by Jack Whyte
"You look magnificent," I told him. "So do the others, but that centurion's crest is finer even than Rufio's."
He grunted. "It is. It's Second Augusta. Rufio's is a mere imitation: Twentieth Valeria."
"Careful, Centurion," I grunted. This was an oft-repeated piece of raillery. "My own grandfather commanded the Twentieth, as Legate. Given the opportunity, he would probably have kept your grandfather hopping. In his day, the Twentieth took second place to none."
Dedalus sniffed. "Aye," he said disdainfully. "So I've heard. Second place to none. That's why the Second Augusta lads were proud to call themselves 'None.' " He looked around at the others, most of whom were watching us, waiting for my signal. "But you're right, we look good. And so we should. When you sent word to me last night about this nonsense, the men were all too far gone in drink for me to make any arrangements, so I let them sleep. But they were all up at dawn, cursing you and me, and I've had them hard at work preparing for this ever since."
Dedalus was the only man among us who would drink neither wine nor ale nor mead. The only things I had ever seen him drink were water and the juice of fresh-crushed fruit: apples, pears and plums. All of us had long since grown used to this strangeness in him, and I knew from many past experiences that it made him utterly reliable at times when, were it not for him and his sobriety, no man could have done service.
"Look at the size of that thing," he muttered, gesturing with his head to some point behind my shoulder. "Surely in the name of all the ancient gods he doesn't throw it?" I turned to see what he meant and saw Rufio talking down from his horse to a stocky, massively muscled Scot who clutched an enormous spear, bigger than any I had seen before. As I looked, Rufio reached out and grasped the shaft of the thing, trying to lift it. It was as thick as his forearm at the base, and scarcely tapered towards the head, which consisted of a heavy, wickedly barbed, spade-shaped blade that reared up far above the head of the mounted centurion. Curious, both about the Scot and his weapon, I kicked my horse into motion and walked across to where they were. He saw me coming and eyed me calmly and I nodded a greeting as I approached. Rufio turned to me, alerted by his companion's look.
"Good morning, Commander," he said in Erse. "I was admiring this. Cullum here tells me it's a boar spear. We could have used a few of these when we met the one that attacked us."
"Aye," I replied, in the same tongue. "But you'd have to be the size of Cullum to carry it, and then you'd be too heavy to ride a horse. Good day to you, Cullum, I am Merlyn Britannicus. How do you use this thing?"
The man called Cullum grinned at me. "You only take it on the hunt. You drag it behind you. When you find a pig, you attract his attention. Then you dig the butt of this into the ground, crouch down beside it, and make certain that the pig runs onto the end of it. If it misses, the thing is of no more use. Neither are you."
I returned his grin. "Aye, I can well believe that. I can see you have never missed."
"Oh, that I have, Commander, twice. Both times, though, I was lucky. They were small pigs; small enough to kill otherwise."
I assumed that if he judged bulk according to his own, then even the fiercest boar might seem insignificant. He was enormous in chest and shoulders, with arms that seemed as thick as an ordinary man's thigh and huge hands that easily circled the thick shaft of his massive spear. He was also flat bellied, although his overall dimensions made it difficult to appreciate that. I could detect no sign of fat on him. Cullum was a formidable figure. I nodded to him again and spoke to Rufio.
"Are you clear on what we will do here? The order of manoeuvres?" He nodded his head. "Good, then we had best line up with the others." I spoke again to Cullum. "I hope you'll find this spectacle to your taste." He smiled and bowed his head very slightly, saying nothing more. Behind him the meadow was rapidly filling now with people of all ages. It seemed the entire populace had come to watch us ride.
When I rejoined Dedalus his face was closed and guarded, a sight sufficiently unusual to prompt me to ask him what was wrong. His response was short and terse. "I'm upset, and I'm nervous."
I laughed aloud, hoping to put him more at ease. "Of what? This? It's only a demonstration, Ded!"
He was unimpressed. "Aye, so you say. But it's a test. These Outlanders, fine people though they seem to be, will judge us by our performance here today. I'm telling you, Merlyn, I haven't felt this vulnerable since the first time I stood on defaulters' parade waiting for your old man to come down on me from his godly height."
"You? On defaulters'? God, Dedalus, that must be thirty years ago!"
He threw me a scathing look. "No, young man, it was twenty-three years ago and I remember it well. I was a lowly trooper and I'd been in a drunken brawl and belted a young tribune by mistake. A killing crime. I thought I was for a flogging, at least. The General had that look in his eye. But he knew what was what, and I found out long afterwards that he would have enjoyed the seeing of it. The tribune was not well liked. But I'll never forget that morning. Turned my bowels to water."
I laughed at the look on his face. Dedalus was of old, pure Roman blood. He had a beak like an eagle and a thin slash of a mouth, and he had always been something of a dandy among his peers, dressing more flamboyantly than anyone else, and getting away with it because he was capable of disembowelling anyone with his bare hands.
"Don't tell me you were afraid of him, Ded?"
He looked at me through narrowed eyes. "Afraid? Of your father when he was on the rampage? Only a fool wouldn't have been. Picus Britannicus was implacable, once he decided that punishment was called for. Should have thought you'd know that. He must have had the hide off you a few times."
The thought surprised me. In all my years of childhood, my father had never raised a hand against either me or Uther: his voice, yes, and loudly, but never his hand. I had never thought about it before, but I thought about it now and saw that it was surprising, for he was a strict and fearsome martinet. I knew his men had walked in dread of him most of the time although, paradoxically, they loved and admired him, too. I had seen men flogged and even executed at his command, for his discipline was absolute. Dereliction of duty carried a death sentence, whether it was for sleeping on sentry duty, cowardice in the field, absence without leave, or theft from a comrade. Rape meant execution, as did murder. All of these offenses were tried by military tribunal and clemency was extended only under the most extenuating circumstances. I knew of only one instance, a case of suspected but unproved theft, in which the accused was given the benefit of the doubt and freed. One instance in all the years since I had started paying attention to such things, but it had been at my father's insistence that the man was given his life.
Abruptly, all thought was driven from my mind by the explosion of a bellowing roar of rage from the woods that bordered the meadow to the right of the main gates of the stronghold, and a giant bear burst into the open, in pursuit of a fleeing, terrified man who died as we all watched, smashed to extinction by the sweep of a massive paw. The beast was less than sixty paces from where we sat. It had come bounding into the sunlight, killed its tormentor and now reared up on its hind legs in triumph, a nightmare thing whose heavy, matted, blackish brown coat seemed to draw daylight physically into its enormous bulk. Again it bellowed, its weak eyes now attracted by the press of people on the slope above, and the volume of the sound stirred the short hairs on my neck. Someone behind me, a woman, screamed, and I sensed, rather than saw, a ripple of terror-stricken movement along the front line of Athol's people at my back.
"Stand fast!" Dedalus's bellow was almost as startling as the bear's, and such was the power of his roar that even the people of the settlement stilled their panicked rush for safety, freezing where they stood. Dedalus pulled his horse up into a rearing turn and faced the rest of our men, defying any of them to show fear.
I saw all of this from the corner of my eye, for from the moment of first hearing that awful sound, I had felt myself swept up into something beyond my
control and my eyes were fastened on the bear to the virtual exclusion of everything else. It stood there, erect and huge, emanating menace and destructive power, and then the prancing movement of Ded's horse caught its attention so that the beast swung its massive head towards us, dropped to all fours and broke immediately into a lumbering charge. Dedalus had his back to it at the time and the skittish agitation of his horse had placed him between the bear and me. I saw, without being able to believe, the speed at which the monstrous animal was coming, and I knew that it would be upon Ded before he could regain control and kick his horse to any speed, but I was horrified to find myself kicking my own horse and going straight towards the abominable thing.
It saw me coming and reared up to a halt, flinging itself erect again to wait for me. I hauled on the reins, leaning far out to my right, and brought my horse heeling hard over, almost within grasp of the dreadful animal's great claws, galloping past it and on down towards the line of brush that had concealed the beast. Standing erect, the monster towered above my head, even mounted as I was. I glanced back over my shoulder and saw that it was chasing me now. I kicked again, letting my reins fall slack, and gave Germanicus his head. There was one isolated clump of bushes straight ahead of me; one single, fair-sized thicket. I guided my mount as close to it as I could, knowing the beast was gaining on me, and then twisted his head into a savage turn, risking a fatal fall. Thorns and branches ripped at my clothes, but I kept the big black's head pulled down, far to the right, making almost a complete circle around the clump. Then I kicked him flat out, back towards the line of my mounted men. I heard a cheer and knew that my ruse had worked. The bear had gone charging ahead and I had gained some distance. I was almost back to the line by the time I heard another bellow of rage over the thudding of my horse's hooves and glanced backwards in time to see the bear drop back to all fours and come after me again. But suddenly there was Dedalus, cutting across diagonally between us at full gallop. The bear, confused, stood up and roared again as I brought my horse to a sliding stop almost upon the line of Athol's spearmen who were advancing, grim-faced and shoulder to shoulder, towards certain death. Cullum's wicked boar spear reared up among them, closest to me.
"Give me that!"
Cullum blinked at me in surprise, then stepped forward and handed me his weapon. It was bigger and thicker than I had thought, wickedly heavy. Sarissa . . . Alexander. . .
The words rang in my head in the tones of Uncle Varrus, and I remembered him telling me that the Great King Alexander's Companions had ridden into battle with a spear six arm's-lengths long, the sarissa, balanced on their shoulders and angled forward and down. The spear I now held was less than two-thirds that length, thick in the shaft and grossly heavy, and no thought had been given in its design to serving a man on horseback. I knew as soon as I took hold of it that I could not hope to balance it on my shoulder, but the bear was there, bellowing, and my own reflexes were in control of me. I tucked one end of the gross shaft beneath my arm and kicked Germanicus back into a run, the butt of the ungainly weapon held close to my hip, against the back of my saddle. It was too heavy, far too cumbersome, so I jerked it up, allowing the point to fall forward and catching the butt directly beneath my armpit, struggling with gritted teeth to keep the point up and free of the ground as I flew towards what I knew to be certain death. The muscles of my arm and shoulder were already screaming with pain and I knew I was going to drop the spear. I had to drop it, to save my life. But I dropped the reins, instead, and used my left hand to pull the spearhead upwards. I was leaning backwards in my saddle, my legs braced solidly in the stirrups, when Germanicus felt the freedom in the reins and swerved violently. I saw a mighty paw swinging from above and screwed my eyes closed, and then came a jolt the like of which I had never felt, and I was plucked bodily from the saddle and sent flying. I heard my horse scream as the ground came flying up to meet me, and I fell into darkness.
When I came to my senses again, I was strapped to a cloak of some kind stretched between two spears, being carried through Athol's gates by four men, two of my own and two of the king's. Donuil's face loomed above me, creased with concern. I tried to speak, but a dizzying blackness fell on me again.
Later, of course, I discovered that I had killed the bear. The swerve of my horse and the pull of my left arm had brought the point of the heavy spear up to a perfect entry point in the creature's throat, and the angle of penetration, combined with the speed of my approach, had driven the great head of the weapon with sufficient force to sever the animal's spine. The bear had gone over backwards, the mighty spear's shaft had snapped, and I had been catapulted into the air while my poor horse had fallen heavily, frightened almost to death by the feral smell of the giant beast that sprawled beside it.
My early protests of an accidental victory fell on deaf ears. Everyone had watched me take a spear and charge a maddened bear, killing it on the spot, alone and without help of any kind except for that one diversionary pass by Dedalus that had given me time to arm myself. I gave up arguing and enjoyed being a hero.
Hearing that I had regained consciousness, Donuil and his father both reached me at the same time, the latter frowning and the former now grinning widely.
"Merlyn, how do you feel?" Athol asked. "Can you stand? It shames me to think that you might have been killed defending my people while a hundred and more of my own warriors stood idly by."
I stilled his anxious protestations with an upraised hand. "Peace, King Athol. The responsibility is mine alone. The bear was already attacking, and none of your warriors was at fault. There was no time to do anything else."
He shook his head. "No, not so. My spearmen should have made short work of it. You should have left it to them."
Donuil interrupted. "You saw the size of that thing, Father. It's enormous! It would have killed a dozen men, perhaps more, before they killed it. Caius Merlyn was born for deeds like that. We should simply thank the gods that he was there." Donuil hunkered down beside me, grinning again. "By your Christian Christ, Cay, you must be mad! I've heard men tell that you're a wild man when you're roused, but I wouldn't have approached that thing with fifty of my father's spearmen!"
I grinned, feeling foolish again. "I didn't intend to, Donuil, it just happened. There was no time to think, only to do something, anything, it didn't matter what."
"Aye!" He laughed. "The thing really is enormous, at least three times the size of the boar your people killed last week."
Donuil's father cut his banter short with a wave of his hand, then stood gazing down at me on my cot. From my position, looking back up at him, the old king seemed even larger than I remembered. He stood silent for long moments, his lips sucked inward, then nodded as if to confirm what he had been thinking.
"My son is garrulous, Caius Merlyn, but he may have much the truth of things. I heard about the boar you killed in the south; the size and weight of it and the splendour of its tusks. And now this, with the bear. Measured erect, I am told, it was almost twice the height of our tallest man, the largest creature of its kind any of our people have seen. But it was folly to do what you did, no matter what the provocation. One man alone against a creature of that size should have been killed immediately. There should have been no contest. How did you do it?" Before I could frame an answer he held up his hand to forestall me as he had his son. "No matter. I do not think I wish to hear your answer to that. I am content that you succeeded and in the process saved the lives of several of my people. For that, atop all else, you have my gratitude." He smiled then, a smile of genuine amusement. "I told the people they would see a demonstration of the power of cavalry. What we saw, all of us, filled us with awe. We have no need now to watch more. One man alone has convinced us."
"Well, sir, not one alone. I had some help from Dedalus."
"Aye, a diversion. That was bravely done. But Dedalus did not front the beast by himself and kill it. We will speak further later, when you have regained yourself." He lowered his head, almost in a bo
w, and left Donuil and me to watch him go.
"So," Donuil said, perching himself on the edge of my cot and wasting no time with niceties. "Tell me what happened. I was late in arriving, after my father, and I saw only the closing dash. I missed all of what had gone before, and since then I've heard four different versions. Tell me your version of the foolishness."
"There's not a lot to tell," I said, swallowing against a soreness in my throat. "It didn't seem foolish at the time. It was as though the entire thing was predestined, and I could not really believe it was happening even as it occurred. There was simply nothing different I could have done. Had I not moved when I did, the bear would have killed Dedalus. I simply knew I had to divert the thing's attention. Once it began, I had no other course."
"Hmm!" His voice sounded reflective. "I asked Dedalus about it. He told me that you behaved with brilliance. That's his word, not mine. He said you hauled your horse around a clump of bushes in a move he has never seen any rider equal."
I grinned. "That was desperation. It was a matter of making that turn or being caught by the bear."