The Lance Thrower cc-8

by Jack Whyte

  “So, then, what think you, should we take him up on his offer?”

  “We have to. There’s no other choice. As long as Gunthar holds the castle undisputed, none of our lives will be worth living. We would have to post a permanent guard in front of the castle to bar him exit, and even then there’s no guarantee that he would not find some means of coming and going on the lake. We can’t surround the entire castle.”

  Brach held up an imperious hand, cutting me short. “Wait you, Clothar. I am beginning to feel too naked to be discussing such things. Let me put on some clothing before we discuss this further. I’ll be thinking of it as I dress, and I’ll be back directly. I promise not to waste any time.”

  We walked together, this time without speaking, until we reached his tent and he ducked inside, leaving me alone to really look about me for the first time since I arrived.

  The camp was not large, yet it seemed large because of the number of people crammed into the small space it occupied, and the space seemed even smaller because of the high, steeply slanted walls of rock that hemmed the valley in on three sides. The valley itself was long and narrow, in the shape of a ragged S, and the camp lay in the rear portion of the shape, farthest from the waters of the mere that guarded the entrance.

  I looked at the bustle going on all around me and reflected that, had I not known we were in a time of war, the condition of this camp would have left me in no doubt. There was not a woman to be seen, although I knew my aunt and her three ladies were here, and every man in the place was involved in something that related in some way to fighting: many were polishing and sharpening their weapons and tending to their armor, scraping and hammering at dents and rust stains; many more were tending to their saddles and riding gear—I had counted almost fifty horses in the front part of the valley and had been surprised that people had gone to so much trouble leading the animals across the causeway under the water when they might have left them safely on the other side. But then I had realized, in the thinking of it, that there could be no safety on the other side, since anyone riding casually by would immediately see horses grazing there and would investigate to find out who and where the owners of the animals might be.

  None of the people around me paid me the slightest attention. I was there, and therefore one of them. There was no discussion of that and no question of its being untrue, and so it mattered not that they did not know me … they assumed that some other person did and that I had a purpose in being there, all of which was true. In the meantime, they had duties of their own, and they pursued them single-mindedly.

  I was thinking about that, and watching two men struggling with some kind of sawhorse, when Brach spoke from behind me.

  “So you think we should go back to the castle quickly? Soon, I mean?”

  I was disconcerted yet again by the sheer size and bulk of him. Naked and wrapped only in a towel he had been formidable. Fully dressed, he seemed even larger, and I knew that when completely encased in armor fashioned to his own frame, he would seem leviathan. I looked at the breadth of him and was aware that I had to move my head to look from one of his shoulders to the other.

  “Sweet Jesus, you’re huge!” I could not help myself, and Brach twisted his mouth wryly.

  “Aye,” he said, wistfully, I thought. “So I have been told. It has advantages attached in time of war, I suppose—the extra strength and superior reach—but it also makes a bigger target out of me, more difficult to miss for the bowmen and the spearmen and the slingers who can stay out of range of a superior reach. Believe me, Cousin, being as large as I am has its drawbacks, even with the ladies. Now, should we go back soon?”

  “Aye, we should.” I was intrigued by his mention of the ladies, but I knew this was no time to discuss it. “And the quicker the better. The odds are acceptable that Gunthar might not have returned yet to take the castle. And even if he has taken the place, he could not yet have had time to gather all his thousand men. Some of them are on patrol in the east, with Lord Ingomer, are they not?”

  “Aye, but not many. Two or three score riders, no more. Gunthar’s own guards.”

  “No matter. What’s important is that he has not yet had time to marshal all his forces. Once he’s in the castle, he can hold it easily and admit them later, as they arrive. But if we move quickly now we can oust him in the middle of the night, from inside the castle itself, where he will least expect us and will not be equipped to handle such a surprise reversal. So I believe we should leave immediately with as many men as can be spared.”

  “Spared by whom? And what about my mother?”

  “She should remain here for the time being with all the other women and the Lady Anne’s infant. She is safer here than she could be anywhere else in Benwick, and knowing she is here we’ll have no cause to worry about her. We will be able to concentrate on what needs to be done, and to get the task finished. After that, we can send back for her, and she will be safe inside the castle for the duration of this war, if it is a war.”

  “Oh, it’s a war, Cousin. It is war to the death, and our enemy has nothing in common with us, though we are blood kin and siblings.” He paused, thinking, then nodded. “So, we should leave immediately, but realistically that means tomorrow at first light. After all, I have a brother lying dead out there and I need to bury him. What then?”

  Brach noticed my hesitation, and his brow wrinkled slightly. “You think the timing is too important, that we do not have sufficient time to bury Theuderic and reach Genava as quickly as we should?”

  I nodded, grimacing my regret but unable to dissemble. “Aye, I do.”

  “No matter. We’ll do both. I’ll find my brother and see to his burial because I cannot stomach the thought of leaving him out there for the crows to pick at. You and Ursus and a few of my men can ride ahead and discover what the situation is. I’ll follow you with the rest of my men as soon as we’ve done what we set out to do.”

  “That makes sense. A few hours won’t make too much of a difference as long as the preliminary moves are set in place, and I can look after those. By the time you arrive I’ll have everything arranged.”

  “What will you have to do?”

  I shrugged. “I won’t know that until we reach Genava and find out who is there—who’s in the castle and who’s still outside. If Gunthar is in possession, much will depend on how many of his people are in there with him, but Clodio will tell us that when he comes out to meet us. Once we know that, we will know how many men we need to take into the castle.”

  “We’ll take them all.”

  “No, Cousin, that’s a bad idea. The more men we take with us, the greater the chance we have of being detected. Ideally, we should go in with a score of men—the best men we have. We’ll overcome the guard and lower the bridge, let our own people in. Given the surprise of our being inside the gates when it doesn’t appear possible, we should be able to achieve great things in little time.”

  “What if Gunthar’s not there? The castle might be in his hands but under the control of one of his men. What then?”

  “Nothing changes, except that we lose the chance to capture Gunthar. No matter. We kill or capture those inside and close the gates against the others. Let Gunthar wander about outside in the open where he thought to scatter us.”

  Brach sucked on his upper lip and nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. Now we should visit Mother. She ought to be awake by now. I warn you, though, Cousin, she has taken Theuderic’s death very badly. And she has had much to bear, these past few days.”

  “Aye, and I’m about to add to her burden.”

  “There’s no need for you to do that, Cousin, not if it’s that upsetting to you, and I can plainly see it is. I’ll be the one to bring her the tidings of my father’s death—it’s my duty, anyway, as her son. She has to learn of it somehow, but it’s not necessary for you to be the one bringing the tidings on your return after so long away.”

  I stood gaping at him. I had been so caught up in my role of m
essenger that I had been agonizing over how I would ever find words to tell my aunt my grievous news without endangering her regard for me and making her see me forever after as the bringer of doom and grief. Purely selfish, I admit, and not at all admirable, but I was sixteen years old and terrified of causing unbearable grief to the woman I loved most in all the world.

  Brach, whom few people would ever describe as being an intuitive man, despite his self-possession, seemed to understand the thoughts teeming in my mind, for he reached out with one enormous hand and gripped me by the nape of the neck, squeezing me gently and lending me some of his great strength.

  “Hold yourself still, Cousin, and leave the breaking of the news to me. I won’t even mention to Mother that you’re here, not yet. Mayhap the sight of you tonight, just after sunset, will lift her spirits, even if only for a moment. Sweet Jesu knows she will be in need of comforting, and the sight of you newly arrived might well be joyous enough to distract her from her grief, for a little while at least, and that will be a blessing. So go and find your friend Ursus and get yourselves something to eat at one of the cooking fires. I’ll break the news to Mother and comfort her as best I may, and I’ll come looking for you later, when she is asleep again.”

  “Think you she will be able to sleep again today, after she hears what you have to say?”

  “She will have no choice. Her physician is very wise and very learned. He gave her a potion today to make her sleep, and when its effects have worn off completely, he will administer another. She will sleep, I promise you, and it is the best thing she could do. I will come looking for you later. Now go—eat something.”

  It took far longer to strike out onto the road than anyone expected. We could not start to leave before sunrise, because our horses each had to be led individually along the spine of the underwater causeway—an impossible task in darkness. As it was, Elmo and his brother Theo were chilled to the bone by the icy water and completely exhausted after leading only half of the horses and riders across, so that they had to rest and recapture some body heat before they could continue. The morning was already more than two hours old by the time the last of our thirty horses and their riders made it safely across, but fortunately it was a pleasant, sunny morning and warm enough for our soaked men to ride on wet, and they dried out gradually in the sunlight without too much discomfort.

  We traveled hard and fast from that point on and within the hour had reached the steep hillside path leading up to the place where Gunthar had ambushed Theuderic’s force. A quarter of a mile away I reined in and pointed up toward the spot to show Brach where it was, but he was familiar with the place and knew already where the assault had taken place. He merely nodded to me, his face expressionless.

  “You should stay down here, on the plain,” he said to Ursus, and then to me, “and you, too. The quickest route from here to the castle is to go that way”—he pointed southeast—“around the flank of that hill and keeping to the open fields, avoiding the wooded hillsides. It’s about two miles from here, give or take a quarter mile. You’ll see a pair of big old poplars as you approach the castle. You can’t miss them. You’ll turn a corner around the hillside and there they are in front of you in the far distance, standing in an open space with no other trees around them. They’re important, because once you pass them, you can be seen from the castle’s battlements.” He looked at me again, one eyebrow raised. “Of course, you can be seen by anyone from anywhere, if they happen to be looking when you show yourself, so don’t be tempted to do anything careless on the way there.

  “Half a mile or so beyond where you first see the two big trees, you’ll find a shepherd’s hut made of stone. Ursus, if you are still of a mind to return home, you can turn directly to your left there and follow the only path there is in that direction—it’s a cow track, no more. It will take you back northeastward for another mile to where you’ll see the main road running east and west. Westward will take you back to Lugdunum.

  “Now the two of you had better be on your way. Clothar, I’ve detailed one of my sergeants to ride with you, with five other men to serve as scouts, just in case you should ride into unwelcome company. I’m taking my main party up now to the forge. We’ll dig a grave for Theuderic and another, larger one for his men. Not much we can do about the dead horses, I’m afraid, other than leave them to stink until they disappear.”

  He jerked his head in a terse nod. “So, I’ll wish you well, Ursus, and hope to see you again someday on some field more acceptable than this one. Cousin Clothar, I should be in a position to start my men digging and collecting bodies just about the time you’ll be arriving in the region of the castle. We can hope that you’ll find Chulderic and Samson in possession when you arrive, but be careful how you approach the place. Take no chances.” He paused.

  “Say Gunthar has the castle. What will Chulderic and Samson have done already if they arrived to find it in Gunthar’s hands? Think you they’ll sit calmly in the shadow of his walls? They won’t attack … at least I hope they won’t. Samson would not be that hotheaded, would he? No, even if he were, Chulderic would not permit such foolishness. So where are they likely to be?”

  I was shaking my head before he finished. “If Chulderic and Samson have not yet come, I’ll withdraw to the red-wall caves, where we all played as boys. Clodio will be waiting for me there, to take me in by his secret entrance. You remember the place?”

  Brach nodded. “Good, that’s a good place to go, far enough from the castle to allow you to breathe in comfort without being watched. If you’re not in front of the walls with Chulderic and Samson when I arrive, I’ll come and find you at the caves. I should be no more than three hours behind you, four at the most. So, farewell, both of you.”

  He pulled his horse into a turn and rode away with a loud and piercing whistle that was obviously familiar to his men, for they all put spurs to their mounts at the same time and swung into place behind him, with the exception of the sergeant and the five men detailed to ride with me. They broke out of the ranks and rode toward me.

  “I’m Clothar, cousin to Lord Brach,” I said to the sergeant. “He forgot to tell me your name.”

  The sergeant dipped his head. “I’m Shonni. I’m to ride with you.”

  “Aye, I know. Well then, let’s ride, because I want to be at Castle Genava before noon.”

  It was only after we had kicked our mounts to a gallop that I realized I had openly named my real relationship to Brach, and with that came the additional awareness that I could do so openly from this time on without fear of betrayal by anyone. King Ban was dead and I was a warrior now, my childhood long since lost behind me. My name was Clothar and no one with whom I rode really cared who my relatives might be. The only credentials I required now were my fighting skills.

  A very short time later, it seemed to me, we rode around the shoulder of a hillside and saw, as Brach had predicted, two towering trees in the distance, their upswept branches giving them the slender, delicate-seeming gracefulness that marked them unmistakably as poplars. A few moments later, we came in sight of the shepherd’s hut where Ursus’s path would finally diverge from mine. We drew rein, he and I, when we reached the tiny building, and I offered him my hand, bidding him farewell. When I tried to release him, however, he clung to my hand, looking at me in a way I had never seen before.

  “Perceval,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Perceval. It’s my name, my real name. I never use it nowadays.” He let go of my hand.

  “Why not? It’s a fine name.”

  “I know it is, and it’s well known in the country I came from. Too well known. It was my father’s name—might still be, for all I know. Dead or alive, my father’s condition matters nothing to me. He was a wealthy man, and powerful, my father Perceval … chief of all his people.”

  “But …” I hesitated, suddenly confused. “You said your grandfather was a shepherd. How could his son be a chief?”

  Ursus laughed aloud. “No,
that was my mother’s father. And he was a landowner who raised sheep, not a mere shepherd. He built the hut you saw, but only for his own satisfaction, not because he had to. Most people have two grandfathers, Clothar, don’t you? My other grandfather—my father’s father—was far more powerful and far less pleasant, and he was chief of his people. Some even called him King. And when he died, they called his son Perceval, my father, King in his place. I never did, though. My father and I did not see things from the same viewpoint, ever. Where I saw white, he saw black. Even to our names … . I was Perceval and so was he, but he pronounced his name as Parsifal … to differentiate himself from me, you see. We did not love each other. So much did we not love each other in fact that when I left home I changed my name, not wanting others to know, or even guess that I might be the Perceval who was my father’s son. I killed a bear one day, a big and bad old bear that had turned man-eater and was terrorizing a village where I had stopped for a time. I went hunting for it with my bow and managed to kill it. The villagers were awestruck and gave me the name of Bear-killer. I shortened it to Bear—Ursus—and decided it suited me well. It’s what I’ve called myself ever since, and that’s been nigh on a score of years.”

  I felt myself smiling, slightly bemused. “So why do you tell me this now? Am I supposed to stop thinking of you as Ursus now that you’re leaving?”

  “No, not at all.” He glanced down at himself, checking the few possessions that hung on either side of his saddle, then took a firm grip on his reins, preparing to ride off. On the point of digging in his spurs, however, he looked at me again and pursed his lips, allowing his chin to sink down onto his chest. “You’re a good man, Clothar,” he said. “Better than many another twice your age that I’ve met in my travels. I have enjoyed riding with you and I regret having to leave, but we’ve discussed that. One thing, however, I would like you to recall and understand when I am gone.” He paused, and I sat watching him, waiting. “There is no Ursus,” he resumed eventually. “Ursus is but a mask behind which my true face, my true identity, lies hidden. I go through life meeting people in the hundreds, perhaps thousands, and of all who have known me as Ursus, I have only made myself known as Perceval to two.