The Last Knights of Cambria Book 1: Echoes of Gideon

Chapter 8: A Mexican-American Yankee in a Welsh court

It's mid summer, and a lazy evening. After dinner we've retired as is our custom, to one of the rooms in the south east tower. Here we have laid out maps of Harlech, and Wales, and use them for plotting our now ever extended war games and nightmare scenarios.
I'm the one who started this, technically, by filling the Duke in on what was going on in our Reddit thread by asking questions about the theoretical English forces, and then maps got involved and we wanted somewhere to lay it out, so we were doing it in the dungeon, but Gareth saw us and thought we needed supervision and he didn't want to hang out in the dungeon (weird) and so he made us move to an unused meeting room up here, and then we did that and he kept coming because he still thought we needed supervision. Then the queen heard us talking about it, and she asked to see, and she's really into it, like she's very invested now, so at this point we're basically playing a table top game, all three of us versus my Redditors as the DMs giving us odds of each attack.
And Gareth comes and watches and lately he's been making Dancer come because he says Dancer needs to "get out more". Dancer complains heavily about this, but he can't be sarcastic to himself so he stays. The King knows where we are, he comes and watches if he's not doing anything, he considers lying face down on a couch doing something, though.
"If they invade by sea the only way up the rocks is on the steps, that's one man at a time," the Duke moves pieces on the map. Yes, we have game pieces now. Not like, real ones, they wouldn't stay in my pockets, but like pieces of wood Dancer carved us because he's bored and likes knives.
"We can take them out, any distance to the castle they fall to the bows," Gareth says.
"What if they march in Testudo formation? Henry's studied the same books I have, Marcus Antonius invaded Parthia and avoided their arrows," Queen Rhiannon says, leaning on the table, to stare at our game pieces.
"Testudo formation doesn't work in single file," I say, Testudo formation is when you put the shields over your head, locking, protecting all sides, sometimes it's called turtle formation, "And it takes training, Henry knowing of it and his army executing it are two different things."
"As he said it wouldn't work single file up the stairs," the duke says, "Arrows would get in, we've had attacks in past, my father did, they can't keep the shields up forever, and even up the to the castle walls they're still just standing there there's no way in."
"What if they came up the rocks? As she said, Testudo, we couldn't break them, and they'd get close to the North Wall, a siege machine could break the doors," I say.
"That's the longest distance of rock," oh so Dancer is invested now, "Why not come up the west side, by the steps?"
"Because he's Henry, he's gonna expect us not to have as many Archers on the north wall so that's where he'll come," I say.
"You yourself laid thirty percent odds he'd even try to attack the castle walls," the Queen says.
"I know," I say.
"Odds are he goes for the long siege, worst case scenario, blocks us off at sea, no supplies, and he burns Harlech," the Duke says, sweeping our pieces off of the village.
"We can take a siege here, but our people cannot. And if his navy is as fine as our spies report he can get plenty of supplies and close us off from either side, getting support from his brother's armies at the border," the queen says, tapping the larger map of Wales.
"If he burns the city we bring everyone inside the castle, we can't give him victims, but I agree there's nothing stopping him from razing whatever's in his path and he proved in France he will," I say.
"Aye and in Scotland," the Duke says.
"Can we burn his ships? That would destroy his sea support, let him attack our walls, we can hold out for weeks, bring the people inside, take care of our archers, plague them with arrows, and somehow get a crew out to burn down the ships," the queen says.
"I can try with magic, there are spells," I shrug, "I would have to be close but—I don't know how many ships I'd get through before they stop me."
"It would be a suicide mission," the duke says to me.
"Doesn't have to be our first plan. But we are well trapped here if he chooses to cut us off by sea, and we already know he has the stronger army, merely in numbers," I say.
"Will King Henry march on us himself, do we think?" The queen asks, "He has brothers to send in his place, and generals, you yourself have said that his days of riding into battle are getting behind him, he's older than my father."
"If he does come, it means he knows he'll win," the duke says, "And his men love him, they think he's—Jesus come again, Arthur reincarnated, they'll fight to the death to do it at his side."
"But can we use that? If he's here, make him doubt and flee rather than losing a battle," the queen asks.
"The man has an ego the size of Europe," I say, "He'd literally die, or drive himself to death, before admitting defeat." In my world he dies of dysentry or small pox or some other fever, he comes down with a fever quickly, unknown why, and insists on continuing work that is riding on horse back in record breaking heat, like ninety to a hundred degrees, in full sun, wearing full plate armor. Unsurprisingly, he succumbed with in like, days, but he was seen a couple weeks before his death trying to mount a horse and failing. Stubborn doesn't begin to cover it.
"Okay, is that on our side then? He thinks he can't lose, let's let him think that, let him think he's winning somehow," the queen says.
"Let them into the outer ward, pour boiling oil on them?" the duke says.
"We can use arrows, I know how much you like pouring boiling stuff on people but fish and barrels are great analogies for an army trapped in the wards," Gareth puts in.
"I know how much you like arrows, but consider how nice fire looks on Englishmen?" The duke says.
"Both suggestions work, and I'd hate letting them into a ward, but Gideon is right if the army is that confident we have to use it to trap them in their own arrogance," the queen says.
"They've got longbows too, if we can hit them, they can hit us, it's going to be very fast, and very gruesome if we get within firing range of each other. Our only hope is he can't set up a bowline," the duke says.
"He can on the rocks if they advance with the shields as described," I say.
"Then it becomes a stand off, and shooting arrows at us, doesn't get him in," the Duke says.
"Yeah, and this is him, he's got a way he thinks he's getting in," I sigh, "The main gate?"
"He's not going to get a siege machine close enough, again you can't set up a battering ram with longbow fire," Gareth says.
"How about a trebuchet?" The queen asks.
"He'd have to totally occupy Harlech to put one together, that's endgame if he's gotten that far," I say, "Also he'd have to haul it across Wales, or ship it in and then set up, it would take too long that I will sneak out and set on fire."
"Fair, we're just relying a lot on sneaking around and setting fire to King Henry's war machines," the Queen says.
"Yeah, which makes me wish we had an better plan, however, last night we worked through if he invades by land," I say.
"I really hate saying this, but what if he does both?" Duke says.
"We'd get warning if he marched across Wales," the queen points out.
"Not if he starts the march once we're under siege," I say, quietly.
"We really think we're going to be under siege that long?" The Duke asks.
"I mean," the Queen shrugs, "We have to think of everything and more he might do. He's got us out manned, ten to one, we already know that, and he's likely got better fire power."
"Yeah, but we've got something else," I say, tapping my chest.
"You?" Dancer sneers.
"No, heart, they're fighting to get glory, we're fighting for our home. Wales. We will not let Wales fall. We die for this land, for our freedom, and they cannot break that. They may be trained but this is our land. Our Cambria. We are Welshman we will not be conquered. Our men know that," I say. Cambria is the native word for Wales. Wales actually comes from the word for 'stranger' about a thousand years ago, where as 'Camys' means 'countryman' and it became Cambria or Cymru. So we are Cambria.
"They do. That's why we have to give them a chance," the queen says, staring at the map, "Anyway, we have what, a ten percent chance of success?"
"We personally will last a siege out for at least six months, but that does not save the rest of Wales," I say, "And therein lies the problem, we're shut in here he'll go burn down the rest of the country and circle back." He literally has before, that's how Henry V before he was Henry Rex or Henry Roi or whatever he calls himself, seized Harlech. He went and quelled any uprising across the country, came on back and essentially smoked Glyndower out by cutting off his supply and waiting him out. And unfortunately there's zero reason it won't work again.
"What are you thinking over there?" The duke asks looking at Gareth.
"I'm thinking no matter what you smart people come up with, I need more arrows," Gareth sighs, rubbing his face.
"What if we—bargain with him? Would that not buy us time at least to double cross him?" Dancer asks.
"How?" The queen asks.
"Let him in, offer a peace treaty then—kill him? Or his messenger, set the ships on fire?" Dancer asks.
The duke is shrugging like it might work.
"He would never, ever agree to meet on our terms or in our castle, he's thought of that, and he really loves himself and staying alive," I groan, "Nobody cares more about Henry and Henry's image than Henry, does ego the size of Europe not illustrate it plainly enough?"
"Are we talking about me?" The king asks, lightly, walking in on, 'ego the size of Europe'.
We all start laughing at that.
"No, Your Majesty," I get out, bowing as he comes in, and trying not to laugh.
"We're just doing war plans we've gotten nowhere," the Duke says.
"Except that I need more arrows," Gareth says.
"You have lots, did somebody take them? Oh, what have you all done to my Dancer he's smiling that's not a typical behavior," the king pauses leafing through papers to look at Dancer who is still laughing.
"He's fine, he's happy," Gareth says.
"We're socializing him, our Gideon has a good affect on him it seems," the duke says.
"He does NOT," Dancer growls.
"Did you come to watch us talk rapidly?" the queen asks, looking back at her husband. He's as usual dressed like like a blind gay dog that was given access to a thrift store. I mean, all his clothes are nice silks and such but they're each a different incredibly loud color.
"No, love, I've just been going through the letters so I'm making a group announcement," the King says, leaning on the back of her chair, "And look I found you all here, together so that's saved some time."
"We're being invaded?" Gareth asks, frowning.
"Worse actually. I got a letter from the Duchess of Conwy, she's coming up this weekend to visit."
We all stare at him.
"And—?" The queen asks.
"The Duchess of Conwy as in your wife," the King says, pointing at the duke for emphasis.
"Wife?!" Dancer and I say, frowning in confusion and looking at the other to see if the other knew.
"What wife?" Gareth and the Duke say, looking at the other for moral support, then at the queen who also says, "He has a wife?"
"Yes, he has a wife. Jac, why are you surprised?" The King sighs wearily.
"What—you mean that girl? Is she still alive?" The duke asks.
"Yes, saints, Jac, I think someone would have told you if she were dead," the King groans.
"You're married?" Dancer asks, "Since when?"
"Yeah, where was I?" Gareth asks.
"And you didn't—know?" I ask, because I kind of have to. The duke, as usual is dressed completely in black, with a couple of weapons, and a jacket despite the heat, translucent blue eyes with sacs under then, abnormally pale skin since he hasn't seen the sun in years, he looks more like a vampire an a real person who would be married. Also, I don't think I've ever seen him leave Harlech, or change his expression, before.
"So in his defense, it was an arranged marriage when they were like, eight, before I was even born, IN HIS CONDEMNATION THAT'S STLL SIGNIFICANT," the King growls at his brother.
"People die all the time," the duke says, but not in his defense, but like he'd definitely kill her.
"Seriously?" Gareth asks, "Is this that woman that kept trying to talk to you a couple of Christmases ago and you kept coming over and talking to me and said she kept following you?"
"Oh aye, could be," the duke says, nodding.
"I take it you don't talk to her?" The queen asks, frowning at him.
"No, I live here, as he said it was arranged we were children, we shook hands and that was that. My mother took her to Conwy I stayed with my father, I've not really seen her much since I honestly figured she'd died or left or something," the duke shrugs, like it's not to do with him.
"Yes, she was here a couple of Christmases ago, do you not know what she looks like?" The King asks, very tiredly.
"Ah—she's shortish, isn't she?" The duke asks.
"Everyone alive is shorter than you, Jac," the king growls.
"Well, how am I to know? I'm guessing she has long hair? Shortish? Like definitely had both her eyes, last time I saw her, or last time I saw her and knew that it was her, she had two eyes," the duke nods.
"That's it? That's all you got? Shorter than you with two eyes?" The king asks, folding his arms.
"Ah—-I think she was fair but I'm not betting on that, yeah, that's it, I'm done," the Duke nods.
"So—the fact that she said she's bringing, your two's infant child—would also be news to you?" The king asks, so incredibly done with his brother.
"Oh, that's nice she had a kid, good for her—wait, how old is it? Does she expect me to do something?"
"Jac. When did you last—let's go with talk to this person, no that's setting the bar too high—when were you last aware you were in the same room as this person?" The king asks, massaging his forehead.
"Oh um—probably your first Christmas as King, there was this shortish girl, with probably two eyes, following our mother around, and I really assume that was her. But I couldn't be positive, like, we didn't speak I was chatting with Gareth about if we could get some arrow tips to punch through armor at a certain distance and we were going to go try it as soon as we figured we could slip off if you were doing okay, but you weren't doing okay so I was just showing him the arrow tips I'd been sharpening they had six points and I was trying to put bits inside them to break off—what?" The Duke stops as his brother glares at him.
"So. Recap. Your wife. Is coming here. With a child. Are you gonna stop talking about arrow tips now for me for like ten minutes?" The king asks, overly nicely.
"What, you've said she's coming? Does she want something?" The duke asks.
"Yes! I am assuming to talk to you! About this child she is telling people is yours—,"
"I don't much care—,"
"I gathered that, however. I am having this conversation, in front of witnesses, mostly Gareth, so that you, come and talk to her, and otherwise leave the dungeon at least once in the time she is here," the king says.
"If she wants to see me she knows where I am it's in the dungeon—," the Duke points downward hopefully.
"NO. You are not hiding down there. I deal with eighty percent of your social engagements acting like I don't know where you are this is one thing you actually have to do," the king says.
"I mean, I suppose after dark I could come up and have dinner or something I'm not coming out and meeting her or anything the sun might be out," the duke says, "But I don't see her wanting to talk with me."
The King looks at the letter, " 'I wish to speak with my husband'."
"Damn it. Gareth, you know how much you love me—,"
"No, I don't reliably respond to 'Jac', I'm not having this argument again," Gareth says.
"I mean, she could come down stairs, you know I don't like people El—,"
"You talk to them all the time?" The king growls, gesturing at us.
"Not a person, not a person, not a person, your wife so kind of you, definitely not a person," he says the definitely for Gareth, "Anyway, she could show the baby the dungeons it's interesting down there I've got the Maiden fixed—,"
"No one likes seeing the dungeons, Jac," the king sighs.
"Gideon did."
"Gideon is an outlier not to be considered," I say, quietly, but I think I hear Dancer snort.
"Gideon does not count, also we're trying to help him, stay on topic, Jac," the king says.
"You really don't care your wife had a child?" The queen asks him.
"Good for her? She's not really my wife like it's probably not even in the Bible at that age it's more of a legal thing and a friend for our mother, honestly I'd figured she'd moved on and found a new home or something as I hadn't seen her of late," the duke says.
"How would you see anyone!!? You spend all of your time in the dungeon and arguing with like three teenagers," the king has his face buried in his hands.
"Is one of them me?" The queen asks.
"He was counting himself," Gareth assures her.
"Oh right," she nods.
"That's true. But people come by the dungeon if they want to see me—,"
"Which is just Gideon, and we are trying to stop him," the king growls.
"I can get out of the Maiden now, you all don't have to keep trying to rescue me," I say, holding up a hand.
"I didn't try to rescue you, I was laughing," Dancer says.
"No! We will not! I aged five years when I saw you lying on the rack, only reason I didn't die right then was you were smiling and talking," Gareth groans.
"On topic and skipping all these reasons we need to find Gideon new friends," the king growls, "You will come up. You will have dinner. You will talk with the girl—PUT YOUR HAND DOWN JAC YES I WILL TELL YOU WHICH ONE SHE IS!"
"Well, I'm not to know, and you apparently know all about her," the duke mutters.
"Yeah she's the duchess, I write to her and OUR MOTHER about Conwy like, three times a month," the king sighs, "She's here nearly every Christmas."
"I haven't seen her."
"HOW COULD YOU?? APPARENTLY YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT SHE LOOKS LIKE?"
"Oh—is she that short girl, definitely with two eyes, who came up and tried to talk to me last Christmas when I was chatting to Gareth about a Zweihander and why I think I should have one—,"
"Oh, that has the second grip, right?" I say, quickly.
"Yeah, exactly, I've got one one now I can show it to you Gid, they can cut a man in half—break a pike formation, then shorten up your grip and keep fighting I know the Saxons have men trained in 'em but we could—he's glaring at me isn't he?" The duke was mostly talking to me at that point.
"Are you finished?" The king asks, hand over his face.
"I wasn't, but I think you want me to be—I'll show it to you later Gideon—,"
"Oh, yes, please," I say, hopefully.
"You remember what horrible weapon you were chatting to Gareth about...but not your wife?" The king asks.
"If it's the person I'm thinking of, she's short, definitely still had both eyes," the duke nods, like this is a helpful description.
"Okay," the king breaths out slowly, "You know what? Gareth?"
"No! Not again, no, never again, I'm not doing it, your mother brained me with her dinner plate I've still got a mark—," Gareth says, holding up his hands.
"You switched places and claimed to be him—with his own mother?" The queen asks.
"It was working as well, except she noticed what a rational polite human being he was being," the king snarls. This is also his mother by the way.
"I'm not going outside in the day, and I'm not staying for all of dinner," the duke says.
"Even if we're all there and you can get off topic about something disgusting to our Gideon and Gareth every fifteen seconds or however long your attention span lasts?" The king asks.
"I can go thirty seconds," I say.
"Maybe a minute," the duke says, "Why? What do I need to talk about?"
"I don't know. But we need the dukedom's support right now so once again we are on our lifelong mission not to be too very weird in pubilic!" The king snarls, "Got it people? Pretend to be halfway normal. That's Gideon, your squire, you can talk to him about weapons all you like, but we are pretending to be people capable of protecting this country from invasion. I know we can do it. But we have to look it. And that is my job. And I will give you etiquette lessons if I see fit, but I will make us appear to be a normal family—Jac, stop spinning that knife in your fingers."
"We're in pleasant company," he says, putting it away.
"I thought it was nice knife spin, Conwy," the queen says.
"Thank you, my lady."
"Shut up you two. I know you think this is funny, Dancer, quit laughing behind me, I can feel it. I appreciate all of you shut up in your rooms and off doing your little tasks that will prevent us all from dying someday. But occasionally we have to present as people who look trustworthy. So you will all wear what I tell you to and speak politely—not you Rhiannon you look perfect," the king says.
"Thank you," she smiles sweetly.
"To that end I'll be having clothes delivered for all of you—close your mouth Jac, yes, it will be black—I am now responsible for dressing all of you becuase you clearly can't do it yourselves—,"
"Even me?" I ask.
"Especially you," everyone says.