The Lance Thrower cc-8

by Jack Whyte

  I sat gaping at him, unable to speak either to agree or disagree with anything he had said, and all he did was smile, watching the varying expressions as they crossed my face. Finally I coughed to clear my throat, and found my voice.

  “That would make these documents extremely important.”

  “Extremely so, I agree. Germanus never was a waster of people’s time”

  “But what could be in them? What do they—?” I stopped short, abashed by the awareness that the answer to those questions was not for me to demand. The documents were for Merlyn’s eyes only.

  He did not react to my impertinence, however, but merely held the wallet now in both hands and raised it up in front of him, gazing at it. “I have glanced very briefly at some of them, Master Clothar, as you are aware, but I must confess I am eager to learn more. So, if you will pardon me, I will go now and make a start upon the task of reading them, for I think it might take me several hours to read through everything and absorb the meaning of it.” He stood up and started to bid me farewell with a nod of his head, but I stayed him with my own upraised hand.

  He eyed me courteously, one brow slightly raised as he waited to hear whatever it was that I had to add, but although my lips were parted, nothing emerged from my mouth, for I answered each point in my own mind even before I could begin to articulate it, until eventually I felt my cheeks reddening with embarrassment.

  “Forgive me, Lord Merlyn,” I said then. “I have half a hundred questions in my head, all of them demanding answers, but there are several that I find particularly distracting and frustrating.”

  “And to those you would prefer more immediate and satisfying answers. I can understand that, knowing how long you have been in pursuit of me.” He eased himself back into his chair. “Tell me about these other considerations, then, and let me see what I can do to set you at your ease.”

  I remained silent, nonplussed, searching for the correct response to his invitation and failing to find it. What was I concerned about? And then suddenly, two things crystallized in my mind and I knew where I must go in this. I cleared my throat again.

  “I would like to speak to you, if I may, about your ward, Arthur, the new King. For two years now I have been looking forward to meeting him, anticipating the event of his coronation as Riothamus and savoring the opportunity to offer him my services and my support in his endeavors as High King. I have even persuaded my friends Perceval and Tristan to join me. So I was deeply angered to discover that, through no fault of my own, not only had I missed his crowning in Verulamium but I had also managed to be absent for the first important battle he fought as King—his first strike against the invading Danes led by Horsa, and in all probability a battle that could define the course of his reign.

  “I know it was an important battle—how could I not know? It is the talk of the land. Everyone has been talking of little else since it took place. Believe me, Master Merlyn, we have heard about it from many people, but none of those from whom we heard of it was actually present at the event—not one of them. None of them saw the fight, none of them knew the truth of what occurred, and the information they passed on to us when the tidings were fresh and new was already polluted by ignorance and the boastful claims of empty-headed loudmouths.” I drew a deep breath, forcing down the anger that was always so close to welling up in me nowadays and compelling myself to remain calm, at least in my speaking.

  “We heard reports of everything that went on ahead of us as we crossed from Cambria to here, Master Merlyn, and we could trust none of it to be free of distortion or bias. On the purely personal level, all I really know to be true is that great events have been unfolding far from my ken and that, despite a deep belief that Bishop Germanus sent me here precisely to be involved in these events and to stand with Arthur the King and his people, I have somehow managed to miss all of them—to the point of utter and unhappy ignorance.”

  As I spoke, intensely aware of my own frustration yet unable to control a burgeoning sense of unwonted anger, Merlyn had turned his head toward the fire basket, and when I had finished, he sat silent for a while longer, his lips pouted in thought.

  “It is easy to see why you are angry,” he said at length. “On the matter of the King’s coronation, there is little I can do to ease your disappointment. I know there are stories circulating concerning what went on at the high altar, and I know, too, that they seem incredible and undeserving of belief. But I can offer you a few hard facts that are indisputable, despite their appearance of being fantastical. Mere moments after the King’s corona had been set upon his brow at the high altar by Bishop Enos, and after swearing a mighty regal oath to use his armed might to defend God’s Church against all pagan and godless aggression, Arthur Pendragon drew a magnificent long-bladed sword from the altar itself—from the altar stone—in full view of thousands of people. I have seen the sword, and held it in my hands, and there has never been a weapon of such beauty and splendor ever seen before, in this land or any other. That is the truth, Master Clothar. These events occurred. I was there and saw them take place with my own eyes. And as the new King held this wondrous sword aloft for all to see, a beam of purest sunlight shone through a gap in the clouds above and outlined him in golden glory in an unmistakable demonstration of God’s own approval of his crowning and his sacred oath.

  “Those events you missed, and their like will never occur again, and I regret deeply that, after all the troubles you have gone through, you were unable to witness them. I can assure you, however, that you may trust my version of what occurred that day, and you may also be assured that Arthur will be happy to accept your sword, your service, and your loyalty when the two of you eventually stand face-to-face. Lose no sleep over that one, Master Clothar. Arthur Pendragon has a mighty task ahead of him and he will require, and be grateful for, all the assistance, loyalty, and support he can find.

  “As to the other matter, the King’s first battle, I can provide you with accurate information on what happened there. I have in my possession not only the reports of the battle but the plan of battle from the King himself, drawn by his own hand, and I will gladly share those with you at another time—perhaps even tomorrow, if Arthur does not return in the interim.”

  This was the first indication I had received since my arrival that the King was not even in Camulod, and I asked Merlyn where he had gone.

  “He is on circuit patrol. Traveling around the perimeter of the colony, checking each guard outpost and patrol garrison, then striking outward to visit our outlying garrisons in surrounding towns and communities.”

  “The King does that in person?”

  “Aye, and happily, of his own choosing. It enables him to meet and speak with his men as men, and he enjoys that.”

  “Commander to trooper, you mean, rather than king to subject.”

  “No, man to man, rather than superior to minion. It is important to him.”

  “Important to his men, too, I’ll wager.” I was remembering Chulderic’s story of how King Ban and my father had met Germanus. “How long might he be gone?”

  Merlyn shrugged. “Who can say? It all depends upon who and what he encounters on his patrol, but we generally allocate ten days for each sweep—that’s what we call our routine patrols—then add sufficient discretionary time for them to extend that by two days. After that, if we have not received word from them, we send out rescue squadrons.”

  “Have you ever had a patrol that failed to return?”

  “Aye, several, but very few overall, in a sixty-year period.”

  “So you are not concerned about the King’s absence?”

  “Concerned?” Merlyn laughed. “No, not at all. He is not absent, Master Clothar, he is on a sweep, of his own lands, and he has only been gone for ten days. We expect him to return at any moment—he could be entering the gateway as we speak—but even if he fails to appear today, he yet has two days before we will begin to grow concerned. And even then, we would need evidence of some kind to arouse our
suspicions to the point of sending out a rescue mission. This is not some junior subaltern or local kinglet, Master Clothar. Arthur Pendragon is Riothamus of Britain and a battle commander of supreme abilities. He will not be bullied, nor will he be easily dissuaded from completing whatever tasks he sets himself before returning home to Camulod.”

  I nodded. “Yes, I understand what you are saying. I look forward to meeting him.”

  “Good. You will, and very soon, I promise you. And now, if there is nothing else—”

  “There is one more thing, if you will permit me.”

  He hunched his shoulders expressively, his face indicating surprise but with a willingness to listen, and I felt myself flushing scarlet as the words that had been in my head began to drain rapidly downward, avoiding my lips. Merlyn sat waiting. “Well,” I continued, floundering, “I know not if I can find the proper words … but I think it is important that I try to say what I wish to say, if only to clear the air and allow myself to think logically.” I took a breath and thrust straight ahead. “May I ask you, Master Merlyn, whether Bishop Germanus mentioned me by name in the letter I brought to you?”

  Merlyn slowly raised his hand and scratched delicately and deliberately at his chin with the nail of his little finger. “Yes, he did. But why would you ask me that? The content of that letter is my concern alone.”

  “It is, sir, I know. But I must ask you to be patient with me and extend me your forbearance, if you will, no matter how ill mannered or clumsy I may appear to be in this … . I have been asking myself for some time now why Bishop Germanus chose to involve me in these affairs when he could very easily have sent one of his own priests to deliver letters for him. He had no shortage of young priests at his disposal and they cross the seas on God’s business all the time, so why would he pick me and send me off to a foreign land with no idea of what I must do once I have carried out my task for him? He had a purpose in mind for me, of that I am sure, but he told me nothing of what it might be. And now you tell me he is dead and that confounds me, for I know not what to do now, or where I should go. My mentor is dead. My task, as far as I know, is completed. And I have no clear indication, mental or otherwise, of what I should do next. I feel … abandoned, I suppose … cut off from all certainty.

  “I have an unfinished task in Gaul, where the man who slew my parents and my grandfather yet rules in a kingdom that is rightfully mine, but although I intend to return there someday and claim his head in vengeance, I feel no burning urge to rush off and do it now. Part of me wishes to believe that my place is here, at this time, and yet I have no sense of … place—no sense of what awaits me or of what I should be doing next. I will meet the King soon, and that particular question may be resolved, but still I know nothing of what Germanus planned for me, if he planned anything. And so I must ask you more, and beg your understanding and indulgence. Did the bishop speak of me specifically? And if so, pray, what did he say?”

  Merlyn grimaced, sucking breath between his teeth, then shook his head and blew out a great breath. “Damnation, Master Clothar,” he said, “you come upon me with this request at the worst time, because while I can answer you truthfully, I cannot tell you what you want to know.

  “I have told you that he named you in his letter to me. But he has also enjoined me to be careful in what I say, to you or about you, until I have read everything that he has sent me. Don’t ask me why, boy, because I simply do not know why, and I will not until I have had time to read all this.”

  “He told you to tell me nothing of what he has to say of me?”

  “He told me to say nothing until I have learned everything there is to learn about you.”

  “But what is there to learn that you do not already know?” I bit down on my anger yet again. “No, Master Merlyn. That makes no sense at all, because it makes too much of me, and for no adequate reason. Bishop Germanus was my mentor, but he was mentor to many others, too, all of them more worthy of his time and attention than I was. His interest in me, from the outset, was an obligation. He had been a close friend of my parents and my foster parents, too, and he had stood as godfather for me at my baptism, after the death of my parents and long before he became a bishop. So when I grew old enough, he took me into his school as a pupil. My father was a king, and he served in the legions with Germanus. But he is a dead king, eighteen years in his grave. He was murdered soon after I was born, and his lands usurped by his murderer, and in order to protect me and guard my identity after my father’s death, I was raised in secrecy by my uncle Ban, King of Benwick, in southern Gaul. That is my life, in its entirety. There is no more to learn.”

  Merlyn shrugged. “Apparently that is not so. Perhaps you yourself do not know all that there is to know.”

  “About myself? That is iniquitous,” I said, my anger spilling over. “Am I now to believe that I am unworthy to know some truth about myself—some arcane secret that no one thinks me capable of handling? Germanus himself told me nothing of what the letters contained regarding me before he sent me off to spend a year and more wandering through this land carrying his wallet. And now, having done so in all obedience and to the best of my ability, I feel slighted and insulted … deemed unworthy of trust, even with knowledge of myself.” Raising my voice to Merlyn Britannicus this way, this man I did not know but had every reason to treat with the utmost respect, appalled me, outraging every tenet of behavior with which I had been raised and leaving me with a sinking feeling of imminent remorse. But I had no way of stopping now. “Master Merlyn,” I continued, the bit between my teeth, “I know I have never done anything to earn, or to deserve, such treatment, and that makes me deeply angry, because I am utterly at a loss to understand why it happened, and that ignorance, that not knowing, is the most perplexing and infuriating thing about this whole situation.”

  Merlyn rose fluidly to his feet, betraying no sign of any of the damage he had sustained from being burned in Carthac’s fire. “Very well, so be it,” he said, enunciating his words precisely and slowly. “This much I will promise you. I will tell you whatever is said about you in these documents, so be it I judge the information to be harmless to you. The only proviso I will add to that, having said it, is that I will pass along nothing that Germanus might ask me specifically, for whatever reason, to conceal from you. I say that because I cannot imagine him doing such a thing and then blithely sending you off to deliver the material to me in person. That kind of information only applies in situations that involve heinous crimes and shameful secrets, and Germanus himself clearly respected and admired you when he chose you for this task. He would never dream of using you so cruelly, so I believe you may set your mind at rest on that concern. Will that suffice?”

  I nodded, mollified by his straightforwardness. “Thank you, Lord Merlyn, it will.”

  “Good. But now I really must take leave of you. I have much to do, as you know, and there are other matters claiming my attention before I can be free to apply myself to our affairs.” He waved a thumb toward the door at his back. “I will have young Mark escort you back to the quarters assigned to you and your three friends, and you and I will talk at more length tomorrow, once I have mastered what you brought to me.” We exchanged nods of farewell, and he pulled his hood firmly forward to conceal his face again, then swept out, limping only very slightly.

  Left alone in the room, I glanced down at the cup I held in my hands and was surprised to find it empty. I had no recollection of drinking its contents. I was still angry, too, although in the face of Merlyn’s courtesy and consideration I could not quite tell myself why that should be so. And then the answer came to me. Despite all his charm and courtesy, Merlyn had nonetheless committed himself only to telling me what he considered harmless to me. Any request from Germanus that specific information be kept from me, for whatever reason, would be sacrosanct in Merlyn’s eyes.

  The anger boiling inside me grew stronger and I stormed out of the room, headed for the bright afternoon sunlight and spoiling for a fight w
ith someone—anyone at all.

  It was probably fortunate that I met no one during that angry journey from Merlyn’s quarters to my own, for my resentment continued to build, demanding an outlet. It was probably equally providential that when I arrived back at the accommodations assigned to us, neither Perceval nor Tristan were there and I could not even find young Bors, and that removed any possibility of venting my anger and unpleasantness on my uncomplaining friends. With no means of finding out where they had gone, however, the only options open to me were to remain in my quarters alone with my misery, or to go in search of them. I had paid little attention to the weather as I stalked from Merlyn’s place, but now that I was considering going out again, I had to acknowledge, albeit grumpily and with reluctance, that this was a perfect day on which to be walking and breathing deeply, savoring the scents of the world. It was one of those long, warm, late-summer afternoons that are so universally seductive and alluring, beguiling normally responsible people into neglecting and deserting their appointed tasks and wasting their time instead on frivolity and self-indulgence. At that moment, on that afternoon, having found no one on whom I could vent my anger, I was perfectly open to temptations of that kind, and in exactly the right frame of mind for them. I was in no mood to do anything constructive, aware that I would not be able to concentrate on anything except the questions that were threatening to drive me to distraction. Besides, I thought, if I went walking I might find someone, some stranger, I could provoke into a fight.