by Jack Whyte
Publius Varrus remarked several times in his writings, and I have always agreed with him, that words, the strongest tool men have for communicating ideas, are hopelessly inadequate for the tasks we sometimes ask of them. This is most particularly, and inevitably, true when we find ourselves struggling to describe the most basic and fundamental human emotions: love and happiness; hate and bitterness; grief and anguish. I have no recollection of kneeling there by that graveside or of what thoughts passed through my mind. I only know that when I became aware again of the world around me, night was falling quickly, my thighs were quivering with exhaustion, and the grave before me had been plucked clean of weeds, its edges smoothed and its surface, bearing multiple imprints of my palms, patted flat. My mind was also filled with a decision made, and my breast was filled with a cold and reasoned, emotionless placidity that entailed an utter and complete knowledge of what I had to do.
Sometime later, still filled with that unutterable calm, I opened the door to Luceiia's family room and stopped short on the threshold, stunned by the sight of her in the lamplight and suddenly aware, from a completely new perspective, of another dimension to all I had lost through my illness. She was no different from when I had last seen her earlier that day, but now I remembered the beloved Luceiia Britannicus who had ridden with me to meet Cassandra just two years before, and this was a different person. Those two years had wrought enormous changes in my aunt. She had shrunk, and looked tiny and fragile. And yet the same lively wit and beauty sparkled from those great, indomitable blue eyes as she turned to look at me.
She recognized the change in me immediately.
"You remember!"
I nodded, mute, still standing in the doorway, and she moved to me quickly, drawing me into the room, her eyes already awash with tears.
"Thank God, Caius, thank God! What happened? How? Have you told Lucanus? Does anyone else know?"
I shook my head, still wordless, answering all her questions with one gesture, my throat completely choked by a great, swelling lump of grief and misery. And then the dam broke and I was riven by a violent, wrenching sob and gave way completely to the pain inside, allowing it to overwhelm me. I felt my aunt's arms go around my waist and I enfolded her in my own, feeling the smallness of her and the love and sadness that frailty brought me as I cradled her gently and allowed my tears to fall unchecked into her silver hair. When the paroxysm had subsided, she led me to a chair and pressed me down into it, then sat close to me and watched me until I had mastered myself again. She made no attempt to speak, waiting in wisdom for me to begin. I was in no hurry. I sat there, empty now, my eyes closed, and waited until I felt the resolute calmness I had previously felt reentering my body "and filling me to the point where I could speak again. Finally I opened my eyes and looked at her. Her own eyes were filled with love and concern.
"Auntie, when exactly did Cassandra...when was she killed?"
She gazed at me. "You have been there again? To the grave?"
I nodded. "That's where I remembered. When, Auntie?"
She shook her head, a troubled frown on her brow. "We don't know exactly, but it was soon after you left for Verulamium. She left here to return to your little valley ten days after your own departure. She was happy there, and lonely here. She was heavy with the child, of course, but she was healthy and blooming and still well short of her term, so I saw no reason to keep her here...not when her heart was so obviously there..." Her voice faded, then resumed. "I expected her to return within the week, but even when the week passed with no sign of her I was not concerned. The weather was clement, better than it had been all summer, and she had taken the little two-wheeled cart, so she was well stocked with provisions. It was only after ten days that I began to wonder, and so when Daffyd arrived that same day, I asked him to go and visit her, just to be sure."
"Daffyd? It was Daffyd who found her?"
My aunt nodded, miserably. "She had been dead for some time by then. More than a week, Daffyd thought. Poor Daffyd. He found her, and he cleaned her, and he buried her. Then he came back and told us."
I swallowed hard. "What about the baby?"
She looked me straight in the eyes and shook her head. "It was still inside her, if that's what you are asking. They died together, intact."
"Was she.. .Did he find her in the water?"
She nodded her head, her face drawn with concern. "Yes, yes he did. He told me at the time, but I had forgotten. The poor child was dead. Where he had found her made no difference to me. How did you know? Did Daffyd tell you?"
I shook my head, mute, recalling with horror how a human corpse could look after days of submersion in water. My dear aunt could have no idea of such atrocities. My next question was difficult, my voice almost defying me to make it utter the words. I had to draw a deep breath and hold it before asking, "Was Uther in Camulod then?"
She nodded. "Yes, he was. As a matter of fact, he had arrived on the morning of the day Cassandra left-" She bit off her words and looked at me in dismay. "Caius! Why did you ask me that?"
"Because I want to know, Auntie. When did he leave?"
Her eyes widening in horror, she shook her head in denial of what I was implying. "I...I...Caius, you can't be—"
"When did he leave, Auntie?"
"Within a few days. You know Uther. He comes and he goes, always riding somewhere."
"He was gone, then, before Daffyd came?"
"Yes, days before! But I can't allow you to think what you are thinking, Caius. It is unjust, infamous! You suspected Uther before, but you know it was Remus the priest who committed that crime."
"Remus is dead, Auntie, long since...and far from here, long before this crime was committed."
"No, Caius!" The anguish in her voice was as keen- edged as my own.
"No," I whispered, aware of how much I was hurting her. "Perhaps not. But I have to know, Auntie. I have to know!" Inside my heart, however, I did know. I spoke purely to soothe this woman I loved more than any other now alive. I drew another deep breath and changed the subject.
"Auntie, did anyone ever tell you about my brother Ambrose?"
Her expression changed to one of wonderment and she nodded. "Yes. Lucanus told me about him, although he knew few details. He said you were like twins. I would have sent for him, but I did not know where to look, or what to say to him." She shook her head in slow, tacit acknowledgement of how little any of us know of others. "Twins...Of course, that could not be. He must be older than you, sired before Picus met Enid. Theirs was a hurried courtship, and I cannot believe your father capable of infidelity so soon after his marriage to your mother."
Realizing only then that she knew nothing of the truth of what had happened, I told her the entire story as I had heard it originally from my father, and as I had reconstructed the later events for myself. She listened in silence and when I was finished she was smiling again, her concern over me and her grandson Uther forgotten for the moment.
"I must meet this Ambrose, and soon. I thought I only had one great-nephew."
I stood up. "You will, Auntie. I am sending Donuil tomorrow to bring him here. I must leave Camulod immediately, and I don't know when I will return."
She stared at me for the space of several heartbeats, her eyes wide with renewed alarm.
"You are leaving Camulod? But why, Cay, to what end? Where will you go?"
I shook my head, unwilling to lie to her but driven to prevaricate for her peace of mind. "I don't know, Auntie. Wherever my path leads me. But I must go. I cannot remain here. I need...time...Time to be alone with myself and to untwist my mind. I have lost years. I knew that yesterday, but today I see the import of what I have lost."
She gazed at me without speaking as I continued. "My new-found brother Ambrose—if he will come, and I believe he will—should be here in my place. Camulod is as much his home as it is mine. I know you'll teach him all he has to know. And he's a warrior. Vortigern the King holds him in high regard and his own men of Lindum are
proud to soldier with him. He is strong and bold, and the reports I have heard of him hold him to be just and fair-minded, clever and responsible. He will replace me more than adequately, I am sure, and Camulod has need of him, stranger though he may be at first. Titus and Flavius are too old to govern by themselves now, but aided by you and Lucanus, they can train Ambrose to take his rightful place here and await my return."
My aunt accepted all I said, but still did everything in her power to dissuade me from leaving, and to influence my thinking in the matter of her grandson. We talked for a long time, but I was adamant. My path lay clearly before me. I took my leave of her at last and went in search of Lucanus.
It was raining heavily enough to have doused the torches on the walls as I made my way across the pitch blackness of the parade ground to Lucanus's quarters, but I found him where I had expected to, not yet abed, writing in his sick bay surrounded by lit tapers. I paused before entering, struggling with myself and with my rage against Uther. Lucanus, I was determined, should have not the slightest hint of my renewed suspicions. This interview was crucial to my plans, central to my ability to walk away from Camulod and my responsibilities. Luke would fight me, I knew, if he suspected me of harbouring new doubts about my cousin. I reviewed the course I wished this conversation to take, then stepped into the sick bay.
Lucanus glanced up as I entered and nodded briefly. He held up a hand to indicate that he would be with me in a moment and waved me to a chair as I shrugged out of my rain-damp cloak, and I sat waiting in the shadows until he had finished writing. Finally he put down his pen and turned to me. "Well," he began. "I haven't seen you all day and did not expect to see you so late tonight. What's on your mind?"
I plunged straight in. "How did you get back to Camulod after we left you on the road with the northern king.. .what was his name?"
He made a face of surprise then rueful dismissal. "Derek. Derek of Ravenglass. We returned quickly and directly, but not without trickery. As I've told you before, your friend Derek was a mixed benison. He escorted us to the meeting place, but then abandoned us in the middle of Lot's army, which was short of wagons for transporting their supplies. He had to meet his two hundred men. I was glad, yet strangely sad, to part from him. I found him offensive, but his men protected us. After he left, I thought we would lose the wagons."
"He was supposed to escort you through and past Lot's army. That's what the gold was for."
Lucanus shrugged. "I know, but he changed the terms-" He broke off, his features sharpening as he gazed keenly into the shadows, trying to see my face. "Who told you about the gold? You and I have not discussed that."
I nodded, acknowledging his acuity. "No one told me. I remembered."
He was on his feet instantly, moving towards me, all of his physician's instincts on full alert. For a while we sparred verbally, he trying to question me on every aspect of my recovery, and I to avoid being diverted from my purpose. I gave up eventually, realizing that I would make no progress until he was at least partially satisfied with my recovery and the cause of it. I told him of recovering my memory while kneeling by Cassandra's grave, a minor lie, but one that was necessary to avoid approaching the matter of Uther's guilt. He threw a thousand questions at me, and I attempted to answer all of them until I reached the point where I could take no more.
"Enough, Luke," I told him finally. "I am fully recovered and that's that. And not only do I recall everything that happened before I was struck down, but I recall everything that has happened since. There are no holes in my mind now, so leave off with your infernal, snooping, physician's questions."
"Surgeon's questions." He was grinning at me and I grinned back.
"As you wish. Surgeon's...but I have some questions of my own that require answers." I stopped, remembering. "You mentioned trickery a while ago. You said you came here directly but not without trickery. What did you mean?"
He grinned. "Deceit. I remembered the towns we passed on the way to Verulamium and our fear of plague. So I put it about that the men in our wagons were sick of some pestilence, not wounded. Derek's people had gone by then, so there were none who knew anything different, and suddenly our wagons were undesirable. We cut straight through Lot's army and moved ahead of them and safely back to Camulod."
"I see. Inventive of you. And where was I when you arrived?"
"Abed and dying. In your aunt's house. You had been there for several days. You were barely alive. As soon as I saw you, and the state of your head, I knew what had to be done, although I thought I might have come too late."
"So you drilled a hole in my head."
"I did, and let some of the air out." He smiled again. "It was only a small hole, but I was amazed by the blood that came out of it. I have to tell you again, however, that I am still deeply concerned by the recurrence of that haematoma. I'll be watching you closely from now on, since I can't trust you to report your pain."
"You can. I've promised you. I owe you my life now twice over, obviously."
Lucanus shrugged, his smile still in place. "No more than you owe it to Donuil or Uther. Between us, in our different ways, we've managed to salvage you. How will you reward us, I wonder?"
The irony of his question made my heart leap in my breast as a voice in my head said clearly: Painfully, my friend.
To escape my sudden confusion, I stood up and moved forward into the light, pausing by his desk to run my fingertips across the papyrus on which he had been writing. "Tell me what happened to the army we encountered north of Aquae Sulis that time. They were poised to take Glevum, then Aquae, then Camulod. Obviously they didn't, but why not? I must have heard at the time, but I was not myself and since then I've forgotten, until now."
He smiled and grunted. "They killed their own threat, with no trouble to us. It was a small army, no more than four thousand men, it seems. They struck Aquae Sulis, but found nothing there worth having, so they demolished what little remained of the temple of Sulis Minerva, then marched north against Glevum. Lot, as usual, was not among them, and the 'general' he had sent to marshal them was killed in a squabble in Aquae, leaving them leaderless. Anyway, Glevum brought them less than Aquae had, and so they struck west, into Cambria, seeking the gold-mines at Dolocauthi. We heard no more of them."
"I see. It seems God was on our side then. We were in poor condition to repel their attack, had it come." Lucanus nodded in agreement, looking up at where I stood above him. I perched on the edge of his table. "I intend to send Donuil tomorrow at first light to carry a message to my brother Ambrose in Lindum, or in the kingdom of Vortigern if that's where he is now. I am convinced he should come here. God knows, we have need of him. I would also like you to welcome him for me when he arrives and make him feel this is his home. May I rely on you for that?"
"Of course, you know that." A tiny frown of curiosity ticked between his brows. "Where will you be?"
I shrugged. "Away. I'm leaving for a while. As I've already told the Lady Luceiia, I need to spend some time alone. There are too many memories here right now, and they are all too fresh, too new... too sudden."
"Aye, I can understand that." His voice was pitched low and filled with sympathy. "Where will you go? Do you have any idea?"
Loathing myself for the direct lie to my best friend, but fortified by that same, icy calm that had been in me all evening, I forced my face to remain expressionless. "No," I answered, shaking my head to emphasize the unimportance of that. "Perhaps south, perhaps east. I'll follow my nose. But it's important that Ambrose be made welcome here, and that he involve himself to some extent in the destiny of this place. His grandfather and his father built it, so it is his legacy. And he has martial skills that we can and must use in any way we may. I've no fears of his not prospering here, and loving it, and Uther will like him." Then, with the barest pause, as though the thought had just occurred to me, I went on. "Where was Uther headed, by the way? Do we know?"
"God knows!" Lucanus yawned and stretched. "To the best of my kn
owledge, or anyone else's for that matter, he marched south and presumably to the west of us. It's been months now, as you know, since we saw hide or hair of any Cornish forces in this region, and your belligerent cousin spoke only the day before he left of carrying the war to its last stage and burning out the nest of rats Lot calls a fortress."
"Aye. What did he call the place?"
"Nothing, as I recall. I doubt it even has a name. Most people refer to it simply as Lot's Nest."
"Lot's Nest, rats' nest, there's no difference, but it might take a deal of burning. How many men went with Uther?"
"Enough. Two full thousand, half horse, half foot. But you're right. It could prove difficult to burn, and Lot might not even be there."
"How so?" A note in his voice had struck my ear strangely. He returned my gaze evenly, allowing a short silence to stretch between us. "What do you mean?" I pressed the point.
Lucanus continued to stare at me for several more moments, then he shrugged his shoulders. "Simply what I said. When Uther came home at the start of the winter, when it grew too cold and treacherous for campaigning, you may recall he cursed Lot and his wealth very effectively, Do you remember?" At that moment I was able to identify the reason behind the peculiar look in his eyes. The physician was still looking for gaps in my memory. I nodded, as casually as I could, and he went on, apparently satisfied. "Well then, you'll recall that Uther's concern—and he was convinced, for whatever reasons, that he was right to be concerned—was that Lot would use the winter rest period this year to reinforce and strengthen his armies. He has the wealth to do it, if we are to believe what we have heard about his pirates, and the winter months when the snows blocked the hill passes gave him the time."
I nodded again, remembering, and he continued, "Lot has that kind of wealth, and the mercenaries out there in Hibernia, and even in Gaul, know of it. By this time, for all we know, the entire peninsula down there could be jammed with new levies, primed for battle. With water on three sides, it's easily supplied by sea with stores or men. Uther marched south—that's all we know. He took the great road. He could have left it at any point and struck inland, to east or west, depending on what his outriders found before them." He yawned and stretched hugely before concluding, "You know that as well as I do, if you would but think about it."