"It’s a preposterous idea, Rawlinson," General Douglas Haig said.
"I tell you it will work," fellow general Sir Henry Rawlinson replied to his commanding officer, the Commander-in-Chief of the British Expeditionary Force.
"Bring back King Arthur to lead the BEF in 1916? I say it’s the most ridiculously absurd idea I’ve ever heard. Are you sure you haven’t sucked in any of that mustard gas the Germans have been throwing at your army?" Haig had been shocked by the lieutenant general’s scheme of including the return of King Arthur in the plans for the next assault on the German lines.
Rawlinson said, "According to tradition, Arthur will come back to save England."
"Yes, I’m familiar with the tale," Haig replied. "King Arthur is taken to the Island of Avalon to heal after being wounded by his son Mordred at the Battle of Camlann. The once and future king will then return when England needs him most." The Commander-in-Chief paced the floor of Rawlinson’s office at Fourth Army Headquarters.
"England needs him now," said the junior officer.
"You’ve been reading too much Tennyson. What England needs is more men. It’s the army with the most men and the most weapons that will win this bloody war. Your getting me one man from the sixth century will not make much of a difference. I need thousands."
"You need a victory, Haig, and soon," replied Rawlinson. "Once word gets out of the casualties of the First of July, there will be calls for your dismissal. We had over 50,000 casualties and nearly 20,000 fatalities on one day, all to move our trenches up a few hundred feet. How will that look in the papers when compared to the casual reference to ‘the enemy’s continued resistance’ in your positive dispatches?"
"How was I to know the casualties when my generals didn’t tell me for days? Besides, most of the losses were by the Fourth Army and its five corps, men under your command, Rawlinson."
"Calm down, Douglas," Rawlinson said. "I wasn’t trying to blame you. I know my head is in as much danger as yours is for the losses on the First. I’m simply stating that the papers and the government will want some answers and soon unless we can show a victory, some meaningful achievement for the losses."
"So your solution is to bring back King Arthur?"
"It’s only part of the plan, to be used if we achieve a break in the German line. Don’t take this wrong, Haig, but your plan of daytime attacks on multiple parts of the front was a disaster. We need a new plan."
"I know that," replied the Commander-in-Chief. "I signed on to your plan yesterday, so there is no need to try to convince me. The assault on the Bazetin Ridge will begin before dawn on the Fourteenth, but you know I don’t trust moving so many untrained troops at night. I still consider it an attack organized for amateurs by amateurs, but I agreed to it since you were able to convince the rest of the senior staff. This once I think the French are right to be cautious about attacking. However, now you propose bringing back King Arthur. Even if you could arrange for his return, which I doubt, what good could this sixth century king do here, in 1916?"
"He would inspire the cavalry."
"The cavalry? The BEF hasn’t used mounted forces on a battlefield since 1914. You expect Arthur to lead a cavalry charge against the German machine guns, gas attacks, and stick bombs, and somehow, because he’s the legendary hero of Britain, he would make it through the barbed wire and trenches to win the day, even though the thousands of troops on July First couldn’t do that? If he couldn’t win the Battle of Camlann what makes you think he will win at the Battle of the Somme? Besides, this king is a myth; he never existed. If he never existed in the sixth century, what makes you think he will exist here in the twentieth?"
"He may be mythical, as you say, but King Arthur will come if called."
The Commander-in-Chief shook his head in dismay at Rawlinson. "And how does one call a mythical king who never existed?"
"With this," answered Rawlinson pulling out from a bag an ancient horn covered with faded silver lettering.
"This is straight out of Sir Thomas Mallory," Haig said with a snicker.
"Actually," Rawlinson calmly replied, "it’s mentioned in the Vulgate Cycle, not Mallory. Merlin blew on this very horn to help Bors and Bans against King Claudius here in France. My family has kept the horn for centuries, waiting to summon King Arthur to save England."
The Commander-in-Chief decided that Rawlinson needed a break from the front as soon as the attack was completed. "Why didn’t your ancestors summon the good king when William the Conqueror landed in 1066?"
"Sadly, the family was not aware of the Norman victory at Hastings until William had already taken London and crowned himself king of England. It was determined to be too late then. But the family was prepared in 1588 when the Spanish Armada menaced the British shores and in 1805 when Lord Nelson kept Napoleon from attempting an invasion."
"I swear, Rawlinson, this is crazy, but we have better things to do argue over the return of King Arthur, such as finishing the organization of the battle that begins tomorrow night. Blow your bloody horn if you want and give the king to some cavalry troop." The Commander-in-Chief stormed out of Rawlinson’s office.
*****
"Think we’ll see action tonight, lieutenant?" asked a lance corporal of the 11th Lancashire Fusiliers.
The lieutenant laughed. "I don’t know, William. Just because I’m a communication officer doesn’t mean anything is communicated to me." The lieutenant, called Ronald or, by close friends, John Ronald, was a Battalion Signalling Officer. "Still, I don’t see how the orders to march tonight could mean anything else. What do you think, Thomas?" Ronald asked Private Thomas Gaskins.
"I dunno, sir," the private answered, "but I reckon you’re right."
Although he was a Second Lieutenant, Ronald enjoyed the company of privates like Thomas and NCOs like William more than that of his fellow officers. He found the junior officers of his battalion to be young and egotistical, while the senior officers were men of narrow minds and endless stories of the Boer War and India.
William Makinson had the same complaints of the junior officers, some of whom were half his age, although he had nearly no contact with the senior officers. The 40-year old corporal enjoyed the straight talk of the 24 year-old Oxford-educated Ronald. It was simply not permitted in the British Army for a lieutenant to befriend a mere lance corporal, but Ronald was able to converse occasionally with the corporal without incurring the disdain of his fellow lieutenants and the wrath of more senior officers. Frequent conversation, but not friendship, with Thomas was expected since the private was assigned as Ronald’s servant.
"I suspect B Company will be sent to the trenches very soon, probably tonight," said the lieutenant. The battalion’s A Company had been sent into the battle on July 1 and many had not returned. Ronald, William, Thomas and the other men of B company had seen only limited action in the nearly two weeks since.
"You hear that, sir?" asked the private.
"Yes, Thomas," Ronald answered. "It sounded like some sort of horn." The three soldiers had heard a clear horn call over the constant din of artillery and gunfire.
"What do you think it was?" asked William.
"I don’t know, but I think it is time for us to march." The 11th battalion of the Lancashire Fusiliers marched through the night.
*****
Rawlinson’s blowing of the horn caused nothing to happen for several minutes, and the general was worried that Haig’s doubts were correct and his family’s legends false.
Then the office door blew open, scattering the general’s battle plans. When the wind settled, Rawlinson faced a stocky, bearded man with a plated cuirass and chain mail coif. "Who summons Arthur, King of Britain?" said the man.
"It is I, Henry Rawlinson, Lieutenant General of the British Army, who calls Arthur back to serve England."
"Does England need me now?"
"Yes, England faces a great battle tomorrow and needs a hero like you."
"Then I shall dub thee Sir Henry and you shall command my army," the king said.
"I am already Sir Henry," answered Rawlinson, who had been previously granted knighthood, "and the Army is commanded by my superior officer, Sir Douglas Haig. What the Army needs of you is to lead a cavalry battalion in tomorrow’s battle."
The king frowned at Rawlinson. "You summoned the King of Britain to lead a few cavalry. Nay, I have returned to lead England as its rightful king, not to be some minor military officer."
Rawlinson had not considered that Arthur would be unwilling to serve, let alone that he would want to be the King of England again. "England has a king. His Majesty George V rules the United Kingdom of Great Britain today."
"So I am not needed as king, merely as a leader of a cavalry troop. The once king and future battalion leader? That I shall not do."
The general knew he would be in more trouble than Haig was in for the 20,000 fatalities if it was thought in London that he supported a challenger to the throne. "According to some historians," Rawlinson said, "you were never king anyway, only a war leader named Artorius."
The king laughed. "You are a fool, Sir Henry. You have summoned the mythical Arthur, not the historical Artorius. When you call forth the past through magic such as that horn, more than the actual past is summoned. Magic begets magic, and myth becomes real. I am the myth of Arthur incarnate."
"Then the myth states that you shall help England in its hour of need. England needs you now."
"The myth also says that I shall return as King of England. I have returned to rule England, not to be a minor military officer. I think I have been summoned to give you a victory, not for the need of England. I shall not be a pawn in your quest for a victory." Arthur sat down in Rawlinson’s chair.
Rawlinson left the intractable king and went to the General Staff Room of his army’s headquarters for the beginning of the battle. As planned, the troops had been brought to the line during the nighttime. The intense bombardment of the enemy defenses began at 3:20 a.m. and the infantry assault started five minutes later.
The attack started well. By mid-morning there were conflicting reports that the 9th Division had already taken the village of Longueval on the right. Reports concerning the center were even more encouraging, with the 7th and 21st Divisions reaching the German defensive positions on the ridge top and taking the villages Bazentin le Grand and Bazentin le Petit. The news was less favorable on the left, where the 25th faced stiff opposition from the Germans occupying Ovillers.
In the early afternoon, the reports from the center indicated that the 7th had produced a break by in the German line that would allow a cavalry charge into the strategic High Wood. Here was the opportunity Rawlinson had hoped for. The General Staff urged him to order the cavalry out, but the general hesitated. "Tell them they will start in half an hour," Rawlinson replied.
"Why not now?" asked an officer.
"I believe a short delay could make the charge even more successful," the general answered as he went back to his office to make another attempt to convince King Arthur to lead the charge.
Rawlinson found Arthur studying the battle plans. "This war is not going well," the king said coldly.
"No, it is not. The French are barely able to hold Verdun while our attack two weeks ago here at the Somme was disastrous. But now there is an opportunity for a cavalry charge, a charge you can lead. It may change the course of the war."
"I will lead the charge, but not for you, Sir Henry. You have used me for purposes other than the good of England. I will lead the charge because England needs a victory."
"Excellent," Rawlinson replied. "There is a horse waiting for you and an officer to brief you on the situation. You will be with the 7th Dragoon Guards."
"Forget not, Sir Henry," the king said as he started to leave, "that I am the rightful King of England. At the conclusion of this battle, if I survive, I will regain my throne. The myths shall be fulfilled. However now it is time to fight for the good of England, for me to fight again the German Saxons." King Arthur left the general to join in the battle of the Somme.
Rawlinson realized that it would be far better if the king did not survive the battle and did not fulfill that part of the mythology.
*****
"My God, we’ll all be shot down," Private Thomas Gaskins said.
Ronald looked up from the trench and saw the first men of their battalion leave the trenches to assail the German-held Ovillers. Before the men of the 11th Lancashire Fusiliers were fifty feet into the No Man’s Land between the armies, the German machine guns opened fire and the British soldiers started falling.
Ronald averted his eyes from the slaughter to arrange appropriate flag signals indicating the battalion had begun their part of the assault on Ovillers. Upon arriving on the front, he found most of his training as a signalling officer useless. He was under orders not to use the field-telephones or even Morse code communication since the Germans had tapped the lines. Not that it mattered much since the wires at the front were a tangled, defective mess. He was forced to rely on flag and light signals to keep his battalion in communication with brigade headquarters. He had even heard that some units, in a return to medieval times, were using carrier pigeons.
After he had sent the signal, he and Thomas climbed out of the trench and joined the rest of their battalion in the attack. No Man’s Land was filled with human bodies. Some were members of his unit who had just fallen, but most had been there far longer. He felt surrounded by the bloated, dismembered victims of the German artillery shells, many staring ahead with dreadful eyes, others having no eyes or face left. Ronald controlled his desire to vomit and looked ahead.
What he saw ahead was not more encouraging. The air was filled with smoke, bullets, and bombs, and the ground shook from the artillery barrage. At the forefront of the attack, he saw some men retreating, some continue forward, and many fall down. Ronald continued to run forward, as much by momentum as decision, but many soldiers ran the opposite direction.
Thomas stopped running in any direction. A burst of machine gun fire had come upon them and the private had been hit in the chest. Ronald stopped and looked over him and saw that there was no hope.
By the time Ronald looked up from the dead Thomas Gaskins, there was no question which way to run. The advance had been stopped by German barbed wire, which the artillery claimed would be cut. The attack became a retreat. Ronald joined what remained of his battalion in running back to the trenches, while other battalions repeated the futile and deadly exercise.
As the battalion continued away from the front later that afternoon, the typical sounds of gunfire and artillery explosions were coupled with a new sound, horses. Ronald gazed in amazement as a cavalry unit rode toward the front. His amazement increased when he saw the head of the unit, and he wondered why a man in medieval armor would be on a 20th century battlefield.
*****
"How long will this go on, sir?" William Makinson asked Ronald as the lieutenant passed through the trench where the battalion was stationed.
"I don’t know, William, but I doubt we can keep this up much longer." After a short rest following their first disastrous charge at Ovillers, the 11th Lancashire Fusiliers had returned to battle, this time firing from a trench close to the German line. The unit had only had been permitted a few moments of sleep in the 48 hours since the fighting began.
"I’m sick of this trench," William said. "I think I’d rather try another assault than spend another hour here."
Ronald turned from the corporal to continue down the trench. After a dozen steps, he heard the now familiar sound of incoming stick bombs. He dove to the ground. Without raising rising from the trench floor, he turned to see where they had landed. William picked up one of the grenades and threw the bomb back toward the Germans.
All along that section of the trench, men looked for other grenades. A man near Ronald spotted one and threw it out just before the explosion. He then heard William’s voice shout out, "There’s one!" The corporal picked up the bomb, but it exploded before he could throw it.
A medic was called for, but Ronald knew it was no use. He looked upon another dying victim of the battle, just as he had with Thomas Gaskins two days before. Ronald turned away.
After a heavy bombardment from the British artillery a few hours later, the battalion was ordered to make another advance on the German fortifications. The 11th Lancashire Fusiliers found this advance less dangerous than the original charge. The German defenses were minimal this time, with few guns firing at them.
Ronald’s run across the No Man’s Land was not without incident, although it was not due to the German guns. Sickened by the sight of the bloated corpses that covered the desolate cornfield, he avoided looking down as he ran. His foot tripped on a body, and he fell down, hitting his head. He battalion was far ahead by the time he raised his sore head. As he started to rise from the ground, he heard a moan and realized that the person he tripped over was not dead.
Ronald looked down and saw something shine from under the man’s mud covering, a sliver gleam atypical of the uniforms of the BEF. "Are you British?" he asked the moaning man.
"Oh yes, I am British," the man answered softly, "and have been for centuries."
Ronald realized that the man must be delirious from his wounds.
"I just have a uniform of a different era." The man pulled away some of the mud coating from his chest to reveal a plate mail cuirass.
"You were at the head of the cavalry troop two days ago," Ronald said.
"Yes, I led a cavalry charge then. It was a magnificent run. We galloped up the slope, our pennants flying. We attacked the machine guns with our lances. At great lose of men and horse, we captured the place called High Woods. But no support came to defend our flanks, and we had to retreat. I led the men out with barely another loss, except for me and my horse. I was able to make it here, but I will not go much further."
Fascinated by the man’s story, Ronald asked, "Why are you wearing a medieval cuirass?"
"Because I am a medieval man. I am Arthur, King of Britain."
"You’re King Arthur?" Ronald said, now quite certain the man was delirious.
"I have returned to assist England in her hour of need."
"But that’s just a myth, and so is the whole legend of King Arthur and the Matter of Britain."
"You are correct about that, but myths can come to life. But, alas, myths can also die. I have returned to assist England only to die here in this pointless war, and with me shall die the myths of the Matter of Britain."
"But the stories about you will continue to be told even after you die."
"Again correct, but they shall be real no more. What England needs now is a new mythology to replace the one dying with me, one that gives a sense of purpose, unlike this place. In a modern world with battles such as this England needs myths and legends."
The old king said no more, and Ronald continued toward his battalion.
*****
"I dare say, Rawlinson, your plan worked better than I expected," General Haig said a few days later. "To accomplish a night operation of such magnitude without being detected is itself a high tribute to the quality of our troops. And the attack was a general success. We did not make a lasting breakthrough of the German lines, but we gained some important positions up on the Bazentin Ridge."
"And it should lessen some of the criticism when the whole truth of July First is revealed," Rawlinson replied.
"Yes, there were some definite gains from the attack," said the Commander-in-Chief. "Hopefully the whole truth of your foolhardy scheme to use King Arthur will never be known. We are lucky that he, whoever he really was, didn’t survive the battle to challenge the throne. I do not understand what you were thinking in proposing that idea."
"I guess I hoped a return to mythology would make a difference in this awful war."
"Alas, Rawlinson, you need to realize there’s no role for mythology or magic tales in the modern world."
"I know you’re right, but still, it seems a shame that there is no role for magic, especially when the modern world has given us places like the Somme and Verdun."
"The Somme will probably be our place for some time" answered the Commander-in-Chief, "so we better plan what come next."
*****
Ronald had survived the Battle of the Somme, but not without infirmity. He was struck with the thirst and high temperatures of the lice-carried malady called "trench fever" and was sent back to England to recover.
In the weeks he spent in the hospital recovering, he thought much of the battle. Ovillers had finally been taken, with his battalion capturing the last German defenders on July 16. Many people he knew had died in the animal slaughter of the trenches. Two of his three closest pre-war friends had died at the battle, Rob Gilson and G.B. Smith. He had seen his battalion companions Thomas Gaskins and William Makinson killed, as well as many others less close to him.
Ronald also frequently pondered the man who claimed to be King Arthur. He realized that the old king had been right. The old mythology was dead, but the modern world, the world that had produced the carnage of the Somme, needed a new mythology. With the once and future king never to return, England needed a new mythology. Ronald thought he might incorporate some poems he had started before the war and create a new mythology for England, one with elves, magic rings, and jewels called Simarils. He picked a cheap notebook and wrote with a thick blue pencil, "The Book of Lost Tales by John Ronald Reuel Tolkien."
Bio:Nick Perry has published two stories in Aphelion (nos. 20 and 45). He grew up on King Arthur Drive in Franklin, Indiana.
E-mail: nicholasperry@earthlink.net
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