that I walked through was wet and I began to consider that it may also be blood because it seems that I have I have been in some sort of a battle.  My companion was obviously from the same side of me because he is trying to help me.  ‘If it were an enemy soldier then would they either not tie me up and capture me or even kill me?’ I reasoned to myself.

Soon, the ground changed and the wet grass was gone.  The ground was more solid underfoot and I could see by the moonlight that we were walking along a dirt track that wound itself between high trees that flanked our path.

After a short time, the one who guided me seemed to be distracted by something ahead and so, following were he looked, I could see a flickering light amongst the trees.  For a moment I was nervous.  ‘Could this be our enemy?  If they should descend upon us then how am I to fight?’  I tried to recall what weapon I would use, had used in the past, but nothing came to me.  ‘I would be a lamb to the slaughter,’ I thought, as I realised that I would barely be able to walk away from them never mind run and hide.

My friend began to look into the sky and, as I looked up also, I felt as though he was looking for something that would be in the air above him.  ‘What is he searching for?’ I asked myself.

After a few moments, my friend said, “At least the dragon seems to have fled for the night.”

“Dragon?” I repeated.

“Do not worry.  The beast is long gone and I doubt that we will see sight of it again this night,” replied the one who stood beside me, gripping my arm to steady me.  Slowly, through the darkness and trees, I became aware of the sound of voices and was startled when my companion suddenly called out loud into the night.

“Thomas?” he shouted, “Is that you?”

The voices became silent and then, moving from the light behind the trees and out onto the dirt track, I saw the figure of a large man.

“Is that you, Sire?” shouted the figure, waving a torch in the air.

“I thought you would be back at camp by now,” my friend shouted in reply, moving forward once again, increasing his pace and half pulling me along behind him.

“A wheel split, Sire.  We have only just finished mending it,” shouted the voice of the one called Thomas.

“Then it is good that I caught you before you set off,” shouted my friend.  “I have another body for your cart.  Make some room for me.”

“Aye, Sire,” shouted Thomas, immediately running back to the other torches and beginning to do as my friend had instructed.

Maintaining our quick pace, I was pulled along the track and then around a bend, where I could see the cart ahead of us.  There were moans and groans coming from the back of the cart as the one called Thomas and his companion moved those already there to make room for another.

“Help him up,” said my friend, pushing me forward a little roughly, adding, “And look after him.  I think he will be very important to us soon.”

Thomas stood looking at me for a moment and then crouched down, offering a hand that I immediately grabbed, allowing him to haul me up onto the back of the cart.  Pointing, Thomas then showed me where I could lie down.

As I slumped to the hard floor, turning onto my back, I saw the one that Thomas called Sire watching me for a moment before calling out to Thomas.

“If there is any straw there then place it beneath his head.  He has taken a blow and it still bleeds,” my friend commanded of Thomas.

“Aye, Sire,” replied Thomas, as I watched my friend walk away, moving up the side of the cart towards the front.

For a moment, I pictured the cart that I was in and knew that it was pulled along by a beast of some type and my mind tried to show me such a creature.

“A unicorn,” I mumbled, feeling that I knew of such a beast but knowing that, somehow, it was not right that it should be one of these creatures that would pull the cart.  My mind showed me pictures of large, stocky animals that were similar to unicorns and of other animals whose name I could not recall.

I discarded those thoughts and tried, once again, to recall my name.  If I could recall that then I believed that I would recall other important things.

A sweat and stench came from me and, for the first time, I began aware of the groans and breathing around me.  ‘I am wounded in some fashion,’ I thought, ‘and so I have been placed with more of the wounded from the battle of this day.’

My mind raced with pictures that I tried to create, trying to imagine me fighting this day.  I tried to see a sword in my hands but I could not.  I tried to recall a figure striking my head, knocking me down, but I could not.  I tried to reason how I could be naked in such a cold place but, again, I could not.

Pulling my garment around me, freeing it from being trapped behind my back, I pulled it up over my head, ignoring the cold on my legs and feet, and I stared into the blackness that garment provided for me.  ‘It is no different than looking into my mind,’ I thought.

The cart suddenly lurched forward and there, within my darkened cocoon, I felt the bumpy ride begin and, as I wondered where I was going, I felt myself slip into a sleep.  I could not stop myself and I did not try to resist, I simply allowed my thoughts to cease and for gentle sleep to take me in its arms.  ‘I felt I would be comfortable there as I invited it into my mind.’

I floated somewhere for a time that I could not measure, though I felt as though I were awake and watching myself sleep for the duration of my slumber.  In the end, my time of rest had to be aborted because of an insistent and loud voice that seemed to be calling too loudly, disturbing me.  As my sleep drifted from me, I lay with my eyes closed and listened to the sounds around me.  A flickering behind my eyelids told me that there was a fire burning nearby before I smelt the smoke itself.

“…and you say word has come back that the Anglo-Saxon dogs have continued retreating,” roared a voice.

“Yes, Arthur, we sent men out searching for them to ascertain if they were preparing for another attack, as you commanded, but all that was found was empty camps and smouldering fires.  The Anglo-Saxon’s have completely left the area.  It is our belief that they are marching for the coast and will be boarding their ships in the days to come,” replied a voice.

Recognising the first voice that I head as that of the one who had assisted me the previous night, I felt relieved to know that his name was Arthur.  I had hopes that I as received more information then I would be able to reclaim the missing fragments from my memories.  The name Arthur was not familiar to me, though I felt it to be a name that I had heard before.  I do not know where I know the name from but, I realised, ‘I not only recognise the name Arthur, but I also recognise the terms Anglo-Saxon.’

I lay there, unmoving, not wishing to be drawn into a conversation that I was ill-prepared for.  I pretended to continue to sleep, though my head still hurt and I wanted to rub it, feel the damage, and know that the bleeding had stopped.

‘Anglo-Saxons,’ I said to myself, saying the word loudly in my mind and having my mind instantly filled with pictures of an invading people.  ‘They travel from Germany and plunder the English,’ I thought, adding, ‘As did the Danes.’

“Hah, those illiterate pagans will no doubt not be heading for their ships, my friend.  They will be returning to captured villages and continuing to try to live off of our land.  Those dogs should be burnt from our island and then every one of them be fed to the fishes in local duck ponds!” roared Arthur, beginning to laugh out loud.

“Yes, Sire,” agreed the other who was in the room.

‘Room?’ I questioned myself, beginning to wonder where it was exactly that I lay.  Knowing that I would need to find out more, I had no choice but to let those nearby that I was awakening.  Forcing myself to cough, I raised an arm towards my face and then towards the pain in my head.

“My friend awakens,” I hear Arthur say, quickly followed with, ‘Leave us alone now, I have much to discuss with my friend.”

“Yes, Sire,” replied a voice and, as I opened my eyes, a flash of daylight lit up the dim interior around me as a flap was pulled back, allowing the other male figure to leave.

I knew that I was in a tent of some design; the ground was rough upon my back, though I could feel a layer of something - possibly straw or straw and a garment - which I lay upon.

“How is your head, my friend,” asked Arthur.

Turning my gaze from the small fire that smouldered, I could feel the smoke beginning to irritate my lungs and began to cough.

“Aye, the air is not so good in here but it was a viciously cold night last night and I had to have it burn so that I could keep you warm,” said Arthur.  “I have had a wench wafting the smoke out of the flap for most of the night to better allow you to rest.”

“Thank you,” I said, sitting up slowly, rubbing my head and, panicking when I felt the wetness, I was instantly relieved when I looked at my hand and saw no blood.

“I had a witch make a poultice to apply to your wound.  The bleeding stopped in the night and the wench who tended the fire bathed your wound throughout the night.

“Again, I must thank you,” I responded.

“No need, no need, Myrddin, after all we are friends are we not?” said Arthur.

Sensing that there was more emphasis on the ‘not,’ at the end of the sentence, I felt I would have to be careful with my reply.  ‘Could I be a soldier from the Anglo-Saxon army that Arthur captured and is offering me the chance to join with his people or is he simply unsure of my standing with him?  I now realised that the other who had been in the tent when I first awakened had spoken with respect, addressing Arthur as Sire.  Obviously, Arthur was someone of great importance amongst the people I was with.  I had no other friends that I knew of, for my memory had been robbed, and so I knew that I would need to have someone as a good friend until I could find out more about myself and my past.’   Suddenly, Arthur spoke again, sounding impatient.

“We are friends, are we not?” he asked again.

Reacting quickly, I rubbed my head, saying, “Yes, I am your friend, Arthur.  I am sorry that I seemed to take a moment to respond but my head still pains me.”

Smiling at me, Arthur replied, “Good, good.  You did receive quite a knock to your head and it was quite a distance you fell…”  Arthur stopped, almost as if he realised that he was telling me too much.

‘What would he be hiding from me?  What is the truth about my arrival in this place without my memory?’

There was a painful silence for a moment and then, before I could ask how I had fallen and from what height, the tent flap was pulled open and a man, wearing medieval body armour, bent awkwardly into the tent, saying, “Sire, the group has been assembled as you commanded.”

Nodding to the figure, Arthur looked at me and said, “There is something that I must tend to,” and then, as he stood, he shouted, “Wench!  Where are you wench?”

Suddenly, the tent flap was pulled open and a slim female form came rushing into the tent, quickly standing tall and straight once beyond the flap.

Wearing a loose grey-blue tunic that had two purple leather bands wrapped around the copious sleeves and a long deep red skirt that brushed the ground, she curtsied before Arthur, before saying, “Yes, Sire.”

“Tend to my friend while I am gone and see that he comes to no harm,” Arthur said, nodding toward me as he swept past the female and left the tent.

The girl turned to look at me, immediately dropping onto her knees while her hand went into a wooden bucket, from where she extracted a wet, ragged piece of dull grey material and then began to wring it out.  Leaning toward me, she placed the cooling and smelly cloth upon my wound, without uttering a word.

I remained still, allowing her to ease the pains in my head and I began to think more about my predicament.  It was obvious that I would need to gather more information so that I better understood where I was and who I was.

Long blonde hair fell over the face of the girl though, for a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of blue eyes staring into mine.  Quickly her eyes lowered and she turned her head, her hair blocking any further view of her face.

“Tell me of Arthur,” I said.

Stopping her gentle massage on my skull, she seemed shocked that I should ask such a question.

Beginning to gently caress my head once again, she began to speak, though her voice was low, almost whispering.

“Arthur is the new King of the Britons,” she began, “And he is tasked to defend this islands shores from all the invaders that comes across the seas to try and plunder wealth.”

She paused, removed the cloth, wet it in the bucket, wrung it out, and then placed it back upon my head.

“And?” I said, telling her that I wanted more information.

“Are you a captured one like me,” she whispered.

“Captured one?” I asked.

“Are you from beyond the Isle of Briton?”

I could not answer her because I knew nothing of my past.  I could be a captured enemy of Arthur’s or I could simply be one of his soldiers or, again, I may have simply been a friend to Arthur before I had my accident.

“You are a captured one?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice low and sad.

“When were you captured?” I asked.

“Two or more seasons ago,” she said, adding, “Though it is hard to be sure, for there seems to have been strange weather in recent times.”

I was going to ask her what she meant be the weather but, instead, I said, “Where are you from?”

“I am a Dane,” she replied.  “I was captured when Arthur and his men raided a fishing village that we lived in on the east coast.”

She sounded angry that she had been attacked and captured.

“But if you are Dane, did not your people take the fishing village from those that were already there?” I asked, and then said, Ow!” as her rubbing upon my head became harsher, causing me pain.

“I am sorry,” she said, pulling her hand away, her head held bowed as she stared toward her knees.

Slowly, she moved her hands together, placing them and the wet cloth tightly against her thighs as she knelt there.  I saw the cloth creating a damp patch on the bottom of her tunic and could see that her hands were shaking slightly.

Suddenly, the tent flap was pulled apart and Arthur barged into the tent.  Seeing the still figure of the girl, he said, “Come on wench, look after my friend.”

Immediately, her hand with the cloth returned to my head and began to bathe my scalp once again.

Coughing, Arthur said, “The smoke is growing thick in here.”

Dropping the cloth, the girl stood, moved towards the tent flap and pulled it back, tying it to a rope, and then took a large piece of dirty cloth and began to shake it near the tent flap, causing the smoke to begin to push out into the open air more quickly than it would have done naturally.

I felt sorry for her, realising that she must have been doing this all through the night and bathing my wounds.  I knew that she must be exhausted.

Suddenly, Arthur’s voice intruded upon my thoughts.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked.

Although I felt better than the previous night, I did not want to rush into anything I was ill-prepared for.  I knew I wanted more information on my standing in this community.  ‘Am I truly a friend to Arthur or am I a prisoner?’

“I feel a little better, Arthur,” I said, “Though my head hurts a great deal when I move too much.”

“You just rest a while longer,” said Arthur, adding, “Bring my guest food when he is desiring of it.”

“Yes, Sire,” replied the girl, continuing to waft the smoke from the tent and then, as most of the smoke had cleared, she dropped the cloth and came back toward me, kneeling in front of me, where she picked up the wet cloth that she had dropped earlier and plunged it back into the bucket.

“I have to go away for a little while,” said Arthur.  “There is something that I have to collect and will be taking some of my men with me.  There are many men here and the camp is well guarded, so you will be safe.  I expect I will return before nightfall.”

I nodded, and then, with a slight nod of his head, Arthur left the tent, untying the flap as he did so that the light dimmed around me once again.

Outside, I could hear Arthur shouting orders as he moved away and then, for the first time, I became aware of the mumble of many voices in the background.

“Where does he go?” I asked the female.

“I do not know, my lord,” she replied, placing the cloth against my head once again.

“What is you name?” I asked her.

She remained quiet though her caresses to my wound continued.

“Must I call you wench also?” I asked.

“Sexburg,” she said quietly, “Though I am not allowed to use my name in the camp because I am a Dane, a captured Dane.”

For some reason, the name sounded amusing and it almost brought a picture to my mind, but the picture would not make itself known.  I was sure I had almost seen myself making love to someone but their face, and their figure, remained elusive as if they perhaps only an imagining and never a reality.  I cursed my memory.

Lifting my hand, I placed a finger under her chin, pushing upwards to indicate that I wished to see her face.  Her face rose slowly, but still her long blonde hair hid her from me.  I caught a glimpse of her eyes as they looked away from me and so, raising my arm, I pushed my fingers into the hair above her forehead and began to run my hand to the right, exposing a part of her face.

It was obvious that she was extremely pretty and I saw her eyes return to gaze back into mine.  For a moment, I forget my head pain and wrestled with a longing.  Shaking my head, I tried to clear my thoughts.  ‘What am I thinking?  Being alone because my memory has deserted me, taking all my loved ones with it – if I had any – has left me desiring a close companionship and intimacy that would only serve to cause me more problems at this time. ’

But my resolve was stolen from me in a most dramatic fashion as Sexburg raised her hand and pulled her hair from the other side of her face.  I felt my heart leap a bound and, I had to admit, it scared me.  Though my memory was gone from me, my heart seemed to be working fully, almost as if it had a mind of its own.

Her lips stormed into my mind and a yearning gripped me intensely.  I saw her eyes look into mine, look away and then return her gaze.  I felt as though I was being put under a spell.  ‘Is this the witch that Arthur had spoken about?’ I asked myself, as my hands gently went to her face, lying along her neck and jaw line.  I held her there for a moment, my heart falling into the deep blue of her eyes, and then I pushed my face toward her, gently kissing her on the right cheek and then the left and then, as I pulled my face away from her, I suddenly pulled her, unresistingly, toward me, my lips forcefully landing upon hers as hers did on mine.  As our heads moved from side to side and our lips continued to press a passion upon the other, I felt a feeling light up my inside, illuminating something that was large and powerful.

My breathing had all but stopped, as I felt as though I no longer had need for air because the beautiful flesh before me was all that I needed to survive.

Suddenly, I was pushed away, not harshly, but enough to break our lips apart and then, in a flurry of grey-blue tunic and deep-red skirt, Sexburg stood and raced from the tent.  I was left reeling.  ‘What had I done?  Have I broken some unknown law?  Have I placed Sexburg in danger, or myself?’

I tried to think, I tried to work out where I was but still nothing came to me.  In anger, I leant to the side and punched the soft earth next to my bedding.  Then, I was shocked!  My fist had burrowed deeper into the ground that I though it would, so much so that I fell forward and when I sat upright and withdrew my hand, I had the dirt of soil all the way up to my elbow.

Something told me that what I had done was not normal; it was not what could normally be achieved.  ‘Why am I thinking that?’ I asked myself.  ‘What piece of hidden memory is trying to tell me something?’

Reaching back towards the hole, I used the palm of my hand to push in at the sides and collapse the hole inward, hiding what I had done.

Finished, I sat there searching for anything in my memory that would come and help me, but nothing came.  Frustration was building within me but I knew that it would serve me better to just play upon the bump on my head and use that excuse for not remembering details of my life here and what it is that I did here.  ‘That should not be difficult,’ I told myself, ‘Because it is nothing short of the truth!’  For the first time since my remembered awakening, I laughed.

A disturbance in the light made me turn and I saw Sexburg entering the tent.  She kept her gaze down as she knelt on the ground just before me, deposited a dish of food and then made to stand and turn, preparing herself to hastily leave the tent.

I grabbed her wrist, causing her to fall back toward the floor and, as she landed, giving me a most disdainful look, I pulled her slowly toward me.  She did not fight and seemed more scared than angry.

I did not want to scare her.  Releasing her wrist, I found that she did not quickly stand and depart.  Instead, she sat there, breathing heavy, staring at me, with her eyes looking wild.  Slowly, I reached out and took hold of her hand and then reached out with my left arm and took her other hand in mine.  She neither flinched nor pulled away.  Her eyes remained fixed on mine and I could easily see the fullness of her breasts rising and falling to her heavy breathing.

I was trying to think of the right thing to say when, by surprise, I found that it was Sexburg who pulled me towards her, her hands breaking free and wrapping themselves around my neck.  My arms were around her waist even before our lips met once again and, this time, I felt that she was not going to run away.  ‘Please don’t run away,’ went through my mind and was then quickly forgotten as the smoothness of her lips on mine began pressing firmly into mine, taking me away to a someplace I did not know where.

Leaning to the side, the tow of us allowed our bodies to fall slowly to the ground, whereupon I lay on top of her, feeling her body and femininity pressing back against me.  I was overcome with a torrent of emotions that I felt would be lost to me forever if I dared remove my lips from hers.  Rolling to the side, I kept our kiss intact and allowed her to roll over, almost on top of me.  We continued to entwine, our hands caressing the other and then, in an overwhelming desire to make love, I wished her tunic was not upon her.

Suddenly, pulling away from me, Sexburg let out a scream, sitting up, she held her folded arms across her breasts.  Moving backwards, she reached out and grabbed her tunic from the floor and pulled it across her chest.

“I am sorry,” I said, turning my head away from her, allowing her to put her garment back upon her.

Feeling that she had done that, I looked back to see her sitting with her arms hugging her knees against her chest.

“What manner of wizard are you?” she asked me.

I did not know what to say and so I said nothing.  I rubbed my brow, trying to understand what had happened but I could find no obvious explanation.  ‘Am I a wizard?  Do I have the power to cast spells?’  I was confused and then, realising that I had also punched deep into the earth, I thought, ‘I must be a magician.  That is why I have these abilities.  Perhaps the loss of my memory is attributed to a spell cast by another!’

Sexburg had remained sitting, looking at me and hardly daring to breathe.

Looking at her, I said, “I am a good wizard.  I am a good man.”

She never moved and remained sitting lick a frightened rabbit caught near a fox’s den.

“I promise you, Sexburg,” I said, pleading, “I wish you no harm, nor intend you any trouble.  You must believe me.”

She remained still for a moment longer and then, slowly rising to her feet, she said, “I brought you some food.  You should eat, so that Arthur knows that I have tended you well.”

Leaving the tent, she turned and looked at me with a hint of sadness or concern in her eyes.

Groaning as she left my view, I wished that the incident with her tunic had not happened.  I knew that I needed to think more about what I now understood about myself and, in order to best serve Sexburg and ensure that she faced no  wrath from Arthur, I looked to the food that she had brought me.

A piece of boned meat lay upon the grass and I reached out, picked it up, finding it to be warm and then, after brushing away some blades of grass, I ripped a piece of the meat from the bone.  Feeling a sudden rush of hunger, I quickly devoured the meat and then ate all of the apples that had also fallen from the plate.

Sitting there, I knew that I was not sated but did not want to cause undue attention by making demands that may seem unusual.  ‘Perhaps it was acceptable to ask for more food, perhaps it was not.’

Standing up, I began looking around the tent.  It was obvious now that, even in the dim light of the tent, that it was patterned with colourful wide vertical stripes.  There were a number of large cushions spread around the floor upon the straw that covered most of the tent.  There was another place to lie down or sleep - which I presume is Arthur’s, judging by the copiously filled cushions that were there – and I could also see a shield, a pike, as well as some other metallic implements resting upon a wooden rail that looked to have been hammered into the ground.  ‘It is obvious that this place is a temporary dwelling,’ I thought, as the smoke began to increase and I found myself holding my breath.

I could hear more voices outside and, listening, I could tell that for the most part they were jovial.  Moving away from the smoke, I pulled back the tent flap, feeling the cool outside air hitting me almost immediately and, as I watched the smoke creeping out of the tent, I looked around at my surroundings.

I saw that there were many tents, brightly coloured with stripes of yellow, red, blue, white, and other colours.  I could hear the sound of horses and smell the cooking of food.  A number of people, woman and men, were walking along the line of tents nearby and, beyond those tents, I spied even more tents.

Most of those nearby had drab looking clothes but the sound of metallic clanking caught my attention and I looked towards a man moving in my direction, though walking of the other side of the divide that separated the line of tents that my tent was part of from the tents opposite me.  Beside him walked a young boy, a ‘valet’ as I knew him to be called, carrying a wooden box.

I saw the knight turn to look upon me peering from the tent as he drew near and then, after raising his visor, he nodded briefly, dropped the visor, and continued on his way.  The valet paid me no attention.

‘I wonder if he recognises me or whether he acknowledged me simply because I was in the tent of the one called Arthur.’

Hearing a roaring voice to my left, I leant further from the tent and saw a tunic that I recognised.  It was Sexburg; struggling along with her arms laden with heavy branches.  A large man came into view from beyond a tent that was three tents away from me.  He wore a dark brown tunic and a large leather apron.

“And there is more to be taken to the pit,” shouted the man, obviously directing his voice at Sexburg, “And you will not be eating until it is done, wench.”

Stepping fully from the tent, I grabbed the arm of a surprised Sexburg, stopping her in her tracks and causing her to drop the wood that she carried.  Cursing, I watched her try to bend over to begin picking up the fallen pieces but I pulled her arm, raising her back upright, aware that the large man had began to walk in my direction.

“Has that clumsy wench collided with you, Lord,” he shouted, approaching me fast with his huge red cheeks seeming to grow redder and redder with each step that he took.

‘What should I do in this situation?’ I asked myself, knowing that I would need to be careful as I was not yet sure of my station or ranking amongst these people.

I saw Sexburg looking at me, feeling her trying to pull away from me, though I could sense that she was simply putting on a show on behalf of the man who fast descended upon us.

“Do you wish me to punish her, Lord?” said the fat, red-faced man as he came to a halt just behind Sexburg, his eyes upon mine, looking a little agog as he gazed at me.

Then, I realised something, the man had twice referred to me as Lord and so that meant he knew me, and knew I had some standing here, or it was simply because I was a guest in the tent of Arthur himself.  ‘I think it is time to test my perceived standing,’ I mused to myself.

“No,” I said, “Arthur gave her to me to serve me for a time.  She has spent the night tending my wounds and clearing the smoke from the tent.  I have further need of her services now.”

“But Lord,” began the red-faced man.

“And I will need her for quite some time,” I interrupted.

“But, Lord,” said Red-Face, “There is much wood to be taken to the pit in order to prepare for the feasting tonight.”

“Then you take it,” I said, trying to sound sure of myself as I noticed that a number of the people milling around began looking in the direction of our small altercation.

Red-Face stared dumbly at me, obviously shocked that I should ask such a thing of him.

“But…” he began.

“You take it,” I said, “After all a big bear shaped man such as you should have no problem carrying the wood.  In fact, I would not doubt that you could easily have all the wood moved to the pit far quicker than this skinny wench.”

Red-Face looked at me, thoughtful, before saying, “But it is not my job to do.”

“Is the wood too heavy for you?” I asked, laughing loud at the end of my sentence as if I were playing with him, daring him.  I could hear small giggles from the crowd that had began to come closer.  I could sense that the small crowd found this all to be amusing and I saw the few women there occasionally looking away, blushing, ‘They probably feel sorry for Red-Face,’ I mused.

“No, Lord, the wood is not too heavy, it is nought but kindling to one such as I,” he said, lifting his arms and flexing impressive muscles.  He even turned a little to better allow the crowd to gaze upon them.

“Well then,” I began, “If they are so light then if you can pick them up quickly and gather them together, you may place them in the arms of the wench again and she can continue her work for you.”  I felt Sexburg flinch and had no doubt that she thought I was betraying her.

I could see that red-face knew that this was a strange request and, after shrugging his shoulders, he moved past Sexburg and bent down to grab one of the pieces of fallen wood.

I wished that the wood be heavier than its true weight.  I mentally commanded red-face to believe that all of the wood was five times heavier that what it really was.

Immediately, I saw him begin to struggle with the piece of wood that he was trying to pick up and saw a puzzled expression upon his face as he glanced at me for a moment before returning his attention to the strangely weighty wood.

Hauling the thick branch upwards he attempted to cradle the wood upon his forearms and I could tell that, though the weight was not too much for him to bear, he must be wondering about the other pieces that had yet to be added to his burden.

Bending forward again, he grasped another piece and also hauled that onto his forearm, his arms tipping forward a little as the weight was added.  I could see that he was beginning to feel an unusual strain but he a big proud man and did not want the crowd of onlookers to know of his discomfort.  Unfortunately, they could tell as his red-face was glowing redder and redder.

With a third piece of the wood placed upon his arms, I saw him take a deep breath and lean forward to gather another.

‘They are now ten times their weight,’ I thought, commanding him to mentally double the weight that he felt from the wood.

I saw his knees buckle a little, but he held himself erect, blowing heavy as he straightened his shoulders, once more glancing at me.

“You are very slow, my friend,” I said, adding, “Perhaps the wench can assist you by picking up the other six pieces of wood.”

Sexburg flinched again, glancing at me for a moment before stooping down to pick up the piece of wood nearest to her.

I saw the smile upon Red-Face’s face as he watched to see Sexburg struggle with the wood and then I saw the surprise on his face when she easily picked it up and turned to face him.

Their was an even bigger surprise upon his red face when Sexburg dropped the piece of wood on top of the ones already gathered up in his arms.

I saw the weight land heavily, adding to his burden immensely, and I saw him stare open mouthed at the frail figure of Sexburg as she turned away to pick up another.

“You are not struggling, my fiend, are you?” I asked red-face.

“No… my Lord,” he grunted, closing his eyes as he prepared to take the weight of the next piece of wood that Sexburg was about to drop in his arms.

When it fell, Red-Face’s eyes popped open wide and the wood almost tipped from his arms.

“My, you are a strong fellow,” I said.

“Like… an… Ox, my Lord,” Red-Face grunted again.

“Hurry, wench,” I said to Sexburg, ensuring that it looked as though I was treating her as a servant girl of some kind.  “We must not keep the man waiting,” I said, adding, “He has plenty of wood to carry to the pit before this day is through.”

I picked up an image of a pile of wood coming from Red-Face’s mind and I instantly placed a command within him to transport all of the wood as fast as he could to the pit, and I also commanded him to feel everything as ten times heavier until all of the wood was in the pit.

By now, Sexburg had picked up all of the remaining pieces of wood, cradling them in her own arms and, as she stood up and looked at Red-Face, I saw his surprise that she was actually holding more wood than him and yet she seemed to be unaffected by the enormous weight that he expected her to be experiencing.

“Stoop down, my big fellow,” I said, “You cannot expect this waif to be able to reach up with all this wood.”

“Yes, Lord,” groaned Red-Face, stooping a little, closing his eyes and preparing himself.

As Sexburg dropped the wood onto the pile already in Red-Face’s arms, I saw that his legs almost completely buckled but, with an audience watching him, he struggled hard to remain standing.

“There,” I said, “The wench has assisted you in picking up all of the fallen wood.”

“Yes, Lord,” gasped the wobbling figure of Red-Face, trying to look unaffected by the weight of the wood even though the tittering from the small audience must have been clearly heard by him.

“Well,” I said, “If there is nothing else that this wench can pick up for you then she can now come and do my bidding while you get on with your chores.”

With his eyes almost rolling, Red-Face could not even manage a reply and simply nodded in my direction before beginning to stagger forward through the sniggering crowd that parted to let him pass.   

“Come, wench,” I said, grabbing Sexburg’s arm and swinging her toward the tent and throwing her through the opening.

My audience began laughing at this and so I added, “She has so much to do for me that she will soon be wishing that she only had to carry the wood to the pit.”

My audience laughed more and I simply turned from them and swept into the tent, pulling the flap closed behind me.

Crouched on the floor, facing me, Sexburg did not appear to be well pleased with the rescue I had carried out on her behalf.

“What do you wish me to do?” she asked, her eyes never leaving mine, though her hands were searching the ground ahead of her, picking up the bone and plate that I had left there before eating the apples.

“Nothing,” I replied, moving slowly towards the straw bed, where I stood looking at her for a moment and then, trying to make light of the situation, I said, “Did you not see the amusement of the faces of the crowd as Red-Face struggled to carry the wooden bundle?”

Sexburg’s mouth suddenly burst into a grin and then, releasing the plate, she placed a hand over her mouth, trying to suppress giggles, unsuccessfully.

“What is so funny?” I asked.

Pointing toward my groin, she laughed more, saying, “Your cloak is not well suited for public appearances.”

Looking down, I saw immediately what she was referring to.  I only had the cloak around me from the previous night and now, aside from seeing the dirt upon it, I realised that though it was gathered and tied around my neck, it was not tied securely around my waist.

Realising that all the laughter from the crowd was probably not directed totally towards Red-Face, I slumped down to the floor, feeling slightly foolish.

A shadow moved past me, opening the tent flap, and I heard Sexburg say, “I will gather you a more suitable, and cleaner, garb.”  There was emphasis on the word ‘cleaner’ and I became aware of a distinct odour from the wrap that I had been keeping around my person.

Before I could reply, she was gone, closing the tent flap behind her.

Rubbing my forehead, it suddenly came to me that I had influenced the way that Red-Face perceived his environment.  Subconsciously, I had brought forth powers and used them and I had carried out my actions as if they were natural to me.  ‘I must therefore be a wizard of some sorts,’ I thought, pulling the dirty wrap from my person and leaving it lying across my lap.

Looking down at the garment, I saw that it held an almost grime-covered depiction of a crescent moon.  I rubbed at the dirt and then, after wasting my time for a few moments and seeing that I was having little impact upon the dirt, I then decided to use my powers to be rid of the dirt.  Instantly, I froze.  ‘Perhaps it would not be wise to show my powers to those around me until I understand more of my situation.’

The pain in my head was subsiding a little, though I could still feel the dried blood that lingered there even though my head had been bathed through the night.  I became aware of the smells not just coming from my dirty wrap but from the confines of the tent itself.  The small fire that burnt was almost burnt out now and the wood was only releasing a small amount of smoke.  The lack of smoke was now allowing me to better smell the contents of the tent and, I realised for the first time, the smells that came from my own skin.  ‘I hope that Sexburg returns soon with clean clothes.’  And then I realised that I had a desire to be washed, to be rid of the scents that now adorned me and to be clean, thinking that by washing my body I will somehow help myself to clean my mind, freshen it up and see if it would begin to assist me in my predicament instead of working against me; I wanted my memory back.

I strove hard to recall who I was, but still nothing came.  I tried to picture something that had happened the previous day because surely I had done something the previous day and so there should be fresh remnants still floating in my mind.  There was nothing, all I could remember was from my coming to conscious and being confronted with the one I now know to be called Arthur.

I tried to look at my emotions instead of my memories, to see if they could assist me but I found that I could not track down any emotions that were connected to anything other than events of this morning and my encounter with Sexburg. 

‘Surely I knew people well and should have emotions for them?  Did I not have a lover somewhere who would be looking for me or was I one who was alone?  Did I have children?  Did I have my own dwelling somewhere?’

The last thought shocked me, for a received a mixed blur of images that seemed to be of tall and mighty structure, constructions that were far removed from the tent that I was now dwelling within.  ‘Which land do I come from?  From where do I hail?’

The pictures that I had seen were gone almost at the instant that I tried to concentrate upon them, not even leaving a tangible memory of what they looked like.  All my mind could tell me was that they were so very different from where I was now.

“Arghhh,” I shouted out in frustration, not caring who may hear my cry.

No one came to look upon me, though I could hear the sound of the voices of people moving around not too far from my tent.

I sat still, listening to the sound of my breathing, trying to empty my mind completely and allow anything that could assist me to fall into the chasm that I had created, but nothing came to fall into that darkness, nothing came to shed any light on who or where I was, or where I was from, or my name, or the names of those that I believe I should know.

‘Is this a result of my fall, of my banging my head, or could it be the result of another wizard such as I?  It is obvious that I have certain powers and must therefore be a wizard and so it stands to reason that there must be other wizards and, if Arthur is leading a fight against an enemy then I must assume that a wizard from the opposing forces could have done something to me.

They have cast a spell that is supposed to make me forget.  Perhaps they were only trying to get me to forget my powers but their spell has backfired and, instead of losing the ability to cast my own spells I have retained those powers, though I have lost the memories of my life before the time that I awakened last night.’

I made to thump the ground beside me and then, recalling what had happened earlier, I changed my mind.  I did not want to have to cover up another hole that would perhaps be unexplainable to any who saw it.

I began to wonder why I was not frustrated.  ‘Should I not be annoyed at this loss of memory?’  But a voice in my head, unclear and muffled, seeming to come from a voice I thought I should recognise, seemed to be telling me that this is acceptable, that it was normal ‘given the circumstances.’  ‘What are the circumstances?  Is there more to my memory loss than a wizard’s spell, or a bump on the head?’  Something told me that I was missing some vital and very important information and so I just sat there quietly, trying to empty my mind – which was surprisingly difficult – and just wait and see if anything arrived to announce itself to me.

I was still sitting there, unmoving, when the tent flap opened and I heard Sexburg speak to me.

“Lord, I have prepared a bath for you.  It would be wise to wash perhaps before putting on your clean garb.”    

She did not move to enter the tent but, instead, I could see by the light in the tent that she simply stood holding the tent flap open, waiting patiently for me.

Sighing, because I knew she was right and I would have to worry about my memory loss at another time, I pulled the dirty garb around my waist as I stood up.  Sexburg held her eyes averted from me as I moved toward her and then ducked low as I emerged from the dimness of the tent and once more into daylight.

As I stood looking at the few people milling around, I heard her say, “This way, My Lord.”

Turning, I saw her move out of sight around the side of the tent and so I began to follow her.  There was a bath prepared, as she had said, and she now stood beside what appeared to be no more than some hastily thrown together wood, which was parading steam into the air from the water in there.  Beside the bathtub, I could see many metallic pots which must have been used to convey hot water to the bathtub.

Standing there, watching me, Sexburg placed her hand into the water, indicating that I should get in to the bathtub.  Looking around, I saw that we were mainly hidden from most eyes and so, walking forward I stepped into the tub, expecting the water to be hotter than it was, and then dropped my garb over the side while I settled down into the circular pond.

Almost immediately, Sexburg was rubbing my back, using some rough cloth that I was sure would take the skin from my back as well as the dirt.  I closed my eyes and allowed her to continue, feeling her hands rubbing my neck, chest, stomach and thighs.  Briefly, I opened my eyes and saw how dirty the water was and then, before I could close them again, I was shocked when Sexburg tipped a jug of water over my head, causing to me draw a deep breath, holding my mouth open as the water ran down the sides of my face.

Her fingers ran through my hair, always gentle and exceptionally kinder whenever she rubbed near the area of my wound.  I tried to empty my mind and allow Sexburg to continue with her bathing of me and, try as I did, I could not help but feel ever single, tender caress that seemed to accompany the movement of the cloth about my person.  There was something about Sexburg that drew me closer to her and I could not understand it.  It was an attraction that seemed to overwhelm me, as it had in the tent, and I knew that I must fight to keep my feelings or desires – whichever was driving me - in check.

Suddenly, the caresses that were disguised as washing motions stopped and, as I opened my eyes to see where Sexburg had gone, I found a cloth being rubbed against my head, drying my hair a little.

“You should finish off washing the rest of your body, Mr Lord,” said Sexburg in a low voice.

“Have you not washed me all over?” I asked her.

“My Lord, there are places that would be improper for me to… bathe,” she replied.

“Will you stop calling me, My Lord,” I said, ignoring her previous remark.

Turning away from me, Sexburg took hold of a large violet coloured sheet and then, turning back to me, she spread her arms, opening the sheet, inviting me to climb from the tub.

“What should I call you, My Lord?  Are you not one who can sleep in the tent of Arthur himself?  Are you not one of the nobles of this Briton Land?”

Remaining quite, I continued bathing the last of my person and then, standing and stepping from the tub, I felt Sexburg wrap the violet sheet about me, allowing me to gather it.

She began to rub my back through the sheet and, even though I wanted to dry myself quickly and get into clean clothes, I found I could not tell her to stop.   Something made me feel warmer while her hands were rubbing my skin.

I began to wonder it was that Sexburg was no longer afraid of me as she had been earlier and then I realised that she probably was, she was just trying to go about normal duties, pretending nothing has happened.

“Who owns you?” I asked her abruptly.

Her hands immediately stopped moving, falling away from me. 

“I am not owned by any one person.  I am the property of the camp, here to do the bidding of anything that may be asked of me,” she replied.

I could hear the sadness in her voice, though I could not detect a great deal of anger.

“You would rather be back with your own people?” I asked her, knowing it was a stupid question to ask but, nonetheless, I was surprised by her answer.

“It is not as bad for me here as it was back with my people,” she replied.

“Were you a slave in your own camp?” I asked.

 “No,” she began, “Once I was free as any other, living with my father and sister, tending a small piece of land.  But that was before the Warlords came…”

“The Warlords?” I asked.

“Yes, I had lived with my people in that place for many years.  In fact, we did not take the village from the ones who had built it and who had lived there.  It was they who took us in and allowed us to live there after our ship was damaged in a storm and the survivors managed to get to shore,” she said, paused for a moment, and then continued, “And then the Warlords came.  These were high lords amongst my own people, only they were not of my people, the Danes.  These others had come to my people in my homeland, telling them of better ways in which they could conquer the Britons.  They would show my people how.  But they are a cruel and evil race of people,” she finished.

“From where do they hail,” I asked, about to move forward and begin moving back toward the tent, but stopping because I head a heavy and almost unnatural groaning sound from the area around at the front of the tent.

Suddenly, Red-Face came into view and I could hear low muttering and curses between his panting as he struggled to carry some dozen or so branches.  It almost looked as though his legs would soon buckle beneath the weight that he carried.

Sensing someone watching him, Red-Face cast a glance in my direction, nodding briefly at me, uttering, “Sire,” and then glaring at Sexburg as he continued upon his way.

“I fear I have made an enemy,” said Sexburg, as Red-Face passed from view behind the tent to my right.

“He will not trouble you,” I said, and then added, “There is much I would discuss with you.  These Warlords that have come amongst your people, I would have me know more of them, and I would have me know more of you.”

Looking at Sexburg, I saw her stare back for a moment and then look away.

“You are not afraid of me,” I asked.

“No, My Lord, I would be more afraid if I was not doing your bidding and you had cause to use your powers on me,” she replied.

“I promise I will not us my powers upon you if you will promise not to serve any other than me,” I said.

“I cannot make that promise.  I am a slave to the camp and only one of the Knights, or Arthur himself, can make such a decision about what duties I must perform.”

“Okay,” I said, adding, “Then I will cross that bridge when I come to it but, for the time being, you are to serve me and only me.  Particularly, I do not want you going anywhere near Red-Face, even if he commands you.  If he does, you are to tell him that you are only allowed to do my bidding and he should come and see me if he has any problems with that,” I told her.

“Yes, My Lord,” replied Sexburg, carrying out a small courtesy.

“Stop calling me by that title,” I said.

“What shall I call you, My Lo…”

“For the time being, you are to call me Myrddin.  That is the name that Arthur uses and that is the name that I wish you to use,” I said, walking around the tent.

“Yes, Myrddin,” replied Sexburg.

Moving into the tent, I said, “In time I wish to discuss your Warlords…” I began.

“The strange ones who help my people invade this land?” said Sexburg, hastily adding, “There is only so much that I know of these Strange Invaders but I will tell you what I can.  I do not think that the High Lords amongst the Danes know them in depth as they always appear very wary of any Warlords who are in their presence.”

“We will discuss them in time,” I said, then asking, “Have you clothes I can wear so that I may wander this camp and see the lie of the land?”

“I will fetch some, My Lord,” replied Sexburg and then, glancing into my eyes and seeing my disapproval, she added, “Lord Myrddin.”

“Not ‘Lord Myrddin,’ simply Myrddin,” I softly scolded her.

Nodding, she pulled the tent flap closed and went about the task of retrieving me items of clothing.

Using the sheet that was around me, I began to rub my skin, taking the water that had become a chill upon my person.

‘There is something that gives me a curiosity about these Warlords that Sexburg has spoken of.  There is something that causes me to have a concern of them,’ I thought, as I continued drying myself.  ‘I wonder if I have an interest because somewhere in the back of my mind there is knowledge that I am one of them?’

Finishing drying, I was aware of the tent flap opening, heralding Sexburg’s return.  ‘I will think more on the matter when I have spoken at length with Sexburg,’ I thought, while another thought sailed across my mind, saying, ‘I hope that I am not one of them as they do not appear to be a race that is composed of a pleasant disposition.’  I began to wonder why that would be a concern to me but was interrupted from my thoughts by Sexburg speaking.