by Jack Whyte
I closed my eyes. "I hope so, Ded. I hope so."
During the remainder of that day and night I awoke frequently to drag myself—and there were times when the intense pains racking me made me think I would never succeed—to the bucket beneath the wooden frame Benedict had built for me to use for either of my two urgencies, and on each occasion, I remember, the room was lamplit and the bucket was empty and clean. The last time, somewhere in the deepest part of the night, Cyrus thrust his head through the doorway as I was crawling back into my cot.
"How are you, Cay? It's my watch. Can I help?" I shook my head, unable to trust my voice, and he stepped forward to collect the stinking bucket. "By the Christus, I'm glad I wasn't as hungry as you were when we started on that bird. Sleep, man, and forget all else. Things are well in hand and there's nothing for you to do or to fret about. I'll clean this and bring it back."
When I opened my eyes again it was full day, and Athol himself was standing by my cot. Somewhere outside a bird was singing, and I realized I had been listening to it for some time. Athol saw I was awake and leaned forward, pressing his hand against my forehead.
"The fever's broken," he said. "How do you feel?"
"Better." I had to work my mouth to gain enough saliva to wet my lips with my tongue, for they felt as though they had been stuck together. "I hear a bird singing."
His eyes crinkled. "Aye, you do, and it sings for you. It's a blackbird."
"A blackbird?"
"Aye, with a wondrous power of song. We call it a merlen."
I drew a deep breath, filling my lungs cautiously, aware that I was no longer in pain, yet expecting my outraged stomach muscles to cramp again immediately. "What time of day is it?" I asked him.
"Late afternoon, nigh on evening. The sun has been shining all day long."
I was shocked. "You mean I've slept the day away?"
The king's smile grew broader. "This day, and yesterday, and the day before that. You have had some kind of fever, from the poison in your system. But it's past now, and you look stronger already. You'll be up and moving again by tomorrow, I'm sure."
Alarmed by his words, I moved to sit up, but the weight of the blankets that covered me kept me pinned to the bed. I was completely without strength.
"You're weak now," Athol said, as though he had read my mind. "But that will pass quickly, as soon as you have some solid food in your body.
Welcome back, Caius Merlyn. Your friends will be happy, and they are loyal, honest friends. Not a man among them but is genuine in his love and admiration for you. Not a bad word, or a shallow affection for their Commander in any one of them. I will send Dedalus in as I leave, and I shall come back tomorrow early. You and I have much to discuss." He turned to leave and I sought to stop him.
"Wait! Sir King—"
He turned back to me, smiling. "No more 'Sir King,' Merlyn. My name is Athol. Only those I govern treat me as a king, and then only when I am being King. To my friends, I am but a man like them. I have learned much of you from your own people these past few days, while you lay sweating, muttering to yourself. And I have spent long hours with my errant son Donuil, while he, too, told me of his love for you, the love of a warrior for a Champion and Leader. I have been much impressed and will be honoured if, from this time forth, you think of me as a friend." He left then, before I could summon a response.
Moments later Dedalus strode into the room, sweeping aside the screen around my bed. Until he moved it, I had been unaware of the thing. Now I gazed at it, noting its construction of woven wicker and the bright colours that adorned it.
"Where did that come from? That screen."
Dedalus glanced at me and continued folding the device, leaning it eventually against the wall by an open, unshuttered window. Finally he clapped his hands together as though dusting them and turned to face me. "From the Lady Shelagh. She came to see you the first day, before dark, shortly after Donuil and the big fellow, Cullum, brought you back. The next morning she came again, bringing this and an army of women. Erected the screen to give you privacy, she said, and cleaned out this hovel from roof to floor, then opened all the shutters. Made me promise to leave them open, too, even at night, no matter what the weather; claimed the clean air would do you good, as long as you were well wrapped up against the chill. Perhaps it worked, perhaps not. I only know that Paulus and I almost froze our arses for the past two nights. You hungry?"
Was I? With the question, I was suddenly ravenous, the mere thought of food triggering a flood of saliva. "Aye," I said.
"Good. I'll be back." He started to leave, then stopped. "You need to piss or anything?" At my headshake he nodded and then quickly left.
I lay there in the sun-bright room, looking at the long, afternoon shadows from the window and listening to the bird outside, the merlen. Three days I had been sick! The thought spurred me, and I made another effort to raise myself, this one less feeble, but no more successful than the first. Subsiding, I lay still for a time, gathering my strength, then loosened the tight-wrapped blankets that swathed me and tried again. This time, by gripping the edge of my mattress and using it for leverage, I managed to sit upright, swinging my legs free of the side of the bed. I was naked, I discovered, as my feet fell to the floor as though my legs were made of wood and I sat there, swaying and clutching at the edge of the mattress. A wave of giddiness almost overcame me, but I fought it off and forced myself to breathe deeply, willing the room to stop gyrating. It did, after a short time, and I sat motionless, gathering my strength again before I attempted to stand up. Then, when I felt I had my mind and body under my control once more, I stood, and swayed, and fell, twisting my body at the moment when I knew I must fail, and managing to sprawl facedown on my right side across the bed, rather than crashing to the floor.
"Sweet Jesus, there's no leaving you alone, is there? You're not fit to be trusted on your own at all. Here, wait a moment." I felt Ded haul me bodily until I lay where he wanted me, properly positioned on the cot. He then covered me up, tucking in the blankets before gripping me beneath the armpits and hauling me up into a sitting position, after which he wrapped a soft, warm woollen shawl about my bare shoulders. I protested at being treated like an old man, and he growled.
"No one's treating you like an old man, but you're a sick man and you might have killed yourself, eating that rubbish the way you did. Bad meat! By the Christus, Merlyn, even a child knows enough not to eat tainted meat, especially fowl!"
"It didn't all taste bad, Ded. The leg Cyrus ate didn't taste bad to him. Am I to live without eating meat? What's in that bowl?"
"Meat, but good meat, and there's little of it. Mainly it's broth, with onions, garlic, mushrooms, some cheese, some green things and a generous taste of salt. And bread, floating on the top. Get it into you. Here, I'll hold the spoon, otherwise you'll spill more than you sup."
"Cheese?" I said, as he began to spoon the broth.
He paused and grinned at me. "That's what I thought, too," he said. "Until I tasted it. It's some kind of hard goat's cheese, and they grate it into powder, then mix it into foods of one kind or another. It's wondrous stuff, you'll love it."
I did, and as I ate and the flavours of salt and garlic and that Eirish cheese mingled on my palate I felt the strength flow back into my body. When the bowl was empty, I lay back, savouring the flavours that lingered in my mouth.
"You're right, Ded. That cheese is wondrous stuff. Now I need to piss."
"Well, your throne's still there. Here, I'll help you." He crossed to replace the bowl on the table and then came back and helped me to rise. It was much easier this time, and I barely had to lean on him as I took the two paces to the bucket and relieved myself, leaning on the frame and smelling the strong, ammoniac stink of my own urine. I even smell sick, I thought. Then, as I was finishing, I asked him if the bucket and its frame had been moved closer to the bed.
"Moved from where?"
"From where it was. It was much farther from the bed than it
is now, that first night I was here."
He shook his head. It had not been moved, he told me, since the moment he had brought it into the room on that first occasion. Benedict had built the frame and placed it over the bucket. Besides, he pointed out, there was no room for the thing to have been placed anywhere else. I could see the truth of that for myself even as he said it, and was left shaking my head over the memories of the struggle I had had on several occasions to reach the spot from where I had lain. He helped me turn and supported me again for the two steps back to the bed. I was glad to arrive. As he tucked me in again, flat on my back, Paulus, Philip and Benedict crowded in at the doorway to see me. I waved to them and smiled and they seemed delighted at my talent. Ded chased them away. I noticed that the sunlight had vanished and that the sky beyond the window had turned a deep, dark bluish grey. Ded crossed to the door and stopped to look back at me.
"It's getting dark. I'll bring some lamps."
I was asleep when and if he did.
By the time Athol arrived to visit me again the following morning, I was up and fully dressed, wearing a quilted tunic. The sunshine of the previous day had given way to overcast skies, although there seemed to be no rain clouds threatening for the time being. I felt ten times stronger than I had the day before, and had broken my fast on another bowl of the delicious broth, brought to me this time by Donuil and Shelagh.
I had watched them as I ate, feeding myself, so much was I improved, and it was plain to see that matters between them had progressed apace. They touched each other frequently, each going to great lengths to do so, and to make the contact appear casual or accidental. They were concerned for me, I could see, and glad to see me so much improved, but a blind man could have seen that they had eyes, in truth, only for each other. Love had visited Athol's kingdom, it appeared, while I lay sick. They talked brightly to me, promising to return again, and soon left, and I watched them from my window, walking hand in hand now that they thought themselves unobserved. A short time after they had gone, the king arrived, and we sat together at the table beside the open window, where, after the pleasantries concerning my improved condition, Athol came straight to what lay on his mind.
"The army that Finn saw lies quartered in the south. I believe their intent was to join with the Wild Ones, but those animals could not wait, or would not, and hoped to wipe us out before their allies arrived."
"Then why are the newcomers waiting now?"
"I don't know, but I suspect they are waiting for others to join them."
"Others? From where? Have you had further news from your spy among the Sons of Condran?"
He shook his head. "No, but I sent men to mingle with the people already there in the south. None of them saw any sign of Brian or his forces. The warning I received was that Brian and his tribe were to ally themselves with the MacNyalls and the vermin of Garn. That has not happened, yet the other two are here and have not moved against us. That makes me suspect that Brian has been delayed for some reason, but has sent word of it. Otherwise there would be no question of their waiting."
"And what could that reason be? You suspect he has waited to engage Brander and his fleet?"
Athol's headshake was emphatic. "No," he growled. "Brian is a land warrior, not a seaman. Besides, his brother Liam does not lack for men to fill his galleys, especially now, when he has so few galleys to fill. No, that's not the reason. Even had they the will, Condran's brats no longer have the strength to tackle Brander. I fear something else, something different . . ."
"Like what? Have you any suspicions?"
Again Athol shook his head. "None that I can define, but the uncertainty has made up my mind on one thing." He paused, tugging at the beard beneath his lower lip, and I waited. At length he straightened his shoulders and spoke again, looking me straight in the eye. "You talked, the other night, of your plans for the child, to make him High King of Britain." I said nothing, waiting still. "A great part of his task—the greatest part, as I understood it, listening to you talk—will be to unite his people against the invader, the Saxons who are chewing at your shores, is this not so?" I nodded. "Aye. It could not have escaped your attention, I suppose, that what I plan for my people in the land you call Caledonia is exactly what the Saxons are attempting to achieve in Britain?"
"No, it had not passed me by."
"And how do you feel about that?"
I shrugged. "Were I a Caledonian Pict, it would move me to defy you. But I am not. I am a Briton, from the land beneath the great Wall built by Hadrian to keep the Picts locked out of Britain. The Wall is useless now, ruined and overrun, but the Picts are still a threat to us. Should you succeed in occupying Caledonia, coming to terms in whatever way you must with these same Picts, we would have a friend and ally thereafter beyond the Wall. How could I be aught but pleased? I have thought about it, Athol, this colonization and conquest you propose, and it would be to my advantage, solving a great part of our problem at no cost to me. But it has also made me consider something that could never have occurred to me before this time . . ." Now it was he who sat silent, waiting for me to gather my thoughts.
"Seeing your dilemma through your eyes has taught me that my judgments are too often based on too little knowledge, an old fault of mine I thought I had outgrown. My cousin Uther once accused me of being overly judgmental, and the accusation caused me grief, but I came to see he was right. I saw that I had been a prig, and I set out to change that. I will never know if I have been successful, though I live to be a toothless old man. But I feel I know your people now, thanks mainly to your son, and will never again think of them as Outlanders, as I did before. You and yours are now, and will remain forever, people like my own, with lives to lead, and dreams, ideals and families you love. Your planned invasion has the appeal of logic, when listened to in the terms you used to me. I think, now, that for the sake of the boy and of the king he will become, I have to find some accommodation in Britain, among the Saxons. Not all the Saxons—I am not completely mad. Like your own Eirish folk they come from many tribes and clans, some good, some bad. But some of them have been in Britain for many years, even generations. So I ask myself, have they the right to be there, to hold the land they have farmed for years? I confess, I have no answer for my own question, but I am highly aware, at last, of the question's importance."
He looked at me long and hard before responding, then nodded and took up an earlier point. "We have no strategy for occupying all of this Caledonia. But when we gain a foothold there, my grandson will profit by it. I want you to take him home with you to Britain as soon as you are well enough to travel."
I blinked at him, astonished, as he continued. "Winter has not yet come, and Brander not yet arrived, so there is still time, and opportunity, for you to make a safe passage home, rather than sit here until spring and find yourself trapped. I said that I had no idea what might have delayed Brian, but sitting here listening to you talk of invasions and Saxons, I have become convinced there is a possibility that he is on his way directly from the north.
I told you his father Condran's lands are enormous. So are the numbers that he rules. It came to me, listening to you, that there are many lesser tribes in the coastal territories between his land and ours. Condran, and Brian, control no harbours at this time, south of their own strongholds. If they have decided to move against us, sending their allies down from the northwest, southward through the interior, it would provide a perfect opportunity for Brian to conquer all those lesser tribes between him and us while free of any threat from his own western allies. That would delay him, but it would also strengthen him greatly, providing harbours for his brother Liam all the way down to our river entrance.
"If I'm right, and that is what he's about, then we are plunged into war for a long time to come. We are in any case, with the MacNyalls and Garn about our ears, but this of the coastal harbours could make all the difference between victory and defeat. By now, Brander will be far south of Condran's coast, and he should arrive wit
hin the week. His escort will have turned back towards Caledonia, having seen him safely past all threat of interference. I need those galleys here, however, not in the northern isles, so I have ordered six of my swiftest galleys here to bring them home, where there is work for them. If those six ships leave now, within the next few days, before Brander arrives, Brian will not know they have gone, and we'll retain a chance of setting him on his rump in the months to come with a surprise attack of our own." He paused, assessing my reaction. "Six galleys will go out; three pairs in tandem, in the hope that one pair, at least, might escape attack by Liam's remaining vessels—for you may be sure Liam will be following Brander, in support of his brother, as soon as his way is cleared by the removal of the remainder of our fleet. One pair of my messengers will escort you, with the child and your men and horses. They will leave you safe on your own coast, then make their way northward. You have something to say. What is it?"
My frustration almost made me stammer. "We can't. . . It's not. . . How can we go? We lost the craft we used to bring our horses over. We would have to build another to replace it."
He dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "Already foreseen and resolved. We have such a craft, or Liam does: a small galley, a toy ship he has been building for his daughter Shelagh. Not a fighting ship; more of a pleasure vessel, if you can believe such a thing. It is broad in its middle, much more so than our war galleys, and draws little water, gaining balance from its extra breadth and from a weighted keel. For your purposes, however, it will suit perfectly, since it is unfinished; undecked, I mean. It will accommodate your horses and your people. Donuil has told me how you shipped the last time. This craft will be easier to tow, and more seaworthy. Our builders are fitting temporary decking now, and that should take no more than a day. You could sail as early as tomorrow or the following day."