by Jack Whyte
By now, Enos will have told you that I intend—I am directed by my superiors—to return to Britain and conclude this affair of heretical mutiny among the bishops of your unhappy land. I fear there is enough danger therefore men's bodies and souls as matters stand, without the added perils being poured upon them by misguided teachers. Accordingly, I shall arrive in Britain in midspringtime of the coming year, crossing the Narrow Sea directly to the old Roman harbour of Dubris and making my way northward from there to Verulamium.
Believe me, my friend, I clearly envision the alarm with which you will receive these tidings, since, to your eyes, that particular region of your country is swarming with Godless pagans. Such is not the truth, however; Enos and his brethren have brought many hundreds into the light of Christ in recent years, particularly among the Anglians of the southeast, and it is to these good people that I will entrust my safety, secure in the benevolence of He whom I serve.
As you know, nonetheless, that part of me which was once a soldier refuses to allow me peace of mind when travelling through strange countrysides, and reminds me that I shall not always be in the domain of our Anglian Christian brethren. In addition to that natural and ingrained caution, there is a commonplace saying that the Lord, our God, helps those who help themselves, or words to that effect.
May I impose upon you to assist me in God's work? Your presence in my train, with a contingent such as the one you brought to Verulamium before, when first we met, would be a manifold blessing, both on the road and at the meeting place itself. I fear the gathering to which we ride on this occasion will be less cordial than that we last attended. I ask this of you with no knowledge or consideration of your own affairs, or plans, or your condition, in full cognizance of the selfishness of what I do. Should you be unable to accede to my request, I shall be disappointed but not offended On the other hand, should you decide to join us, I shall be happy indeed to renew our acquaintance and to thank God for His beneficence.
Enos will arrange to bring your answer back to me, and you and yours are remembered always in my prayers.
Your friend and brother in Christ
Germanus Pontifex
I was pacing my quarters by the time I finished reading, my thoughts leaping erratically like dried peas dropped on a drumhead. Since talking with Enos the night before, I had already accepted that he and his fellow bishops had been successful in converting at least some of the south-eastern Anglians to Christianity, but the thought of Germanus entrusting himself to such people nevertheless appalled me, for despite all of Enos's optimism and goodwill, to my own mind these people were, and would always remain, pagan savages, aliens and invaders whom a thin overlay of Christianity would never pacify or change. The knowledge that Horsa's horde of Danes would be present in that region when my friend arrived further underlined and emphasized my fears for his safety.
On the other hand, this invitation to accompany Germanus on his errand was less inconvenient than my old Mend might have thought, and I could see it held certain incontestable advantages, were I to examine it purely from a political viewpoint. Horsa's removal of his armies to the southeast offered an immediate and obvious benefit to Vortigern in the far northeast; he would no longer be under such great pressure to find a solution to the problem their presence represented in his own territories. The greater the number of Danish warriors who poured south-eastward, the less imperative would be the demands placed upon Vortigern's people to provide additional land for these mercenaries in their own territories, land they did not possess. Ergo, I reasoned Vortigern's pressing need for our visible support in the northeast would be proportionally lessened by the Danish exodus. I suspected he would be more than pleased were we to demonstrate our presence in the southeast, prior to riding north to join him as we had promised. That tied in well with my own desire to explore that region of the country, something that might be achieved only through the presence of Germanus and the acquiescence of his Christian Anglian converts. Certainly, as escort and honour guard to the bishop and his party, leading them northwards from the coast, my own troops would be able to move more freely through the area than they could possibly have done under any other circumstances.
Despite the strategic attractiveness of the invitation, however, the whole affair was vastly convoluted and fraught with political risk. Conflicting thoughts and notions flitted through my mind more quickly than I can define them now, all of them influenced by my own reservations over the manner in which Enos had defined Vortigern's sympathetic stance towards the heretics. It occurred to me that Vortigern might not be over pleased with my commitment to Germanus and his orthodox views on Pelagius, despite and notwithstanding the consideration that my commitment, if indeed I made one, would be born out of loyalty to my old Mend and not out of any active dedication to the premise he espoused.
In fact, the teachings of Pelagius, as I had been taught to understand them long ago, made eminent good sense to me. I accepted the basic belief that mankind was made in the image of God, born in possession of the divine spark enabling him to choose between goodness and evil. I could find no moral fault in the premise that each man and woman was therefore capable of communing directly with God and achieving his or her own salvation. The Fathers, of the Church, however, had decided in their wisdom that this belief was a form of pride, one of the greatest of the Seven Deadly Sins, and that mankind was incapable of achieving anything without the intervention of divine grace, administered through God's deputies, themselves. The theological hair splitting in the controversy that was bringing Germanus back into Britain was beyond my grasp, but I was fundamentally unswayed by the theologians' disputations. I had been taught the Pelagian way by the living example of my own dearest relatives and Mends, and I could find no fault in any of them. The result was that I lived my life according to the dictates of my conscience and I sought to sway no other person to my own beliefs.
Vortigern, however, I suspected of being more politically concerned in this dispute. He called himself a Christian king, though he admitted he was no theologian and therefore unconcerned with fine theological distinctions. He had never openly taken sides at the debate on Pelagianism in Verulamium. Yet it was true, nonetheless, that the two most outspoken champions of the Pelagian way, the bishops Agricola and Fastidius, were from Vortigern's domain, and he had allowed them thus far to function as they would, spreading their teachings throughout his extensive lands, north to Hadrian's Wall and all the way westward into northern Cambria, far north of the Pendragon lands. From that viewpoint, I thought, Vortigern would surely be inclined to look upon my services to Germanus with displeasure—a displeasure much allayed by the advantages to him in having; Camulodian cavalry present in Horsa's new territories.
By the time I stopped pacing and sat down to read the letter a second time, I had arrived at a number of decisions. I sat thinking for a while longer, and then took up a pen and a pot of ink and wrote down my list, simply to see how it looked. I found myself smiling as I did so, aware that my own habit of writing things down, now ingrained by years of practice, had led me to distrust, instinctively, the essential shape, outline and content of any idea that was not written down.
I read my list when it was done and felt some satisfaction. I would, as I had promised, lead a thousand cavalry into Vortigern's territories in the coming year. Before that, however, I would dispatch messengers to inform Vortigern that I would be delayed until midsummer, since I first must ride southward to. meet and greet our old friend Bishop Germanus and bring him safely to Verulamium again. Should; Vortigern come south to Verulamium for the occasion, I would lead my people back to Northumbria with him. In the meantime, I would have had a space of months in which to assess what dangers threatened Camulod from the Weald and the regions that surrounded it, and to impress the resident invaders there with the strength and power of our cavalry and our willingness and readiness to go to war against anyone who thought to abuse our peace. By the time I arrived back in Camulod from Vortigern's domain, i
t would be autumn again and Arthur's Cambrian sojourn would be at an end. He would then be of age to take up a full command as a captain and commander of the Forces of Camulod.
I had attempted, in drawing up my list of decisions, to define the impediments to success I could identify, but there were none of any importance. Ironhair had suffered a resounding defeat, on land and sea, and Cambria was now safely in the hands of Huw Strongarm. Huw's presence, aided by Connor's vastly increased naval strength with his two captured biremes, would, I believed, prove strong enough to deter Ironhair, and with him Carthac, from any quickly renewed attempt at conquest of the Pendragon. Similarly, Horsa's newly launched colonization of the Weald would remove the threat of war from Northumbria and the north in general.
Only in the far southwest, in Ironhair's Cornwall, could I see any threat of unrest, and there was nothing I could do about that, outside of sending my own spies into Ironhair's lands to discover what was happening there. I resolved to do that as soon as possible, after consulting with my brother and our senior strategists. In the meantime, I would write to Germanus, in care of Enos, and also to Vortigern.
Thus resolved, I set out to look for my brother, to share my thoughts with him.
THIRTEEN
I arose earlier my second day home, but dawn was already bright in the sky and Tress was absent from my bed again. I made my way downstairs, my head still full of sleep, and found my way to the bathhouse, but judging by the evidence of water splashed about, she had already been there and gone. Some time later, fully dressed and hungry, I entered the Villa's kitchen to break my fast and learned from Plato that my lady had made her way up to the fort to join Shelagh, as she had the previous day. Curious now as to what these two might be about so early in the day, I asked Plato to have my horse brought to the main entrance, and when I had eaten I went directly up to the fort to find them.
I had another mission that morning as well. I needed to go to the stables and talk to one of our masters of horse about selecting a new mount to replace my faithful Germanicus. My requirements were simple: the horse merely needed to be physically large enough to bear my weight. I would have preferred it to be a black, but I was prepared to accept anything I could find, for the time being. The loss of Germanicus was yet too fresh for me to relish the thought of having to replace him with another mount of which I might become fond.
Although the morning sun was now high in the sky, it had not yet penetrated the open doors; the stables were still dark and cool, illuminated by flickering lamps set into mortared sconces over wide bowls that would catch any falling sparks before they could ignite the straw that lay piled on the floors. I rode directly in through the large double doors, to be surrounded immediately by the thick, living smell of the place. Nothing else in the world smells like a horse barn. I breathed deeply and looked about me before dismounting, searching for the groom who ought to be on duty, since the stables were never to be left untended. On this occasion, however, I was alone in the huge building, save for the animals, more than three score of them, in their stalls.
I tied my reins around a post, intending to return and unsaddle the animal and brush him down once I had looked at the horses at the far end of the barn, where single stalls housed the aristocrats of our equine population. The stables had been swept very recently, the streaks of broom sweeps still clearly visible on the hard packed floor, and a fresh pile of straw had been brought in but not yet spread. Clean as the floor was, I picked my way carefully as I walked, attempting to keep my fine new boots dry. There were twelve single stalls, but I went no farther than the first of them, where I found a high and noble head craning high above mine, looking down at me. My first impression was of tremendous height, and then of jet black ears twitching and pointing downwards, the space between them filled with a stiff, high standing mane. And then I saw the eyes.
Hardly daring to believe that such a horse could be here, in these stalls, I moved forward and opened the gate. He backed up nervously, tossing his head and whuffling through his great nostrils as I approached. When I was face to face with him I stopped, looking up, and then stretched out my hand. He hesitated there for a count of three heartbeats, then gently dipped his head and stretched his neck to investigate my hand with his soft muzzle. I felt immediate regret that I had brought no gift for him, but I contented myself with stroking his muzzle silently and simply looking at him, or at as much of him as I could see. He seemed coal black, but so was the interior of the stall. He made no effort to withdraw from me, and finally I hooked my fingers into the plain rope halter that he wore and led him, first out into the central aisle of the barn and then out into the full light of the morning, where I could examine him properly.
He was magnificent, taller at the shoulder and more heavily muscled than even Germanicus had been, and a lump swelled in my throat as I looked at him, at the way the light made his glossy coat shimmer like black water. His mane and tail were long and clean, and great feathery leggings grew down over his fetlocks, almost concealing his hoofs ; completely. His back was straight and broad and the muscles of his chest rippled as he moved, backing up, away from me. There was not a blemish on his entire coat; he was black from the tips of his ears to the polished black horn of his hooves.
"His name is Bucephalus." I swung about at the unexpected sound of the voice so close behind me. Shelagh and Tress were watching me from the doorway of the stables, and so astonished was I to see them there that it did notoccur to me to ask them how they came to be there. Instead, I turned back immediately to the horse.
"Whose is he?"
I heard Tress laugh. "He's yours, of course." By the time I had whipped my head around to look at her, all trace of ' laughter had faded from her face and voice. "We did not expect Germanicus to die, any more than you did, but Ambrose had this colt set aside for you four years ago, before he was even a year old, and had him raised in secrecy. Germanicus was beginning to grow old, and Ambrose foresaw the day when he would no longer be strong enough to carry you... "
Shelagh took up where she had left off. "Donuil told me about Germanicus as soon as he arrived, and so we had Bucephalus here brought in yesterday from the farm where he was raised. "
I smiled at Shelagh, thanking her wordlessly, and then turned back to the horse. "He's been well broken, I can see that. There's no fear in him, no skittishness. Who trained him, do you know?"
"I did. " Shelagh's statement, and the casual way she said it, brought me around on my heel to gape at her, but she ignored my surprise completely. "And there's coltishness in him to spare. He's a wild one, but he has a sweet disposition once he has given his trust. " She smiled at me, no more than a trace of mockery in her eyes. "Much like you, in fact. "
I was still gaping. "You broke him by yourself?"'
"No, not by myself, not all alone. I worked with the master of horse. But I was first up on his back and I was first to ride him. He taught me all his tricks; I taught him mine. "
"I see. " I could tell from the colour in her cheeks that Shelagh was proud of her achievement in this, and justifiably so. I glanced at Tress. "And did you name him, too? Bucephalus?"
"Not I! Yon's a foreign name from foreign parts. I had nothing to do with it. "
"I believe you, Shelagh, " I told her, grinning widely. "But d'you know who Bucephalus was, the first Bucephalus?"
"Aye, the horse of some Outland king. "
"Emperor, Shelagh, he was more than a mere king. He was the greatest warrior of all the ancient world, before the time of Rome. Alexander of Macedon. Men called him Alexander the Great, and his horse was Bucephalus."
"Aye, I've heard. And it threw him over a cliff, did it not, and killed him? Bad omen for a king who would ride this one. It was your brother Ambrose who named him."
"Ah, Ambrose again. Then I had best thank him soon, for he has made me a fine gift, here. The name is wrong, nevertheless, and we'll change it now. Bucephalus was white, as I recall. This fellow's name is Germanicus. The' ninth Germanicu
s to serve Britannicus."
Tress had moved forward to stand beside me, and as I placed my arm over her shoulders I became aware for the first time of how strangely she was dressed. I had grown used to seeing Shelagh in men's riding clothes over the years, but now I realized that beneath her long, concealing cloak, Tressa was also wearing some form of armour. I brought her around in front of me and pulled apart the edges of her cloak, staring in amazement at the toughened leather cuirass she was wearing over a short, military kilt of armoured straps. Her long legs were breech clad like a trooper's, albeit in far finer leather and far more richly worked, very much like my own. By the time I raised my eyes from her legs to her face, she had blushed crimson. I looked from her to Shelagh.
Tress could see the confusion in my eyes, and it was then that she and Shelagh told me how they had passed their time while I was away at war. Shelagh had taught Tress to ride, and had taught her well, training her strictly and with little gentleness, ignoring the fact that Tress was female just as single mindedly as she denied her own femininity in the performance of men's activities. For months, they told me, Tress had been up at dawn and out to the stables with Shelagh, learning first the use and care of her saddlery before graduating to groom and saddle her own horse. And then, once she had mastered the art of staying in the saddle, she had learned to ride as a man rides, sometimes spending entire days in the saddle, accustoming her muscles to the disciplines of riding and controlling horseflesh, and inuring herself to the pain of saddle sores and cramping, aching leg, thigh, back and belly muscles.
Listening to Tressa's enthusiasm, and admiring the high colour in her cheeks and the way her eyes danced with delight as she described what she had learned, I realized that here was the explanation of the fleeting thought that had occurred to me when I had bedded her, my first night home. She was harder, her muscles firm and full and clearly visible, her entire shape slightly less voluptuously rounded, although no less womanly or desirable.