Paul Finch - Dark North

Found in a church vestry in 2006, the Salisbury Manuscript (British Library MS Add. 1138) is the only existing copy of The Second Book of King Arthur and His Noble Knights . Apparently a sequel to Thomas Malory’s Le Morte D’Arthur , the best-known and most influential version of the story of King Arthur and his Round Table, the Second Book has caused enormous controversy throughout the academic world.

Following negotiations with the manuscript’s owner, Abaddon Books won the rights to modernise and publish the stories for the mainstream market in early 2010. Dark North is the third title to be released to the public.

For more information about the Salisbury Manuscript, and themes and notes from this story, see the Appendices at the rear of this book.

My son,

When I am gone you will inherit nothing but my bad name, this fur and this sword. Do not underestimate their power. In particular, do not underestimate this sword, for it is the embodiment of our strength. Wield it, and those who come against you will fall like stalks of grass. Do not think this an evil thing, for you will be lord and protector of many lands. While countless will die by your sword, countless others will live by it.

God rules this world and His people thrive, not because He is good but because He is strong. Christians once died like cattle, men, women and children hunted down and put to death in torturous ways. They only came to safety the day they struck back. At the battle of the Milvian Bridge, General Constantine destroyed the pagan horde of the pig Maxentius with blood and iron. This is the only lesson you need learn. The men of the One God rule because they are mightier than those of many gods. Do not be fooled by the wittering of priests and monks. Strength matters. Spare those who oppose you, and they will kill you and your children. This gift of rage I bequeath to you in the form of this sword, which has delivered death to more foes than I can count, and must continue to.

Worship God, serve your overlord, and vanquish your enemies — vanquish them utterly. There is no law but your own. God respects those who conquer and triumph in His name. Your enemies are His. Cleanse the world of them.

— Duke Corneus of Penharrow,

Dictated on his death-bed

Lucius Julio Bizerta did not care a great deal for the Imperial purple. Nor did he stand on ceremony, not even when there were matters of state to discuss. As such, on that unseasonably mild February evening when he received twelve honoured guests in the audience chamber of the Episcopal Palace at Ravenna, he was wearing a simple tunic, breeches and sandals. There were no laurel leaves on his brow; there was no sceptre in his hand; the only ring on his hands was the royal seal.

The chamber was tall and spacious, and built from polished white marble, but aside from its simple New Testament frescoes, and the heavy ermine curtain drawn across its single casement, it was devoid of ornamentation. The hearth was bare — the hot-water pipes under the tiled floor provided adequate warmth, and numerous candelabra cast an orange glow. Twelve cushioned seats were arranged for the guests; as they included two consuls, three senators, several high churchmen, and various representatives of the capital’s wealthiest patrician families, they might have expected greater extravagance, but less was always more where Emperor Lucius was concerned. He didn’t address them flanked by flunkeys, but with only a single scribe to keep a record of their meeting. He awaited their arrival behind a broad teak desk rather than seated on a gilded throne; a desk layered with books and quills, which revealed more than words ever could the enquiring state of his mind and his dedication to personal industry.

The Emperor was not tall — about middle height, but with a strong, stocky frame, and possessed of curly red-gold hair, and a light red-gold beard and moustache. His complexion was unusually ashen for one born in Capua, far to the south, but he was a handsome man with a steady smile, a straight aquiline nose and bright green eyes. From his simple attire, restless air and tireless movement, one might have thought him an artisan, a talented but humble fellow who strove tirelessly for a good greater than his own glory but drew pride and satisfaction from it nevertheless.

“Gentlemen,” he said, once his guests were seated. He walked around his desk and stood in front of it, arms folded. “It always reassures me to summon such august company, and see it arrive with such a dignified lack of haste. Only conspirators hasten to their Emperor’s presence.”

There was a mumble of polite laughter.

“The only conspiracy here, Caesar, is to sing your praises,” Consul Rascalon replied. “Because of you, the world will soon be Roman again.”

Lucius shook his head. “No. Not the world, just the parts of it that were Roman before. Gentlemen… we live in a bustling age. Powers rise and fall, some of them righteous, some of them vile. There has been much chaos, much bloodshed. But there have also been achievements — in the arts and sciences, in culture and philosophy. One cannot, and indeed must never, belittle the successes of those who were left to gather up the pieces when the Empire collapsed.”

“Those who kept the candle of civilisation burning during those dark years are to be honoured,” Consul Rascalon said. “But alas, these became small voices in a wilderness of barbarism, much of it heathen. It is you who have brought the light back to the Empire, Caesar. Glory to your name!”

Cheering filled the audience chamber. Fists stabbed the air.

Lucius acknowledged this with a patient smile, but gestured for peace.

“This isn’t about conquest for its own sake, gentlemen. Or even reconquest. I’m sure you’ll agree I have gone out of my way not to tyrannise. Things must never be allowed to revert to the way they were in the bad old days… of Gaius Caligula’s reign, for example, when the Emperor made whores of his best friends’ wives simply because he could. Or the days of Nero, when fear and superstition led the Palatine gardens to be lit by Christians smeared with pitch and made into living torches.”

The guests fell silent in mute recognition of these tragic events. The bishops among them nodded their skull-capped heads sagely.

“What I wish to restore to our provinces is the light of learning and love,” Lucius added. “Rome as a parent, a firm father and caring mother, a guiding hand for those who, since our departure, have come to wallow in ignorance and squalor.”

“No-one has ever doubted this, Caesar,” Rascalon stated.

“This is why we have christened our resurgent empire ‘New Rome.’ We are proud of our past, but there are many reasons why we also need to break from it.”

His audience listened intently.

“So let us consider what New Rome has so far accomplished.” Lucius clapped his hands and two attendants entered carrying a display board, which they set up alongside their master’s desk. A map of the Empire was pinned to it; the eastern provinces were marked in gold, the western ones in red.

Bishop Severin Malconi, in whose own palace they sat, regarded the map warily. He was a plump, sunburned man of fifty years, whose close-cropped white hair belied his youthful looks. As a boy, he would never have dreamed to see Roman hegemony restored to so many disorderly regions. The notion that the Mediterranean Sea could ever again be a ‘Roman lake’ would have amazed and enthused him, and yet how quickly these staggering events had come to pass.

Lucius continued: “We have now recovered in full the provinces of Italy, Africa, Spain, Gaul and Aquitaine. In some cases they are still controlled by their original potentates, but now they pay fealty and taxes to us.”