by Jack Whyte
Did I mean that? I had to think carefully before responding.
"No, Arthur, I did not mean to suggest that at all, but you are forcing me here to think carefully about what I do mean, and I find it difficult to be exact. Let me think about it for a little." He sat gazing at me until I was ready to speak again, and I resumed slowly.
"I suppose the reality is that men—the ruck, that common mass of men I spoke of earlier—are indolent when all ] boils down to honour and dishonour. They would prefer an easy life, free of complication and the need to think about things whose meaning will elude them. That is not to say they lack honour, you understand? It merely means they are ... "
"Weak." The single word startled me, encompassing, as it did, so great a revelation of the depths of this strange man-child. I blinked and coughed, attempting to hide my surprise, but I saw little point in disputing the correctness of his choice of word.
"Weak ... yes, I suppose that is the word that best describes them in this case. The mass of men are weak, content to leave their welfare in the hands of other, more resolute men."
"Stronger, both good and bad."
"Hmm. Yes, but remember where this discussion began, Arthur. You are still seeing things through your own eyes, a boy's eyes, in terms of black and white, while in the world of men—the world in which we must all live most of our lives—those colours are but seldom seen. Your pony, Primus, is beautiful, and his coat is pied—black patches and white patches. Tell me, is he a black horse with white markings, or a white horse with black?"
Arthur smiled. "I've wondered about that before now, many times, and I've never been able to decide which is correct. Which do you think he is?"
"I don't have to think, Arthur, I know. He is neither. He is a black-and-white horse, very rare and extremely valuable. Few instances of such colouring exist in nature. Only a few birds, one kind of cattle, certain swine and very few such ponies. Otherwise, the colours mix and blend, and that leads us back to where we were with boys and men. Black mixed with white produces grey, Arthur, and the world of men is filled with shades of grey. Black and white, in the sense of absolute goodness and badness, godliness and evil in men, are seldom encountered in this world by anyone. In all my life I have met only one man whom I consider to be truly good, and I can think of none but two whom I considered truly evil.
"I think most men must be stupid."
"What?"
"I said they must be stupid, men on the whole as you called them ... like sheep. It is stupidity to let others rule your life simply because you lack the will or the desire to think, or to make decisions. Are women the same way?"
"Women?" I laughed aloud. "Of course they are, why would you even ask such a question? Women are no different from men in such respects. They are fundamentally the same in matters that concern their lives and the way they lead them. Women can be as strong or as weak as any man, as benevolent or wicked, as gracious and kind, or as cruel, mean and vicious. But by and large, they wish only to lead a simple life, uncluttered by the need to make decisions about matters of which they know but little. As you grow older, you will learn much about women and will come to see that they are little different from men in some respects, and universally different in others. You may even find that there are some of them whose company and friendship you will prefer over that of men."
"Hmm." The boy plainly preferred to defer any judgment on that until a later date. He was frowning slightly, deep in thought, his eyes gazing somewhere into the space between us.
"So then, what you are saying is that most men prefer to be told what do. Is that correct?"
I shrugged. "That would be one way of putting it. Personally, I would carry it further: most men require to be told what to do, most of the time."
The boy's frown deepened. "Why?" He had made no attempt to deny or dispute what I had said, accepting the truth of it as uttered. I sighed, deeply.
"I don't know, Arthur, but that is the way of the world. There are always leaders and no lack of followers. Men build societies—empires, kingdoms, cities, towns—and in all of them, in every one, the ruck are followers and the few are leaders. Even in your own small group of friends, there is a leader."
"Me."
"Aye, but when you turn your ponies loose to graze, what happens? Do they drift apart?"
He sat up straighter. "No, they stay together ... "
"And?"
"They follow Primus. He is their leader."
I nodded. "And so it is with cattle. The herd follows the lead bull, the dominant stag leads the herd of deer, the prime ram leads the flock of sheep."
"Dominance. The strongest dominates, everywhere."
"Among the animals, yes, that is true, the strongest dominates by right of conquest, and holds his leadership purely by strength and fighting prowess. But men are different. Men are rational beings, with the ability to combine their strengths with their intellect and talents for the common good. And when they do that, they develop government, which is no more than a regulated system of behaviour based upon the formal rules that we call law." I waited now, observing the play of thoughts upon the boy's face and fighting my own temptation to say too much by forcing myself to count slowly and await his next words. When they came, they were more or less what I had expected.
"But who is it that lays down those rules, in the beginning?" He answered his own question before I could. "The leaders ... " He shook his head. "But what if they don't want to? What if they make no laws, but rule only by strength, and the fear their strength inspires in others? Or what if they use their laws solely to foster their own ends? What then, Merlyn?"
"Then, Arthur, you have a cruel society in which no true laws exist and the people are no more than slaves, living at the mercy of their overlords, for leaders such as you describe surround themselves with heartless, vicious men attracted by the promise of the rewards of anarchy."
"Anarchy?" I knew he was familiar with that term, for we had discussed it less than a month earlier. "But anarchy means lack of leadership, you told us that last week."
"It does, but ask yourself this. If the dominant leader is a lawless brigand, existing for his own pleasure without law of any kind, what else can exist under his power but anarchy? And that brings us back to where this all began. Do you remember where that was?"
"Aye." There was not the slightest hesitation in his voice. "The changes from boyhood to manhood. No honourable man can run and hide when faced with enemies."
"Good lad! Now you see what I meant when I said that."
"I begin to, I think. Men of honour must combine their intellects and talents to defeat those who would trample on the lives of other, weaker folk."
"Aye, that they must, but the truth goes higher than that, Arthur. Men who consider themselves to have honour have, in their very being, a duty to improve themselves, their way of life and living, and to extend those improvements to benefit their fellows. They are the men by whom societies are founded and built."
"You mean men like Great-grandfather Varrus and Caius Britannicus, don't you?"
"Aye, I do, and all the others who helped them to build their Colony at Camulod."
"Camulod is a democracy, isn't it?"
"In the Greek sense, meaning a place where the people govern? No, I would not say that. But the people are free to live in Camulod in freedom from fear. They know no one will dispossess them on a passing whim. They know their wives and husbands and children may safely walk abroad without endangerment. They know no one will coerce them or force them to do anything unjust or demeaning. And there is no king there, no single man whose will is paramount and unrestrained—the Council sees to that. And that, I suppose, makes Camulod something of a democracy."
"Not like here. This is a kingdom."
I smiled at him. "True, but not a bad one."
"Hmm. It has a king."
Something in his tone made me crease my brow. "What's this, then? Do you think Derek of Ravenglass an unjust man, or a bad king?
"
"No." His tone was grudging. "But no one in Camulod would have taken the brooch I found away from me, or taken the sword from Ghilly."
"Nor did King Derek, Arthur. He did not take your brooch away."
"No, but it was taken in his name, under his law, and the manner of it was unjust."
"How so? You meaning the giving of it to Kesler? Well, you may be right, but even so, the fault was not King Derek's. What's the matter? Am I wrong?"
Arthur's face had set, in mere moments, into an expression I took for stubbornness. He sat staring at me for a short time and then spoke out, addressing me formally now with that disconcertingly adult directness I had noticed in him several times before, on those infrequent occasions when he had felt strongly enough about something to weigh his options and opinions and had then decided to speak his mind and suffer the consequences.
"One of us is, Commander. The training I have had in logic, from yourself and from Master Lucanus, indicates that one of us is—must be—gravely in error in our basic beliefs in this."
I sat blinking at him, struggling to maintain a noncommittal expression as I waited for him to finish.
"It seems to me that if anyone, and particularly one of King Derek's senior captains, makes a decision, or a judgment on a matter in dispute, and does so in the king's name, then he must do so in the firm belief that the king himself will endorse that judgment and back up the decision. It follows therefore, in logic, that the final responsibility in the matter rests directly with the king, since he permits the use of his name in such things. If he does not, and if he is ignorant about, or indifferent to such a thing, then the use of his name and his authority is really an abuse, and the king is king in name alone. His authority has been taken from him."
I was forced to smile, both in admiration and in delight at the boy's mind, but I sought still to cloak both. "Even if the deed is done without ill will, in the belief that the king's best interests are being served? Longinus is King Derek's loyal follower."
"Yes, and even more so in such a case, for then the subordinate betrays the greatest disrespect and arrogance, in daring to think for the king, as well as speak for him."
The shock of Arthur's words was so great that I found myself on my feet, swinging away from him and moving rapidly to the fireplace, where I crouched with my back to him and busied myself piling fresh, unnecessary logs onto the fire. What a boy this was, and what a mind he had! And what a man he would become in the time ahead. I had to swallow the great lump that swelled in my throat as I battled with the intense emotions that filled my breast: pride, love, admiration and an awed awareness of an intellect more powerful and potent than my own. I felt tears flooding my eyes, and told myself it was the fierce heat of the fire that drew them, and then I realized what I had done, and that the lad was sitting silently behind me, perhaps in fear. I drew a great breath and straightened slowly, turning to face him. He sat gazing at me, his eyes wide and troubled.
"I was too bold. I—"
"No, you were not. You are correct, absolutely and undeniably correct, and I was wrong." I took a step closer to him, clasping my hands behind my back and looking down on him. "Only one thing concerns me, in all you said. Do you know what it is?"
"No ... " His voice had a rising inflection.
"Your judgment condemns Derek as a weak king. Do you truly believe that is the case?"
He looked away from me to gaze into the heart of the fire, and when he spoke again his voice was quiet. "I do not think King Derek is a weak man. His people, the common people, love him, and his sons have no fear of him. But a king must be above all others. By permitting wrongs to be done in his name, even in ignorance, he betrays weakness, undermining himself and endangering his own authority and therefore the safety of his folk ... and if a boy like me can see it, so may anyone else who cares to look."
I sighed and sat down heavily in my chair again, picking up my cup of wine and draining it.
"Weaknesses come in many guises, Arthur, but I fear you are right in this. Pray now that no one else has your insight. So far, Derek's rule here is unchallenged, and it is benevolent. We must hope it remains that way."
Arthur grinned, a boy again. "Well, as a man of honour, it is now your duty to make sure that nothing changes. Commander Merlyn."
"Aye, it is ... though it has taken a mere babe to point that out to me, and I do not thank you for it. Well, have we finished here, or have you more wisdom to impart to me?"
He was grinning still. "No, we have finished. Thank you for listening to me, Merlyn."
"You have barely left me opportunity to speak—what other choice was open to me? Now what are you thinking in that mighty mind of yours?"
"Merlyn, will I ever be a leader?"
"You know you will. You will command the men of Camulod, at least, and those of Cambria, your father's kingdom. But why do you ask that now?"
"Because I must decide how to ensure that no one, ever, will usurp the right to use my name or my authority to his own ends without my knowledge. That will be difficult."
"Aye, it will be that."
"But if I am to lead in Camulod, or to be king in Cambria, then I must lead in fact, as well as in name. I must have laws, and see to it that they are kept, and that the people who depend on me can live, as they do now in Camulod, in the absence of fear."
I was smiling by the time he finished. "I think you may succeed in that, Arthur, providing you have men of worth about you. But do you mean they may also live in the expectation of justice?"
"Of course." There was no trace of a smile on his countenance now.
"Good! Wonderful! I hope to be there to assist you. Now let's go and find some food. That wine has made me hungry."
Germanus Pontifex, Auxerre, Gaul.
From Caius Merlyn Britannicus.
Greetings, my neglected friend: For a long time I have sat here, gazing at the spotless face of this sheet of papyrus, painfully aware of how much time has elapsed since I last took a stylus in my hand to write to you. Nowadays, it seems, the only writing I find time, or make time, to attend to is the task of maintaining my own journal.
I have been intending to write to you for months. I have two reasons: to petition you for advice on a matter that has been troubling me, and to bring you up to date with all the things that have transpired here in Britain, and in our Colony of Camulod, since last you heard from me. Now that I am faced with the task, however, it seems impossible to encapsulate all that I wish to say into one single missive.
We have had great upheavals in our land in recent times, as I know you are aware. When last you Wrote you expressed the hope that we had passed unscathed through the wars at that time in Cambria, my cousin Uther's former kingdom. We did, in fact, remain largely uninvolved in that conflict, and it has long since been resolved. However, it has also led to dire complications and a political climate dangerous to the life of young Arthur Pendragon. Raising him to manhood has become my life's prime commitment and responsibility.
As you know, the boy is the son of my cousin Uther Pendragon, who died at the time of the lad's birth. Now nine years old, Arthur is the legitimate Pendragon heir to Cambria, his father's kingdom. He is also, through his mother's claim, the ducal heir to Cornwall, although that is a complex issue, fraught with oblique connections: Gulrhys Lot, the erstwhile Duke and self-styled King of Cornwall, ostensibly the boy's father and unaware of the child's true paternity, acknowledged him publicly as his legitimate heir, and I have Lot's personal Seal in my possession, keeping it safe on the boy's behalf. More legitimately, and still on his mother's side, the boy is also an heir to the kingdom and holdings of his grandfather, Athol Mac Iain, the king of the Hibernian people the Romans called the Scotii and who refer to themselves as Gaels. In addition to everything else, he is both great-grand- son to Publius Varrus and great-great-nephew to Caius Britannicus, and therefore successor to the major holdings of Camulod.
For all of those reasons, to safeguard the boy's life
against men of overpowering ambition who have already sought his death, I removed him some time ago from Camulod to our present location, high on the north-western coast of Britain, in the mountainous region known locally as Cumbria, close by the western extremity of the great wall built by the Emperor Hadrian to defend his Province of Britain against invasion by the Picti, the Painted People of the Caledonian territories to the north.
When first we came to this place, I thought and sought to disappear from the sight of men. I left our refuge here in the town called Ravenglass, openly, and took ship for Eire, accompanied by young Arthur. None but my own people and a few trusted friends knew that the captain of the ship, Connor Mac Athol, was brother to young Arthur's dead mother. He dropped us back ashore again mere miles north of the harbour at Ravenglass, where friends awaited us with horses. From there we journeyed back overland, in secret, until we had regained our mountain fastness miles behind the town. Thereafter, I altered the colour of my hair, grew a full, Celtic beard and changed my name from Caius Merlyn Britannicus to plain Master Cay, a simple farmer. Another member of our group, Hector, a former Councillor of Camulod and an able man, then assumed the titular control of our new home. Thus we have remained.
Mere days ago, however, another layer was added to this open deception. My brother Ambrose, whom you know to resemble me as closely as one robin's egg does another, sailed into Ravenglass, once more aboard Connor's ship, pretending to be me. All believed him to be Merlyn of Camulod. I stood with him, and thanks to my altered hair and physical appearance, none remarked how similar we look.
Ambrose has assumed full command of our forces in Camulod and complete responsibility for the administration of the Colony's affairs. I encountered him for the first time, you will recall, on the occasion of the great debate which brought you and me together in Verulamium. Shortly thereafter he changed his place and style of living, moving from his erstwhile home in Lindum, where he served as a captain to Vortigern, to live with us in Camulod. He is visiting with us now, soon to return to Camulod, carrying this letter with him. He will convey it to one of the itinerant bishops who pass through the Colony, whence it will make its way to you.