The Lance Thrower cc-8

by Jack Whyte

  Merlyn had been sitting with an elbow on the arm of his chair, supporting his chin on his hand as he gazed at me and listened to my rant. Now he sat up straighter, releasing a deep, pent-up breath. “Is that really what you think Germanus did? Do you honestly believe he would send you off on a worthless chase?”

  “No, Master Merlyn, not at all. What I believe now is that I had a vivid dream that night, and because the details of it remained with me the next morning—which is unusual in itself—I chose to allow myself to become obsessed with what I had dreamt. All the foolishness that has followed since then has been my own fault, attributable to my own overheated imagination and to nothing else.”

  He sat looking at me, unblinking, for a count of ten heartbeats, then grunted deep in his chest. “Hmm. So you believe that everything you have done since leaving Verulamium has been futile, a waste of time.”

  It was more a statement than a question, but I felt myself rearing back in surprise. “How could it be otherwise? Our pursuit of you, sir, achieved nothing but disappointment and ever-increasing frustration. Acting on the single trustworthy report we had received about where you might be found—a report from a wandering priest who had not known we were seeking you—I traveled directly from Verulamium to Caerdyff, in Cambria. I arrived there to find that you had departed more than a month earlier, to travel west along the coast to the Pendragon stronghold at Carmarthen. I followed you then to Carmarthen, by road, only to find that you had long since left there, too, again by sea, accompanied this time by the Pendragon clan chiefs and their warriors, to sail across the river estuary to Glevum, on your way home to Camulod. But that departure, I discovered, had occurred even before our original arrival in Caerdyff, and so our entire journey to Carmarthen had been futile and we were already more than a month—almost two months, in fact—behind you.

  “Even then, however, I would have followed you directly, but your departure with the Pendragon levies had stripped the entire coastline of large vessels, and we wasted four more days trying in vain to find a ship capable of carrying us and our horses. And so we had to make our way back by land, along the entire length of the south Cambrian coast and up the river until we could find a way to cross to Glevum, losing more time and distance with every day that passed. By the time we finally arrived at Glevum, with several more days yet ahead of us before we would reach Camulod, we had lost twelve more days in addition to the time that had elapsed between your leaving Carmarthen and our reaching there.

  “I had estimated by then that we were at least two months behind you, and as it transpired, I was correct. We were two and a half months late. And I have since found out—because everyone we met along the road is bursting with the tidings and talking about the wondrous and magical events the ensued—that in the course of those two months you returned to Camulod and then traveled immediately onward to Verulamium with the Pendragon clans in the wake of Arthur’s armies, which had marched there earlier. And once there, you crowned Arthur Pendragon as Riothamus, High King of Britain, with God Himself apparently blessing the event and bestowing upon the new King a miraculous new sword.

  “You then sent the new King off to fight a great battle, at the head of the largest army ever assembled in Britain since the Romans first arrived with Julius Caesar. He won the battle, of course, and it was a great victory, which people think will be but the first of many, and flushed with the fruits of success, all of you have now returned home to Camulod, where I am finally permitted to find you and meet you to present my respects and admit my shame at having been so far removed from everything of importance that has happened in this land since I first set foot in it nigh on a year ago.”

  The anger that had been smoldering inside me was now threatening to spill over, and I was aware that I needed to bite down on my ill humor. Evidently the man across from me felt the same way, because he raised one hand quickly, palm outward, stemming my flow of words with a peremp tory gesture born of years of command. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. Merlyn met me eye to eye.

  “Germanus is dead.”

  I blinked hard, I remember, because I felt I had been staring for too long and my eyes had begun to tingle strangely and then I shook my head, slightly confused, and cleared my throat. “What …? Forgive me, what did you say?”

  “Germanus is dead. He died in Italia, after his meeting with the Pope and his fellow bishops. The word was brough to us a month ago, in a letter sent to Bishop Enos by Lu dovic, Germanus’s secretary. You know the man?” I could only nod, the import of what Merlyn was telling me begin ning to penetrate my awareness. “Aye, I thought you might He has been with Germanus for more than thirty years.”

  “Forty,” I whispered. “Ludovic has been with the bishop for forty-three years. He is the bishop’s secretary, but they are close friends, too. They started out as students of law to gether, Germanus told me. He became a successful advo cate, but Ludovic quickly found that he preferred building cases to disputing them in open court, and so the two men became associates and remained together ever afterward.”

  “I knew they were close, but I would never have suspected such a long friendship. Forty-three years is more than half lifetime. Anyway, Ludovic knew how important our affairs here in Britain were to Germanus, and so he took the time to write a long letter to Bishop Enos, describing the bishop’s final days and the circumstances surrounding his death, and he described in detail several of the conversations he him self had had with Germanus concerning our activities hen and the coronation we were planning. As you know, Ger manus firmly believed that the salvation of the Church Britain will depend upon the emergence of Camulod as military force under Arthur, and neither Bishop Enos nor can see any reason to doubt the accuracy of his expecta tions.”

  Merlyn stopped talking and sat watching me closely whil I struggled to absorb all that I had just learned. Finally he leaned slightly toward me, his gaze still fixed on mine, and asked, “How do you feel?”

  Even in my daze I recognized the futility of the question. I remembered having asked it myself of other people in pain, in just the same hapless way because there are times when you have to ask, and those are the only words that come anywhere close to framing the concern you are trying to express. I gulped and nodded my head, waving one hand in a small gesture to indicate that I was well and needed no help. It was a lie, of course, and we both knew that, but it served as an acknowledgment that my mind was still functioning. Merlyn accepted it and resumed speaking, still leaning toward me with the same narrow-eyed gaze.

  “I want you now to think again about your dream, Clothar, in the light of what I have just told you. From all the information I have been able to gather—from Ludovic’s letter and from the eyewitness account of the priest who brought the letter to us—Germanus must have died very close to the time when you dreamed of his presence in your tent. I mean very close, Clothar … perhaps that selfsame night, and at the very hour you saw him, for he died in the deepest part of the night. His death occurred on the last night in March. Your dream, you said, occurred at the end of March or the beginning of April. I would like you to think more closely about that now, because it is of great import. I have asked Enos if he can remember when it was, but he was not in Verulamium at the time and did not return until several days later. He recalls only that you were excited by the dream and impatient to be on your way, and that you had waited for his return purely out of courtesy.”

  I frowned, thinking about that. “I remembered the dream itself, no more. The particular night of its occurrence was unimportant.”

  “Well, do you believe now that it might have been important after all?”

  I felt myself frowning harder, knowing what he was now suggesting, but I was far from convinced that this theory of his might have merit. “How so?”

  “How so? How so? Because, my young friend, if your dream occurred the night Germanus died, then he might really have been there in your tent, and for a purpose.”

  I sat gazing at thi
s man about whom I head heard so much and who now appeared to be disappointingly normal and quite incapable of performing any of the heroic exploits I had heard attributed to him. “That is nonsense,” I said eventually. “What possible purpose could he have for doing such a thing?”

  “How is it nonsense?”

  “I have already explained all of that, Master Merlyn, and even although it makes me sound ill mannered to say so, I thought I had made myself perfectly clear. If any of what happened that night had been real—if Germanus really had come to me in a dream—he would have known that everything was changing and that he was sending me off on a useless journey.”

  Merlyn sat for a moment as though weighing what I had said, and then he nodded abruptly. “True,” he said. “From your viewpoint and as you perceive it, absolutely true. But look at it for a moment, if you will, from my viewpoint. What if I were to suggest that your journey was not merely useful but necessary, and utterly unrelated to anything you have envisioned? I have been thinking about that for some time now, but most particularly since you arrived here today, and I now believe that is the truth.”

  I had no idea what he meant, and seeing my incomprehension, he said, “These,” and bent down to the floor at his feet and picked up the fat leather wallet I had given him on my arrival, an hour earlier, the wallet that contained all the documents Germanus had sent me to bring to his attention. He had accepted it graciously when I presented it and had then asked for my indulgence while he scanned its contents. His examination had been cursory, for the most part, and he had set several documents aside with barely a glance, quite irrespective of the imposing bulk of some of them.

  One document, however—it appeared to be an epistle several pages long—had claimed his full attention, bringing him to his feet with muttered excuses as he walked away to read it in a muted whisper in the afternoon light of the window embrasure. That document now rested securely in the folds of his long outer garment, but he had stuffed all the other papers back into the wallet that he now brandished in front of me.

  “The information contained in this wallet is the true essence of your task here in Britain, Master Clothar. I suggest to you now that it is the sole reason for your being here today, far more important in Germanus’s eyes than the matter of Arthur’s coronation. I invited Germanus to participate in that event because I knew his presence would add dignitas and authority to what we did, but he and I both knew, back then, that the event would take place whether he was present or not. So …” He paused, continuing to look me directly in the eye, then began again.

  “Ask yourself this. Why did Germanus send you here, to me? He could just as easily have sent you directly to Enos at Verulamium. The letter you brought to him explained everything to Enos, did it not? Anything that he asked you after reading it was born of curiosity and not of a burning need to know important details, is that not so? Am I correct?”

  I nodded, unsure of where he was going with this, and he returned my nod with greater emphasis. “Aye, so here is what I believe.” He raised the leather wallet and turned it back and forth in front of my eyes. “I never gamble for pleasure, but I would be prepared to wager a substantial amount that if either Arthur Pendragon or my affairs in Camulod and Britain are even mentioned in any of these documents, it will be but briefly and in passing, to illustrate some point or other that Germanus wants to bring to my attention. For Germanus did want—and still wants—all of my attention to be focused upon what is here in this package. I have no doubt of that, and you should have none, either.”

  “The letter that you read so carefully, then, was from Germanus.” I spoke it as a statement, not a question, but Merlyn answered it.

  “It was. From his hands, to my eyes. When he compiled these documents, and sent you off to bring them here to me, he could have had no knowledge of how events would develop—no one could have known that, at that time, including me. And so what happens? Think about this. Here in the west, in Cornwall and Cambria, in the aftermath of our victory over implacable enemies whose sole intent was our destruction and the obliteration of everything we stand for here in Camulod, great passions were stirred up and momentous events began to unfold that could easily encompass all of Britain and change life throughout this land. And then I received word from Bishop Enos that Germanus was unable to come as he had promised, but that he had exhorted Enos to stand in his place and to organize the events surrounding Arthur’s coronation so that they would demonstrate credible, solid evidence that the new Riothamus would have the blessings and support of God’s Church in Britain to assert and reinforce his authority.” He held up his left hand, and a young man whom I had not previously noticed but who had evidently been awaiting such a signal came rushing forward. Merlyn stayed him with an upraised finger and looked at me. “Are you thirsty, Master Clothar? I am. I have been talking without rest for almost six hours today. We have mead and beer, and even wine from Gaul. I am going to have some mead, myself. What would you like?”

  I thanked him and asked for mead, too, and the youth vanished as quickly as he had appeared. Merlyn settled back farther into his chair.

  “As soon as I had read the letter Enos sent to me, and read the copy he had attached of Germanus’s letter to him, it became clear to me that they were both right and that it was of vital import to our cause to hold the Riothamus coronation in Verulamium. It had not occurred to me until then, but once aware of it, I could not deny the rightness of it. Physically, the great theater there has a grandeur not to be found anywhere else in Britain today, and it can house seven thousand people—seated—at any time.

  “Emotionally, too, the place recalls the glory days of Empire when, despite all the moaning and weeping that some people indulge in today, this land knew naught but peace and prosperity. And then there was the additional consideration that the theater has already served as a point of focus for the Church and the affairs of God, when it was used as the venue for the great debate hosted by Germanus himself two decades ago. And then, last in recollection but by no means last in order of importance, the place is neutral, politically speaking. If, as Germanus had suggested, Enos was to use his bishops and their influence to bring the regional kings and the clan chiefs of Britain to attend the events we were planning, they would probably find it easier to attract them all to Verulamium than to Camulod, first because Verulamium is more central—Camulod lying far to the west—but second, and more important, because Camulod itself stirs envy, and perhaps disquiet, in the hearts of the very men we wanted to attract.”

  The young man returned with our drinks, and Merlyn waited until he had served both of us and left again before continuing. “And so the decision was made, by me and me alone, to move the events we were planning to Verulamium in accordance with the wishes expressed by Germanus and Enos. You had already been here in Britain for several months by that time, and before you left Gaul, Germanus could not possibly have foreseen my decision or how a change in my thinking might affect his plans for you. And so you were in Verulamium—in the wrong place and at the wrong time.”

  He held up a hand quickly, smiling as he did so in order to deprive his next words of any sting or implied rebuke. “Allow me to finish my thought, if you will, before you object. Here is the meat of what I am saying: none of us, as it transpired, could have any real control over developments, once the entire affair of Arthur’s crowning had begun to gain momentum. Had you been in Verulamium when I arrived, you would have been lost in the midst of a turmoil, because Arthur’s armies had already been there for several days by then, and bishops and kings and chiefs and their various adherents and followers were assembling daily from all over Britain, all of them seething like ground oats boiling in a pot, and clamoring for my time and attention. The town was full to overflowing and surrounded by armed camps—Arthur’s multiple encampments being the largest of all, although several of those belonging to some of the lesser kings were almost equally impressive, given that they lacked the horse lines and cavalry capacity Ar
thur commanded.”

  He leaned forward and looked me directly in the eye. “And so had you been there when I arrived, Master Clothar, and had I found the time to meet with you, our meeting would, of necessity, have been a very brief one, with no hope of discussing anything at length or in detail. You would have presented me with your documents from Germanus and I would have accepted them gratefully and set them aside to read later, with the best intentions in the world of doing so. But the matters you were bringing to my attention would have had nothing to do with the tumultuous happenings under way at that time, and thus, by definition, they would have been irrelevant in the context of Arthur’s coronation. I would have had no other choice than to set them aside in favor of more urgent priorities. Do you take my point?”

  I nodded, albeit grudgingly, and wondering what his true meaning might be here. “Yes, I do.”

  “Excellent, because my point is that Germanus’s appearance in your tent that night was miraculous, and the sole reason for its occurrence was his need to remove you, to send you away from Verulamium before the storm broke and the chaos began to eddy and swirl about the town. Thus, your travels across Britain were quite the opposite of useless or futile. They were intentionally designed to keep you safely away from me until my work with all those other factors was complete and I could give my full attention to these writings you have brought for me. I believe that, Master Clothar. And I believe, too, that Germanus came to you the night he died and that his visit was a miracle tailored, perhaps for the only time in his exemplary life, to his own requirements and his personal priorities. He wanted you to keep this wallet and its contents away from me until now, when I can deal with whatever they contain and might require of me.”