by Jack Whyte
One of the two who had stood guard earlier in the day had been sent by Ullic Pendragon to find the King's grandson afterwards and hid him return to the Hall, and Uther had followed him with leaden footsteps. The time had come for him to explain himself and accept responsibility for his behaviour, which he knew his grandfather and his father must be considering inexcusable. He drew one more deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut and then reached out for the iron handle on the right door, twisting it firmly.
"Uther!" The cry, urgent and muted, came from behind him and he hesitated on the point of pushing the door wide open. He knew it was Nemo; he had recognized her voice immediately. He paused, wavering, as she called his name again, then turned to see her running hard towards him across the cobblestoned yard outside the massive doors of squared oak beams that always stood open on the days of Council gatherings. Frowning and shaking his head, he waved her away. She had no right to approach the King's Hall—as a woman, she would be trespassing.
Nemo saw the anguished look on his face and the peremptory way his hand came up to stop her, and she slid to a halt, leaning against the edge of one of the huge, grey wooden doors, her heart pounding and her breath catching in her throat from running all the way around the buildings to reach the only entrance to this courtyard. She had taken the risk of being seen and caught only when she had heard King Ullic say to the Chief Druid, who had been the last man to leave the Council chamber, that he expected his grandson at any moment.
Moving as quickly and silently as she could, she had then climbed back through the window under the eaves and made her way to the ground, although much more slowly than she would have wished. It had rained only a short time before and the surfaces she had to cross were slippery and treacherous. Then, as she had dropped cautiously down the last, dangerous slope of the lowest outhouse in her "ladder" of roofs, she had seen Uther pass by in the distance, evidently headed to meet his grandfather.
Now he stood glaring wildly at her, his face a grimacing mask, waving her away with one hand. Pitching her voice so that he alone might hear her, she called to him, "He's not angry, Uther! The King's not angry." But before she could finish, he stepped inside, and the door closed behind him.
Uther had heard what Nemo said, however, and he found himself instantly angry at what he saw as her presumption in daring to tell him something that he knew to be untrue. But then he saw his grandfather, and all thoughts of Nemo were dashed from his mind.
Ullic stood with his back to the doors, so that Uther saw only the imposing height of the old man and the enormous breadth of his back and shoulders. He suspected his grandfather knew he was there, but he could not be certain.
"Tata?"
"Come over here. What were you trying to do?"
Uther's heart sank at the directness of the question. This was going to be even more difficult than he had feared. He moved forward, speaking to the back of Ullic's head.
"I don't know."
The King swung around to look at him. "What's that supposed to mean? Of course you know. I know, so you must. Look here."
Uther stepped to the old man's side and looked at the piece of coal that lay in front of him, cleanly split into two pieces. His jaw dropped open in astonishment.
"I didn't do that."
"No, I did it. But it's what you were trying to do, isn't it?"
Uther nodded, unable to take his eyes off the split coal. "Yes."
"Good, then we both know what you were trying to do, so perhaps I asked you the wrong question. Let's try again. If you had succeeded in splitting this the first time, what else would you have done, afterwards?"
"I don't know . . . I'm not sure."
Ullic Pendragon said nothing for a long time, standing with pursed lips, gazing down at the sundered stone, and then he looked again at his grandson. "But you did think it was important . . . that you could split this thing?"
"Yes . . "
"Why? And don't tell me you don't know again."
The boy bit back the words that had been rising to his lips and stood quietly for a moment. Then he frowned in puzzlement and looked up at the old man who towered above him.
"You're not angry."
"No, I'm not angry. Should I be? Or do you intend to make me angry, insisting that you know nothing about why you interrupted my Council this morning?"
"No, I'll try not to . . . But I might not have the right words."
"Well, you won't be the first man I've listened to who suffered from that complaint. Why did you attack the thing the way you did? And where did you get that awful weapon?"
"The sword? I borrowed it from my friend Lucius. His uncle gave it to him. It was not a very good blade."
"It wasn't a blade at all. The thing split and broke like a dried- out branch. If that's the best you can do on your own behalf, I'll have to make sure you get a decent blade. But why did you swing the thing over your head like that? Why not simply split the coal the way I did? Come and sit down with me. I'm getting too old to stand all day on a stony floor."
He led the way up onto the dais that held the King's heavy seat of ornately carved oak and sat down, thrusting a footstool towards Uther with one foot as he did so. Uther caught the stool, hooking it with his foot, and pulled it over to him to sit, avoiding his grandfather's eyes while his head spun with wonder over so much ease and friendliness where he had expected bluntness and pain.
"So," his grandfather continued, "why the overhead swing?"
"Forgive me, Grandfather, but this time I truly don't know, save that it seemed to be the right thing to do at the time. But of course, it wasn't. How did you split the coal?"
"With a blade, the way you tried to do it. But I used the point of mine like a wedge and forced it into the crack with the weight of my body." Ullic leaned back until his shoulders found the comfort of his deep chair, then crossed his arms, lowering his chin onto his chest as he stared at his grandson. "I'll admit, you had me wondering for a moment or two if you had taken leave of your senses . . . especially when I saw what happened to the blade of the sword. I just about had you thrown into a cell then to teach you a lesson about good manners. Only one thing stopped me. Can you guess what it was?"
"No, Tata."
"The coal. Had you merely wanted to look like a fool and humiliate me and your father, you could have chosen any old stone on which to break that sword, but instead you chose a piece of coal— black, dirty, hard to find. And soft—softer than any other kind of stone. Once I began to think about the coal, I couldn't stop. So I went and looked at it. Your blade hacked a big chip out of it, destroying itself in the doing of it. But I could not make myself believe that you would go to such pigheaded lengths simply to destroy even such a poor weapon. It seemed beyond belief that you would be so stupid and vicious. So I told myself that you must have had a reason for doing what you did, even if I could not imagine what it was . . .
"And then I saw the lines running along the coal from one end to the other, and I remembered the care with which you took aim, the way you bent down and laid the blade so carefully against the stone before bringing it up to strike. You did all that slowly and with great concentration. And so I guessed that what you were trying to do must have had something to do with those lines. They looked strangely familiar, even though I had never noticed any- thing like them before, and the only thing I could think of doing with them was to split them, to force them apart, and so I did that. I drove the point of a sword blade hard into one of the lines, and the entire block fell apart in two pieces."
Ullic stopped and looked appraisingly at his grandson. "I was impressed that you would have known that would happen, even if you did not know quite how to achieve it. But tell me, if you will, man to man, why you did it. What do you think is so important about being able to split coal?"
"Nothing, Tata . . . I mean, there's nothing important about doing it with coal. Coal is easy, or it should be easy. What I didn't know until this morning is that there are different kinds of coal. I kn
ow now."
"What d'you mean?"
The boy shrugged. "The coal they use in Camulod is very different from ours. It is shinier and cleaner-looking, almost polished, if you know what I mean. And it's lighter, too . . . easier to carry and easier to break apart. I never thought to ask about that, and I never thought to question the weight of the piece I brought here today. I knew it was heavier, and I knew it was duller, and I knew it was dirtier. . . dustier. . . but it never occurred to me that it could be a completely different kind of coal."
Ullic sat staring at his grandson for a moment and then shrugged, frowning slightly. "I know what you are saying must make sense to you, but I have no idea what you are talking about. You began by telling me that coal is unimportant, but since then all you have talked about is coal."
"Oh . . . well, yes, I know it must sound strange. But you see, it's the stone and cleaving it that matters . . ."
King Ullic Pendragon stood up and raised his arms high in a mighty stretch, yawning and rising to his tiptoes as he did so. "I'm hungry," he said. "You must be, too. Come with me and we'll pass by the kitchens and find something to eat, then you and I will walk for a while and talk, and perhaps by then you'll be able to tell me sensibly about what's in your mind."
Within the space of the hour that followed—thanks to the pleasant distractions afforded by visiting his grandfather's kitchens and procuring an entire feast, comprising a hot, freshly spit-roasted hare and a cloth-twist bag of salt, a loaf of fresh bread, a damp cloth full of soft, new-made cheese, a small raw turnip cut into wedges and a jug of cold beer—Uther went from being angry and afraid to feeling completely at his ease. He and his grandfather shared the load as they carried their meal with them, sauntering at their leisure through the King's Holding and into the woods outside Tir Manila. Only three men attempted to approach King Ullic in that time, and he waved all of them away, growling an explanation that he was spending time with his grandson and did not wish to be interrupted. Uther said nothing about that, but he was highly conscious of the honour being accorded to him and, in consequence, even more appreciative than his boyish appetite would normally have made him when the two of them finally sat down side by side on a fallen tree trunk and shared the delicious meal.
By that time, he had also come to accept that his grandfather, far from being angry at him, was honestly interested in what Uther had to say. As a result, when the time came to start from the beginning and explain all that had been going through his mind in recent weeks, he found that every trace of complexity had vanished, and he was able to tell the story fluently and without pause, going from his first encounter with the old craftsman Murdo in Camulod through all that he had learned from the old man and almost successfully through the ensuing labyrinth of thoughts, many of them contradictory, that had brought him to this day's doings.
When he had finished talking, his grandfather sat staring at him for some time, then sniffed and made a low throat-clearing sound somewhere deep in his chest.
"Very well," he said. "I think I follow you . . . At least I know what lines of cleavage are now. Here I am, more than five times your age, and I never knew that before. So. You hoped to split the coal—or the stone, if you prefer—with your sword. Why? What would that have proved?"
"That it could be done."
"What d'you mean?"
The boy shrugged. "It would have amazed you, Tata, don't you see? Because you didn't know it could be done. Do you think any of your Councillors would have known, when you didn't? What would you have said, or thought, if I had been able to do it . . . if the stone had split clean in two?"
Ullic Pendragon nodded and actually chuckled. "You're right, I would have been amazed. And I might even have been amused, too. But what makes you think I would not then have thrown you out for interrupting my Council?"
"Because I did it with a sword."
"A sword . . . I don't follow you. You're ten years old, and you've lost me. What are you saying?"
"I don't know, Tata—I know you told me not to say that but it's the truth. It's a—I had a vision, I think."
"A vision. I see. What kind of a vision was it?"
"It happened one afternoon last week when I was thinking about Murdo's chisel striking one of his big, yellow topaz stones. I le always does it—splitting a stone, I mean—with great care, and lie spends ages studying each stone before he can decide where to place the chisel blade. If he selects the wrong spot, or if he strikes too hard or not hard enough, he can destroy the stone, smashing it into powder. He let me try it once, and I ended up with a small pile of yellow dust and splinters. But when Murdo does it right, Tata, he splits the stone cleanly, and each side of the split is smooth, as though polished, like the glass in Grandma Luceiia's window in her family room in Camulod. And then I thought of something that I hadn't thought about before . . . and I saw it again today when I came back into the Council chamber and saw how you had split the coal . . ." His voice died away and he looked up into Ullic's eyes.
"And what's that?" the King asked. "What did you think?"
"I thought—no, I knew—that a stone struck properly like that is split forever. It can never be put back together again."
"I see. That was your vision?"
"No, in my vision I saw a sword splitting a stone. And then the stone became an army, divided by a sword stroke. And then, instead of a sword, I saw a force of Camulod's cavalry, a wedge squadron formation, striking an army and splitting it apart."
"So it could never be rejoined . . ." The King's voice was quiet, and he had a far-away expression in his eyes. "Hmm!" Ullic sat up straight and wiped his hands on the bottom of his tunic. "So you brought your idea to me. Good. But you should have brought it sooner."
"Why?" Uther now sounded depressed. "My idea didn't work, and I broke the sword. And besides, we don't have any cavalry like Camulod's, so it won't do us any good."
"Aha, so that's what you're thinking, is it? Well, lad, you're wrong. What's important here, it seems to me—although, mind you, I'm naught but an old man—what's important here is that I broke the coal. Don't you agree?"
"Yes, I know you did, Tata."
"Aye, but did you hear what I said? I said that was the important thing."
"I know, Tata, I heard you."
"Good, then you can tell me why it was important."
"I . . ." Uther sat silent, blinking, and his grandfather took pity on him.
"It was important, Uther, because what you had done, or tried to do, set me thinking about it. . . And so I was able to do it, after I had thought about it for a bit. But I would never have thought about it at all if it hadn't been for what you did. It would never have occurred to me to try such a thing, even if I lived to be twice the age I am now, if you had not provided the original idea. Do you hear what I am saying to you, Uther?"
Ullic waited, peering into his grandson's face, but then, seeing that the boy had not understood, he kept talking. "The idea, Uther, the idea was yours, and that is more important than the success or failure of what you tried to do with it. Once the idea has been put forward, someone will always come along to make it real, to make it happen, but it need not be the person who first had the idea. There are very few people in this world who can do what you did in this—who can conceive ideas, lad—who can come up with the original thought required for progress, and the knowledge that you, my own grandson, could be one of those few people makes me very proud." Again Ullic waited, and again the boy did not respond the way the King wanted.
"But I failed, Grandfather. I didn't do it."
"Dia! Very well, let me think about this for a moment. . . Here, try this. You admire your Grandfather Varrus, no?" Uther nodded. "Of course you do, and so you should. And the reason you had that thought of cavalry splitting an army is because you admire the cavalry at Camulod almost as much as you admire Publius Varrus, am I right?" Again the boy nodded. "Good then. So you must be really proud of your grandfather's prowess as a cavalry leader, and of the way
he looks on horseback, all decked out in his fine armour on his huge cavalry horse, right?"
Uther was shaking his head, frowning. "No, Tata, Grandfather Varrus does not ride. I've never seen him in armour on horseback. He is not a cavalryman."
"What? But he commands all Camulod's cavalry, does he not?"
"No, he does not. He used to be the Commander, but he gave that up to Uncle Picus when Uncle Picus came home to Britain."
"But why?"
"You know why! Uncle Picus used to be an Imperial Legate, the supreme cavalry commander in Britain, before I was born."
"I see. So you are saying your Grandfather Varrus is a failure." The boy's eyes went wide with shock and outrage, but before he could respond in any way, Ullic held up his hand to forestall him. "No? That's not what you are saying? Then what am I to believe? Why would Varrus relinquish his own power to another man—any man?"
"He did not, Tata! Uncle Picus is not just any other man! He is Tana Luceiia's nephew, and he is a great commander of cavalry, better than Tata Varrus could ever be. Tata Varrus would have been stupid not to allow Uncle Picus to take over the command, because Uncle Picus does that best, and Tata Varrus had other things to do."
"Aha! Other things, you mean, that he could do better and more profitably, making better use of his time."
"Yes. That's what I mean."
"Excellent, then let us move on. No, stay where you are," Uther had moved to stand up. "I meant let us move on in our discussion. We can do that here.
"I want you to think upon these things. You swung your blade; I used the point of mine. You picked a point to hit among the lines on the coal, then took your blade away, allowing it to waver as you moved it. I inserted my point firmly and kept it there. You risked everything on a wild swing with an inferior blade. I concentrated all my force and weight behind a single, firmly held point. You assumed, wrongly, that you were dealing with the same kind of coal you had used in Camulod and that it was soft and would break apart easily, whereas I, knowing nothing about coal, only looked for what I could find within the coal that lay in front of me.