The Saxon Shore cc-4

by Jack Whyte

  Returning to my blankets, I lay still for a while with my back to the fire, watching the shadows form beyond me as the new fuel ignited, and listening for more sounds from the baby, but he was silent again. Something had struck me as different in the sound of his crying, however, and I found myself wondering if his voice was deepening, then smiling in the darkness at the silliness of the thought. And yet, he was growing like a weed—even my unsophisticated masculine eye could see the change in him since we had first landed in Eire. The child had grown visibly, not so much in height—length, I amended—but in overall bulk. He had thickened, that's what it was.

  That notion, the thickening and strengthening of his small body, reminded me of Benedict's comments that morning, concerning the weeds growing in the roads of Britain. In a hundred years, he had opined, the roads would be destroyed, fractured and torn apart and ultimately replaced by the inexorable growth of millions of plants, beginning with green, healthy weeds that would root between the cobblestones, as had the one he noticed, and, over time, would widen and then split the surface cracks before giving way to shrubs, bushes, saplings and eventually mighty trees whose roots would sunder and obliterate all that the legionaries had achieved. The idea grew in fascination as I considered it; the notion that a simple, everyday broad-leafed plant—a weed—could have the capacity to precipitate such mass destruction of man's greatest achievements.

  From that point, somehow, and by some logic that escaped me then, the weed in my analogy transfigured itself into the child, Arthur. He, too, I realized, possessed the potential of that thickening, ever-thriving weed. Seeded almost by chance between the enduring, close-knit edges of Britain's contiguous clan territories, with their differing, but equally rigid and unyielding systems of survival and their lack of anything resembling a centralized core of laws, young Arthur Pendragon could become a wedge that would break apart the cobblestones of Britain and reshape them into a bonded surface that would cover all the land. Nurtured by the Roman-bred, republican ideals of his immediate ancestors, the boy might bring about a revolutionary change in the ancient ways, if he were properly instructed and guided. The raw potential was there in his makeup. But then I saw his laughing, innocent face clearly in my mind, for a moment, and tried to imagine it in manhood, frowning and solemn with righteousness. The attempt was ludicrous, and I turned onto my other side, emptying my mind of such nonsense and staring wide-eyed into the leaping flames.

  The darkness beyond the firelight was absolute, and the stillness of the night was disturbed only by the crackling of the new wood on the fire, and I soon found myself thinking about my brother Ambrose for the first time in days and wondering how he had progressed with Ludmilla. Those thoughts led me to Donuil and his love for Shelagh, a love that seemed almost to have sprung into being magically, although in truth I knew the seeds of it had been planted years ago and had merely lain dormant until the two set eyes upon each other once again. From there, my thoughts passed on to Luke and the matter of his celibacy, and my own. He had promised to think about how he might counsel me in that matter during my absence, but I had been gone far less long than either of us had thought possible, and I knew he had had much to occupy him during that brief time. I resolved to ask him about it on the journey to Camulod, but the idea lacked urgency somehow, and I realized, after some time and with great reluctance, that I was being distracted from my task by Shelagh's face, mainly her eyes, which interposed themselves between my own and Luke's image in my mind.

  Surprised at myself, and feeling more than slightly guilty, I took myself to task, questioning the source of such thoughts. And of course, as is normal in such matters, the answer I found was even more disconcerting than the question I had asked: I had not willed myself to think of Shelagh. She was simply there, in my mind, but now I realized that she was seldom absent from my thoughts, even when I was unaware of them. With that awareness came an increase in the guilt I felt. Shelagh was to be Donuil's wife, and Donuil was my friend above all else, entitled to my unswerving loyalty. And damnably, with that conviction came the insidious thought that the two must now wait months to lie together, to consummate their bond . . . and I visualized that consummation, save that it was I, not Donuil, who reared above Shelagh's exultant body, supported on my outstretched arms and watching the ripples of pleasure distort her lovely face. Frightened now in my soul by the intensity of what had sprung unbidden to my mind, I rose up from the fire and blundered off out of the firelight, blind from the flames, seeking I knew not what. I was fleeing from myself, I knew, terror-stricken by my own sudden arousal; fiercely, demandingly engorged and seething with surging lust and guilt. The mere existence of such unsought, urgent wanting in my body seemed to me a betrayal of Donuil's friendship and a violation of his trust.

  I crashed headlong into a tree trunk and knocked myself off my feet, seeing flashing lights all around me in the darkness and knowing they were only in my head. Stunned and confused, I raised myself to a sitting posture and remained there for a while, asprawl on the damp ground, until the coldness penetrated to my buttocks, after which I pulled myself to my feet. My eyes had now adjusted to the dark and the riot in my blood had abated considerably. As I turned to return to the tents, however, I heard a sound that froze me in mid-step. I strained to recognize it, then smiled at myself. It was only the splashing of water from the brook that curled around our campsite. Somewhere upstream, beyond where we had camped, there must be a small waterfall, and the sound of it had caught at my ears. I walked in the direction of the noise and found a pool, some fifty paces removed from where we slept, where the water swirled over some large boulders and fell into a small basin. Above my head, the moon shone through a gap in the clouds, lighting the place with silver, and I remembered the advice of the Legate Titus to young men on long patrols: "When your lusts bother you, and if you have the opportunity, seek out a pool of cold water and steep yourself. It will clear your head and your veins." I stepped forward and knelt by the little pool, then leaned forward, supporting myself on my hands, and plunged my head slowly beneath the water. Sure enough, my fires were doused, for the present, at least. I towelled myself dry with the lining of my cloak as I returned to the fire and took my seat again, thinking once more of Shelagh, but this time with awareness and circumspection.

  "Have you been dreaming again?"

  Shelagh's voice startled me, making me jump. I had not heard her approach, but now she stood beside me. I turned towards her, standing up as I did so and willing myself in the moment not to look too closely at her.

  "No," I managed to say, attempting to smile. "I couldn't sleep. Excited at returning home, I suppose. What are you doing awake at this hour?"

  She nodded downward, indicating the bundle she held, and only then did I become aware of the sleeping infant she held in her arms. "He is fretful, upset by something, so I took him. Turga has had no sleep these past two nights." She peered more closely at the child. "Look, he's sleeping now. Isn't he beautiful?" She pulled the covering from the boy's face and I leaned closer to look at him, acutely aware of her proximity. He slept peacefully, his tiny eyes gently closed, showing the dark lines of his long, thick lashes against the softness of his baby skin.

  "Look at his lashes," Shelagh said quietly, as though she had read my mind. "Have you ever seen such lashes on a baby?"

  I was gazing at the child in wonder, my discomfort at being so close to her miraculously abated. "I don't think I have ever seen another baby," I answered. "Not like this, I mean, not up close. I've never really looked at one before."

  She glanced up at me, smiling broadly. "Then look more closely at this one. Here, hold him. He's heavy. Come on, take him! He won't break. But take him gently, don't wake him."

  Before I quite realized what was happening, I was holding the future King of Britain in my arms, my muscles locked in panic lest they flex too suddenly and crush him. And Shelagh was laughing at my evident discomfort.

  I willed myself to stand still and simply relax, a
llowing my arms to adjust to the minuscule size and weight of their burden and to hold it easily and without awkwardness. The child slept on, long lashes feathered against the incredible smoothness of his cheeks. He represented total innocence, un- marred by any vice or weakness, and an unformed thought teased me with hints of the sadness of all he must learn in future to equip him for the tasks we, his future trainers, had in mind for him.

  "He doesn't look much like a High King, does he?" I murmured.

  "Not now, of course not. But he will, Caius. As he grows, those yellow eyes of his will note and change the entire world. I have never seen a baby with golden eyes; nor an adult, for that matter. Have you?"

  I shook my head. "No, but I've read of one. His great-grandmother's brother, my own grandfather; the same Caius Britannicus after whom I'm named. He had golden eyes. Eagle's eyes, Publius Varrus called them."

  She glanced at me sidelong, a tic of puzzlement appearing on her brow. "Who's Publius Varrus?"

  The question took me unawares, reminding me forcefully that she really was alien to our ways. I smiled at her. "He was this young man's great-grandfather, husband to my own great-aunt Luceiia Britannicus. I'll tell you all about him one of these days."

  "And this great-grandmother, what did you call her, Luceiia? She is still alive?"

  "Aye, very much alive, in Camulod, which was founded by her husband and her brother. She's waiting patiently to see this young man."

  "She must be very old."

  "Extremely old, and tiny now, shrunken with age. But very strong, too, for all that. In her youth she was a great beauty."

  Shelagh was looking down at the baby again, and now she reached out and laid one fingertip against the tiny fist with its dimples on each knuckle. "Yes," she said. "This one will be High King, right enough. He'll be big. He has the size already, and the strength, of an older child." As she spoke, the child opened his small fingers and grasped her fingertip. She smiled. "And the strength of him! What this one owns, he will hold. Someday those fingers will grasp a king's corona."

  "Aye," I thought. "And a king's sword." I had received an instantaneous vision of the child, aged about twelve, holding Excalibur. He stirred and wriggled in my arms, uncomfortable, no doubt, against the hardness of my metal cuirass.

  "Here, give him to me. I had better sleep for a while. Dawn will come too soon."

  I watched her leave, with the baby, and then I, too, sought my blankets again, and this time I slept.

  We arrived within sight of Camulod in the middle of the afternoon of the next day, having ridden the entire way from our previous night's camp without encountering a living soul. The countryside had become more familiar all around me as I rode, and when Philip came spurring back to tell me we were there, I made sure to ride beside the wagon holding Liam, Shelagh and Turga as we breasted the last rise, so that I saw them see Camulod for the first time. It was an impressive sight, even from an eminence as low as that on which we stood.

  The valley that embraced the main holdings of the Colony lay spread in front of us, angling sharply westward in a carpet of greenery, among which the rectangular shapes of cultivated fields stood clearly etched. In the distance, dominating everything at its feet, the hill of Camulod stood out proudly upon the landscape, the silver grey of the stone walls that crowned it clearly visible. We were too far away to make out signs of human activity, but the shapes and angles of the castellated walls and towers spoke of strength and durability even at this distance. I heard the catch of Shelagh's breath as she registered what she was looking at. Liam was more serene. This was not his first time in Britain, and he had seen Roman-style fortifications before, as opposed to Roman ruins like the abandoned towns of Glevum and Aquae Sulis. His eyes narrowed as he took in our fortress, and then swept down into the valley, towards the fields.

  "Much land under the plough, Caius Merlyn."

  "Aye," I responded. "But the fields you can see are only the largest, about one quarter of the total on this side of the fort. The smaller fields are shrouded from this height and distance by the trees surrounding them. We have a large number of Colonists, and all of them have to eat. Most of us are farmers."

  He looked across from the driver's bench of the cart, smiling slightly. "I thought most of you were soldiers?"

  "Not most, many," I responded, returning his smile. "You dealt with the Romans in your boyhood, I recall, so you are probably aware that the Roman citizen soldiers who built the Republic, before the Empire, prior to the time of Gaius Marius and Caesar, were all farmers and landowners; free men who wore their swords while they walked behind their ploughs. We are much the same, in many ways. Our soldiers exist primarily for the protection of our farmers. It may sound strange to you, but that is the truth. The horsemen provide the farmers with peace and protection while they grow the crops that feed them and the soldiers. Come, we have another ten miles to ride, but the good road lies some two miles to our right, and once there, the way is straight and easily travelled." I kneed my horse forward and heard Liam cluck to the horse between the shafts of his cart.

  An hour later, we came to the first guard post on this approach to Camulod. It was a small, fortified farmhouse, built of stone and elongated to accommodate its permanent garrison, its outhouses long since altered to provide stabling for the horses of the troopers who shared the posting with the infantry. The young centurion in charge greeted us with delight, slightly awed to have so many veteran superiors descend on him at once, and Dedalus, being Dedalus, set out immediately to inspect the installation. While he was doing so, I bade the others alight and rest while I spoke with the young commander, whose name was Decius.

  "How many men have you here, Decius?"

  "Fifty, Commander. One multiple squad of thirty-four afoot; two squads of cavalry."

  "Since when, and why? The normal complement here is half of that, is it not?"

  "Aye, Commander, it was, until a few weeks ago. Commander Ambrose changed the duty roster for all outposts."

  "I see. Thank you, Decius. You may return to your duties. We pause here only for water and a rest, and then we strike on to the fort. Is Commander Ambrose in Camulod?"

  He shook his head. "I have no idea, Commander. We have been here for ten days; four more to go."

  "Very well, Centurion Decius, you may go." He saluted me, bringing his clenched fist to his left breast, and spun away.

  We had lost no time on the road, but the news of our arrival far outran us, and an entire cavalcade, headed by Ambrose himself and his entire staff, came riding out to meet us as we approached the outer edge of the great campus, or drilling ground, that stretched out at the foot of the hill of Camulod itself. It was a joyous reunion, and as soon as Liam, Shelagh, Turga and her charge had been introduced, they were made as welcome as the rest of us. We would feast that evening, Ambrose told us; the stewards and the commissariat had already received their instructions and the quartermasters had been ordered to open their precious stores of luxury goods to welcome home the escort to the great-grandson of Publius Varrus. The Legates Titus and Flavius were stirring their aged stumps supervising the arrangements and the following day had been declared a holiday. Even though the guest of honour himself was much too young to recognize the honour done him on his first visit, his great-grandmother would welcome all comers to the feast in his name.

  His great-grandmother was my primary concern, now that we were safely home, and she was the object of my first question once the civilities were done and I could ride alone with Ambrose on the way up to the fort. He told me that she had been ill, failing visibly ever since I left, but the news of our return, outrunning us magically hours before, as such news always seems to travel, had brought her from her rooms for the first time in weeks and the change in her, according to my brother, had been truly remarkable. That she intended to preside over the evening's festivities had completely astounded him. I looked at him when he said that.

  "Is she capable of doing so?"

  He grinn
ed at me. "You know, Cay, I find it hard to credit that I have known her only for a few months, but if I have had time to learn anything about Luceiia Britannicus Varrus, it is that neither she nor I has ever found anything she is incapable of doing. She will be there, and she will play the hostess to all of us. Her pride in her great-grandson will bear her up. She may not last the entire course, but she'll be there for most of it."

  "With all her women. Which reminds me. How is the Lady Ludmilla?"

  He grinned at me, all eyes and flashing teeth. "Magnificent! I am in love . . . we are in love."

  "Do you tell me so?" Returning his grin, I made no effort to hide my irony, but I sobered quickly. "I am glad of it, Ambrose. Will you be wed?"

  "Aye, we will, come spring."

  "Good. I look forward to your nuptials. For the moment, however, there are other matters that must concern us. The question, for example, of why you have doubled the strength of all the guard posts. Are you expecting trouble?"

  His grin changed, becoming more rueful. "No, Cay, no trouble." He turned in his saddle, glancing around at the group that followed us closely, almost surrounding us, giving himself, I thought, time to phrase a response.