by Jack Whyte
Not only had Tress learned to ride, she had learned how to use a shortsword, our new, light cavalry spear and a bow. The latter, with a full quiver of arrows, now hung from her saddle horn, she told me, and the sword hung from her right side. She was no cavalry trooper, but Shelagh assured me Tress knew how to use both weapons and could defend herself in any situation. They now passed their free time together every day, riding the length and breadth of Camulod's holdings.
I listened in silence to all they had to tell me, and when they were finished, I reached out my hands to Tress. She had been eyeing me nervously, wondering how I would respond, and I set her mind at ease immediately by asking her to show me how she rode. Both women immediately re-entered the stables and I followed them in to find them leading their mounts, already saddled, from the stalls in which they had hidden themselves from me.
Shelagh's mount was her favourite of years, a large, well made, dun coloured gelding of no great physical beauty but of great stamina and willingness. Tressa's mount was chestnut coloured, and larger, too, than I would have expected. She held him confidently by the strap of his bridle as she brought him out, and then she caught the saddle horn in her right hand, raised her foot into the stirrup, hopped twice and swung herself up into the saddle effortlessly, finding the other stirrup with her right foot and standing on straight legs to arrange her cloak comfortably behind her. I laughed in delight and brought my arm across my chest in a punctilious salute to such prowess before asking them, out of mere curiosity, where they were bound that morning. They had no idea, Shelagh said. They would head out northwards, at first, towards the old Villa Varo, our closest neighbour, but then they might cut eastward towards the Colony's main horse farm, which lay along the route towards the Mendip Hills, where Publius Varrus had found his skystone.
My immediate reaction was one of concern, occasioned more than anything else by simple fear for two women riding alone. These were not two mere women, however; Shelagh was a warrior, and her word regarding Tressa's own prowess was sufficient warranty for me that Tress could look after herself should the need arise. Nevertheless, I wanted to tell them to be careful, but I mentally bit my tongue rather than offer what might be construed as a patronizing comment.
"You always ride armoured?" I asked, instead.
"Of course," Shelagh said, somewhat scornfully. "What else would you expect? It's the law. And we have helmets on our saddles. To unknown eyes out there we appear as men. I'm sure you would not tolerate our riding out otherwise."
I had to meet with Ambrose, I told them, but afterwards , were Ambrose so inclined, he and Donuil and I might ride after them, purely for pleasure, mine being the pleasure of acquainting myself with my new mount. They agreed, and left me standing there with my new horse, fighting the temptation to saddle him immediately and follow them and leave Ambrose to wonder what had befallen me. But good sense won out over wishfulness, and I led him back into his stall before unsaddling the horse that had brought me up here to find him.
That one unexpected encounter marked the beginning of a brief and idyllic period of months during which I came to see Tressa through new eyes, and the love we shared grew stronger and deeper in the warmth of the true friendship we discovered as we rode together every day. I marvelled daily, too, at the unexpected skills she possessed. She rode like a centaur, fully as well as Shelagh, whose riding skills were legendary among our troopers, and she handled the long, light spear of our Camulodian troopers as though it were an extension of her own arm, effortlessly picking up targets from the ground with her spear point at full gallop, to the mock despair of our own troopers, few of whom could match her skill. She was even more impressive with her light bow, seldom failing to place five out of six arrows in the central target ring from fifty and eighty paces. Only beyond a hundred paces did her accuracy falter, and that was due more to the fault of her light weapon than to any lack of skill in her marksmanship. Even from horseback, sitting m the saddle and turned sideways, Tress could hit the mark four times in six. I was more than impressed.
It was only with the shortsword that she showed womanly weakness. Her arm muscles lacked the hewing strength required for real sword work. I told myself that she would never need to use a sword, but nonetheless I replaced her old gladium with a shorter, double-edged dagger that would be easier to handle, and even more effective than her clumsy sword should she ever need to perform such deadly, close work.
Arthur left for Cambria with Llewellyn within the first week following our arrival, but before he did, he stood as witness, with Ambrose, to our marriage, presided over and sanctified by Bishop Enos before his own departure. It was a very quiet ceremony, private and dignified but filled, nonetheless, with delight and the love and admiration of our friends. Our nuptial celebrations lasted but one day, and then our guests departed and our life as man and wife began, stretching out ahead of us as life had never done before. We settled into a new dimension of happiness, aided by the fact that everything was progressing smoothly in our holdings, without grief or trauma.
With no urgent concerns pressing us into action, we fell into a habit that was pleasant and beneficial for us and for all our associates. A party of us, consisting usually of myself and Tress and Donuil and Shelagh, with various others providing the pleasure of their company from time to time, took to riding out on patrols to visit each of the ancillary garrison communities that were springing up like mushrooms outside the formal boundaries of Camulod and lining the roads to the north, south and east. The idea of this resurrection had spread like spring fires in dead grass, and each of the communities we visited was caught in the grip of an ever widening excitement. Their people laboured daily to construct enough new holdings to meet the demands of the newcomers who were now flocking towards them from all around the countryside. Organized bands of brigands and would be looters who descended on several of the new communities found themselves repulsed, savagely and with implacably ruthless determination, by a new phenomenon: a populace that had suddenly found itself blessed with the power of self defence, the confidence of righteousness and the certain knowledge of support from outside forces. No lawless rabble could survive in the face of such determined unity; those who attempted to invade the new communities were killed in the attempt, or hanged after its failure, their bodies left to swing in the wind outside the towns and camps.
Long disused fields were being rebroken to the plough everywhere we looked, and new land was being cleared, the trees cut down and sawn into logs to be used as building materials and the stumps uprooted to provide new crop land. Houses, most of them of raw logs, were springing up, too, and we saw potters, weavers, tanners, cobblers, smiths and coopers establishing new enterprises far and wide, their equipment temporarily housed beneath hastily raised roofs, frequently left open to the weather because there was no time to waste on building walls. No matter where we went, during those months, the smell of new cut wood and sawdust hung in the air, like the tang of distant smoke. And in every community, there was military activity all day long, as new arrivals of lighting age trained eagerly beneath the stern gaze of veteran troopers from Camulod, temporarily residing there for that purpose.
After long decades of anarchy and fear, the people everywhere around us were coming together again, determined to protect themselves for ever more against the ravages they had experienced since the departure of the legions. There was a new and vibrant spirit of hope and resurgence everywhere. It was impossible not to be aware of it as the warm autumn days turned the entire countryside into a tapestry of reds and golds, ripening the crops to perfection and permitting a bountiful harvest even from fields that had been but recently planted. For the first time in longer than I could remember, musicians, mummers and tumblers emerged among the populace and long, golden afternoons were frequently, and always surprisingly, enlivened by the sounds of music carrying from long distances through the calm, clear air. When the word went out that there would be an entertainment, the gathering was always attended by mo
re people than anyone could have imagined, the women and children in their brightest, most festive clothes and the men laughing boisterously as they clustered around the drinking booths, exchanging small talk and growing ever more expansive as they enjoyed the almost forgotten sensations of ease and safety.
It was true, as Ambrose once remarked to me, that there seemed to be soldiers everywhere, but we rejoiced in the knowledge that these were of the finest kind: local men, family men whose soldierly demeanour was born of determination and resolve to see their families flourish and grow in peace and prosperity. Such men were seldom, if ever, undisciplined or unruly. They were prepared to fight for what they cherished, but they were equally prepared to enjoy the benefits of their regimented presence and their vigilance.
Winter announced itself that year with a sprinkling of snow late in December, then relented and withdrew again as it had the previous year, so that the greying skies did no more than scatter gentle rains from time to time. We had no winter storms that year, no gales, no howling winds at all. The bare branches of the trees were mostly still, and the grass remained green underfoot, so that we were able to continue our visits to our outlying friends without interruption.
The traffic of commerce flowed smoothly all winter up and down the length of the great Roman northsouth road, from Camulod north to Nero Appius's new colony of Appia close by Corinium, and south towards the new garrisons at Ilchester and the smaller outposts south of that, on the road to Isca. This road had become known as the Appian Way, after the greatest road in Italia, which led, as all roads did, to Rome. Because of the trust fostered in times past between the benevolent Appians and the leaders among the farmers around Corinium itself, the people of that area had begun to refurbish the original walls of the ancient Corinium camp, tentatively at the outset, but with growing confidence as the work progressed. With the ready assistance of the Appians, a rudimentary garrison soon moved in to occupy the newly reclaimed space. Once established, and with a council of elders appointed to maintain the common law, the population grew almost overnight, like a mushroom, and Corinium became a scheduled checkpoint on our regular patrols.
And then one morning Tress came to where I sat writing in a patch of sunlight and laid a little cup, filled with tiny white and blue and yellow flowers, on the table by my elbow. Spring had arrived; these blossoms were its first bright smile. And yet I sighed to look at them, for their mere presence marked the end of our lovely idyll. Spring, and the new year, meant I had to ride away again, this time eastwards to meet with Germanus, and I truly had no wish to go. Tressa asked me what was wrong, thinking that she might somehow have offended me, and so I told her what was in my mind. She was greatly surprised to hear that I had even considered leaving her behind in Camulod, and was so astounded at the very thought of it that she failed utterly to see my own astonishment that she might even have considered any possibility of accompanying me.
Our differing reactions created one of those dangerous moments when monstrous conflict can spring from the most innocent beginnings, and fortunately I was astute enough, for once, to recognize that. Instead of blurting out the rejection that had sprung to my lips, I bit down hard and waited, allowing Tress to speak without interruption, and forcing myself to really listen to what she had to say.
Unaware of the enormity of what she was suggesting, she informed me that she and Shelagh had decided their place was with us, no matter where we went, short only of riding into battle. Battle was for warriors, she conceded, and women had neither the training nor the strength for confronting male enemies in all out, hand-to-hand warfare. This journey, however, could not be considered a war campaign. She was prepared to concede that we were riding out as a military force and would comport ourselves accordingly for the duration of the expedition, but she saw that, and Shelagh agreed with her, as being no impediment to their accompanying us. They dressed as men and rode as men and behaved as cavalrymen behave; they were skilled in the use of weapons and in the care of their mounts, and they expected no man to do for them what they could not do for themselves. They could contribute to the expedition in a number of ways, including hunting, foraging, standing guard and, if need be, treating minor wounds and injuries.
As she prattled on, presenting what seemed an unending succession of arguments against being barred from coming with us, I found I had to suppress a reluctant grin of admiration. All my objections melted away like snow in a warm wind, so that I had made a momentous decision even before she had finished speaking and long before I had said a single word to countervail her logic. Tress and Shelagh would come with us. Donuil, I knew, would find no fault in that.
And I had no fear that others might disapprove. Shelagh and Tress were the only two female riders in the Colony whom our troopers would accept, since they did not ride as other women ride, daintily and aware at all times of their appearance.
When Tress had finished speaking and stood staring at me, wide eyed and patently unsure of how I would react, I nodded and made a humming sound in my throat, then advised her to be packed and ready to go within the week. She gazed at me disbelievingly, then gasped aloud and kissed me hurriedly and fiercely before rushing off to share her tidings with Shelagh. As I watched her go, I wondered how she would have reacted had she but known the true reason for my accession to her wishes. The last time I had ridden off to Verulamium, and incidentally to meet Germanus of Auxerre, I had left a wife behind me, in the protective safety of my home, only to return and find her brutally murdered. This time my woman would be by my side day and night, and anyone who wished to threaten her or harm her would have to pass through me to do it Germanus arrived at the appointed meeting place around midmorning on a glorious day in late spring. The three craft that bore his party made their way westward along the coast, with lookouts straining to see the signal we had agreed upon to direct them safely to where we waited. Behind me, ranged in disciplined, concentric ranks upon the sides of a small, natural amphitheatre among the rolling, shallow hills, my thousand men sat watching his advent. In truth, there were more than twelve hundred in our party, for a thousand troopers at large require much service and supply in the way of commissary wagons, quartermasters' stores, medical services and extra horses.
I cast my eyes over my assembled force one last time, then nodded to Dedalus to take command and made my way down towards the shore, where a crowd had already assembled to welcome the bishop's party. Behind me came Donuil, Philip, Falvo, Benedict and a dozen other troop commanders and, of course, Tress and Shelagh. I rode at the head, holding my own reins in my right hand and those of a riderless, pure white gelding in my left. I did not know if Germanus still rode or not, but I hoped he would and had selected this mount especially for him.
Enos and his people had made their preparations thoroughly, for we had found that, all along the route east, following the Roman roads from Camulod to Sorviodunum and thence to Venta Belgarum, our arrival had been expected by the local people. From Venta, proceeding directly south-eastwards across country towards the coast some sixty miles away, our experience was quite remarkably similar. We were accompanied by an escort of brown clad clerics, carrying staves and crosses, who were at pains to impress upon us that, despite our impressions to the contrary, we were moving now among God's own Christian flock, who bore us no ill will. And to our vast surprise, in apparent confirmation of that, we encountered no panic and no fear, either of our numbers or our presence, in the lands we crossed, despite the fact that most of the people we encountered were alien to us. This was the Saxon Shore we were traversing, and all its folk were Saxons.
Of course, we did encounter some hostility upon occasion as we progressed southward, but none of it was directed towards us. One particular event made a lasting impression upon me, and it was Dedalus who brought it home to me. He had been riding with the advance guard, and they had happened upon a raid in progress on a solitary farm far from any other signs of habitation. They had driven the raiders off in short order and without casua
lties among our men, and Ded had come straight to report to me on his return, finding me in my usual position at the head of our advance, in conversation with Benedict. Blunt as ever, Ded interrupted us.
"Here, " he grunted, holding some form of weapon out to me. "What d'you make o' that?"
I examined it perfunctorily. "Looks like the poor cousin to mine, " I said, hoisting the thing in my left hand and reaching with my right to lift the iron flail made by Uther Pendragon from its hook on the front of my saddle. Uther's flail, now mine, was an iron ball on a short, heavy chain, attached to a thick wooden handle. The weapon I now held in my left hand was similar, but differently made. Instead of an iron ball, its head was a heavy, almost spherical stone, wrapped in a network of hempen rope, each strand of it as thick as my little finger. The longitudinal strands, four of them, were plaited together then from the head of the thing to where they joined the handle, and the handle itself was completely encased in the plaiting, which had been cleverly and painstakingly wound back upon itself and interlaced, the ends of each strand bidden, with no sign of a knot anywhere. The entire weapon had then been steeped in some kind of hardening liquid or wax, to stiffen it and protect the fibre of the ropes. It was a deadly thing, flexible and lethal.
"That thing's no poor cousin to anything. " Ded's response to my comment was scornful. "That's a work of art. "
I looked at it again and could not find it in me to disagree with him. "I suppose it is, but it's a weapon of stone and rope, Ded, whereas mine is good, solid iron. "
"Precisely, " he said. That's why I brought it back. You remember the time we talked about how things had changed since the Romans left? You were bemoaning the fact that swords had become hard to find, because when the armies left, they took their armourers with them."