Excerpt from A Man of Our Kind: Tyrant King Vortigern

Vortigern is a tyrant king who stole rule of the land from the rightful succession. Since then, he has allied with the Saxons and is allowing them to settle. This scene shows Vortigern being confronted by Garagon, governor of Kent, who is upset about the amount of Saxons Vortigern has allowed in. 

A gloved hand thrust itself into the carriage door. It was banged as the door closed, a cry was heard, and the door opened again. The pleasant but pained face of some duke or something—Vortigern had seen him before—attempted a grimacing smile as he rubbed his sore hand.

“King Vortigern,” he said. “I wonder if I might steal some time with you.” 

The king took a long time peering at him. “Yes,” he said finally, “please come in.” He gestured to the seat. 

“Thank you,” the man said, sitting opposite the king. He was bald with a hale, ruddy face and broad smile, attractive enough for Vortigern to develop a slight distain. Better to invite these people in and dispose of them faster. “How are things in your… place… where you,” he rolled his hand, “come from?”

The man nodded patiently. “I am Garagon, the governor of Kent.” He maintained a broad smile.

“Of course,” Vortigern said. 

“We met last night,” the duke said.

“So we did,” the king replied. He had seen the man’s rotund face before. “How are things?”

“Well, it’s these Saxons, I have to say. And that’s what I hoped to find time to speak with you about.”

“The time is at hand.”

The man’s brows wrinkled, and he leaned forward quizzically.

“I’m ready to hear you,” Vortigern clarified.

“Oh!” The man laughed. “Wasn’t sure!” He chuckled some more.

Vortigern pulled his cheeks back. 

“Well you see, it’s these Saxons, as I’ve said. They’re settling in!” He chuckled. “They’re building houses for themselves, which are, umm, different. Different than we are used to. They built houses, well, actually a small village I’d say, on the back acres of a farm I know, and when the farmer told them he owned the land, they just laughed. Told him to get off. And when he didn’t, they kicked him off!” His eyes were wide, and he scoffed in amazement. “Kicked him right off his own land, they did!”

Vortigern reminded himself to make appropriate responses. “Did he ever get rid of them?” he asked.

“Not at all! They’re there to this day, and they say they’re bringing more! Not proper houseguests, I’d say!”

“Certainly not,” Vortigern agreed.

The man peered at him oddly. His mouth hung open for a moment as his eyebrows bunched, then he took a breath and continued. “And they’re drinking in our public houses. Knocking about as if they own the place. Muscling us British out of the way and generally chucking about as if they’re superior is what I’ve heard!”

“I’ve heard they are superior,” Vortigern said.

The man hung still, mouth open. Then he closed it, blinked his eyes, and leaned back. “I’m sorry?”

“They’re bigger, stronger. They’re better warriors. They organized, sailed here, built stable houses quickly, when we’re lucky if we can find our way back from a fishing expedition.” The king shrugged. “They’re of inarguably more handsome stock—”

“I know the maidens think so!” 

Vortigern raised his eyebrows.

“They’re making sport with our maidens! And the girls are letting them!”

“And?”

“And people don’t like that! They don’t want them sniffing around our girls. And these are… these are strapping lads, you know.”

“I’ve seen them.”

“Yes, I’ve heard,” the man said. “I’ve heard that you’ve met with them. Welcomed them in and offered them land.”

“I have.”

“That’s why I wished to speak with you, to tell you,” he huffed out in frustration, “how it is, out in the towns that actually live with them.”

“And how is it?”

Garagon gaped at him, frozen for an extended moment.

“Not good!” he finally exploded. “Not good! These people are… well, no one likes them, and our folks don’t like feeling like strangers in our own land. They feel like, well, the people from Kent, the ones who talk to me, they feel like they’re losing track of the place that they live, the place that is rightfully theirs—”

“Is it rightfully theirs?” 

The man hung with mouth open. “Well, yes, it bloody is!” he sputtered. “I don’t—I’m just saying perhaps you can slow it down a bit, perhaps, tell them to,” he shrugged, “I don’t know, find their own country.” He laughed. “Because I think we can’t have any more of them here!”

“Hm, that’s troubling, because more are on the way.”

“More?” 

Vortigern held up a finger. “Were you looking to get somewhere?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m just saying… we don’t want to pass where you’re going.”

“I’m going… I can get out anywhere. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“About?”

White showed above Garagon’s eyes. 

“Ah, yes, the Saxons,” Vortigern said. “Well, it might just be a bit of bad luck they chose to land near you.”

“It’s bad luck, yes! It’s bad luck all around. And it’s bad to encourage them to come here or stay here. They don’t mix with us. They don’t want to be part of us. They, well, I think they want to kill us off and take our land.”

Vortigern scoffed. “Kill us off! Now, what evidence do you have to make this claim?”

“I’m saying it’s the feeling I get. That—that many of us get.”

“That’s quite an inflammatory claim,” Vortigern chuckled. He let his eyes watch the passing street outside.

“I’m sorry if I’m being emphatic. I’m trying to—” While Vortigern continued looking away, he reached forward to touch his leg.

The king leapt back and glared.

“I’m sorry,” the governor said, holding hands up. His voice was lower and more grave. “I am trying to warn you. These people do not belong here. Our people do not like them, and they do not like us—although they do like our land.”

“They like me,” Vortigern said.

“Perhaps because you are king,” the governor said. “Perhaps because you are in a position to give them our land. Which it seems that you are doing.”

“You yourself said they’re superior,” Vortigern replied. “We can benefit from mixing with them. Learn their ways of battle, their ship-building skills, house-building skills. We have much to learn.”

“And do they want to learn from us?”

Vortigern scoffed. “What could they learn from us?”

“They’re not Christian.”

“They’re Pagan.”

“Yes,” the governor said. “And many people don’t like that. And that means that they cannot mix with us.”

“Why not?”

The governor leaned back and threw his hands up. “We worship one God. They worship many. There is no way to—we cannot have two ways on this.”

“Most people in this country believe in many gods. Christianity is by no means the established religion here. There are several Pagans here already.”

“But we want to move toward Christianity.”

Vortigern shrugged. “Do we?”

“The government does. I thought. Christianity can help us organize and become better.”

“These people are doing it differently, and they’re better now. They’re better than us.”

“I’m not sure I believe I’m hearing you say this.”

“Why, are you having delusions?” the king asked. “We can better ourselves by opening—rather than closing—ourselves toward those who are better than us.”

“If they’re so much better, why do they need our country?”

“They’re so much better they’re overflowing their own country.”

“And what about us? The British?”

“What about us?”

“What about our way of life?”

“Do we have one? Is it worth saving?”

“I think so. Yes, I think so. To both questions.”

“Well, I want to thank you for sharing your viewpoint.” The king lifted his fist and knocked twice at the wall behind him. The carriage lurched to a stop, sending the governor leaning forward at the waist, then snapping back. 

Vortigern opened the door and drew his lips back over his teeth.

“I can’t begin to tell you how enlightening I’ve found this conversation.”