The Flower of King and Knights

Battle of Lord's Crossing

King Ector was mounted on his steed, overlooking legions and battalions of troops marching down the road to Morgan’s castle. Banners of thousands of counties fly proudly in the wind, their fluttering combined with the thousands of footsteps of his warriors gives Ector a sight to be proud of. He mixed his men into units made not from regions, in order to give them a sense of unity as one land.

As the host moved down the road he could hear the thundering of hooves coming down a fork connecting to what his army was using. The banners of a white cross and a blue backing told Ector everything he needed. He spurred his horse down to meet the leader.

“So the men of the Highlands have joined our loving reunion,” asked the king.

“Aye,” said the leader. “If you thought we Scots would sit while you had all the fun, then you don’t know us well.”

Ector held out his hand. “I was taught to fight my own battles. But I would be honored for your men to join us. I know you excel in one on one combat. And with what Mordred is leading, will all the expertise we can get.”

The Scotsman laughed, “My lord Ector, if you thought of us as a bunch of drunken brawlers…well you are partly right. But we can be as firm as a Roman legion. Why my father lead the line that gave Arthur his final victory over the Roman Lucius.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye, tis that.” He stopped as the first line of his army began to approach Ector’s. They were clad in kilts and what Ector noted as traditional Scottish attire. But they were clad in chain armor and helms that gave them a look of terra cotta warriors of China. Ector felt relief that these men were marching with him, and not against him. “As a matter of fact, we have improved the old Phalanx formation of the Spartans. And we came with a particular gift for you.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Aye, you see, Merlin told us to keep a few mementoes of Mordred’s old auxiliary during Camlann. He said you would know how to use them best.”

Ector looked at the soldier. “I better have a look at them before I should say anymore.”

“And don’t forget the Welsh my king. They are honoring an old alliance we had back when Aurilius was king of all these lands.”

“We can use their long bows.”

The Scotsman laughed again, “My lord come now. They came with more than long bows.”

“…Very long bows.”

“You should be a jester at my court if you lose this battle! They have come with crossbows. The finest in the world.”

“I thought that belonged to the city of Milan.”

“The city of what?”

“Uh…”

“I jest, the city has come under hard times, and lost the prestige they once had. I heard some fat wrinkled hag of a woman took over and put more effort on her own wealth than for the welfare of her people. Bloody idiot. I’m surprised her citizens have not risen up and slain her. But maybe we can partake in that luxury for a later date.”

“Let’s tend to Mordred and his whore first, then the fat Milanese woman afterward.”

“Agreed. Ah it’s good to be back on a campaign again. It gives the spirit a sense of worth does it not?”

“…Don’t take this as an offense, but I think you’re mad.”

“Aye, you have to be if you don’t want to survive in the world.”