~Ivor~

Valerin, esconced in the corner of his seat, observed the carcasses gloomily. He suddenly turned to the Queen and, offhand –

"Well, what do you think of it all, My Queen?" I could see the sour expression that rolled over her face as he pronounced this title on her, and it was obvious that it was for the first time. She did not respond but rather turned away to face the shrubery that lined the walkway that led into the courtyard.

"Those knights you killed in the forest were a mere inkling of the warriors he has with him now. While that was impressive, your troops are nothing compared to what he has." I looked steadily at him as this realization sunk in. "Your troops don’t even have the same uniforms, and his troops look too well fed." I paused and allowed this digest.

"Uniforms." he repeated with a half-smile of pity. A look of retrospect stole over his piercing, steady eyes. It had been otherwise in his time when men fought against tyranny, in the forests of Arden, or on the plains of Camulodunum, starving on half-raw beef without salt, half naked, with only a knife tied to a stick for a weapon. "And yet we used to prevail against the oppressor." he concluded, proudly.

I shot him a glance of something that perhaps said too much. His animation fell; the slight gesture of his hand expressed discouragement; but he added that he had a smith who could create any weapon now even those of which were not around in his youth.

"Yes, yes," broke in I, almost trembling with eagerness. "You are safe. You are a man of experience. Extremely deadly – is it not so?" Valerin, looked back while he contemplated his army and his own martial prowess.

"Ah yes, a man of experience. But who are you for, really, Ivor? Are you for whatever side has the upper hand in battle? Or are you a man who will fight to the death for what you believe in – for what lies deep within your soul as your true values?" Valerin’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits as he was apparently attempting to decipher my intentions.

I looked back and replied, unscathed, "I am for who is against the system. I pledge my allegiance for whoever can topple Arthur and his system of tyranny. I am for the people. We are all for the people – in the end."

"Yes," muttered Valerin. "And in the meantime they fight for you. Blind."

In the meantime a young scout emerged through the door and snapped a smart salute. "My liege!" The brat knelt down in respect and then raised back up to his full stature. "We have got a report that there are men encroaching upon up from the east. They have made it to the ford of the River Glyn. They appear to be several hundred strong." Valerin returned the young man’s salute and nodded.

"The young patricians," Valerin responded in perfect Latin. "have indeed been dancing before they started off to war with the Great Pompey. Nor will they stop here. We will fight them on our terms. With our tactics." He turned to look at the queen who stood with her back turned from us, until now. Guenivere’s breast rose and fell with a deeper breath.

Valerin turned back to face me. "Luckily Arthur is not a Caesar." He crossed his arms on his chest and looked at Guenivere, who had returned to her impassive immobility.

Not the two Kings put together could make a decent parody of a Caesar, I thought to myself with a cynical sarcasm. Valerin turned back to me and, wistfully complimented me.

"It is only you, Ivor, who are a genuine old Roman – vir Romanus – eloquent and inflexible."

Valerin turned back to the scout and whispered a few instructions. The young man turned quick on his heel and, after snapping another salute, rushed out the door.