Camulod Chronicles Book 3 - The Eagles' Brood

by Whyte, Jack

  Later that night I lay awake in my cot, listening to the voices of my men, still grouped around their fires, and to the infinitely varied noises of the camp. I was pleasantly tired, but far from sleepy, and as I lay there, enjoying the comfort and the peace, my thoughts drifted through a review of everything that had happened in the past few months since the night my aunt had convinced me that Camulod should attend the Verulamian Debate in grand style.

  Once convinced her advice was valid, I had not procrastinated. I thought carefully about what I had to say, and brought the results of my deliberations to the first full meeting of the Council that followed. I had argued my case eloquently, I thought at the time, and had convinced everyone of the merit of Aunt Luceiia's contentions. The vote in favour of my recommendations was unanimous, and we began making preparations immediately.

  It was natural, I suppose, that everyone who heard about it, from Councillors to trainee troopers, wanted to join the excursion, but the criteria governing the expedition and its personnel were decreed absolute from the outset: this was to be a military delegation, in all of its aspects. The main objective of the exercise, apart from the obvious one of representing the concerned but cohesive and self-sufficient Christian community in the far west, was to demonstrate our military capabilities to everyone with eyes to see it. For that reason, no civilian supernumeraries would accompany the expedition. I alone would represent Camulod as Commander and spokesman. For exactly the same reason, reinforced by the solid, enlightened thinking of the Legate Titus, every trooper and every officer in the train had to earn his place.

  Four brand-new, elite cavalry squadrons would be formed from the mass of Camulod's forces, and only the best in their own categories would qualify. That, we decided, was fair, since it provided the opportunity for every man, from the rawest recruit to the most seasoned veteran, to vie for a place of honour in an appropriate squadron.

  Since competition among officers for the same type of honours would have been infra dignitatem, the squadron and troop commanders were selected by lot in Council and announced with much fanfare. Titus, Flavius and I myself saw to it that only the names of the very finest of our commanders were submitted, so we were sure that the chosen officers would be well received.

  The competition that began immediately for inclusion in the ranks of the four squadrons did wonders for the flagging morale that had threatened us after Lot's near-capture of the fortress. Old rivalries were revived and new ones came into being overnight. The dust clouds over the great plain below the hill never settled, as squadrons and mounted troopers in twos and threes drilled, wheeled and manoeuvred at all hours until, eventually, the ranks of the new squadrons were filled and the squadron colours decided on and distributed.

  I had far less trouble deciding on the composition of our squadrons than I had on the matter of whether or not Cassandra should accompany us to Verulamium. I wanted passionately to take her with me, but the current composition of our party—all men and all soldiers—had presented unforeseen complications to that, and I had not yet made up my mind on the day when, at her own insistence, I led my aunt slowly down die path into our hidden valley, holding her aged but still strong hand all the way, lest she slip and fall.

  As on most occasions, Cassandra surprised me by running to meet me, her face a portrait of delight. She stopped short, however, when she saw my companion, blushing in confusion and embarrassment. Aunt Luceiia, on the other hand, was well prepared for this encounter. She had evidently given much thought to how she would behave in order to put Cassandra at her ease, and she went straight ahead and embraced the girl, motioning me to come and join them and share the embrace.

  Later, while Cassandra was cooking, my aunt said to me, "So, Nephew, you have impressed me, in spite of myself. I had suspected that this young woman might be more than simply special, in the sense that young lovers use the word, but she is utterly delightful, far ahead of what I had anticipated. And as for your stated opinion on her breeding, you are completely wrong. This child is no peasant, nor were her people. We may never know her true background, but there is a nobility in the girl. She is far too good for you, libertine that you are. You still intend to take her with you to Verulamium?"

  Luxuriating in her approval of my love, I was surprised by her question. "Of course, Auntie. I wouldn't dream of going without her." My decision was that swift and that simple.

  "Hmm. And when will you leave?"

  "Late in July—early August at the latest. But you know that."

  "Yes, Nephew, I do."

  "Then why did you ask?"

  She looked me straight in the eye and shook her head in wonderment. "I asked because I cannot believe the obtuseness of men."

  "Obtuseness?" My face must have been a picture of bewilderment. "What did I say? How am I being obtuse?"

  She shook her head again, but her voice was gentler when she said, "Your obtuseness, Nephew, lies in your failure to see that by August, your Cassandra will be within two months of having your child."

  I was thunderstruck! I gaped and spluttered and floundered, cursing my own blind stupidity. Of course she was pregnant! How could I not have seen it before this? And through all of these revelations, Cassandra worked away at preparing our meal, unaware of the consternation behind her back, until I calmed myself eventually and swung her around to kiss her gently, placing my hand on her belly. Then she knew I knew, and her eyes filled with tears of happiness.

  Of course, from that point on, there was no question of her accompanying me to Verulamium. There would have been no question of my going either, had Aunt Luceiia not immediately set about convincing me that it was my duty to go. Cassandra would be safe, she promised me, while I was gone. She herself would persuade Cassandra to return with us to Camulod, to marry me legally and to await the birth of our child. By the time I returned from my Verulamium pilgrimage, my wife and child would both be awaiting me, healthy and happy. I believed her, and I returned to Camulod alone.

  XXX

  Aunt Luceiia remained alone in our valley with Cassandra for a full week. When I returned at the end of that time, I did so in a light, two-wheeled gig that could easily accommodate all three of us plus our baggage and all Cassandra's belongings on the return journey. Quite simply, it had never even occurred to me that my aunt's campaign to win Cassandra back to Camulod might be unsuccessful, since the love and respect they had demonstrated for each other from the outset was total and absolute, and their ability to communicate with each other without words seemed to me little short of magical.

  Our entry into Camulod, later that same day, caused a mighty stir. The young woman who sat so calmly erect by my side, between my aunt and me, bore not the remotest resemblance to the half-starved waif who had returned, riding behind Uther, from that distant patrol, and no one recognized her. Nevertheless, the sight of her, the beauty and the strangeness of her, gave rise to an instant seething of speculation and gossip, which neither my aunt nor I relieved in any way. I, for one, had much more on my mind than idle rumours and conjecture.

  I had been bracing myself for trouble for two full weeks, ever since I accepted that Cassandra would really be returning to Camulod. Suddenly uncomfortable with my cousin's continuing absence from die fort—a condition that had, until then, been pleasing to me in my ambivalent frame of mind— I had begun willing Uther to return immediately, preparing myself for the inevitable confrontation between him and Cassandra. I was determined to bring them face to face without warning, knowing that only then, in his complete

  surprise, could I read Uther's guilt or innocence with conviction. As it turned out, however, that resolution was to remain unattainable. Uther was nowhere near Camulod when I brought Cassandra back. To the best of our knowledge, he had not left his Pendragon lands since returning there after his father's death. There had been no news of him since his departure, nor had anyone had any indication when he might return to Camulod. He might, for all we knew, already be campaigning against Lot, far to the
southwest in Cornwall.

  Irrespective, however, of my readiness to test Uther's response to the sight of Cassandra, I was totally unprepared for Donuil's reaction.

  We had been back in my aunt's house for several hours, and I had shared Cassandra's conducted tour of the establishment, enjoying her pleasure and wonder at the richness of the house and its appointments, seeing it myself through her eyes as though for the first time. She had finally retired, ushered by a gaggle of my aunt's serving women, to bathe and change her clothes, and I was banished from their company. I sent a trooper to find Donuil and tell him I was back and to bring me any work that had to be done.

  An hour later, I was hard at work, whispering the words to myself as I fretted over the appalling syntax of a report written by one of our Councillors and dealing with the variety and distribution of the crops being grown throughout the Colony's holdings. It was a dreadful and depressing task, and I was schooling myself to be patient, resisting a growing urge to call the writer of this mess into my presence and excoriate him, when an ungodly clatter made me leap like a faun. Donuil had been perched across from me on a high stool, polishing my parade breastplate. Now he was on his feet, stiff as a board, his face waxen, wide eyes staring at some point behind my head, and my best armour rolling noisily on the floor at his feet. I turned to follow his stricken gaze, and saw Cassandra standing by the open doorway behind me, peering backward over her shoulder at something in the hallway behind her. As I looked, too startled yet to speak, she turned back towards me and her eyes fell on Donuil. Her whole face altered instantly into an expression of astounded disbelief, and then splintered into an instant, joyful smile of recognition.

  Donuil continued to stand there as though petrified for several more long moments, and then he lurched toward her, walking stiff-legged, his mouth hanging open, a look of awe mixed with fear on his face. When he reached her, he stopped short of touching her and fell heavily to both knees, reaching out his hands to her. Radiant, she gave him both her hands, and he stooped his head to kiss them, but she was already pulling him to his feet, clasping her arms tightly around his neck and kissing him wildly on the face, the eyes and the forehead.

  As I watched this astonishing sequence of events, I was aware of an equally astounding rush of conflicting emotions. In a few brief moments I felt fear, suspicion, jealousy and a sudden rage that blanketed all the other feelings and quickly threatened to overpower me. Then all of these left me as suddenly as they had sprung into being, when big, ferocious Donuil turned to me, his eyes running with tears, and whispered in a choking voice, "Dear dree, Commander, it's dear dree." Then he turned again and fell to his knees a second time, throwing his arms around my beloved's hips and burying his face in her bosom, his shoulders shuddering with sobs.

  His words made no sense to me, but his actions, his possessiveness, filled me with a sense of doom. I stood up slowly from my chair and walked towards the two of them, my gaze shifting from Donuil to Cassandra, who was now also in tears. She watched me approach, but made no move to disengage her protective arms from around Donuil's head, hugging him to the soft fullness of her breasts. I felt my anger surging back, stronger than before, but she looked at me and smiled lovingly through her tears, and my flowering rage wilted as my confusion increased.

  "Donuil?" I asked, hearing my own voice, low and wondering yet filled with menace, "What is it, Donuil? This dree? What is dear dree? Do you know this woman?" I can remember thinking that I had never heard myself sound so foolish. If there were anything certain on the face of the earth, it was this man's knowledge of this woman.

  He turned his head to face me again, peering at me through the cradle of her arms, and his voice came to me muffled by her sleeves. This time, however, I understood every word he said. "It's Deirdre, Commander. We thought she was dead. My sister, Deirdre."

  My sister, Deirdre! Shocked beyond credence, I literally pulled the two of them apart from each other, holding them at arm's length as I stared from one face into the other, moving my head rapidly from side to side as I compared his big face with her small one, and seeing the resemblance immediately. Brother and sister! I let fall their arms and walked away to the closest couch, where I collapsed, my heart pounding in my ears.

  Cassandra was beside me immediately, her eyes filled now with concern for me, her brother abandoned on his knees in the doorway. I touched her cheek, brushing away her tears, and gently took her in my arms, cradling her and warming her with a sudden overflowing of love that was mixed with guilt over my conflicting reactions to what I had seen. Donuil knelt still, staring at us, incomprehension in his eyes.

  It took almost an entire day for us to assemble the story into what had to be its truthful form, mainly because the only two of us who could speak were each having trouble accepting and believing the other's explanation of his involvement. Donuil could not accept that I had known his sister for months before I met him, nor could he believe that he could have been so close to his sister for so long without having any inkling of her existence. For my part, I was simply stunned to be faced with the truth about Cassandra, who was Cassandra no longer. I was also amazed to see her conversing fluently and rapidly with Donuil in a silent language of hand-signals that meant nothing and less than nothing to me, apart from the dumfounding truth that Cassandra was an eloquent and fluent conversationalist!

  It was only later that I realized they were conversing in Erse, which explained why Cassandra and I had never been able to communicate. Being deaf and mute, she had never heard my Latin language, and so the movements of my lips, framing the sounds I made, were completely alien to her understanding. I, on the other hand, had presupposed her to be from Britain. It had never crossed my mind she might be Hibernian. How could it have? And what difference would that have made? Finally, however, I accepted the truths that had been thrust upon me and, with them, a new understanding of my beloved Cassandra, who had been Deirdre all her life. And I accepted, with intense excitement, the knowledge that I would be able to learn the hand-language she and Donuil used so expertly. I devoured everything Donuil had to tell me about her, and about her early life.

  As a child, he told me, she had been known as Deirdre of the Lilac Eyes, the darling and favourite of her father, Athol, High King of the Scots of Hibernia. Her unformed beauty had even then been legendary because of her colouring, and her suitors had been many and wealthy. Her mane of flowing, red-gold hair, her milk-white skin and her startling, lilac-violet eyes had marked her as one blessed by the gods, and that blessing would pass on to the man who became her husband. Even today, in speaking of his sister's beauty, Donuil's voice was so hushed and awestruck that, in spite of my love for his sister and my longing to learn everything of her, I grew embarrassed for him.

  Cassandra had been my love for long, golden months. Donuil's Deirdre, on the other hand, held no sway in my heart. And therein lay the cause of my embarrassment: I could see no commonality between my Cassandra and Donuil's Deirdre. The woman I loved was no flaming, red- golden-haired beauty with violet eyes. Her hair was long and lustrous, but it was fair, and no more than that—not golden, and with no trace of red. Nor were her eyes purple, or violet, or even lilac; they were huge and silvery, granite grey, almost completely colourless in any normal sense, yet changing to the palest of blue in certain lights. Eventually, in a mood of great discomfort, I said as much to Donuil.

  He stared at me, wide-eyed, and waited for me to say more, but I had no more to say.

  "So," he asked, eventually, "what are you saying, Commander?"

  "What am I saying?" I put down my cup and looked at him in amazement, wondering how he could ask me anything so obvious. I pointed to his sister, who sat opposite me, her gaze moving from one to the other of us as we spoke. "Donuil, the girl you are describing from your memories bears no resemblance to this woman sitting here. Not the slightest, can't you see that?" He blinked at me, looking confused, and Deirdre leaned forward intently, looking from him to me. Her fingers began to f
ly, and he gazed at them, deciphering her meaning, and then his face cleared.

  "Deirdre says to tell you about the sickness. But, Commander, you know about that! I've been talking about the way she was before the sickness. It was only after that she changed."

  "Sickness? What sickness? And what should I know of it? We've had no talk of sickness, Donuil. You're saying a sickness changed her?" I looked intently at Cassandra, who gazed solemnly back at me from great, pale grey eyes. "A sickness changed the colour of her hair and eyes? Donuil, are you talking about magic again?"

  "Aye, Commander Merlyn, I am." He nodded and his gaze was as unblinking as his sister's. "And my sister is the living proof of its existence."

  I moved across to share Cassandra's couch, drawing her into the bend of my arm and kissing her temple, looking across the top of her head at her brother. "Tell me," I said.

  The story he told me was a strange and wondrous one, and I believed it, word for word. Whether it told of magic or not, however, is something I cannot say, even to this day.

  On Midsummer's Day, in the ninth year of little Deirdre's life, through the freakish anger of some Erse god, the light of high summer had been almost completely eclipsed by the darkness of an enormous storm that uprooted trees and blew down buildings and caused rivers to overflow their banks, flooding fields and houses. Scores of people were killed and hundreds injured, and cattle drowned by the dozens. And in the middle of the confusion, young Deirdre of the Lilac Eyes disappeared.

  Her father's men searched for her in the aftermath of the great storm, hunting high and low for three days, at the end of which they pronounced her dead. And as they were preparing her funeral rites, she walked into the middle of them, dazed, with eyes staring.