The Eagles' Brood cc-3

by Jack Whyte

  He paused, but only for a heartbeat. "Caspar. Memnon is the follower."

  "That's what I thought. I will release you to Memnon, who will also have my aunt with him. I will keep Caspar. We will all go from here to an open place where there can be no chance of trickery on my part. Once we are there, Memnon will release my aunt to walk back to me. When she has reached me, I will release Caspar."

  Donuil's face clouded. "That's a simple exchange. It would work without me, Commander Merlyn."

  "Aye," I nodded. "It is true, it might, but I doubt it. They have more advantage now than such an arrangement would give them. There's too much risk for themselves involved as things stand. The advantage of gaining you might make the difference in their thinking." I paused, thinking, then shrugged. "At any rate, I can think of nothing better. But even so, I would trust neither of these creatures. If Memnon should think to rule his magic kingdom alone, he might destroy my aunt and leave Caspar to me. That will be your service to me—to kill the animal if you so much as think he dreams of harming her. I will provide you with a knife, hidden in your clothes."

  "I see." His brow had cleared, but the frown returned immediately. "But what then? What if your exchange should work, without treachery? I have no wish to share Lot's hospitality."

  "Why not? He would send you home."

  He looked at me in silence for a moment and then nodded. "So be it. I will help you."

  "Good. But you will have to be produced in chains. It would not look convincing otherwise." He shrugged and I addressed his guardian. "Centurion Rufio, take Donuil to the cells and shackle him securely—and don't be too gentle, he has to look the part he will play. Give him back his own clothes, too."

  When they had gone, I approached the doors to the Armoury, waving the bowmen away, and hammered on the panel with the hilt of my sword. There was silence for a few moments and then a voice shouted from behind the door, asking me what I wanted. I demanded to speak to either Caspar or Memnon and told them who I was. More time passed, and then the doors opened slightly and the deep voice of Caspar, the swarthy, short-legged swine, asked me what I wanted. I spoke to the crack between the doors.

  "First, hear what I do not want. I have no wish to waste time haggling with you. You have the mistress of this house there among your hostages. She is very old. If she is already dead, then so are you and everyone else within those walls, hostages or no. If she is still alive, show her to me and I may let you buy your worthless lives in return for hers."

  I heard a hurried, whispered conversation, then, "This woman. What is she to you?"

  I gritted my teeth. "She is my father's aunt."

  Silence, then, "Your father's aunt? But your father is dead, Caius Merlyn." My heart thudded in my chest and I thought, I know that, and so are you, you stinking lump of Egyptian dung. "But you are still alive," the voice continued, "And so is your aunt."

  I swallowed hard. "Prove that. Show her to me."

  Again, a whispered conversation, then, "Wait. You shall see her. But any tricks and we all die, the old woman first."

  I waited.

  Eventually the doors swung slowly open and there, in the middle of the hallway, held firmly by a man who stood behind her with a knife at her throat, stood Luceiia. She had blood on her face from a cut on her forehead, her hair hung down in rat tails and her clothing was in tatters, but her eyes were open and- she stood erect and defiant. I called to her, asking if she was unhurt, and she answered in a remarkably strong voice, "Kill them all, Cay! Don't-" Her captor's hand clamped over her mouth and the doors slammed shut.

  Moments later they opened again, very slightly.

  "Well," the voice said, "As you see, she is alive. Now what was that about selling us our lives?"

  "Come outside, damn you," I barked. "I will not converse through a closed door! No one will harm you as long as that lady is in your power. Her life and safety are worth more than all of yours combined." I turned deliberately and walked away to stand in plain view in the courtyard with my back to die door.

  About five minutes passed before the doors swung open again and Caspar and Memnon emerged together and stood blinking in the smoky afternoon light. I stood unmoving, forcing them to approach me. Caspar stepped out boldly, a sneering smile on his face. Memnon, the more timid of the pair, looked around him nervously as they approached.

  They stopped about two paces short of me and I faced them with loathing seething inside me. Caspar, naturally, was the first one to speak.

  "Our lives. What are they worth to you?"

  "Not a pile of pig droppings."

  "Then let me rephrase my question. Your aunt's life— what is that worth to you?"

  "Your lives."

  "That's better. There are fourteen of us, in all."

  "No, there are two of you. The others are already dead."

  "You must be mad, Caius Merlyn. Why should we surrender our bodyguard, when we have the old woman? She is obviously worth more to you than all of this." Caspar gestured disdainfully at the smoking ruins that surrounded us.

  "Be careful, animal," I hissed at him. "My father's blood is still wet on your stinking hands, so do not push me too far. My aunt has had a long and useful life and would be the last to blame me for sacrificing the short time she has left for the privilege of crucifying you!"

  That penetrated his reptilian armour. He blinked like a lizard and cleared his throat, accepting my resolve. "You cannot really expect me to sacrifice my men to you with no advantage?"

  "No advantage? You call life no advantage?"

  "You quibble, Merlyn. Our lives we have, as long as we hold the woman and you hold your rage in check. But that latter part concerns me. Your rage, I mean. I would be a fool to trust a man who burns so visibly with hatred of me. Therefore, I will keep my men for the safety they offer me against your blood lust."

  "No!" I was practically spitting at him, yet fighting hard to keep my hatred under control. "I have said I will not bicker with you. Give me the woman and you two go free and there's an end of it. You have my word." -

  "Your word?" There was no trace of a smile or sneer on his face now. "I trust in no man's word. You will have to do better than that."

  "Then what do you want? I want my aunt alive and safe, and free to live until she dies naturally. She has earned that. In return, I am prepared to forgo the pleasure of killing you two with my own hands, or even of having you die by someone else's. So, if you will not accept my word, what will you accept? Name your terms. If they are within reason I will grant them. I can say no more."

  Caspar paused before answering. Then, "What we require is some way to ensure that there could be no treachery." He cut me short before I could vent my outrage. "You know what I am saying. Neither of us will ever trust the other. Memnon and I would like to leave this place alive, with our companions—"

  "No! They die."

  "No, they do hot!" His voice was low. "We have need of them—a need to bring them home safe to Lot of Cornwall."

  I made my voice as flat as possible. "Lot is dead. He was killed on the plain below."

  Caspar laughed in my face. "Lot? Fool! Lot never left Cornwall. He sits in his stronghold there, awaiting news of his campaign. He sent another in his place, to wear his armour and inspire his army. No, Merlyn. Lot is too clever to be killed by the likes of you."

  I heard the truth in his voice and my heart hardened even more against this "king" in Cornwall. When I responded, my own voice was pitched as low as his.

  "There is nothing more loathsome than a cowardly commander who skulks in safety while others do his fighting for him. And this is your lord? The master you must appease by bringing your sneaking killers safely home?"

  "Aye, Caius Merlyn." He was smiling that hateful smile again. "Such is the way of the servants of kings and princes."

  My heart leaped in my chest, but I spat on the ground and made to turn away in disgust, before pausing as though a thought had just occurred to me. I turned back slowly, squint
ing at him speculatively and seeing a flicker in his eyes that told me his mind was racing, trying to anticipate what I had in mind. "What do you know of Hibernia?"

  "Hibernia?" His face remained expressionless, but he was powerless to control the jerk of Memnon's head. "Nothing. What do you mean?" He turned his head slightly and directed a glance of such cold venom at his partner that I would not have been surprised to see Memnon fall on the spot. Then his cold, lizard's eye swung back to me. "What of Hibernia?"

  "A prince of Hibernia," I said. "You spoke of kings and princes. I have one in my cells."

  "A prince of Hibernia? Why should that interest me?"

  I let him analyse my expression as I pretended to think my next words through. "We took him captive more than two weeks ago. He had landed with an army in the north, just as we were attacked from the south-west.. .The incident that led to your presence here. It occurs to me now that your noble master may have had a hand in both events, since treachery and duplicity seem to be his stock in trade." I had his entire attention. I gave him time to think.

  "How do you know this captive is a prince?"

  "He is a prince. He wears the golden tore. We hold him hostage against the good behaviour of his people."

  "What is his name, this prince?"

  "Donuil, son of Athol."

  "Where do you hold him?"

  I raised an eyebrow as though amused. "In chains, in my cells, in the building beside the one where I held you and should have killed you."

  "Has he been tortured?"

  Now I allowed myself a small frown of bemusement. "Why should that interest you, who claim to know nothing of Hibernia?"

  "I lied." His eyes bored directly into mine. "Has he been tortured?"

  It was my turn to sneer. "No, he has not been tortured. He is my prisoner, not yours. We hold him, that is enough.

  %

  We have no need to torture or maltreat him. He is a free- born Celt and his chains are torture enough."

  Caspar licked his lips, his expression, for all his discipline, that of a merchant who sniffs a bargain. "What is he worth to you?"

  "Less than he might be to you, I think." I made no effort to hide my contempt. "Now that your king's army is smashed and running home with its tail between its legs, he is worth nothing. We destroyed his father's army first and then yours. Any value that he might have had to me is ended. But I thought he might be of value to you, to take home to Lot. Give us my aunt and you can have him."

  "Ha!" The scorn in his voice was grand. "You think me mad? No, Caius Merlyn, not for your aunt, for then you would be free—and glad—to kill us all. "But you can have all the other hostages in return for him."

  I looked at him in disgust, shaking my head slowly. "You have not seen the truth yet, have you?" I said. "Does it not sink into that reptilian skull of yours that the old woman is all I care about? The others, all of them, mean nothing to me. If you had taken only them you would be dead by now and they with you. Weighed against the life of my father, they have no significance."

  He believed me implicitly because I was voicing thoughts with which he could identify completely. I watched him biting the inside of his cheek, making evaluations, reaching a decision.

  "Very well," he said, his accents short and clipped. "You can have my twelve men. In return for this Scot."

  "Did I say he was a Scot? I said only that he was Hibernian. You are correct, of course; he is a Scot. But why, I wonder, would you want him so badly? Would he be worth that much to your pus-filled king? I would hate to think he is, but I don't really care." I hesitated for half a breath. "Your killers, and the other hostages, and you can have the Hibernian. That will leave you two, him, and my aunt. We can arrange her release under any terms you wish.

  I'm sure your twisted mind will come up with something serpentine enough to gull your men and ensure your own safety. Go away and think about it. When you are ready to talk again, just open the door and come out. One of my men will come for me."

  I turned on my heel and walked away from them, holding my head high until I passed from their sight. Then I leaned against the nearest wall and vomited up my hatred and disgust.

  XXIII

  I spent the next hour touring the fort, assessing the damage and making arrangements to move our colonists out, while we cleaned up the mess and made the fort fit for living in again. There was food available, but I had no stomach for it. I was in the grip of a force that kept me functioning and thinking clearly about every problem brought to my attention, but there was a constant, distant buzzing in my head that separated me from everything else going on around me, so that I seemed able to concentrate only upon individual matters, one at a time, without being distracted.

  I called Popilius to me and walked with him to the main entrance of the fort, where we stood looking down in silence at the confusion on the plain below. Directly below us, looking like a boy's unfinished model, lay the fortified camp that Popilius and his men had been building at the time of the attack. Further away on our right, to the west, the scattered detritus of Lot's encampment lay strewn across the countryside. The rest of the plain, the entire length and breadth of it, was littered with bodies, tiny stick men and horses thrown carelessly in every attitude of death and abandonment. Far to our left, around the shoulder of the hill, smoke still drifted sullenly from the villa. The wind had dropped.

  Popilius's voice broke through my thoughts. "That has to be cleaned up. It will take time."

  "Aye, but we have time. How many prisoners did we take?"

  He shrugged. "About three hundred, at the last count I heard of, but there may be more as our people come back."

  "What were our losses?"

  "Not as heavy as I expected." He stopped talking and worked to undo the chin strap of his helmet, finally pulling the heavy helm from his head and wiping sweat from his brow with the crook of his elbow. "Your cavalry arrived just at the right time. Head count isn't complete yet, but I know of three hundred infantry dead, and sixteen hundred wounded, two hundred of those serious."

  "Those are large numbers, Popilius."

  "Aye, but smaller than they might have been had you not guessed Lot's plans."

  "I guessed wrong."

  "Only by one day, Commander. If you had not guessed at all, we would have been taken completely by surprise and slaughtered."

  "Aye, Popilius, perhaps." I sighed and then nodded towards his armed camp below. "That was a good idea. I commend you on the speed of your reactions."

  He shook his head abruptly. "It was your father's idea, not mine. We had hoped to bring all the colonists inside the walls and have a garrison down there to hinder Lot, supported from up here."

  "We can still use it," I told him. "Split your men in two—half to double the size of the camp down there and finish it, the other half to start collecting the dead for burial. Set the prisoners to work digging pits, deep pits and large, and keep them at it until the job is done. Lot's carrion we will bury on the right, there, where he camped. Our own dead will lie on the far left, towards the villa. See that both batches are buried well, Popilius. The stink of rotting friends is as foul as that of foes. As soon as that is done and the camp enlargement is under way, start moving everyone out of the fort. We will all live down there on the plain for a time. The interior of the fort will have to be gutted, cleansed and rebuilt. I want every sign of fire, every charred piece of wood, every last hint of stink removed and buried or otherwise disposed of. Take the debris out through the small back gate and burn as much of it as you can on the hilltop there.

  And that reminds me, we have to find a way that will ensure we are never surprised from the rear like that again. Any suggestions?"

  "Aye." Popilius nodded his grizzled pate. "One."

  "Well?"

  "Set up a permanent camp out there, behind the walls on the top of the hill."

  I stared at him. "That's it! Do it. Eventually, we'll extend the walls of the fort itself to cover the whole hilltop." I st
opped and turned to look behind me at the fort, my eyes searching for I knew not what. "Now," I asked myself aloud, "Have I missed anything? Yes, the refurbishing." I turned back to Popilius. "Every mason, every carpenter, every craftsman we have will work full-time inside the fort until it is done. All labour to be supplied by the prisoners. Feed them adequately. Keep them healthy, strong enough to work hard and long, but kill any of them at the first sign of recalcitrance. They caused this carnage; they will rectify it."

  "And afterwards?"

  "After what?"

  "When the work is done? What then?"

  "Then they will work in the fields, replacing the men they killed."

  "All of them?"

  "As many as remain alive, yes."

  "But where will we keep them, Caius?"

  I shrugged. "Let them build their own prison camp on the hill behind the fort, in the space normally reserved for stables. They can build cages for themselves." I looked back down to the plain below. "Collect all the officers' bodies in one spot, Popilius. We will bury them in a single grave there, in the middle of the campus."

  He coughed, clearing his throat. "Your father too, Commander?"

  I looked at him. "No, Popilius. My father will be buried here in the fort, beside his own father and Publius Varrus."

  "Aye, Imperator!" He saluted me with the formal title of Imperial Commander.

  "Don't call me that, Popilius. It is a Roman title, foreign now, and we have no need of it here in Camulod. Now, can you think of anything else I have missed?"

  He cleared his throat and answered, "Aye, yourself, Commander Merlyn. The fires are under control and nearly all out, and everything is in hand. I will set the rest in motion, and as our people come back, things will return more or less to normal, or as close as they can be. You still have to deal with those whoresons in your uncle's house. Your quarters are intact, untouched. You would feel better for a wash and a change of clothing."

  I was staring again at the scene laid out below, watching the tiny figures of our soldiers moving in the field, counting the dead, identifying the fallen, searching for wounded. I nodded in agreement. "That is logical, Popilius, and probably true." My voice sounded dead and distant, ringing in my head. "I'll take you at your word. When they come looking for me, tell them where I am." I left him and made my way back to my quarters. On the way I met Ludo coming from the kitchens. He looked at me solicitously and asked me when I had last eaten. I shook my head and waved him away without an answer, my concentration now focused cm reaching my quarters without collapsing.