Cunedda unbuckled sword, ‘Let’s
get this shit-show up, performed.’
Face harsh, finger clicked, ‘Fast now,
Cai, comms catch up while walking.’
Bwrs sensed something else askew,
‘Best you take the little pig;
his presence might blow our gig.
We’ll wait for your timed entry cue.’
Porchell was squeak passed, settled,
‘Good evening to you, Cunedda!’
Grunt acknowledged, ‘I’m passing
you off to someone else as
soon as we get on up there.’
Low sea-whistle caught attention;
Marcus’s face matched crag he’d returned.
Notice gained, to own eye signed,
then pointed arm full leftward.
Cunedda strode toward path up,
‘You can deal with whatever’s that!’
Bwrs shrugged, ‘Bother’s best by me had!
Drop the bag – gentle now, lads!’
Gwair and Bedwyr’d pole parted
quick – black bag smacked ground, squelched.
Plaintive boy’s voice emitted:
‘Please don’t harm me soldiers!’
Bwrs pinched nose-brow, sighed,
‘Getting bored of this already…
Hush now in there, otherwise
my boot will make a visit.’
Shook head, turned, paced problemward;
Gwair and Bedwyr shoulder flanked.
Threaded through tents, arrived at
encamped sea-army, assembled in
circle around two facing figures.
Murtagh appeared, ‘Alright, lads?
Custennin’s kid is kicking off.’
Bwrs folded arms, watched intent.
Stand-off duo; youth, sword out –
Erbin. Faced total unit,
Uthyr Pendraco, arms placating,
harp, bow, long sword back-slung.
Erbin waved sword wild skyward:
‘This was just murder! Why do
we play these games! Best we now
simply go kill the bastard!
And his Saxon bitch! Both of
them! String them up! If you won’t,
I will! Out of my way, uncle!
He killed your brother, are you
not man enough! Avenge him!’
Uthyr, voice depressed, quite calm,
extended hands open palmed.
‘This is not the way we do things;
wait for the Senate ruling.
All actions are well in hand;
you just need to trust the plan.’
‘I am really short on trust these days
Anyone else want to do it my way?’
Polite coughs, no raised hands;
Murtagh held mer-merc rank:
‘Ah, no, kid, we’re all grand;
best you stick with the plan.’
Erbin steadied sword, spat,
‘Very well, alone, then,
let me past, now, uncle.
‘As uncle, family member,
I’ll raise no sword against you.’
Erbin scowl-smiled, shoved past – at
parallel, Uthyr rapid moved:
grabbed shoulder, wrist – twist – foot to
knee rear; pressure application.
Erbin gasp-knelt; sword mud-thunked.
‘Though as a soldier of the Republic
I am duty bound to stop you.’
Released grip, swung, knelt in front;
‘I’m sorry about your Dad, sorry
I was overseas, could not watch
out for my brother. You feel
grief—I feel guilt – please, nephew.
You know what he believed in;
please see it through Custennin’s
eyes – what would he have us do?’
Erbin’s glare melted into grief,
sob long warded off erupted;
Uthyr flung his arms around him.
Murtagh smiled, ‘Ah, isn’t that nice;
they’re having a proper moment.’