by Jack Whyte
Much of the baiting the new recruits endured was good-natured, but they had to suffer a good deal of abuse that was malicious and deliberate. Nevertheless, they bore it all stoically in silence and absorbed everything that was thrown at them. Within a month, the abuse began to taper off, and the tenor of the baiting became less punitive as the newcomers continued to drill doggedly and to learn quickly, and began thereby to win a modicum of acceptance and respect.
And then, when their basic training had been completed, they were finally issued the uniform armour and saddlery of regular Camulodian troopers.
They passed their final inspection flawlessly at a dawn parade the following day, resplendent in their new uniforms, and were granted a day-long furlough to celebrate their success. Uther remained with them that morning until they were dismissed, and then, thinking it might be the right thing to do, he left them to their celebrations and went to join Cay and his Uncle Picus Britannicus, where he sat in on the discussions of how the new troop was to be split up among the veteran squadrons for the next stage of their training. Later in the day, however, Garreth came looking for him and took Uther back to where the celebration was being held, and the young man was touched and delighted by the welcome the Cambrians gave him. He stayed with them then long into the night, enjoying himself thoroughly but drinking only sparingly as he watched the free-flowing ale take hold of the young celebrants.
When Garreth eventually called curfew and supervised the bedding down of the new troopers, most of whom were by then too drunk to protest, Uther went to his own bed, where he lay awake for a long time, thinking about the celebration and the strange, moving and contradictory thoughts that had occurred to him while he watched his companions.
The following morning, immediately after the dawn parade, in which the haggard looks and woebegone expressions of the Cambrian troopers had gone conspicuously unmentioned, Uther presented himself at the garrison headquarters and asked to speak with the Legate Picus Britannicus. He was shown directly into the Legate's day room, where Picus sat gazing at him quizzically, one eyebrow raised high as Uther saluted him formally. Picus nodded casually, acknowledging the punctilious greeting.
"How are you feeling?"
Uther, still standing at attention, blinked at his uncle, surprised by the question, and then realized that Picus thought he might have drunk too much the previous day. He shook his head. "I feel fine, Uncle, perfectly normal."
"Good. What may I do for you?"
"Ahh . . ." Faced with the need to speak, Uther found that he did not know where to begin, but while he was searching for the words, Picus forestalled him by taking a sheet of papyrus from a small pile by his right hand and pushing it across to where Uther could reach it. Even upside down, Uther could see that it was a list of some kind.
"Sit down, Nephew, there's no need to be formal when there's just the two of us. You can save me some time here if you would not mind taking that to your man Garreth when you leave."
Uther nodded and sat in the chair in front of the Legate's work table before picking the paper up and turning it towards him. "Of course, Uncle. What is it?" Noting the fact that it had not been rolled up or folded, he had no hesitation in showing his curiosity.
"It's the new roster, the one we discussed yesterday. The allocation of your Cambrians to the regular squadrons they'll be working with from now on."
"Ah, yes." Uther cleared his throat nervously, suddenly uncomfortable and wishing he had not sat down. "Yes, well . . . that's what I've come to speak to you about. Uncle."
Picus sat waiting for a few moments until he realized that his nephew was at a loss for words.
"And . . . ? What is it that you want to say?"
"Well. . ."Another long, painful pause, and then, "It's about the roster. Is there . . . Is it. . . Is there any other way to do this?"
Picus wrinkled his brow, not understanding. Uther interpreted the look as a frown, and his nervousness increased.
"I don't understand," Picus said, his voice mild. "Any other way to do what?"
"This . . . to avoid splitting up my men."
"Your men ?" The Legate's lips twisted in a tiny smile. "You mean the Cambrian troopers? Perhaps we should clarify their status, you and I. As long as they are billeted here, training under my command, they are most emphatically my men, Camulod's men. Your father understands that, I believe. Do you disagree?"
"Well, no, sir, they are, sir, but . . ."
"But? But what, Uther?" His question went unanswered as a flush stained Uther's cheeks, and Picus continued. "Where has this sudden 'but' sprung from? You sat here yesterday while we discussed this, and you gave me no indication that you had doubts about any of it."
Uther nodded, his expression miserable. "I know, sir. And I didn't. It was only last night that—" He cut his own words off before they could be uttered, and before Picus could make any response they were interrupted by the arrival of one of his clerks. Picus had obviously expected him, for he stood up and passed another pile of papers on his desk to the man, who nodded, clicked his heels and left immediately.
Picus glanced back at Uther's still red-face, and then he rose and went to the door, where he leaned out and told the other clerk outside that he did not wish to be disturbed. He closed the door and came back to his table, where he perched casually on one corner and gazed down at his nephew.
"I think," he said, "that you have something weighty on your mind, and I know you would not come here simply to waste my lime, so I'm prepared to listen. Now take your lime and get your thoughts in order, and then try to explain to me why you suddenly believe I should keep your troopers together as a body, instead of splitting them up among our veterans, as we traditionally do, for the next, highly important stage of their training."
Uther nodded and thought for a few moments.
"It was last night, sir. I couldn't sleep, and I didn't know why. But my thoughts were full of what happened yesterday . . . the muster in the morning and the men's graduation to full troopers. They were full of it, and very proud of themselves, and I was surprised and . . . I don't know if I can describe what I mean."
Picus hitched himself further onto the top of the table, bracing himself with his straight arms as both feet left the floor. "Well, you've made a start, anyway. You were surprised, you say, and . . . what?"
"I was surprised and perhaps, I think . . . excited. About what I was seeing . . . what they were showing me. I'd never seen it before, and I suddenly knew it was important that I . . . that we keep it. Very important."
"Important enough to break with a tradition that we have built up here in Camulod since our beginnings for reasons of sound, tested common sense? That must be monumentally important." He held up a hand towards his nephew. "Wait you, I am not belittling you or casting slurs on your judgment. I am merely making a point." He thrust himself forward off the table and moved back to his own chair, settling himself comfortably.
"When I was your age, I left home to join the legions, and I did my earliest service in Gaul before the Romans had even begun to develop heavy cavalry. I spent several years there as an ordinary infantry grunt, engaged in some heavy fighting, and then I met Flavius Stilicho and fell in love with horse warfare. But even then, by which time I was close to twenty, I faced opposition whenever I tried to convince the older officers that cavalry warfare was to be the way of the future. They thought me—and Stilicho as well—no more than a jumped-up, overweening boy, out to change a thousand-year tradition to suit his own ends." He paused and eyed his nephew questioningly. "Do you see what I mean? Their experience, impressive as it was, told them that someone of my experience could know nothing. That's your situation at this moment. You see something you believe to be important. I, as your legate rather than your uncle, see an inexperienced, fifteen-year-old boy who appears to want me to change the way things are done around here, although I have no idea why. But I am granting you the benefit of all my doubts, so convince me. Tell me what it was that your men wer
e showing you yesterday. Take your time."
Uther felt relief flowing through him, closely followed by a rush of admiration for his uncle's patience and understanding. Instead of plunging into his argument, he remained still, grappling with his thoughts and feelings, until finally he began to see it taking shape in his mind.
"It was unity, I think, sir . . . Yes, that's what it was. It was unity. They had achieved something together. Something difficult. Something to be proud of."
"Of course they had. They'd achieved the status of Camulodian troopers. They're unique now."
"Aye, but that's just it, sir, they're Cambrians, not Camulodians. They're Pendragons."
There was a silence, and then Picus nodded. "Aye, they are, but they are still troopers in the cavalry of Camulod. And their differentness simply presents another excellent reason to split them up as I normally would and dilute the distinctions between them and our regular troopers."
Uther felt frustration swelling in his chest, but he knew that to show any of it would be the worst thing he could do. Unconscious of the disrespect he might be showing, he held up his own hand as he sought to balance his thoughts.
"Sir, have you ever been to Cambria, to Tir Manha, I mean? Have you spent any time there?"
"I've been there several times, but I've never stayed there. I know little of your people and their ways, if that's what you are asking me."
"It is, Uncle, it is . . . You see . . ." He took a great breath and plunged ahead. "We Pendragons never act in unison on anything, except in emergencies- when there's a King to be chosen or when an enemy invades us. Even then, in war, we will turn out in masses but we fight as solitary warriors, every man for himself. We don't have the kind of discipline or organized training you take for granted here in Camulod. Even our bowmen with the new longbows, they're incredibly powerful together, but each one is his own man . . . aims and shoots his own arrows. I'm not making sense, am I?"
Picus shrugged. "Yes you are. I think I'm beginning to see what you mean. Carry on."
"Well, that's what surprised me . . . I think. I had never seen my own people behaving the way they behaved yesterday, and I couldn't get it out of my mind. I've never seen Pendragons work together as these have . . . not with so much discipline and in a common cause. It's against everything Cambrian, absolutely everything."
Picus was silent, making no attempt to interrupt, and Uther sat frowning, thinking deeply, then burst out talking again.
"These men came here with me because my father urged them and encouraged them to come. He wants to forge a closer alliance with you here in Camulod, and to have some cavalry available to him in Cambria—Camulod's cavalry, with Camulodian officers, but made up of Cambrian volunteers under my command. He believed there might be young men in Tir Manha who would leap at the chance to get away, to try something different. But he never thought—none of us did, including me—about what might happen in the doing of that. And that's why I think it important to keep the men together. If we split them up, as you propose to do, we risk losing this . . . thing that has them all united in this new way."
His uncle smiled, shaking his head slightly. "But that makes no sense, Uther. Their confidence will grow with further training as regular troopers."
Uther nodded, but he was not about to back down now. "That is true, sir, their confidence will increase, but their sense of . . . the only word I can find is unity . . . that will melt away. They'll be good Camulodian troopers, as you say . . ."
"But?"
"But that's all they'll be." The words came out in a rush.
Picus leaned his head back and laughed aloud. "Is that supposed to win me over to your viewpoint? That's all they'll be?"
Uther was appalled by his gaffe. "No, Uncle, I didn't mean it like that. I meant no disrespect. What I meant to say is that they could be much more, in a different sense. They could be . . . will be . . . a Cambrian corps of Camulodian troopers, who will return proudly to Cambria and cause envy in the hearts of others like them. They will be the King's Guard from Camulod, but their comradeship, their pride and their discipline will raise other volunteers who can then be trained normally in the traditional manner."
"Hmm . . ." Picus sat silent for a long time, mulling over what Uther had said, and then he nodded. "Well, you've given me much to think about. I think you should leave me now. You have not convinced me, but you have captured my attention, and if you have half the brains I think you have, you will leave me to convince myself. I'll send for you before the day is out and give you my answer. In the meantime, say nothing to anyone of what we have discussed, and leave that roster here with me."
Uther pushed the list back across the table and Picus picked it up, gazing at it with unfocused eyes. Uther rose, saluted and left his uncle to his thoughts.
Then late that evening, only an hour before curfew, a trooper came looking for Uther to summon him to the Legate's quarters, where he was surprised to find Picus in conference with Garreth Whistler, the two of them sitting companionably beside a glowing brazier. They stopped talking as he approached the open door, and Picus beckoned him inside. Wondering what was happening, Uther entered and nodded to Garreth before taking the seat between them. He made no attempt to salute Picus, as all of them were out of uniform. His uncle wasted no time in coming to the point.
"Well, Nephew," he said, "I have thought of nothing but your strange request all day long, and I tell you openly I had almost made up my mind to deny it. But then I decided to consult with Garreth here, since the outcome of my decision would affect him, too, and I knew that he would not hesitate to speak the truth of what he felt about your suggestion. I was very surprised to discover that he knew nothing about it."
Uther glanced at Garreth and fell the hot colour sweeping up into his face. Before he could say anything, however, Picus continued.
"I outlined your proposal to Garreth then and tried to state your reasons for it as truthfully and accurately as I could, and afterwards he and I talked about the matter at some length . . . longer than I had anticipated. You will be delighted to know that, despite your failure to confide in him, Garreth agreed with you. More important, however, he convinced me to agree with you, too.
"So, here is my decision. You will have this year to keep your Cambrian contingent intact so that they may return to Tir Manha with you as a fully integrated unit. Thus, you will have your opportunity to build upon this new fellowship you speak of and to impress your fellow clansmen with their discipline and pride, and we will hope for additional volunteers in time to come, inspired by the example of your first levy." He held up a peremptory hand to forestall Uther's gratitude. "Wait you, you might not like what I say next. You are fifteen, a mere recruit, and hence unfit to command a unit in Camulod at this time, no matter what your father's wishes might be. And so Garreth Whistler will assume command of your contingent for the time being, until you have earned the right to lead them on your own. Garreth will command while you remain in Camulod, and you will be a trooper, no more than that. And to aid Garreth in his task, I will second a cadre of my best officers as guardians to your guards. When you return to Tir Manha, you may do as you wish, to suit your father's designs and conditions, but here in Camulod, you will conform to mine. Do you object to that?"
Uther merely shook his head, and Picus nodded. "Good. So be it. But next year, when your troopers return to Camulod, they will be dispersed among the regular troops as they should have been this year. And at that time, you yourself will enter a program of intense officer training under my best teachers. Cay will join you. Is that clear? I hope it is, because I must tell you that, in breaking with tradition in this way, I fear I may be loosing a deal of resentment on your people that you yourself might not have thought of. They will be perceived, rightfully but for the wrong reasons, as receiving preferential treatment. I can post clear orders defining at least some of my reasons for this action, and those should take care of the surface difficulties, but I doubt very much if it will stifle t
he resentment of our ordinary troopers. Your Cambrians might be in for a difficult time in the months ahead, but you have your wish and your opportunity to make what you can of it. And now it's almost curfew. Sleep well, and don't try to thank me, please, because I am not at all sure that I have done you any service."
Picus's assessment proved to be correct. The reaction of the veteran troopers in the other squadrons was less than friendly. The "dragon guards" found themselves treated as pariahs again, but a new spirit had been born in them with the knowledge that they were not to be split up, and they decided spontaneously, with the perverse obstinacy that frequently governs such developments, to adopt the name that had been so insultingly bestowed on them in the beginning, loudly proclaiming it as their own and taking a defiant pride in referring to themselves as the "Dragon Guards."
Then some time after that, as all things change and settle, the name was eventually accepted and shortened by everyone to become simply the "Dragons," and the new Cambrian troopers demonstrated that they were as good and as proficient at their tasks as any other troop in Camulod. It took long hours and killing work to establish that beyond dispute, but they thrived on it and grew stronger every day. By the time they eventually set out again, beneath the red and green Pendragon standard, to return to their home in Tir Manha, no one even remembered that they had initially been scorned.
It quickly became evident, however, that there was little useful purpose to be gained in taking the newly formed Dragons back to Cambria during the summer months. Summer was when the Camulodian cavalry worked hardest, not only in training and manoeuvres, but in the practical realities of patrolling their territories and defending the Colony's borders. Uther's Dragons, stuck in the far-off mountains of Cambria, thought often and enviously of the Camulodian troopers with whom they had trained all winter long and knew what they were missing.