by Jack Whyte
"What kind of interest?" Derek's sudden frown was speculative, his eyes glinting with curiosity.
"An abiding one, let us say."
"Abiding ... You mean ongoing? Active?"
"Most assuredly." Connor's voice was dry now, almost ironic. "I think it might be better if you spoke your mind, rather than attempting to be circumspect. What is it that you want to know?"
Derek braced his shoulders, facing Connor squarely. "I want to know if Athol extends real protection to the boy, or merely friendly interest. There's no point in my denying it, this thing with the Sons of Condran spells disaster for my people and my town. This was unknown to me when you arrived, and it changes everything. I need an ally now, a strong one, with a fleet of galleys. If I offer sanctuary to Merlyn and the boy, as I was asked to do, then may I rely on you and yours to extend protection to my folk as part of the agreement? That is what I need to know."
"That's plain enough. You mean afterwards, in time to come. Not merely when Liam's fleet arrives the day after tomorrow. You still need help with that."
"Yes." ·
"Hmm." Connor snatched a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips. "I have the feeling, Ravenglass, that you would make me earn those two galleys."
Derek almost smiled. "They're Condran's best. His admiral's own ships. And they're undamaged."
"No thanks to you." Connor looked at me. "There was a holding crew aboard each one. They tried to fire them when they saw us coming. Almost succeeded, too." He turned back to Derek. "The bargain—especially this latest element you've added, of ongoing help—still weighs too heavily in your favour, my friend. Where will you lodge Merlyn and his people now if I accede? Because if all things are changed in your condition, so, too, are the requirements for their safety."
"I know that." Derek turned to me. "How many people are there in your group? In total."
"Eighteen."
He looked at me for a long time, nodding slowly. "I have the perfect place, I think."
When it became clear that he would say no more without prompting, Connor supplied it. "Another perfect place? Where? You have a suitable house?"
"No, I have a suitable fort." He rose to throw some fuel on the fire, leaving us to wonder. When he was satisfied that the fire would burn well, Derek returned to his chair.
"The road out of our town is the Tenth Iter. Does that mean anything to you?" Both of us shook our heads, and he grinned at me. "Well, you once told me you knew your Britain—at least the Roman part of it—but now I can tell you something you didn't know. The Tenth Iter is the only road in all this region that penetrates the heartland from the coast. Very important road, it was, to the Romans, built during the period after they abandoned the other wall they built, up in Caledonia."
"The Antonine Wall."
"Aye, that's the one. Anyway, they built this road, the Tenth Iter, to transport supplies from Ravenglass, here, which they called Glannaventa, traversing the passes through the Fells to the garrison at Galava, which means "by the side of the vigorous stream." We call the stream the Amble. Anyway, the road's more than thirty Roman miles long, and it had three forts, the two at each end and another they called Mediobogdum—don't ask me what that means—in the middle, on a plateau at the top of the highest pass through the Fells."
"It means 'in the river's bend.' Isn't it on a river?"
"No, it's on a mountain top, but there's a river in the valley below, the Esk, and it bends around the fort, right enough. The fort was a camp for summer garrisons, never occupied in winter, since the road was impassable." He looked from one to the other of us. 'That means no town ever grew up around it. Who would want to live up there year-round? You, for all of that, might find it appropriate for your own reasons, but you'll be the first ones in nearly two hundred years, according to our Druids. It lies something over ten miles from here, and it's been abandoned for longer than anyone's ever been able to recall. I think, though, with a little hard work and willingness, it could be made habitable, even now. I was there last summer and spent two nights. The walls ate sound—they're built mostly of local stone—and some of the buildings are strongly roofed. There's water and wood in abundance and even a bathhouse, though what condition that's in is something I can't guess at. The site itself is protected by high peaks and by thick forest, and few people use the road nowadays. Those who do come from inland: No one uses it from here, except in the summer, when we post lookouts in the pass up there to guard against intrusion from inland. But we've had no trouble now for more than twenty years."
Connor was looking at me, his lips pressed together. "What think you?'
I shrugged. "I'd like to see it: It might serve."
"Hmm." Connor sat silent for a spell, plucking at his pursed lips as he stared into the fire, and I sat motionless, watching him and waiting for the outcome of his thoughts. Finally he straightened up, his eyes seeking mine. "Very well, here's what we'll do. Tomorrow, Derek, you'll supply a man to take me to this place where we can hide our galleys. We'll take wily our own three, leaving Liam's here to be seen by his fleet. We'll need only half-crews, and we'll leave the vessels in this inlet you know of, providing that I'm satisfied it's as safe and well hidden as you say it is. Afterwards, your fishing fleet will pick my men up and bring them back here. That means when Liam's vermin come, · they'll see their admiral's galleys and be sure he's here. But they will see their accursed admiral, too ... I want to be quite certain of that." He drummed his fingertips against his lips, his eyes on me again, his thoughts evidently elsewhere.
"Derek, last time I was here Blundyl took me around the town and showed me all kinds of wondrous things. One of them, I recall distinctly, was an old cargo shed, still sound and weatherproof, sitting all alone beyond the end of the western wall, facing the harbour. It was full of heavy, hand-forged lengths of rusty iron chains, enormous things. Do you know what I'm talking about?"
"Aye, I do. The Romans made them. Used them to fasten great logs together, a floating boom, strung from the mainland to the island in the bay to seal the harbour against surprise attack. There's one at the other end, too."
"Are they still there?"
"Aye, they've been lying in there for years. We've had no need of them ere now, although we might hereafter." He gazed at Connor, speculatively. "You want to use them? Re- string the boom? There's no time. We'd have to cut the logs."
"No, I want to join the lengths together and string them, secured by heavy spikes, along the top of your wall facing the harbour ... the full length of the wall. Then, using the chains as an anchor, I want to hang the corpses of every one of the Sons of Condran slain last night, with Liam in the centre, so that they'll be the first thing our Erse visitors will see when they arrive. That will give them something to choke over. They will also find the walls well manned, with my hundreds supplementing your own men. They'll be too far away to recognize any of us, and they'll assume us to be your people. If they come too close, we'll throw some fire at them. You still have the Roman catapults up on the walls, I know. Are they serviceable?" Derek nodded. "Good. Make sure they're freshly greased and tightened, or whatever has to be done to them, during the day tomorrow. Merlyn will help you. He knows about such things. Liam's fleet will be here with the sun the next day, and they'll expect to find the town already in their possession. They'll choke on their own vomit, but I hope they'll approach close enough to suffer when we open fire on them.
"We should be able to savage them badly and send them home with their tails between their legs, bearing the news of gentle Liam's death. They might return seeking vengeance, or they might not. In either case, they won't be coming back soon, and when they do, they'll find Mac Athol taking interest in their movements. As soon as they've gone, you will take Merlyn and me to see this fort of yours. What did you call it?"
"Mediobogdum."
"Aye, Mediobogdum. An outlandish name, even for Romans. Are we agreed?"
"We are." Each man spat into his hand and we clapped our
palms together to seal the bargain.
Some time close to dawn, dirty and weary, I made my way to my own cot and fell across it, hurting my face in the process so that I realized I had completely forgotten my bruised eye and cheekbone. In spite of my exhaustion, or perhaps because of it, I lay awake for a short time, half- consciously recalling sights and incidents from the night's alarums and reflecting on the way things change in life, never remaining constant for any appreciable length of time. I saw Liam die again, spraying blood from his mouth, and the last thing I thought of was Shelagh's other knife, still concealed beneath my pillow.
FOUR
The rain, which had been diminishing in volume all morning, finally stopped shortly before noon. I pulled back my hood and combed my fingers through my hair, welcoming the cool air about my head. Beside me, Shelagh stood, thoughtful, chewing on the inside of her lip. The two men who had been helping me stood silent, awaiting further instructions.
"He isn't here," Shelagh said.
I turned to her, shaking my head. "How can you know that?"
"I know it."
"How, Shelagh? How can you know it, when I can't? I don't even know who I'm looking for. The single thing I am sure of is that I can't identify him."
Shelagh simply gazed at me, saying nothing more. We were standing by the bathhouse, beside the neatly ordered, rain-soaked rows of the Sons of Condran who had died in the previous night's fighting. I found myself curiously unmoved by the sight of them, even after watching them turned this way and that to expose their faces to my search. Their exposure to the hours of steady, heavy rain had robbed them of all semblance of humanity, leaving them pallid and waxen, their exposed skin cleansed of clotted blood. The casualties from Ravenglass and Connor's crews, by comparison—there were none among the group from Camulod, for which I thanked God—had been sheltered, laid out in a large storage shed behind the bathhouse itself, and their corpses, coated and caked with crusted blood, somehow made them appear more pitiable.
I had examined every corpse, counting involuntarily but losing track among Liam's people somewhere between a hundred and fifty and a hundred and sixty. The first twenty-six had been our men, most of them slain in the opening moments of Liam's treacherous move. I didn't think my man was among them, in either group, but I knew I could be wrong. I shook my head.
"He might have changed his clothes, Shelagh, knowing the yellow tunic made him recognizable. If he did, then any one of these bodies could be him. I told you, I never saw his face clearly. The only time I was close to him, I didn't see him until he turned to scuttle away, and then I only saw the tunic."
"You think that's likely? I don't."
"Why not? It seems logical enough to me."
Shelagh shook her head. "No. No, not at all. You're overrating this man, Merlyn. He's not that clever. He ran, and he drew your attention. A clever man would have passed you by, ignoring you, unnoticed. But he ran because he thought you'd recognize him. Him, not his clothes. Believing that, he'd never think to change his tunic. He'd be convinced that you would know his face no matter what he wore. You don't recognize anyone here, therefore your man, whoever he may be, is not among the dead."
"Which means he's still alive."
"Aye, and could be anywhere within a day's journey from here, by this time. That's very astute of you, Caius Merlyn."
I glanced at her sidelong, half smiling. "Curb your tongue, woman, or I'll have your husband take a switch to you."
She hooted, then smiled demurely and fluttered her long lashes before bowing her head in mock submission, undismayed, like me, by indulging in levity in the presence of so much death.
I had returned her knife to her that morning, congratulating her on her presence of mind and effectiveness the previous night. The children had been present, and I was glad to see they appeared to have taken no ill from their adventures in the hands of Liam's men. Not even Turga had been harmed. Donuil had already gone down to the wharves with Lucanus, Rufio and Dedalus to supervise the unloading of our stores and livestock from Connor's galleys and bring everything into safety behind the walls. Connor's crews were making ready to transport the three Mac Athol craft to safety, out of sight of Liam's fleet when it arrived.
The boys had been agog for the story of the previous night's doings, and Shelagh, who directed them to me as soon as I arrived, had told them nothing. I spent half an hour telling them everything I felt they ought to know, including the threat of Liam's fleet, due to arrive the next day. I exacted a solemn promise from each of them that they would behave themselves, respecting and staying clear of the preparations under way everywhere. Then I released them into Turga's care to visit the wharves where their uncles were working. Gwin and Ghilleadh were the sons of Donuil and Shelagh, and Bedwyr, the third of the constant trio that accompanied Arthur everywhere, was the son of Hector and his late wife, Julia, who had been killed in the attempt on Arthur's life some months earlier.
"What are you two doing?' Donuil had now approached, unseen by either of us.
"Attempting to become as thoroughly soaked as you are," I answered, turning to greet him. "I've just been talking about you, telling your wife I'd have you take a switch to her if she doesn't learn to bridle her unruly tongue." The two were embracing as I spoke, and the big Celt turned to grin at me over his wife's head.
"A switch? You're supposed to be my Mend. I wouldn't try anything like that without a troop of Camulodian cavalry to hold her down, and even then I'd lose."
"We've been looking for Caius's man in the yellow tunic," Shelagh said. "He's gone."
"Gone where?"
"Anywhere," I replied. "But away from Ravenglass, so we may never know who he was."
Donuil looked from me to Shelagh. "Is that important?"
"It could be." Shelagh's response was deliberate. She spoke to me. "What do you think?"
"I'm more interested in what you think. Your thoughts have been more crystalline than mine so far this morning. What's in your mind?"
"Much, and I like little of it. Listen, and see if this strikes you as logical." She glanced about her. "Let's go inside. I'm freezing."
The bathhouse was warm and dry, and we sat together on the stone benches in the deserted changing rooms, close to the furnace vents. Shelagh had said no more as we moved inside, and I knew she was deep in thought. When we had shrugged off our outer garments and were settled, enjoying the warmth, she returned to her topic.
"Here's what I've been thinking. We know Ironhair's intentions about Arthur, and about you, Caius, and he has already shown how dangerous he is. That's why we left Camulod—we do not know who is in his pay among the Colonists, but he clearly owns someone. That someone might be close enough to us—although the gods all know we hope it isn't so—to have found out, right at the outset of our planning, that we were preparing to remove the boy from danger. If that is the case, the word might have gone out to Ironhair as long as a month ago, perhaps even sooner. And yet I think we may safely assume, simply because of the time constraints involved, that he has not yet had time to send out spies to watch for us. Not from Cornwall, or even Cambria, by land to here—"
"He could have come by boat, Shelagh. There were more than a score of fishing craft at the wharf when we arrived yesterday."
"Aye, that's right, there were, but most of those would be local." She looked at me, nodding. "Those that were not would be remarked upon, their coming and going noticed. And if one of them left yesterday, after your altercation in the woods, we should be able to find out about it. That had not occurred to me."
"Not yet. It would have."
"Hmm. Well, until we find that out, the timing part of · this is debatable. But let's stay with my first thought, that Ironhair may know we've left Camulod but has not had time to send spies out this far. And bear in mind that we are trying to identify this fugitive of yours. Can you think of anyone, other than one of Ironhair's creatures, who might have reason to fear you enough that he would run to avoid you?"
/> I shook my head, slowly, thinking about that, and reminding myself forcefully that only Lucanus and myself knew anything of my leprous condition. "No, I can't think of anyone."
"Are you sure about that, Caius? Completely?"
"Yes. Yes, I am."
She heaved a deep sigh and sat up straight before expelling it. "Then we would be wise to assume that Ironhair has spies everywhere, and be on guard. And even if I'm wrong, even if it's not Ironhair, someone already knows you're here, Caius."
I could see where she was headed. "No, not quite, Shelagh. Our fugitive disappeared yesterday in the afternoon and hasn't been seen since, and whether he fled by land or by sea is unimportant beside this: none of us knew until late last night that we'd be staying here. When last this man was seen, Derek had rejected my request. But I had made that request privately, in person, and he had not discussed it with anyone else. Now think about what that means. We arrived aboard Connor's galley and we unloaded no supplies. We would have been seen, by anyone who cared to look, as visitors, in transit, and no more than that. It follows that we would move on with Connor, when he left. If we are to assume this man's a spy, we must also assume that, having seen me the first time, when I rode by the tavern, he would have asked questions and found that out before he left."
Donuil was listening closely to us, his eyes switching from one to the other of us as we spoke. "So you think the word he took away is that we'll be moving on, to Eire?"
"Something like that, but merely moving on with Connor, to Eire, or to Caledonia."
"But what if he spoke to one of our people and learned the truth, that you were to stay here?"
"He couldn't, Donuil, not unless he asked one of us, or Connor himself, or any of .the other chieftains. No one else knew our plans, and none of Connor's captains would speak out to strangers."
He nodded. "What about this fort Connor mentioned? Can you tell us about that?"