did in those days. He and the group he joined up with served on the Channel Coast. They manned ships that were supposed to stop their relatives sailing along and raiding the coast of Britain! To be honest there was that much “nudge, nudge, wink, wink, and how much do we have to slip you for a trouble-free passage” going on it wasn’t funny. If the Romans thought employing Saxons to stop Saxons would work they would be foolish enough to think that I could carry on talking without taking another drink.’ With that Grimm took a mouthful of beer. ‘Very nice, a bit gassy though – I shouldn’t qualify things like that should I: it sounds very “Welsh”. Anyway where was I? Oh, yes. When he retired from Roman service, old Weldig the Gewise set up a security and protection outfit on the south coast, using some of his nephews and younger cousins. The Brits were his prime customers and he cemented the relationship by marrying a daughter of the local Wealas landowner. I told him at the time that it would cause him grief, for the children of such unions never know where their loyalty lies. It was his second marriage. His first wife had been a sturdy Myringa wench and she bore him many sons. Unfortunately she died when an axe head flew off and struck her on her head when she was splitting logs for the winter fire. It was a tragedy: she had only managed to get halfway through the pile of logs before she died and poor Weldig had to fork out money to hire someone’s serf to finish the job off.’
‘That, Grimm, was not very nice.’
‘No it wasn’t because in those days old Weldig didn’t have that much spare cash.’
Jamie ground his teeth: ‘I meant,’ he half spat, ‘the axe head coming off.’
‘Oh that wasn’t so bad, it was easily put back on; it merely needed a new wedge in the end to make it more secure. Right, back to the explanation: old Weldig seemed happy enough with his new wife. Well, he was sixty and she was sixteen. It is little wonder the marriage only lasted two years before he died whilst still on the job.’
Jamie smirked and sniggered.
‘What are you laughing at? He had his two hands on his steering board when he … you are still laughing. You are as bad as the No-men. For them it is excusable because they only have a dash of my blood in them. Did I say No-men? Sorry: Normans; a slip of the tongue.’
Jamie brought himself under control. ‘No, Grimm, I am quite happy for you to call them No-men.’
‘Right, well, that’s all right then. So much mixed blood these days one never knows when one is insulting or upsetting someone.’
Jamie started playing with some of the crushed grass lying on the groundsheet of the tent. ‘I didn’t think you worried about upsetting people Grimm?’
‘Oh I don’t, but I do like to know when my insult or affront will have its maximum offence.’ The old man used an unsteady hand to move greasy locks of hair from his face, and then plunged the hand back into his bag, this time pulling out a half-empty packet of pork scratchings, the contents of which he proceeded to feed into his mouth. ‘Now,’ he continued, in a spray of pork bits. ‘Gewise’s son, Elsa – from his first marriage – carried on the business, and even expanded it, and so did Elsa’s boy, Elesa, who also lapsed into marrying a Wealas. I had a word with Elesa and he took my advice and concentrated on the coastal shipping whilst turning the security branch into a franchise. That way he could expand his asset base even more with only a minimal capital outlay. By the time it came into his son Cerdic’s hand it was quite an operation.’
‘And,’ Jamie asked, as he edged himself out of range of the flying pork-scratching fragments, ‘at that time he was known as Cerdic not Arthur?’
‘All right: how come Cerdic was also called Arthur? Well it’s a sad tale; don’t be too embarrassed to mop your eyes and nose with your kerchief, or your sleeve, whichever is handiest. You see, when he was just a lad, Cerdic had been struck by this illness. Many say he was cursed, but I had foreseen greatness of him and ensured that no one cursed him; and they knew what would happen to them if they crossed me. Myself, I suspect he was Elfshot when I was otherwise engaged. The Elves are proud creatures and enjoy spiting me when they can. Cerdic had a fever, and many feared for his life. As soon as I heard, I rushed back to see what I could do. I made potions; I muttered charms; I wrote strong binding Runes on slivers of wood and burnt them. In the end, he did recover.’
Jamie looked steadily at Grimm.
‘You didn’t weep or take a deep sigh? Have you no empathy?’
‘Empathy? You, Grimm, who take pleasure in provoking men to fight and kill – you have no empathy, so why should I?’
‘Oh, well, normally I tell this tale to a mixed audience and the ladies all seem to weep and moan when I get to that bit.’
‘I,’ said Jamie, standing up and towering over the old man, ‘am not a woman!’
‘Indeed no, you are a man, and one so grown that I had problems recognising you. Sit, sit,’ Grimm insisted. ‘Looking up makes my head hurt for some reason.’
Jamie sat back down reluctantly.
Grimm bent his head and went back to rummaging in his bag, not for food but as a way of smiling to himself without the youth seeing his face; his pleasure being at finding a way he could in future provoke Jamie, should the need arise. ‘Now: Cerdic.’ The old man pulled his head back out of the bag’s darkness, his face now serious. ‘He recovered, but for a long time he had trouble with his breathing. Eventually that came right but his left leg was never the same after the illness and he ever after walked with a slight limp. But the reason he got his nickname of Arthur was because the illness caused his left arm to shrivel. I worked on it, but it was never the same. The result was his left arm remained weak, but his right, by needs, became twice as strong as other men’s. As a result of this, the Wealas called him Caradoc Vreichvaras. Now that is a name that is so hard to say you will not be surprised to hear that those who spoke Latin pronounced it as Coroticus Artus, which you would say as Cerdic Arthur, that is Cerdic Strong-Arm in today’s English.’
A loud cheer from the battlefield caused Jamie to move to the entrance flap of the geteld and poke his head out. The sound of shields being beaten with spear butt or sword told him that the clash of the opposing armies was due to start.
‘Look, Leofwine: do you want to hear this story or not?’
Jamie pulled himself back in, looked at Grimm and raised an eyebrow. Grimm tipped his now empty jack upside down. Jamie went for a refill. Grimm started speaking straight away, as if in a hurry to get the turgid tale told. ‘Cerdic Arthur’s body may have been less than perfect, but his mind was sharp, oh yes, very sharp. Whilst his father carried on with the shipping trade, young Arthur – for so I shall call him that to stop confusing you.’
Jamie gave a resigned sigh as he passed over the jack with its foaming head of beer.
‘Young Arthur collected some of his relations who still lived in the Germanic fatherland. They, together with a few odd Danes (and many of them are very odd, trust me on that one) and some Jutes, formed the basis of a war fleet for hire. Old men like to talk peace and follow trade: young men prefer something a little more exciting. They did a bit of enforcement here and a bit of protecting there. You know the sort of thing: “Oh what a nice village you have and such lovely-looking women, I’m sure you wouldn’t like them to be taken and sold as slaves! If you pay us money we won’t do that and make sure no others do either.” They also subcontracted to Art’s dad and shipped what was left of the Roman army around as they first tried to block the Franks, then the Burgundians – both of whom are my folk, though both were soon to interbreed with the locals and forget me. Those accursed Romans also had problems with the Huns and finally the Goths (my folk again). Business was good in those days for anyone who had ships and warriors for hire.’
‘Happy days then: all that fighting and you not even doing much to provoke the battles and mistrust?’
‘How dare you!’ Grimm was so perturbed he tried to stand, but sat down again when it became obvious that the action would cause him to spill his beer. ‘I was very busy, as indeed I am t
oday. It is just that I don’t have the time to give you all the details of what mischief I was up to.’ Grimm snorted and then consoled himself with more beer. ‘The youth of today!’
‘Sorry, Grimm,’ Jamie said in a wheedling voice.
‘Yes, well, I should think so. Now; where was I? Ah yes. It was whilst he was back at the South Hampton visiting his dad and his Wealas mother that Art got to act as translator for old Ambrosia. I have spoken of him before when I told you of Hengest. The Wealas Ambrosia was the poor soul who turned up late for a meeting of the British Security Council, held by the ever squabbling British princes and chieftains, only to find that they had elected him to hold the job of organising the defence of the whole island of Britain! I can assure you he never arrived late for meetings again. It wasn’t all negative though; he was given the title of Vortigern, which means “Big Chief”. He had a grand title, no money, no authority, and very soon an ulcer. The reason for needing Art as translator was that Vortigern was having a slight misunderstanding with one of Elesa’s franchisees in the security branch of the business. The man in question was Hengest the Angle.’
‘I remember you telling me of him when I was on holiday at Ramsgate.’
‘Indeed I did. What a hero, though