The Eagles' Brood cc-3

by Jack Whyte

"But our Colony needs no allies. Especially in another land beyond the sea."

  "Perhaps not, Caius Merlyn, but ask yourself how great your need of enemies is, across the same sea?"

  "A good point, Prince Donuil!" I nodded in agreement. "If our enemies have allies across the sea, then we have enemies across the sea and should bestir ourselves to seek alliance there with others who could keep those enemies at home." He nodded, and I went on, "But that becomes complicated, even in the telling, and we have already solved the problem. Your presence here has cut the string from Lot's alliance. Your people are no threat to us, for now."

  "Not for five years, at least, you mean."

  "Not for five years, at least."

  "And after that? What do you think will happen when my time with you is up?"

  It was my turn to shrug. "Who knows? Much can happen in five years. The worst that could happen is that your people could war against us again. But by that time we would have made our preparations to receive them. It would not be pleasant, but we would be forearmed and ready for them." I looked directly at him and his eyes were wide and frank, looking straight into my own. "But we are not here to discuss a war that may or may not happen in five years. We are here to discuss your thoughts on how you might profitably spend those five years, with an eye to your own good and comfort, and a non-traitorous benefit to the community that will be your host during that time."

  He smiled. "Nicely phrased, Caius Merlyn."

  "Well," I smiled back since he had caught my intention so clearly. "What have you decided? It's taking you a long while to come to your point."

  "Aye, I suppose it is, from your viewpoint. From my own, however, I can't see the need for rushing brashly into any deep commitment. My father always taught me that nothing important should ever be put in danger by too quick an approach."

  We were interrupted at this point by the approach of Titus who, tactful as ever, greeted me formally in front of my prisoner and made apologies for interrupting us. I stood up and waved away his apologies.

  "What is it, Titus?"

  "I thought you'd like to know immediately, Cay. We've just received word from the outposts that Uther and his men are on their way in. They should be here within the hour."

  "Is Uther well?" My heart felt lightened within me, for ever since my father's admission of concern over Uther's continued absence, I had been worried like everyone else by misgivings about what might have happened to him.

  "Apparently. He's riding at the head of his men."

  "Thank you, Titus. That's good news. I'll be on hand to greet him at the gates. Tell my father."

  Titus glanced at Donuil, saluted me formally again and left, and Donuil followed him with his eyes until he left the refectory. Titus and I had been speaking in Latin, so Donuil could have understood nothing of what was said.

  "Who is he, that man? What does he do?"

  "He is Titus, my father's adjutant."

  "Adjutant? What's an adjutant?"

  I had to think about that. What was an adjutant? "Assistant, I suppose, would be as good a word as any, although he serves as the administrator for my father, too, in many things, so he is far more than a mere assistant. He holds a position of unassailable trust."

  "I see. Has he been with your father long?"

  "Aye. More than twenty years. Why?"

  He shook his head. "It was just in my mind that he seems a bit long in the tooth to be still a runner."

  "A runner? What do you mean?"

  "You know, a fetcher."

  I felt my face freeze in disapproval. "I think you had better be careful what you imply, Prince Donuil. That man is the closest friend my father has. The position he holds within this fort and within the governing body of this Colony is second to no one save the General himself. There is nothing servile about Titus or his function, and there's not a man in the place, except yourself, who speak from ignorance, who does not hold him in the highest regard."

  Before I had finished this retort, stung as I was by the slight I had interpreted from his remarks, he was holding both hands up, palms towards me, his teeth flashing in a wide grin. "Hold! Hold! I meant no offence! Easy, now!"

  I bit my words off and tried to moderate my tone. "What did you mean, then?"

  "Well now, Commander, I've been watching the adjutant, noting what he does, and trying to define his purpose here. I told you that I found one of your men who speaks my tongue. I asked him about the man's position last night, and all the information that I got was most informative. He is a man of many parts, your Titus. Many parts and many skills; many talents and much worth." He was smiling still, but there was no mockery. "But you'll admit, when all is said and done, that what he does, in everything he does, is serve your father, although you might prefer the word assist—no matter what your father's needs may be. Is that not so?"

  "Aye. That is so. That's what he does. He serves my father, his General. Better than any other here."

  "And he takes no ill by such service?"

  "How should he?"

  "I do not know, Caius Merlyn! Among my people, I think, it would be impossible to ever show that kind of servitude to another man without losing your independence."

  I was still nettled. "You think we lack for pride?"

  "No, no, not at all!" The lad was at pains not to give offence, as he had said. "There's simply a difference in the kind of pride, that's all. Among us, I think it can be a weakness, for we are too fierce in our pride. Each man among us fears to seem dependent on another. That is a weakness, because shared strength and shared responsibility, as they are practised here, breed solidarity. I can see that, even after only days in your company. But I never noticed it before, until I found myself here, observing you people.

  "No," he went on, "you do not lack for pride. You carry it away beyond our ken. Your kind of pride extends to others, to the people around you, and you have no fear of being judged dependent. That has to be a strength." Donuil paused, then continued, "Your father is no longer young. When he is dead, will you command?"

  "Aye. Here in the Colony, I will."

  "And will Titus then become your adjutant?"

  "If he is still alive, then I suppose he will. Why do you ask?"

  "Curiosity, that's all. You have no adjutant of your own?"

  "No, I have no need of one." His tone was making me curious. "Anyway, we are off the track again. When Titus came in, you were just about to tell me what you would choose to do here in Camulod."

  "Aye, I was. That's what I'd like to do." I blinked in incomprehension. "Him. The adjutant, Titus. That's what I'd like to do."

  "You mean, be an adjutant?" I was bewildered.

  "Aye," he nodded. "Your adjutant."

  "My adjutant?" I could not have been more at a loss. "But.. .But.. .that's not possible!"

  "How so?"

  I was floundering. "Well...You know nothing! You know nothing of our ways. You have no training! You can't even ride. You don't speak the language. You're a hostage, for God's sake!"

  "What has that to do with it? I am a hostage now, but I will not always be one. I am not suggesting I would start today. But I could start learning."

  "How?" I was totally bemused, resisting the urge to laugh, knowing it would offend him.

  "The same way I learned to walk and talk—by working at it! I can learn to speak your Latin tongue. I would learn to ride. And I would serve you honourably and with dignity!"

  This last sobered me and I saw, in spite of the many objections that instantly came to mind, that the lad was serious. I began to feel uncomfortable, for I really had no wish to offend or insult him. I shook my head, and began to speak in a low voice, hoping that he would hear in my tone the honest regret with which I had to refuse him.

  "Donuil," I said. "You are a prince of your people and you are here as a hostage for their behaviour. When I asked you to give thought to how you would choose to spend your time with us, it never even occurred to me that such a proposal would occur to
you. Surely you must see the impossibility of it? In five years' time, you will go home, and in the course of time you will claim your kingdom. If, when that comes to pass, we can be friends, I'll be well pleased, but in the meantime, you are an enemy, by definition." I stopped and gave my head a shake. "I am honoured, boy, that you would even think of this, but..." I ran out of words.

  He was staring straight at me. "May I speak?"

  "Speak. Go ahead, but—-"

  "And will you hear me out?"

  I sighed. "I'll hear you out, but you're wasting your time if you think you can change my mind."

  "What should I call you?"

  "You mean in conversation? Call me Commander Merlyn. Everyone else does."

  , "Commander Merlyn. Very well. Commander Merlyn. First, you should know that I am not a boy. I underwent the rites of manhood three years ago. I am a man, here and at home among my father's people." He paused and I waited, determined not to interrupt him again. "There is not the slightest chance that I will ever claim my kingdom, as you put it. It is not mine and never will be. I am the second youngest of eight sons. The highest rank I can ever hold at home is that of a small chieftain, and I would hold that rank only by the grace of my six elder brothers, four of whom have no use for me. It is my father's pride that will stand by me in my time as hostage here. If he should die before my time is up, my brothers will make nonsense of our pact with not a thought for me. This you should know, I thought about it in your cells on my first night here and the truth of it has shaped my thinking in this matter.

  "I have one brother, Connor, whom I admire. You look like him, but Connor is a cripple. He lost the use of his legs when he was wounded fighting a bear single-handed. He will not be king, either. His goodness is great, but his physical disability is greater.

  "It was in my mind that I could enjoy serving you— serving with you, as you put it yourself on that first day. I don't know how I could do it best, I only know I could." I moved as if to speak, but he forestalled me, raising a hand.

  "This language thing: I could learn Latin fast enough, if I needed to. But it occurred to me you might find it truly worthwhile to have someone to talk to at times, one you could trust, without another knowing what you said." He paused again, frowning to himself. "It is in my mind that being an adjutant is much like being a trusted friend. Trusted and valued. I would find no disgrace in earning your trust and value, and it seems to me that you should find no disgrace in my suggesting that it would be to your benefit, too.

  "If there is one thing that my father taught me well, Commander Merlyn, it is the evaluation of men. I look at you and see the way you deal with men, from your father to your servants and your soldiers. You have their respect, and you do not fear to show yours for them. More important, though, you have their liking, their admiration, because of what you are, ahead of who you are. Those two, respect and liking, do not always go together. I know that everyone here, yourself included, sees me as a barbarous pirate. Well, barbarous I may be, according to your values, but I am no pirate and I am not stupid. I know my own worth. And I know what it could be worth to you, Caius Merlyn Britannicus."

  By this time, I was listening in amazement, hearing far more intellect and maturity than I would have expected in this young man, who continued to speak, presenting his thoughts in flawless order. "Right now, I don't know how to ride, but I can learn to take care of your horses and their trappings, and in learning that, I'll teach myself to ride. I don't know your weapons, but I would make it my business to take care of yours, to clean them and maintain them, and in the cleaning and maintenance of them, I'd learn the handling and the use of them. The same goes for your armour and your clothes. As soon as I've learned to speak your Latin tongue, I'll be your personal messenger." He smiled here. "In the meantime, I'll act as your bodyguard. I have the size and strength for that, at least.

  "I have five years to spend here, Commander. If, in that five years, I cannot perform the tasks you find for me, I'll step aside. If, on the other hand, you find me suitable and we work well together, I'll stay here with you, of my own free will, having earned the right to make my home right here in Camulod. That is all I have to say."

  I had been sitting with my head down for several minutes, squeezing the ridges of my eyebrows between thumb and middle finger to mask my expression from his gaze. Now I held my position and let the silence stretch as I strove to accommodate the outrageous thoughts that were going through my mind. At length I sighed and looked up to find his wide eyes fixed on me in an unblinking stare. I shook my head slightly, still bemused at my thoughts. Everything in me was urging me to take him at his word.

  "What am I to say? You honour me, Donuil. Of that I have no doubt. And you have met my reservations and dealt with each of them in a way that makes them seem petty. I must admit, the idea no longer seems as outlandish as it did at first. As you say, you have five years. The suggestion has much to recommend it, but what do you have to gain from such a bargain?"

  He grinned. "A place in Camulod, your Colony. The right to ride with you and follow your ways. I would have no complaints."

  I shook my head again. "My father would have an apoplexy."

  "Why?" Again he grinned, his teeth flashing. "He stands to gain great strength, too. A loyal Scot in his household."

  It was my turn to grin. "He'd rather have a hundred in his cells. But I will think about it. Quite honestly, the idea intrigues me, and the more I think about it, the more it appeals to me. I'll sleep on it and let you know what I decide tomorrow."

  "Very well, Commander. I can wait."

  "I'm pleased to hear that. In the meantime, my cousin Uther is expected any minute. That is what the Legate Titus came to tell me. He has been having dealings with your former ally, the self-styled King of Cornwall. It will be interesting to hear what he has to report. Come with me to the gates to watch them enter. Uther is always worth watching."

  He rose to his feet, towering above me. "Uther Pendragon. I'm looking forward to seeing him. I've heard much about him."

  "In Hibernia?"

  "Where? Oh, you mean in Eire. Hibernia? That's an ugly name. Aye, but that's where I heard of Upstart Uther and Cowardly Cay. That's what Lot's people call the two of you."

  I felt a flush of anger. "Some day, if I ever meet him, I shall be sure to take issue with him on that."

  XVIII

  Uther rode into Camulod in style, in spite of the fact that the column of riders behind him numbered less than four hundred of the original five hundred men he had led into Cornwall, and in spite of the fact that more than a few of those bore evidence of wounds. As we watched him approach, it occurred to me that he and his party looked extremely fresh for a returning raiding party, and I wondered if he had taken the time to clean himself and his men up before approaching Camulod. The thought was malicious, almost vindictive, and it shamed me. I glanced sideways to where my father stood less than three paces away with Titus by his side, and as I did so, I heard him remark, "Now there, Titus, rides a commander who has an eye for morale—not only among his men, but in the Garrison. He must have had his men stop and police themselves so as to make the best impression on the watchers here. Good thinking, that, good for discipline!"

  My father's comment made me feel petty, but it also made me aware of the reason for my pettiness—my own uncertainties on how to deal with Uther and the problems he presented me. I knew I was not prepared to act as though nothing were wrong between us, even though Uther himself might be totally unaware of anything. It had been several months since the attack on Cassandra, and we had not spoken to each other in all that time.

  I knew that Uther would be happy to see me, and my stomach roiled at the hypocrisy of embracing him with all of my doubts unsettled in my mind. I could not face him, I decided, and turned to leave, but as I did so I was confronted by young Donuil on my left, watching the approaching column, and I also became acutely aware of everyone else who was standing nearby. If I were to leave like this,
abruptly and without reason, they would all wonder why, with the possible exception of my father, who harboured his own doubts, yet was prepared to extend the benefit of those doubts to Uther. I bit down hard and stayed where I was, watching the approach of Uther's cavalcade.

  A pair of standard-bearers flanked him, right and left, each bearing a massive banner, one of which depicted the red dragon of his family, the Pendragon, and the other the great golden dragon that was Uther's new personal standard. Riding abreast behind these three came Uther's four senior squadron commanders, followed in their turn by a glittering troop of Uther's own squadron, his Dragons, as he called them. Directly behind these, at a distance of about fifteen paces, rode a quartet of strangers whom I identified as Cornish by the differences in their clothing, and behind them came the remainder of Uther's troop in a column eight ranks wide.

  My attention was fastened immediately on the strangers, my first thought being that they were prisoners. I dismissed that thought immediately, however, because of the confidence in their bearing and the condition of their dress, which was too fine to indicate any privation or struggle. Then I saw that they were in fact riding in pairs, masters and servitors, for the front pair rode unencumbered while the horses and the bodies of their followers were laden with baggage. They had to be high-ranking hostages, I decided, or else ambassadors of some kind from Lot himself, although why a victorious leader should return with ambassadors from a defeated enemy, and a treacherous one at that, was beyond me. Defeated armies did not dictate terms or sue for special conditions or treaties of peace; they submitted, and that was that.

  "An embassage of some description, obviously," my father murmured beside me, "although the reasoning behind it baffles me. Why should Lot think we would be interested in talking to his minions? If I were in his shoes, I'd be afraid my servants might be executed out of hand as retribution for my perfidy!"

  "You are not Lot, Father. From what I know of him, he would not lose a moment's sleep over such an outcome. He's buying something by this move. Perhaps time. Anyway, we'll soon find out."