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Synopsis and excerpt copyright (c) 1993-2006 by System Support Services, Inc.
Page last updated 1/3/06

Morning's Journey

(working title)

"Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds."
Albert Einstein

IN PROGRESS: A draft is complete and undergoing revision.

Synopsis (partial)

Morning's Journey opens where Dawnflight: The Legend of Guinevere left off, during the nuptial festivities of Gyanhumara and Arthur. But not all is bliss for the newlyweds as Gyan's jilted fiancé, Urien map Dumarec, wastes no time in putting his revenge plans into action.

 EXCERPT (Chapter 1)

Her elation vanished with her balance as her tangled cloak thwarted her plans. Face contorted with rage, Urien lunged and caught her wrist. She gritted her teeth as his fingers dug in to make her drop the brooch. Pain shot up her arm. Together, they fell--

#

Gyan gasped and sat bolt upright, pulse hammering. Sweat plastered her hair to her head, which felt like the ball in an all-night game of buill-coise. Bed linens ensnared her legs.

Fingers grazed her shoulder. She recoiled and cocked a fist. Her consort ducked behind his hand. "Easy, Gyan!" She relaxed, and he wrapped his arm about her. "What's wrong?"

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. "A dream," she said, hoping that for once he'd be satisfied with a vague answer.

"Hell of a dream for you to wake up swinging at me."

"I am sorry." She sighed. "It was the fight--and yet not the fight." Gently, Gyan traced the thin red line at the base of his neck where she'd scratched him with his own sword, Caleberyllus, to seal his Oath of Fealty to her and to her clan. She needed no sign to affirm that he would stand at her side in times of greatest need, but dreams cared naught for oaths. "This time, Urien won."

Arthur grimaced. "That's no dream." He hugged her close, and she burrowed into his embrace. "I'd call it a nightmare."

"Ha." She bent forward to disengage the linens from her feet. The unyielding fabric ignited her ire. She pounded the straw-stuffed mattress, spouting a Caledonian oath, furious at Urien and even more furious at herself for allowing him to creep into her wedding chamber, if only in spirit. "Why must that cù-puc keep coming between us?" She gazed at the table where her new sword, Bronsaffir, named for the egg-sized sapphire that crowned its hilt, lay sheathed inside its etched bronze scabbard beside Caleberyllus. Indulging in the fantasy of Bronsaffir shearing through Urien's neck, she bared her teeth in a fierce grin. "Just let him cross me openly, and by the One God, I'll settle this matter!"

Arthur's warm sigh ruffled her hair. Together, they righted the linens, but when she would have risen, he clasped her hands and regarded her earnestly. "I can't afford to lose either of you."

She looked at his hands, young and yet already scarred and callused by years of war; hands that cradled the future of Brydein. "I know." Briefly, she squeezed his hands, hoping to convey her desire to help him forge unity among his people, the Brytons, as well as with Caledonians, her countrymen.

One legion soldier in five called the western Brytoni territory of Dalriada home, and one in three of those men hailed from Urien's own Clan Moray. In a duel between Gyan and Urien, Arthur's Dalriadan alliance would die regardless of the victor.

If politics ever failed to constrain the Urien of the waking world, Gyan couldn't guarantee that diplomacy would govern her response.

She averted her gaze, again, to the table where their arms and adornments lay. A golden flash drew her attention to their Dragon cloak-pins, identical save for the gemstone of each beast's eye. Arthur's featured a sunset ruby and Gyan's, a midnight sapphire. The brooches sparked a memory. Something else had been odd about that dream, but its details had receded like the morning tide. She couldn't decide whether to be troubled or relieved.

The remains of their laurel victory-crowns skittered across the tiles in the freshening breeze, releasing their spicy aroma. Closing her eyes, Gyan inhaled deeply, purging Urien map Dumarec from her mind. Moist pressure against her lips announced her consort's plans. She welcomed his kiss, returning it in kind. He ran his fingers through her unbraided hair, following the tresses down her neck and over her breasts.

The widening shaft of sunlight heralded a reminder of their duties. "The cavalry-games will be starting soon, Artyr." She preferred the Caledonian form of his name for their private times. His lips interrupted any other comment she might have made. As they explored the curve of her throat, she whispered, "We must make an appearance."

"We will, Gyan." His fingertips quested downward in their skillful bid for her passion. "Eventually."

She stilled his hands. Being ard-banoigin obligated her to ensure her clan's future by producing heirs, but was she ready to abandon the warrior's path and devote her life to a bairn? She gave a mental shrug. A swift calculation assured her that her courses would return soon, leaving the question to be faced another day.

He cupped her face and kissed her, urgency for both of them rising on the wings of desire. Gyanhumara nic Hymar, Chieftainess of Clan Argyll of Caledonia, yielded to her consort's unspoken command. For whenever Arthur map Uther, Pendragon of Brydein, issued an order, on the battlefield or off, only a fool disobeyed.

#

Trencher laden with goat's cheese and steaming black bread, Angusel mac Alayna of Clan Alban stood in the doorway of the Caer Lugubalion mansio's dining chamber. Most guests--clan rulers, religious leaders, and merchants wealthy enough to afford a room in the dignitaries' inn--hadn't stirred from their quarters. Some sprawled where sleep had overtaken them, snoring fitfully through ale-soaked dreams.

"Over here, lad!"

Though Angusel couldn't see the voice's owner, he knew only one man who could sound like a thunderclap without trying. Obediently, Angusel headed toward the shout.

He found Gyan's father at a table below the dais, methodically destroying a loaf of bread and mound of fruit, pausing at intervals to bury his face in his tankard. After wiping the creamy flecks from his graying sable mustache and beard with the back of a hand, he resumed the attack on his trencher. Peredur and Rhys, Ogryvan's stepson and clansman, flanked him.

All three had dressed for battle in traditional Caledonian bronze helmets and forearm guards, boiled leather tunics, thick leggings, and knee-high boots, nary a detail missing except their weapons.

"Sit, sit," urged the chieftain of Clan Argyll between mouthfuls, with an impatient gesture toward the bench. "Hurry. After you finish eating, you will have to change."

Angusel glanced at his sky-blue linen tunic and back at Chieftain Ogryvan. "My lord?"

"The games, Angusel. The games!" As Angusel dug in, with Rhys pouring him a tankard, the chieftain explained, "The drink has left Conall in no shape to ride. We need a fourth."

Surprise made Angusel gag on a hunk of cheese, and he swallowed hard. "Me, sir?" He took a swig of ale without tasting it.

"Of course, you." The chieftain grinned. "Do you see anyone else?"

Angusel looked about. Another man sat crumpled over the far end of the table. With his cloak balled into a hasty pillow, his clan affiliation couldn't be discerned, but the loudness of his snores proclaimed him to be in no condition to ride.

Angusel cleared his throat. "But, my lord, I am not of Argyll."

"Not by blood," he allowed, "but your heart is Argyll."

Angusel's hand went to the scar at the base of his neck, symbol of his oath to the woman whose father regarded him so intently.

That oath made his spirits sink. Ogryvan, Peredur and Rhys were the best horsemen of Clan Argyll, and arguably the best in all Caledonia, Angusel's own Clan Alban included. How could he agree to ride with them, when his skills seemed so pathetic in comparison?

Before he could voice a refusal, Peredur snaked his arm through the clutter of half-consumed food and drink to grip his forearm. "I gave up leading my ala's team for this chance to honor Argyll--and Gyan." His smile made him look so much like Gyan that Angusel sucked in a swift breath. "If you join us, she'll be doubly pleased."

"Aye!" Chieftain Ogryvan thumped the tabletop. The pewter tankards and plates and utensils clattered.

The snoring feaster woke with a startled grunt, glanced blearily about, and grimaced. Head in hands, he slid back into his dreams. The Argyll warriors chuckled, not loudly.

"My lord, I--" Angusel looked at his trencher, but, for once, eating couldn't have been farther from his mind. "I can't."

"Why not?" asked Rhys. "Riding with Alban?"

Angusel shook his head. "I don't want to make Argyll lose." He met Rhys's inquisitive gaze. "My oath forbids it."

"Nonsense, lad." The rare quietness of the chieftain's tone commanded Angusel's attention. "Gyan told me what you two were doing in your spare time before the Scotti invasion."

Gyan had been helping Angusel hone his horsemanship skills, but he remained laughably far from claiming mastery. "Then you should know, my lord, that I am the last person to ask."

"She spoke of your progress with highest praise. My daughter doesn't utter empty words."

True, Angusel thought. But would her confidence be enough? The Argyll team's competition included not just other Caledonians but the best horsemen of the legion and northern Brytoni clans. If he could have made water at that moment, it surely would have come out cold.

"You shall do just fine," said the chieftain as if in response to Angusel's fears. "Besides, if we cannot find a fourth, we must forfeit."

"Think how disappointed Gyan will be, knowing you could have--"

Chieftain Ogryvan's upraised hand cut Peredur off. "Will you join Argyll, Angusel of Alban?"

Forfeit. Disappointment.

Angusel's gut twisted. A fortnight ago, he'd sworn to serve Gyan for the rest of his days, a task he desired with his entire being, even if it meant sacrificing his life. Although he could refuse her father's request, his heart told him it would shake her confidence in him, a thought too painful to bear.

"Aye, my lord. I will ride with Argyll." Silently, Angusel prayed to all the gods that he wouldn't fail her.

#

Urien map Dumarec of Clan Moray of Dalriada watched the departure of the Argyll cavalry team through narrowed eyes. Overbearing Ogryvan and his pet, Peredur. Rhys the Rat, and smallest in stature but the biggest troublemaker of the lot, Angusel.

To think he might have become kin to those Picti vermin. Well, Arthur could have the whole bloody lot, curse his black heart.

Urien rubbed the woad Picti betrothal tattoo encircling his left wrist, one bitter reminder of the woman who'd broken that betrothal to marry Arthur. The other reminder Urien didn't have to see. He felt its shameful sting whenever he wrinkled his brow.

Reliving the fight soured Urien's mood. He'd lost more than Gyanhumara at the point of Arthur's sword. Arthur had removed him from command of the Manx Cohort--a thousand foot and horse--and recalled him to Caer Lugubalion to lead the only all-horse cohort. This amounted to about the same number of soldiers, but the Manx unit, because of its diversity, had been a more challenging command and a logical stepping-stone to greater power. Now, Urien commanded a unit composed almost entirely of accursed Picts; of the eight alae, only First Ala's roster contained Brytons.

He considered resigning his commission. Arthur probably wouldn't mind in the least, but if Urien left the army, it damned well would be on his terms, not Arthur's.

Army politics aside, losing Gyanhumara meant losing her lands, which would have doubled Clan Moray's wealth, and it had destroyed Urien's opportunity to make a bid for the Pendragonship.

No one stole that much from him with impunity.

But the thrust of his revenge would have to wait until after his father's death. The choice to remain under Arthur's thumb here at headquarters carried a hefty price, the curtailment of Urien's freedom. Being clan chieftain would eliminate the problem. Certain elements of the plan could be accomplished now, however.

He thumbed a rivet on the silvered bronze of his games-helm sitting before him. More than a helmet, the exquisitely sculpted mask covered the entire face, with slits for eyes, nose and mouth. His family had owned the games-helm for five generations, acquiring it through bartering with a Roman centurion.

Too bloody hot to wear in combat, the helm's purpose lay not in the deflection of enemy blows, but ornamentation.

When this helmet had been new, Roman officers, unlike the men under their command, received no regular payment for their services to the Empire. Instead, they subsisted off land, treasure, slaves and women taken in battle. Peacetime often imposed a hardship on the officer corps. Those unable to derive sufficient income from their estates had little choice other than to rely upon the support of a wealthy superior. The cavalry-games kept the men's skills sharp and identified decurions and centurions worthy of patronage.

To attract attention, the contestants commissioned the fanciest armor for themselves and their mounts that they could afford, however impractical. Thus sprang up a separate class of furnishings as each man strove to outdo his peers. Greaves embossed with images of gods or animals. Similarly sculpted eye- and chest-guards for the horses. Elaborately painted shields and embroidered overtunics, and the full-face helms.

When Urien had learned that Arthur would be staging cavalry-games as part of the entertainment for the wedding guests, he'd quickly selected his team and ordered identical helms for them. Not precisely the same, for the bronze of the new helms had tin overlay, unlike Urien's silver. Even a chieftain's son had limits.

Silver or tin, the sun's glare would render them identical.

Urien grinned at his distorted reflection.

# # #

Names and "foreign" words used in this excerpt are given below.
Pronunciations (in parenthesis following the word) are approximate!

ala (plural alae) - a Roman cavalry unit of about 80 horse.

Alban - Angusel's clan; also, the ancient name of Scotland, and a variant of one of the traditional names of Arthur's realm, "Albion."

Angusel - known to literary history as Lancelot. 'Nuff said. Full name: Angusel mac Alayna, son of Chieftainess Alayna of Clan Alban.

Ard-banoigin (ard BAN-ih-ghin) - a term of my own invention, a combination of the Gaelic words ard ("high"), ban ("woman"), oighre ("heir"), and gin ("beget") to refer to Gyan's unique status as the woman through whom her clan's line of succession is determined.

Argyll - Gyan's clan.

Arthur - in my version of the Legends, he's a Romano-Celtic warlord, which, arguably, comes the closest to what the historical "truth" might have been, if in fact he did exist. Full name: Arthur map Uther (son of Uther; Brytons use the patronymic form).

Bronsaffir - "Saphire Head," Gyan's sword, a wedding gift from Arthur. Its pommel is set with a sapphire, her clan's gemstone.

Brydein (bri-DEE-an) - refers to the main island of Britain.

Brytoni (bri-TONE-ee) - of or pertaining to the inhabitants of Brydein.

Buill-coise (bweel koh-is) - literally, "ball-foot," or football; i.e., soccer. The modern Gaelic term is ball-coise, but I altered it to make it appear more "Pictish." Typically, the ball was an inflated cow bladder, but in Gyan's day, a battle's victor might choose to play the game using the head of his -- or her -- vanquished foe.

Caer Lugubalion (kare loog-uh-BALE-ee-un) - headquarters of Arthur's legion, on Hadrian's Wall in present-day Carlisle.

Caleberyllus - "Burning Jewel," a name of my invention for Arthur's sword, the legendary Excalibur, hybridized from the Latin words calere ("heat;" e.g., calerie) and beryllus ("beryl" or "gem"). Since my Arthur is a Romanized Celt, I felt it only right for his sword to have a properly Latin name, rather than a Latinized form of a name of disputed origin (Caliburnus/Caliburn). "Burning Jewel" is a poetic description of the ruby set into Caleberyllus's pommel.

Caledonia, Caledonian - Pictland, Picts; thought to be aboriginal inhabitants of Britain, or perhaps they migrated to the island from Scandinavia several millennia prior to the setting of this story. Ancestors of most modern-day Scots.

cohort - Roman military unit of either foot, horse, or some combination thereof, depending on circumstances. Typical strength is 600-800 men.

Conall - Clan Argyll cavalry warrior.

Cù-puc (koo pook) - an insult of my own invention, a combination of the Gaelic word cù ("hound") and "puc," which is based on the Gaelic word muc, meaning pig.

Dalriada - region corresponding to western Scotland's Kintyre penninsula, adjacent islands, and the Isle of Maun; allied with Arthur, though Urien would prefer circumstances to be otherwise.

Fealty-mark - a scratch inflicted on the base of the neck during the Oath of Fealty ritual.

Gyan (GHEE-an) - heroine's nickname, of my own invention.

Gyanhumara (ghee-an-huh-MAH-rah) - heroine's full given name, also of my own invention, based on one of the most ancient forms of Guinevere, "Guanhumara." Chieftainess of Clan Argyll. Full name: Gyanhumara nic Hymar (daughter of Hymar; the Picts in my story use the matronymic rather than the patronymic method of identification).

Mansio - Latin term for the dignitaries' inn on a military post, from which is derived the modern English word "mansion."

Manx Cohort - Brytoni-Caledonian unit of about 1000 horse and foot--a bit larger than usual due to the increased threat of enemy invasion--that defends the Isle of Maun.

Moray - Urien's clan. Seat of Moray is its capital, Dunadd, on the Kintyre penninsula.

Oath of Fealty - Voluntary Caledonian ritual whereby the warrior of one clan swears to serve the chieftain or chieftainess of another. Similar to what eventually became the knighthood ritual, but the one giving the oath is "dubbed" by his own sword -- and the "dubber" is permitted to decapitate the "dubee" if there are any doubts about the sincerity of the oath being offered.

Ogryvan (oh-GREE-van) - Gyan's father, Chieftain of Clan Argyll.

Pendragon - literally, "chief dragon," Arthur's title as commander-in-chief of the Dragon Legion.

Per - Gyan's older half-brother; full name: Peredur mac Hymar (son of Hymar).

Rhys (HREES) - veteran Clan Argyll cavalry warrior.

Scots, Scotti - of or pertaining to the inhabitants of Ireland during this period, although their migration to present-day Scotland is beginning to get under way.

Urien (OO-ree-en) - the Brytoni nobleman to whom Gyan Gyan was betrothed in Dawnflight. Full name: Urien map Dumarec (son of Dumarec).

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