by Jack Whyte
"And so, over a span of years of brutal war, a division was created, born of the simple envies and resentment bred in men who see themselves as put upon and not appreciated while others more fortunate than themselves are lauded for performing similar but more ostentatious and less meritorious deeds at far less cost and under far fewer hardships. Schism . . ." He paused, then added, "An unpleasant word, Cay, and a far less pleasant fact."
"Aye," I said. "I can see it now, listening to you, but I had no idea. Thank God you came to Camulod, Brother. What's to do now? You have already started, I'm aware, by doubling the presence in every outpost, mixing the men. But if the schism is as deep and angry as you say it is, how will that help? The mix, at such close quarters, might be incendiary."
"It could be, but I think I have forestalled the danger, at least in part. Now that you've returned, the matter should proceed more quickly with your support." A couple of the men around us had moved closer to where we sat, seeking the fire's heat. They were paying us no attention, but once Ambrose had become aware of them, their presence inhibited the flow of his speech. He glanced at them again and then stood up. "Walk with me a little. I'll explain as we go."
No one paid us any attention as we strolled out of the firelight into the darkness, which was now almost complete, and we made our way automatically to the paved road that wound down the hill from the fortress gates, seeking the soundness of its surface beneath our feet. As we went, Ambrose told me of his plans to unify our Camulodians, as he referred to them, more tightly than ever before. He knew that they had always been a single force until the present difficulties had begun, and he was confident they would soon be again. He would arrange the military affairs of the Colony, provided he had my support and assistance, so as to ensure that neither arm of our forces would ever act entirely independently of the other again. Patrols would be organized in such a way that each of the outlying guard posts would be in constant contact with the others on either side of it. There were twelve such outposts placed around the perimeter of Camulod's territories at the present time, and Ambrose had allocated each an identifying number, from one through twelve. Six double squadrons of cavalry would soon begin to ride the bounds, each double unit beginning its tour from one of the even- numbered camps, progressing at a pre-set pace and continuing from camp to camp until they had completed the entire circuit, a course that would take a month; twenty-four days for travel, six more in which to deal with unforeseen developments. Infantry support from each camp would accompany each group of riders to the half-way point between camps, at which an infantry detachment from the next post would be waiting. Each outgoing infantry patrol would then return to its own camp to await the arrival of the next mounted group, while the mounted troopers rode on to the next camp, escorted by the infantry who had awaited them. This activity, Ambrose believed, would keep all the men active and on the move at all times, neutralizing the danger of boredom or dissatisfaction.
I was impressed by his vision of how his innovations would work, but I had not yet heard the really ambitious part. Each soldier, he told me, horse and foot, would henceforth do a month of patrol duty at one stretch, and then would have two months in Camulod itself. We had the resources to arrange that, I knew. But during his two months in Camulod, as rapidly and intensively as possible, each soldier would learn the other force's skills. All mounted troopers would train as infantry; all foot-soldiers as horsemen. That way, Ambrose maintained, each would learn the benefits and the drawbacks of their fellows. It might be chaotic at first, and he was prepared for that, but he believed the chaos would be short-lived. Some troops would wish to change, he said, and there might be apparent imbalances for a time because of that, but his belief was that eventually the balance would settle again to resemble the current status quo. The best of both groups, however, on a voluntary basis, would be given the opportunity to join a new branch of Camulodians: to become bowmen, armed with the long Celtic bows.
By the time his recital was done we had reached the bottom of the hill, turned and made our way up again almost to the point from which we had set out. I saw big Powys above us, clearly outlined by the flames from the firepit.
When I was sure Ambrose had no more to add, I grinned at him and shook my head in admiration. "You have wasted no time since my departure, have you, Brother? To say that I am impressed would not do justice either to what I feel or to what you've achieved, in planning, at least. How long will all this take? I'm assuming you have plotted all of it?"
"A year or so; certainly no longer than that. As I said, it will be slow at first, then all will follow like a landslide for some hectic months, and then there will be a period of months for slowing down and refining. Less than a year, when all's been said and done."
"And after that the schism will be gone."
"After that? God, Cay, it should vanish within the month, as soon as we can see we've truly begun."
"And when will that be?"
"Tomorrow, if you're in accord with me. The basic elements are all in place."
"What will you require of me, apart from my personal involvement?"
"Total, visible and vocal support and commitment." He had been waiting for me to ask that specific question.
"You have all of it. How do I express it?"
He grinned. "First, in Council; next, to the assembled officers of Camulod, high and low; then to the troops themselves, in formal parade. Time we had one of those. The last formal parade we had here was the one you called to signal my arrival."
"Agreed in full, and here's my hand on it. Let it be done." As we clasped hands to forearms, I added my single condition. "I hope you can begin without me, for at least the first week or two."
"I can," he said with a nod. "What have you planned?"
"An expedition of a hundred troopers to Glevum, without me, the reason for which I'll explain in a moment, and for me, a journey to Cambria, although I see that might be difficult and dangerous, from what you have told me."
"Potentially fatal, I would say. Take my advice and speak with Huw on that. He will have things to say that will make more sense than anything I've told you. What's this about Glevum?"
I told him briefly about the Berbers we had seen, and their attack on the leper colony, and he listened, tight-lipped, then nodded. "You're right. Something has to be done about those people. Otherwise, they'll grow like a nest of wasps. Best to get rid of them before they can settle in to a nesting spot. There's a formal Council meeting the day after tomorrow. Can this wait that long for Council's approval?"
"Yes. It will take that long to make ready. The expedition can leave the morning after the meeting."
He pursed his lips. "Tell me, has the Council ever withheld approval of a venture like this?"
"You mean a punitive expedition? No, how could it? The mere idea is ludicrous. Things like that are only undertaken for the good and protection of the Colony itself and the Council is the legislative body of the Colony."
"What would you do if the circumstance ever arose? For the sake of argument, let's say that, for some reason inconceivable to either of us now, Council should someday decide to withhold its approval of an expedition like the one you now propose. What would you do, hypothetically?"
I grimaced and shook my head slowly. "Hypothetically? Well, I suppose hypothetically I'd do the same as I would practically. I'd override them and imprison any councillor who sought to stay me."
Ambrose grinned. "That, Caius Merlyn, is the response of an autocrat."
I grinned back at him. "Is it really? Well, I might quibble with you over that, Brother. I'd say it's the response of a professional soldier to a question that is, by definition, hypothetical—a soldier, bear in mind, whose title is Commander of the Military Forces of Camulod and whose responsibility is to the safety of the Colony . . . In my opinion, Ambrose, and perhaps it would apply within this context alone, a councillor is but an adviser with a grander title. The function of the Council in such purely military matters, in
my 'official' eyes, is to counsel and support, by providing a consensus—a concurrence and a commitment—of the senior minds within our Colony. It may strongly advise against a particular course, but it is never to forbid."
"Hmm," he murmured, still smiling as his eyes focused on something behind me. "Here's Huw now. Ask him about the journey you intend to make."
"What journey?" Huw was one of the few among Uther's Celts who spoke our Latin tongue with anything approaching fluency. I swung around to face him as he joined us.
"To Cambria, Huw. I have to travel to your country, to speak with whoever is in command there now."
His face twisted into a scowl of disgust, and to express it he lapsed back into his own tongue. "In command? No one is in command there. The place is a morass—a bog of shit and waste and treachery. That's why we are here, myself and the others. The pride we've borne all our lives in being Pendragon has been blasted like a tree in a thunderstorm and all that's left of it is a smoking stump riven into shattered pieces, each leaning like a drunkard in its own direction." His eyes had been fixed on mine throughout this and I was struck by the image his words brought into my mind, but he had not yet finished. "I'm serious, Merlyn. Nothing you have to do is important enough to warrant a journey into that nest of rats."
His vehemence, and the words he chose to express it, gave me more cause for concern than I had yet considered. "Nest of rats? Huw, that is your own home you are speaking of."
"I know that!" He snapped the words at me, their utterance a rebuke for my ignorance. "But the rats I refer to are no relatives or clansmen of mine. Rats thrive among people, Merlyn; they always have. They feed on the waste people discard. That doesn't make rats of the people who supply their food, nor does it make rats' nests of their homes, but as surely as you'll find green shit in the guts of a cow, you'll find rats' nests among human dwellings. All I meant was that there's a plague of two-legged rats running around my homeland nowadays in all directions; a plague; a sickness—an insanity."
"Hmm!" I thought about that, and sighed gustily. "Still," I said. "There's no help for it. I have to go there."
"Why, in the name of all the Druids and their gods?" His exasperation made him sound angered at me.
"Because I have given a promise, Huw, perhaps foolishly, to achieve something. It may be unachievable, but that is something I will have to prove for myself, and to the satisfaction of those concerned."
"And who are they, these concerned people?" Huw's voice had regained a tone of normality. "Do you want to tell me?"
"Aye, willingly, if you'll sit down and stop barking at me like an angry dog." He sat down by the fire, close to Ambrose, and I told him of Liam Twistback and his breeding cattle, and of my promise to King Athol to arrange a temporary sanctuary for the man and his animals in the little-used grazing lands to the south and west of Glevum.
"That's all it is?"
"Aye, but I would not choose to dismiss it as scornfully as that. I made a promise. I must honour it."
"And what does this King Athol offer in return for this. . . what did you call it? Sanctity?"
"Sanctuary. A Roman word, meaning a safe haven, a place free of danger, conflict and penalty."
Huw barked a loud, hard laugh. "Sanctuary! A strange term to be applying to Pendragon country nowadays."
"I can see that now," I agreed. "But it did not seem so silly when I made the promise. I knew nothing of what's going on up there."
"Aye, much can happen to alter the world in a short time. Anyway, I asked what this king offers in return."
I shrugged my shoulders. "Nothing, in effect, because we did not discuss the matter in those terms. I would suspect, nevertheless, his people would be willing to make some form of payment, perhaps in kind, for the use of the land. I see no risk of conflict there. The risk is involved in finding whoever it may be who can confer such rights on Liam and his people."
"How many people?"
I felt myself frowning, perplexed at his pursuit of such detail. "Ten . . . Perhaps a dozen . . . The people who would tend the beasts. No more than that."
"Done, and settled, providing your Outlanders are dreaming no surprises. Bring me to this Liam Twistback." He grinned, fierce and sudden, at the look of surprise on my face. "Those lands are mine, Merlyn, south and west of Glevum—mine and my clan's, which means mine and my son's, since all the rest of us are dead."
"Yours? They're yours?" I found myself almost blustering.
He gazed at me, an expression akin to compassion complementing the smile in his eyes. "Aye, that's what I said. Those lands are mine and have been in the care and keeping of my people since before the Romans came. They thought to conquer us and called us Belgae and Silures because they didn't know the names of our clans, but we are of Pendragon, and our land was ours and well ordered long before the Caesars came and called our country Britain. The Romans are long gone, but our land remains ours as it remained ours throughout their occupation. We were never conquered, Caius Merlyn; we merely stopped fighting."
"Then I have no need to enter Cambria."
"That is what I am saying. No need to go. I can extend the right to your friend Twistback to live on the land . . . What I cannot do is guarantee his safety, any more than I could ensure my own, were I to attempt what he will. To breed his cattle, he will have to stay in one place and defend it against all who come his way. I have no envy for him there, because all of Cambria is in chaos and he may find himself in the way of many unwelcome visitors."
"Well, that may be looked after in due time, by one means or another. God! Is there any of that ale left, Ambrose?"
"No." My brother leaned forward and groped for a flask by his side. "But I have some good mead."
Later that night, in the comfort of the family room after Aunt Luceiia had retired, I discussed the entire day's happenings in flickering firelight with Lucanus and Ambrose. We talked at length of the expedition to cleanse Glevum of the Berbers' occupation, and of the need to provide some means of protection for Liam Twistback and his people in their temporary home south of Glevum. Those territories lay outside the bounds of Camulod—far outside, in fact—but the unrest reported farther north in Cambria might spill southward, and it seemed sensible to all of us to establish some form of defensive outpost in Huw's territory. It was Ambrose, my far-sighted brother, who pointed out that it might also be politically astute to arrange for a constant presence in the coastal waters, to be provided by Connor's fleet in protection of their own interests. I determined to find some means of making such arrangements with Connor, and from there the conversation drifted aimlessly for a while as we discussed a range of matters distinguished only by their lack of urgency.
It was Ambrose, too, who led the discussion on to its next stage. He had been sitting silent for a time, staring into the fire, but suddenly he stirred and turned towards me. "You know," he said, "it has just occurred to me that you are free to lead the raid on Glevum if you wish to, now that you won't be going to Cambria."
"The thought had passed through my mind," I answered, "but I decided against it. If you and I are to work together as closely as you suggest, and if the task ahead of us is as complex as you believe, then I think my time would be better spent here with you, getting on with it. My lads have no need of me to do that job. They know what's necessary and they have the motivation and the spirit. They'll make short work of it and be back here within ten days. Your task and mine, which is much more important, would not be begun too soon were we to tackle it tomorrow. Don't you agree?"
"Aye . . ." A slight hesitation turned his positive response to a negative.
"What's wrong? You foresee a problem with so quick a start? Do you still have preparations to make?"
He sighed and sat up straighter. "No, Cay, not at all, but my mind was on other things. I was lulled by the fire, dreaming about Vortigern. You know I still have to return and tell him I intend to stay here in Camulod."
"Aye, but you said you felt no time constraint
s in that. You spoke of returning after a year, and you have been here less than three months. Has something changed your mind? Have you news from Vortigern?"
"No, nothing like that. I have been thinking about him recently, that's all, and I thought for a moment I might achieve that task while you were off in Glevum. But it would not be possible. The timing is wrong in all aspects. I had been thinking your expedition might take longer than you clearly expect it to. Ten days would hardly be long enough for me to reach Vortigern's territories, let alone find him and return."
"No, a month would not be long enough, especially at this time of the year. There will be snow on the mountains by this time, and you might have difficulty in the high passes. Better to wait for spring. How long do you anticipate this melding of our troops would take were we both devoted to the task?"
"If we can throw ourselves into this thing together, side by side, without permitting anything to distract us from our intent, it should be achievable in a matter of two or three months. All we have to do is supply the outline and define the pattern we wish to follow, and convince our men that it is sane, desirable and good for all of us."
Lucanus leaned forward and stirred the coals. "So, you believe it could be done by spring?"
"Aye, easily."
When Luke responded, his words were to Ambrose, but he looked at me. "Then your task and your time lines are clearly defined, and you can journey together to meet Vortigern come spring, if you so wish."