Camulod Chronicles Book 4 - The Saxon Shore

by Whyte, Jack

  The silence that ensued was long and troubled. I sat slumped in my chair and completed my thoughts.

  "That means, my friends, that someone close to us—close enough to enjoy access of some kind to my quarters—is in Ironhair's employ, and our chances of finding who it is are slight, at best. While Luceiia Britannicus was alive, visitors there were few and all close friends. Since then, things have changed. Ambrose and Ludmilla and their daughters live there now, with me, and Shelagh and Donuil and their boys share a portion of the rooms, so many people come and go every day. Peter Ironhair has an active sympathizer here, in Camulod, today." I looked at Ambrose. "And that, Brother, makes nonsense of your plan to guard young Arthur closely. How close could that guard be, when we do not know against whom we are guarding? Against outside attack, well, that's one thing, but what we have discovered here is something else entirely."

  I stood up, feeling older than I ever had before. "I have heard enough," I said, "and now I have to think this through. I thank you for your time, but I would ask, if I may, for more assistance from each of you. Please think upon these matters, too, for all of you know what we have to solve, and meet me here tomorrow at the same time."

  They all rose to leave, nodding in agreement and talking among themselves as they filed out. Ambrose was the last to go and he hesitated at the door, plainly on the point of asking me something, but then he shrugged and merely said, "Tomorrow," before leaving me alone.

  My solitude was brief. The door had barely closed behind Ambrose before it swung open again and Lucanus re-entered, moving directly to the head of the table, where he stood eyeing me closely.

  "You know the answer, don't you? It's as plain as your nose. You have to take the boy away somewhere far from here where he can be a boy for five more years. As long as he stays here in Camulod, his life will be at risk.'

  I lowered myself carefully into my chair again, feeling as though I bore the weight of the world.

  "I can't do that, Luke."

  His eyes went wide. "What do you mean, you can't do that? It's all you can do, Merlyn."

  "No, it is not. I cannot do it. Don't ask me why, because I can't explain, but I can't take him with me."

  "Take—?" Lucanus cut himself short, then looked around the room as though it were a strange place in which he had suddenly found himself. He moved directly then to the chest in which I always kept a flask of Shelagh's mead. Without looking at me, he produced two cups and poured an ample measure into each of them, measuring them carefully. When he was satisfied they held equal amounts, he reinserted the stopper and replaced the flask within the chest, then approached me, holding out one cup and tilting the other unmistakably in the ancient gesture which invited me to join him in a libation to the gods. Wondering what was in his mind, I tipped my cup and spilled the few obligatory drops. He did the same.

  "To Aesculapius and Hippocrates," he said, with a smile. "The patrons of medicine: a manlike god and a godlike man." He sipped his drink and sat down in the chair Ambrose had occupied, at the opposite end of the table from me. I felt the honeyed fire of the mead at the roots of my tongue and fatigue swept over me again.

  "When did you learn of it?"

  I blinked at him, confused, unwilling to acknowledge what I had heard in his tone.

  "What? When did I learn of what?" He gazed at me, then tilted his head slightly backward, jerking his chin towards me in a gesture similar to pointing a finger.

  " The sickness."

  My stomach turned over. "Sickness? What sickness do you mean? I don't know what you're talking about." I could hear my own bluster.

  "The leprosy."

  The whole room seemed to sway and the cup fell from my hand and rolled on the wooden floor. I moved my lips to speak, but no sound emerged. Lucanus was smiling at me, a smile filled with goodwill and friendship.

  "Oh, come, Merlyn, do you really think me such a fool? You believe you have contracted leprosy, though how you could even think so baffles me. You grew distraught the other day, and at first I could find no reason, although I was much alarmed. But then, when I observed some other things, I recalled that you had leapt up and fled at the mention of Mordechai's name. Since then, in spite of all that has been going on about you, you have shunned us all. And now you say you cannot take young Arthur with you when you go . . . to wherever you are fleeing. You, who have been telling me for years that you believe your destiny is to instruct this child and bring him into manhood whole, and fit to rule this land in law and justice. What else but the fear of leprosy could bring about such change so quickly and so devastatingly in Merlyn Britannicus? I know how the very name of it appalls you. The fear of thinking you may have it must be driving you to despair."

  Slowly, my mind spinning in search for some means of denying what he said, I reached down and retrieved the fallen cup, which had remained intact on striking the floor. I placed it gently on the tabletop and looked directly into his eyes.

  "It is not fear," I said, my voice a mere whisper. "It's certain knowledge, Luke. I have the lesions."

  Lucanus straightened up in shock and it was clear to me that, of all the things I might have said to him, this was the one he could least have expected. I watched him take his lower lip between his teeth and bite down hard enough to whiten it.

  "What lesions are these?" he asked me, finally, speaking slowly and quietly. "Show me."

  I held up my hand. "Later." I closed my eyes then, and a great, explosive sigh shook me. The truth was out! And Lucanus had not yet fled the room. "Tell me about leprosy, Luke."

  He was frowning now. "What, everything I have learned in a lifetime of study, here and now?" He shook his head, but when he spoke again, moments later, his voice was gentle. "It is a strange illness and little understood, even today. But some things we do know. It is extremely slow to propagate and progress and, with proper care and cleanliness it can be held at bay for years, almost indefinitely in some cases." His voice strengthened, becoming more hard-edged. "It is also extremely slow to spread, and infection only occurs after prolonged—and careless—exposure to contamination. You have not had such exposure, Merlyn. Your sickness is in your mind, born of your fear."

  "What causes it—in new cases, I mean, lacking infection from another person?"

  He shook his head, frowning anew. "We don't know, but it is probably bred of filth and squalor in some way. Most dire sickness is."

  "And the lesions? Let me see if I can recall . . ." I felt almost light-headed, in being able thus to voice my fears. "White blemishes appear on the skin— or they may be sometimes yellowish, or pink, brownish, or even red—and are surrounded by a slight, reddish, rough-textured discoloration. The blemishes take on a circular appearance and the body hair within such spots turns white as well. The area grows numb, immune to pain or feeling. Am I not correct?"

  "You are, and you know it, so you are using sophistry to make your point. You saw such lesions once, on Mordechai's chest, and you discussed them with him. I was there, you may recall."

  "I recall clearly. But I've seen them twice, Luke. I have seen them twice . . . Once upon Mordechai's chest and once on my own."

  Lucanus was smiling still, shaking his head. "That is not possible, Merlyn. You are mistaken. You were not exposed to Mordechai's disease. His sickness was not virulent."

  "Perhaps, perhaps not, but I was exposed to him, the night he died."

  He froze, frowning, and I realised he knew nothing of the details of that episode. I had omitted them at the time, merely reporting Mordechai's death with the end of his colony, not wishing to cause Luke unnecessary pain. I told him now, and as he listened to my account his face grew pale and he put down his cup. When I had finished he sat staring, groping for words.

  "You say . . . You said his blood mixed with your own?"

  "Aye, some of it. Both of us were bleeding freely, me from my arms and head, Mordechai from various places. Why? Is that important?"

  He ignored my question, leaning forward. " T
hese lesions you speak of, where are they sited?"

  "On my chest, but there's only one of them."

  "May I see it? You could be wrong . . ." I noticed he had lost the emphasis of his denial.

  "I doubt I am, but I can't show you here. I'll have to strip, and there are too many people about."

  He nodded and stood up and I led the way back to my own quarters, where I disrobed and showed him my breast. His face tightened and he touched one fingertip to the scab beside the whitened patch of hair and skin.

  "What's that?"

  "A cut. . . A stab wound, I stopped short, but I came close to ending it that first day."

  He looked at me levelly. "I hope that phase is over?" "It is."

  "Good." He returned his inspection to the infected area of my chest, then turned away. "You may put your tunic on again."

  "Well? Am I correct? Is it a leprous lesion?"

  Lucanus faced me squarely. "It could be. It looks like one, but it is only one and I see no sign of others. It could also be another thousand, harmless things. I don't know, Merlyn. I simply do not know. My strongest inclination is to scepticism, but I confess this thing about the mingling of your blood with Mordechai's is worrisome. I have some texts I want to read before I reach any conclusions." He paused, continuing to look directly into my eyes, his own shifting slightly as his gaze switched from my right eye back to my left. "Bear this in mind, nevertheless: even should you be right, and I am wrong, this is no death sentence. I cannot tell you not to be concerned, for that would be sheer foolishness, but I can urge you to remember this: it is a sickness, a progressive, but very slow-moving, combatable sickness. Mordechai himself was sick with it for more than twelve years, as you know, and yet the signs of it were barely noticeable, and he worked hard and diligently throughout all that time. And he died of injuries, not leprosy. Above all, I believe implicitly that it is not communicable through casual, normal contact. You constitute no threat to anyone else's health, even if your fears have a solid foundation, which I doubt. Do you understand what I am telling you, Merlyn?" I nodded, and he nodded back. "Good. I would be even more emphatic were it not for this matter of the mixing of your blood with Mordechai's. That is the only matter that concerns me and, as I have said, I have some texts I wish to read on that subject before I make a judgment. I know I've read something about this somewhere, and I know I have the source in my possession. Now, when did you last sleep?"

  I smiled, amazed at the ease with which I could do so now. "You woke me up a few hours ago. Don't you remember?"

  "I remember that, but I meant when did you last enjoy an untroubled, restful sleep?"

  I sobered. "A long time ago. The night before you mentioned Mordechai, I think."

  "Hmm. I'm going to bring you back a sleeping draught, as quickly as I can go and return. You will drink it immediately, and you will sleep."

  "But it's only a short time after noon!"

  "It is bedtime for you, my friend. Lack of sleep is the better part of your problem. Wait here."

  I said nothing as he left, merely staring at the swinging curtain after he passed through, and I had not moved when he returned a short time later. My mind was calm and the panic gone. I drank the draught he gave me, then I slept. And as I slept, I dreamed.

  · · ·

  I slept for almost an entire day, awakening gently the following morning as from a normal night of restful sleep, to find my sleeping chamber brightly lit by the mid-morning sun because I had not replaced the curtains Luke had pulled down the previous day.

  Wonderingly aware of the lightness of spirit that filled my mind and body, I made my way first to the bath house, where I found the steam room empty. Much relieved, for had it been occupied I would not have entered, I steamed luxuriously for a time, sweating the residual tiredness from my body, then dried myself with a thick towel, which I took with me when I left.

  From there, I went to the kitchens to eat, returning the greetings of those who spoke to me and examining my thoughts and feelings with astonishment as I walked. I still believed that I had leprosy—no doubt of that existed in my mind—but the mere act of sharing my grim knowledge with Lucanus seemed to have released my soul, somehow, from the chains in which it had been bound up for so long. Lucanus's concern, upon hearing of this mixing of Mordechai's blood with mine, had been the final confirmation I required, although the reason for his fear escaped me. His first reaction to that information, however spontaneous as it had been, had quite convinced me that I was right. Why then, I wondered, did I feel so light, and so relieved? I had, within my body, the foulest sickness known to man, so when and how had my despair withdrawn into peace of mind? I decided that these questions had no answers, and resolved to continue as I always had, until the day my fears returned again, and I ate heartily at a table in the corner of the kitchens, exchanging normal, carefree banter with the bustling cooks.

  When I arrived back in my day room in the Praetorium for the meeting with the others, Lucanus was absent. Ambrose noted my glance at the empty chair and explained that Luke had been detained and would come when he could. I found it easy to grin at Ambrose as I took my own seat opposite him as before, at the end of the table closest to the door.

  "You look like death, Brother," I told him. "What's wrong? Too much to drink last night?" He flushed and looked away, and I heard him say something inaudible about not having slept all night. I assumed one of the children must have been sick and thought no more of it as Donuil approached me, holding out a large, earthen mug, its outside dewy with moisture.

  "Here, Commander, a little luxury. Connor arrived late yesterday, and he brought ice down from the northern mountains, packed in straw." For the first time, I noticed similar mugs in front of every seat. I thanked him and gulped at the drink it contained, water, flavoured with the astringent juice of some strange, delicious fruit. It was cold and marvellous, making my throat ache with the chill of it.

  Ambrose cut me off before I could inquire after Connor.

  "Gentlemen, shall we begin? We have much to discuss."

  Once again, as on the previous day, I found myself in audience, listening as one by one my friends laid out the possible solutions they had all devised to meet the problems and the questions we had taken from the table at the end of that meeting. I alone had failed to do what I had asked of them. As they spoke, however, I became aware of a formless tension within the room, although I remained unable to define it. I could sense, nevertheless, that something had changed here since the previous day. Rufio was the last to speak again, and when he finished everyone turned to Ambrose, who had been sitting rapt, his fingers clasped together, supporting his chin, his eyes fixed on the table-top as he digested every word.

  "Our thanks, Rufio," he said, then turned to look at me. "Now, to sum up." Everyone sat straighter, and again I could discern the curious air of tension I had noted earlier. The thought occurred to me that this had all been said before, agreed upon, and was now being repeated for my benefit alone. I stirred and uncrossed my ankles, telling myself that the thought was ludicrous as Ambrose began to speak, counting his points off on the fingers of one hand.

  He began by emphasising, for my benefit, that everything that had been done in this matter was predicated upon my own belief, which was fully shared by every person there, in the vital importance of the boy Arthur, not simply because of who he was, although that was significant enough, but even more because of what he stood for. Arthur Pendragon was the embodiment of a cherished vision; a dream first visualized by Camulod's founders, but shared since then by everyone in Camulod who dared to dream at all. The boy, and the Dream he embodied, represented freedom and survival in the face of chaos. Arthur Pendragon symbolized the future and the continuance of the way of life Camulod had been intended to preserve from its inception. He personified the hopes for the future for all, and the rule of law and reason; the simple dignities all free people required to remain free. No one around this table doubted that, Ambrose said, nor did an
yone doubt that, lacking the hope symbolised by Arthur's presence and the promise he represented, the entire world of Britain, not merely Camulod, would dissolve into anarchy and ruin.

  I listened, greatly moved by my brother's eloquence and the evident conviction radiating from his face, and my throat grew tight with emotion as I thought of the men and women who had made possible all that he spoke of, among them his and my own forebears Caius Britannicus, Publius and Luceiia Varrus, Ullic and Uric and Enid Pendragon and Picus Britannicus.

  Ambrose was still speaking. "We have come to agree, generally, all voices except yours concurring, that the constant guarding of young Arthur is not a viable option, under the current circumstances. It might have been so, had we been able to guarantee that only outside forces would conspire against him, but we cannot do that. Camulod itself has been infiltrated and defiled by Ironhair's adherents. Apart from that, however, the lad could not develop normally, living under constant guard and scrutiny, and we have all agreed that if he is to grow to be the man this Colony and this land will need tomorrow, then he must be permitted to grow naturally, continuing exactly as he has begun already. So . . ." I waited.

  "The remaining option facing us is to remove him to some other place where he will be safe and may grow into manhood properly, living a life of freedom and continuing to receive the same instruction and tuition he has known until this time."

  I nodded in agreement, accepting what he said completely. All the people gathered here were Arthur's teachers, and they ratified the truth of what Ambrose was saying.

  "I agree," I said, speaking for the first time. "But where can we send him?"

  Ambrose grunted. "Well, as you have heard, we have identified the places where he can't go. He can't stay here, or anywhere close to our domain. Too many people know him and us.