The Sorcer part 2: Metamorphosis cc-6

by Jack Whyte

  EIGHT

  Donuil returned to my tent just as I was removing my heavy war cape, having decided that it was too hot and that I had put it on too soon. He, too, had changed into parade gear and carried his ornately crested helmet in the crook of his left arm, and I looked him up and down approvingly.

  "They're here, Merlyn," he announced quietly. "Lying in deep water, no more than fifty or sixty paces from the beach. But they've made no move to hail us. How do you want to proceed?"

  "Have they given any sign of their intent?"

  "No, but it's not hostile. They drifted into place, barely moving through the water, and there's no sign of bared weapons anywhere that I could see."

  "They haven't lowered a boat?'

  "No, nothing. They've done nothing. There's a group of what must be officers—"

  "Armies have officers, Donuil, and a formal structure. These men may be leaders, but they are not officers."

  "Aye, well, there's a group of them at the bow of the ship, just staring down at us."

  "And are we staring back?"

  He blinked at me. "I suppose so. We're facing them. There's nothing else to look at. "

  "You're wrong there, Donuil. There are a hundred other things out there, all of them better to look at than these people. "

  I opened the flap of my tent and looked outside to where several of my own officers stood waiting. "Gentlemen, will you come here?" When they were crowded into my tent, I looked at Donuil. "Donuil here tells me that the enemy are looking—staring—at us, and that we may be staring back. I want that stopped now. You will move among our units, please, and instruct all of them to ignore these people. They are to stand at attention with their eyes on the horizon straight ahead. They may look at the sea, the waves, the clouds in the sky, or at the back of the head of the man in front of them. But they are not to look at the enemy ship, or at any of its crew, is that clear?" I looked at each man individually and they all nodded.

  "Good. Thank you all. In a moment I shall require you. to go and spread that word among our people, beginning with those units closest to the enemy ship. Before you do, however, I want to tell you how we will behave, and continue to behave, in this encounter. These people appear to believe they are on an embassy of some kind, bringing word to me from Ironhair, one equal to another. That implication of equality is offensive, completely unacceptable, and I want that clearly understood. I will not truck with Ironhair, or with any of his minions, on anything that seems to approach equal terms. I have no wish to give anyone the slightest false impression that I might be even slightly concerned to hear whatever it is they may have to say. " Again I looked from face to face and each man nodded gravely in return. "Good.

  Donuil, here, will therefore be the only one to deal with them or speak to them. I'll ask you one more time: do you all understand what I am saying?" They all nodded, with a chorus of "Aye, Commander," and I dismissed them to spread the word. When they had gone, I turned to Donuil.

  "These people will undoubtedly have the effrontery to expect me to go to meet them. I will not. Ironhair is not on that ship. He wouldn't endanger himself so foolishly. Whoever leads this expedition, therefore, is a deputy, and he will deal with you, my deputy. They may be mute for now, but sooner or lata' they will have to speak, or shout, then come to us. No one from our army will go to them, under any circumstances. If they wish to speak to us, they must come ashore, and when they do, they must speak to you and to you alone. When you have listened, if you think I should hear what they have to say, you will bring diem to me, and then they may wait until I have time for them. You will bring no more than three or four of them, fewer if possible, and you will bring them under guard—an armed escort. There will be nothing to suggest that it might be honorary— no ceremony, ho deference, no courtesy other than the barest necessary to avoid violence. They are to be treated as invading brigands under a temporary and unwelcome truce. Brigands, Donuil, not warriors, not men of honour."

  Donuil was gazing at me steadily, absorbing every word, and now he nodded. "I will make sure there is no doubt of the regard in which we hold them."

  "Good, but understand clearly what I have just said. You alone will judge the import of their words and decide whether or not I should talk to them thereafter. Should you decide against that, you will escort them back to the water's edge and see them off." I saw his eyebrow quirk at that. "I mean it, Donuil. This is your confrontation, to conduct how you will. You are my adjutant, and you have full discretion to decide if this matter is worth my time. I won't question your judgment. Now go down there to the water's edge and wait for them to shout to you, but don't encourage them. Don't look curious, and under no circumstances be the first to speak or initiate anything. Just stare at them as though they were some kind of noxious matter floating on the water. When they see you won't be moved, they'll come to you."

  He nodded, snapped a smart salute, pressed his helmet onto his head and left me alone to wait.

  I paced my tent for a time, straining to hear what was going on outside, but the silence was astonishing. From time to time I would hear a quiet spoken sentence, or an order from one of the officers, and the occasional crunch of pebbly sand as someone's horse shifted and sidled, but little else. I wanted to step outside, or at least part the tent flaps so that I could see something, but I was unwilling to show the slightest sign of interest.

  Eventually, in the distance, I heard a voice raised in a shout, but I could not hear what was said. There, was no response, and I began to count, slowly. When I reached fifteen, the shout came again, still too muffled by distance for me to decipher it, and this time Donuil's voice rang out in response.

  "If you have words to say to us, come here and say them like a man, instead of bellowing like a bull. No one will harm you."

  A long period of silence ensued, and then came the sound of footsteps approaching my tent, and young Bedwyr drew back the flaps.

  "Commander Merlyn? I am to inform you that a boat is approaching, with five men on board, apart from four oarsmen."

  "Thank you, Bedwyr, " I said. "Now remain where you are and look back. Can you see what is happening?"

  "Aye, Commander. The boat is approaching the shore. "

  "Good. Now close the flaps and stand outside. Face the beach and simply report to me what is happening. I can hear you perfectly well without your having to raise your voice. "

  "Aye, sir. " A long silence, then, "They've stopped rowing, Commander. Now the oarsmen are in the water, pulling the boat up onto the beach... The others are out, approaching Tribune Donuil. They don't like the bowmen. "

  "What bowmen?'

  "The adjutant has ordered two squadrons of Pendragon longbows to assemble on either side of him with arrows drawn, slanting out towards the water's edge in a funnel shape. The newcomers are walking between those files, approaching the adjutant. "

  "Good, and what is Donuil doing?'

  "Nothing, sir. He stands waiting, facing them, his hands clasped at his back. Now they are talking, but I can't hear them... The adjutant is leading them away now, towards the quartermaster's tent... He's sitting down at the quartermaster's table, in front of the tent, facing them, saying something... I'm sorry, sir, his back is to me. I can't hear what he's saying. "

  'That's fine, Bedwyr. What's happening elsewhere? What are the other troops doing?'

  "Nothing, sir. No one has moved. "

  "Thank you. Stay there, and warn me the moment anyone starts to move again. "

  I forced myself to walk to my table and sit down, and then to withdraw Ambrose's dispatch from its holder and read it again. I have no knowledge of how many times I started reading it Only to realize that I had lost all sense of what it said, and each time I would return to it, starting again from the salutation.

  Eventually, after what seemed like an age, Bedwyr spoke again.

  "Tribune Donuil has stood up, sir. He's coming this way. "

  "Good. Come inside. "

  "Sir!" He stepp
ed inside and stood at attention just inside the doorway.

  Donuil's footsteps approached and his shadow fell across the slight opening in the flaps. By the time he entered I was facing him. He glanced at Bedwyr, then turned to me.

  "I think you ought to talk to them, Merlyn. "

  "About what? What's their purpose?"

  "I don't know, but they have one. You'll judge the content better than I could. Their leader is a man called Retorix, a captain of Ironhair's Cornwall levies. He's an arrogant blowhard, full of blustering menace, but he's more articulate than any of the others. He's the one charged by Ironhair to speak with you. He won't tell me what he has to say to you, and I've been tempted to kick him back on board his ship, but something tells me that would not be the right thing to do. I think you have to meet him. "

  "Very well then, bring him in, but leave the rest of his people standing out there on the sand. "

  Donuil nodded and began to turn away, but he hesitated, obviously caught short by some impulse. "D'you think that's wise, Merlyn, to leave all four of them out there? I mean, if you have things to say to him, harsh things or otherwise, wouldn't it be better to have witnesses? You speak to him alone, with no one to hear you, then there's no telling what he might report to Ironhair, and no refuting what he says. If others are here, it seems to me, he'll be more tightly bound to tell the truth, or something close to it. "

  "You're right, my friend. Bring them all here, but stop them short outside. I don't want them inside my tent. "

  I waited for the sounds of their approach, and then listened with appreciation to the stilted, metallic rattling of arms and armour as the guard who surrounded them responded to the clipped commands of their officer. Moments later, Donuil approached again and informed me that the delegation from Cornwall awaited me.

  I sat still, at my desk, and forced myself to read Ambrose's letter, in its entirety, one more time. Then I rose and threw my ceremonial war cloak about my shoulders, adjusting the hang of it until the heavy, silver wire mass of the great bear embroidered across its back sat snugly, perfectly draped from my shoulders. Beckoning to Bedwyr to accompany me, I picked up my parade helmet and walked outside to where the newcomers stood clustered together under the watchful eyes of a full squadron of the guard who surrounded them on three sides.

  Retorix, their leader, was not hard to pick out. He stood half a head taller than his companions, and his clothes were richer and more finely made. He was a well made man himself, broad in the shoulders, narrow of waist and thick legged, perhaps thirty three years of age. He was clean shaven, with no moustache, and armoured in a vaguely Roman fashion: bronze back and breastplates and a domed helmet with a skirt that covered his neck but failed to conceal the thick, rank curls of black hair that hung down past his shoulders. From the waist down he wore no armour. A padded tunic came down to his knees and beneath that he wore breeches of heavy, homespun cloth, cross bound from ankle to knee. The boots he wore were of heavy leather and looked hard and comfortless. A thick, grey cloak of rich wool enhanced the Romanish look of him, hanging from his right shoulder with one end looping up beneath his left arm, where a thick, barbaric ring pin of silver held it in place. I deliberately ignored the other four men and fixed my eyes on Retorix alone.

  "Who are you?"

  "They call me Retorix. "

  "Hot wind?" I saw his eyes widen. 'That is what 'rhetoric' means in my world—hot wind and bullying argument. Rhetorics would be a plurality—a profusion of hot wind. " I could see that my meaning, though not my tone, had blown right over his head, and I chided myself silently for stooping to such a level. "Who are these 'they' that call you Retorix?'

  "My people. "

  "I knew that, since I presume only your own people would care to own you. Who are your people? That is what I am asking you. "

  He drew himself up, his bearing expressing outrage. "The Romans called them the Belgae, the people of Cornwall. "

  I stared him in the eye. "The Romans are long since gone. Their day is past. We are Britons. Would you like to know what we call the people of Cornwall nowadays, the people who would submit to the will of such a thing as Peter Ironhair?' I looked away from him, making no effort to disguise my disgust, and then swung back. "My adjutant tells me you have words for me, but I have little time to listen, so spit out what you have to say and then be gone. "

  I could see the fellow growing angrier with each word, but he reined himself in and breathed deeply through his nostrils several times before beginning to speak. "You are Merlyn of Camulod, am I right?'

  "What of it?'

  I saw his eyes move beyond me to where Bedwyr stood at my back, and as I watched his eyes flick up and down, scanning the boy from head to foot, I had a sudden certainty that he thought Bedwyr was Arthur. He had looked at no one else but me since I appeared. He quickly brought his gaze back, however, and try as I might I could discern no sign of interest in the boy in his eyes.

  "I bring greetings from my leader, Iron—"

  "Then you may take them back with you. I have no wish for diem."

  Again he stopped, visibly restraining his anger. "I have a charge upon me, Master Merlyn! Will you permit me to deliver it without being interrupted at every word?"

  I stared at him, feeling a reluctant stir of admiration for his self command. Donuil had named him an arrogant blowhard, but I had seen nothing so far to suggest that. "Very well, I will. Say what you have to say to me."

  "Ironhair sends his greetings as one leader to another. You as Legate Commander of Camulod, himself as Supreme Commander of the Armies of Cornwall. He will not insult you by pretending that friendship could ever exist between you, nor will he claim that you might negotiate together based upon mutual esteem. But he believes you will acknowledge that both of you, and those associated with you, have much to gain from a cessation of this war." He paused, evidently expecting some kind of response, but I continued to stare at him, allowing no expression to show on my face. Eventually he had no choice but to continue.

  "Your presence in Cambria is an intrusion, he believes, while his activities here are legitimate. He represents your distant kinsman, Carthac, whose claim to the vacant kingship of Pendragon is the strongest, claimed through the line of direct parentage." He could not resist the temptation to glance again towards young Bedwyr. It was the merest flicker of movement, quickly controlled, but it verified what I had thought before. Unfortunately, his companions were less disciplined than he, because they all looked at the boy, too, so obviously that even Bedwyr noticed their interest. I heard him start to speak and swung abruptly around to cut him short.

  "Why are—?"

  "Be quiet, boy!" Bedwyr's eyes flew wide with shock at the harshness of my voice. I stood motionless, my back to the others, until I had his eyes on mine, and then I winked at him before continuing in the same, harsh tones. "Are you mad? How dare you raise your voice when I have guaranteed no interruption? Get you into my tent immediately and stay there until I send for you. Move!"

  The poor lad took one step backward, his confusion and embarrassment taking him visibly to the edge of tears, and then he drew himself together, squared his shoulders, turned smartly about and marched into my tent, closing the flaps behind him.

  I swung back to the others. "You may continue, and no one will interrupt you further. You were speaking of Carthac. " I moved my eyes slowly around my men, making no attempt to disguise the anger in them. The source of my anger, however, was the intolerable hubris of what I was listening to. When my gaze came back to him, Retorix was watching me closely, his eyes boring into mine, and I wondered if I had managed to disguise my recognition of his interest in Bedwyr—Arthur, as he believed the boy to be.

  Finally he nodded, cleared his throat and continued speaking. "Cardiac's father was Mor, youngest brother to Uric Pendragon, father of Uther. Carthac has requested, and enlisted, the aid of Peter Ironhair to help him claim his kingship, and so Ironhair is here in Cambria. Your presence, on the other h
and, is unsolicited by anyone. Dergyll ap Griffyd, with whom you once had dealings, is dead, his so called kingship taken by the usurper Uderic, who is no friend of yours. Your army therefore stands as an invading force, a status both amplified and verified by the fact that none but a few of the Pendragon have joined you. They seek no help from you in settling their affairs. In fact, they believe themselves to be quite capable of resolving their differences without your interference. " Again he paused, gathering his thoughts before proceeding, and as he did so I tried to empty my mind of his reference to Uderic's being a usurper. Ironhair would say so, of course, but Uderic had won his tide in battle, leading his people in their war against Cardiac's attempt at usurpation. Retorix spoke again.

  "My Commander's proposal, in outline—to be expanded to your mutual satisfaction later—is this: he believes that you perceive his presence here in Cambria to be a threat against your own security and safety in your Colony of Camulod. He suggests that there is no such threat, and that his presence hoe is temporary, dedicated only to the swift success of the campaign he is waging on behalf of Carthac Pendragon. When that has been concluded, Ironhair will withdraw his forces into Cornwall once more, content that he has a strong ally in Cambria to the north and, conceivably, an ally of convenience in Camulod to the northeast—yourselves.

  "You, on the other hand, would benefit greatly by being free of involvement in the affairs of Cambria, since that would enable you to give your full attention to the emerging threat from the Saxon territories to the east and north of you, and even to extend terms of alliance and cooperation to the king, Vortigern, in Northumbria, should you decide it prudent to protect your interests in that way. As for your peace of mind over Cambria, Ironhair suggests that a precedent already exists for taking care of that: a patrolling force of your cavalry, much like the one that formerly assisted Dergyll ap Griffyd, could be established and maintained as a safeguarding buffer between Cambria and Camulod. That force would be recognized and permitted to function without interference. "