The Eagles' Brood

XXIV

I awoke to the sound of a door opening, and I heard Popilius say, "How is he?"

Another voice, this one belonging to the medic, Lucanus, answered him. "Still asleep."

"Will he be well when he wakes?"

"I think so. He was exhausted. His father's death was hard for him to take."

"So was that whoreson priest. I should have let Merlyn kill him."

"No, Popilius, you did the right thing. He will thank you when he wakes up."

"Hah! You think so? I doubt it. Few men earn thanks by felling their Commanders, especially when they knock them cold in front of their troops."

"Nonsense, this was a special case. Commander Merlyn was not himself."

"Aye, perhaps. We'll see. What was that stuff you made him drink? He's been asleep for more than ten hours."

I heard Lucanus rise to his feet as he answered, "A potion to bring on sleep. He needed it."

I opened my eyes. I was on my cot in my own quarters and they were standing by my table, looking at me in the light of a flickering lamp. Lucanus spoke to me before I could move. "Don't try to move, Commander Merlyn. It might hurt."

I blinked at him and tried to speak, but my tongue was clogged. I swallowed, thickly, thinking that I could feel no pain. I tried again. My voice sounded rusty. "Why should it hurt?"

"Because I drugged you. Your head might be sore. Your body will ache too, because of all the bruising you sustained yesterday, one way and another."

I closed my eyes again. "Internal bleeding," I said. "You said that is what causes bruises, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did." I could hear surprise in his voice that I should remember.

"What news of Uther? Has he returned?"

"No, not yet." Lucanus turned away from me, picking up a jug from beside the bed. "There's been no word of him at all, but you know Uther better than I do. He will not come back until he has decided there is no further profit in following the enemy." That was true, and I accepted it.

"Popilius," I said, "When you attacked me, as I was about to kill the priest, I was awaiting a summons from my uncle's house. What did you do about it?"

"Nothing, Commander. I didn't have to. It has not come yet. The house has been silent since you left. The watch has changed twice and is about to change again."

I lay motionless, my mind racing as I tried to imagine what might have happened in the house where the hostages were held. I gave up. "The watch is about to change again? What hour of night is it?"

"The last. An hour before dawn."

I swallowed again and Lucanus brought me some wine mixed with water, which eased the pain in my throat. "Why did you stop me from killing the priest, Popilius?"

He did not answer for several moments, then, "The man is mad, Commander. It would have been murder, and you would have regretted it, I thought, no matter what the provocation."

I absorbed that. I had been mad myself for a short time there in the rain.

"You had time to think all that?" I asked him.

"Well, no, Commander. I didn't have time to think it, not in words. I just knew."

I took a deep breath and could sense Popilius holding his breath. "Well, your instinct was sound, my friend," I aid.

"What you did was correct. I would have regretted the killing, surely. We will speak no more of it, you and I. Forget it happened, but accept my thanks."

I raised my head cautiously without ill effect and brought myself gently to a sitting position before lowering my feet carefully to the floor. Both men watched me carefully; neither moved. I took a deep breath.

"How do you feel?" Lucanus asked.

"A few twinges here and there," I answered. "Popilius is a large man."

"It was not only Popilius. You had some imperial purple bruises when they brought you here."

I grinned, tentatively, stretching gently as I did so. "Yes," I said, remembering the battle on the plain, "I rolled around quite a lot yesterday. Have you two been awake all night?"

Lucanus's face actually broke into a smile. "No, Commander. We have both had some sleep, though not as much as you."

"Good." I moved a shoulder joint exploratively. "I could use a steam. The bath house wasn't burned. Does it still work?"

"Aye, Commander." Popilius was smiling too, relieved that I bore him no grudge.

"Then I'll try it, if the furnaces are hot. If I am summoned, that's where you'll find me. By the way, where is the priest now?"

"Far away, Commander. I had him tied back to back with his companion, threw them in a wagon and had them escorted from the Colony."

"Excellent! You have an aptitude for doing exactly the right thing on your own initiative, Popilius. Some day it will get you into terrible trouble. Now, where are my clothes?"

I wrapped myself very slowly and carefully in some heavy woolen sheets, trying in vain to move without causing myself pain, and made my way through the darkness to the bath house, where I spent a blissful hour in steam and hot water, floating in the dark like an infant in its mother's womb, and thinking deeply.

It was almost full daylight as I approached Uncle Varrus's house again, and I arrived there in time to meet a soldier who was setting out to look for me. I presented myself to the centurion in charge of the guard, who pointed wordlessly to the open doors of the house.

"When did that happen?"

"A few moments ago, Commander. One moment they were closed, the next they were open."

"Did you see anyone? Hear anything?"

"No sir, nothing at all, except the open doors."

"I see. Well, we'll wait." As I said the words I saw movement in the shadows beyond the open doorway and the body of a man fell out into the courtyard. I felt the centurion stiffen and start to react and I caught him by the arm. "Wait, Centurion. I expected this. There's more to come."

There were. Eleven more bodies soon sprawled in a pile. I stepped forward and approached the doors. There was no further movement from within.

"Caspar! Are you listening?"

"I am."

"I will send a centurion to bring the Hibernian prisoner. While he is doing that, I will also have my men approach in pairs and remove these bodies. After that is done, we will make final arrangements for the release of my aunt. As soon as you have the Hibernian, I expect immediate release of the other hostages."

"As you wish."

I called the centurion of the guard to me and issued him his instructions. He saluted and set off, and I turned to follow him. Caspar's voice stopped me.

"Merlyn!"

I turned back towards him.

"You have a reputation for trickery," he said, and I could hear a warning in his tone. "You also have one for honesty, but I have no wish to expose myself to that any more than is necessary. From now on we will keep this door between us when we talk."

"Why, Caspar? Do you fear for your safety while you still hold my aunt?"

"No, but I fear your wiles. I would rather be sure than dead."

I put iron into my voice. "Caspar, I guarantee you, personally, that you will come to no ill before these negotiations are over."

"I choose to disbelieve you, Caius Merlyn."

"Then so be it. That is your misfortune. The liar's tragedy is that he can never believe anyone else. I'll be back shortly. Hide as much as you want, wherever you wish to. You are safe for now, but I swear to you, Caspar, that for the murder of my father your life will end at my hands eventually."

I walked back to the courtyard, passing the first pair of my men on their way to collect a corpse from the front of the house. By the time all twelve corpses had been removed, the centurion had returned with Donuil, who had been festooned with chains the day before. I did not dare acknowledge him, for Caspar and Memnon would undoubtedly be watching from the shadowed interior of the open doorway. I spoke to the centurion, telling him to strike off the young giant's chains. He dispatched a man at the run for a chisel and maul and I stood there, ignoring Donuil until the man returned. When the chains were off, I drew my sword and waved Donuil towards the front of the house. He played his part well, looking suspicious and confused as his eyes went from me to the darkened house and then back again. "Go!" I barked at him, and he went, unwillingly and suspiciously, holding his body tense as though to flee at every step.

He stopped in the doorway for a space, then disappeared inside. Within moments, the other hostages began to emerge, blinking in the daylight, which was growing brighter as the sun rose higher. I grasped the first girl, Eunice, by the wrist and asked her about my aunt. She told me that Luceiia was well, only lightly bound and unharmed. When the hostages had all passed by, most of them in tears, I approached the doorway again.

"Now we can end this," I called into the emptiness beyond the doorway. "You are but three men, defended by your threats against the woman you hold. Tell me what you want, quickly. I want you far from my sight and smell."

To my surprise, Caspar stepped into the open doorway and stood there looking at me with his usual sneer. "We wish to leave here quickly and safely. That is all. In that, you and I are almost in agreement. Have you no wish to ask me how the twelve men died?"

Again I felt surprise, this time at the vanity that prompted this question. "None at all," I answered.

"That surprises me, but I am going to tell you anyway. You see this?" He held something up, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. I squinted, but the distance between us was too great and I could see nothing. His smile grew wider. "Small, is it not? It is a thorn, Merlyn, an ordinary thorn that has been steeped in a poison distilled from the venom of a variety of snakes. It will kill a strong man in moments, if the thorn is skillfully placed. Memnon and I are expert in the placing of them. Each of the twelve was pricked by one of these." I said nothing and he went on, "Your aunt has several of these in her clothes. She does not know they are there, let alone where they are. A scratch from any one of them will end her—unpleasantly. A well- placed blow from either Memnon or myself will drive a thorn home. An embrace of any kind, for example from a would-be rescuer attempting to snatch her away from danger, would be almost equally certain to produce death. What I am saying, Caius Merlyn, is that if you have plans to rid yourself of us in any drastic and final fashion, you must be sure that we are far removed from the old woman before you do anything, lest we should fall on her."

The calm, dispassionate tone of his voice as he spoke these words made me grit my teeth and I closed my eyes to mask my anger. Opening them again, I saw Donuil, his hands upraised in a double fist, directly behind Caspar. The Egyptian's reactions were lightning fast. The instant he saw the change of expression in my eyes, for I could not hide it, he threw himself into motion. But he was too late. Donuil's blow took him between the shoulders, knocking him towards me. I stepped to meet him, noting his fingers spread wide as he fell, and kicked him with all of my strength beneath the arch of his ribs, driving the breath from him in an explosion of agony. He wrapped his arms around my leg, trying to drag me down, but there was no strength in him and I avoided him easily, leaving him squirming on the ground as I leaped towards the doorway and Donuil.

"Where is Memnon?"

"Over there, by the wall." He pointed towards the huddled shape of the other magician, adding unnecessarily, "He is dead."

"Aunt Luceiia," I called, trying to condense all the urgency in the world into my voice, "Don't move! Stand where you are! Stand absolutely still!" I could hear the running footsteps of soldiers outside, coming towards the doors, and in the gloomy interior I could see my aunt, standing against a wall on my right. Her arms were bound and she stood motionless.

"Caius," she said, "I could not move even if I wished to."

"Thank God!" I crossed to her and stood in front of her. "Auntie, there are thorns among your clothes, thorns steeped in venom. The slightest scratch from one of them could kill you, so please try not to move at all until I have one of your women come here and disrobe you."

She shook her head in the briefest disagreement. "Don't be silly, Cay, there are no thorns. The ugly one was just about to put them among my clothes when that giant young man killed him."

I turned to Donuil, who stood beside me. "Is that true?"

"Aye. You told me to protect her if I saw her threatened, did you Hot?"

"I did." A wave of relief rippled over me. "I did indeed. I'm glad you remembered. You will not regret it." I drew my sword and cut my aunt free. She seemed completely unflustered by the whole situation.

"Thank you, Nephew," she said. "These people have converted my house into a sty for swine. Please send my servants home quickly. They have work to do."

I watched her in amazement as she bustled away towards her family room at the back of the house. When I looked at Donuil, he was grinning at me.

"What are you grinning at?"

"Your face. Have you lived this long and not learned that old women are the strongest creatures in this world? Besides, I am a free man, am I not? I have a right to smile."

I sighed and smiled back at him. "Aye, that you are, and that you do. I owe you far more than freedom, Donuil."

"I am glad."

"What do you mean?"

"That you owe me more than my freedom."

"How so? Why?"

His grin widened. "Because now I call the debt. I want to stay here in Camulod and be your adjutant, as we discussed. Now that you are in debt to me, you cannot refuse me.

I gazed at him in some amazement. "You wish to stay here? Of your own free will?"

"I do, and you can use me, too. Your colony has lost a lot of good men recently."

"Fine," I said, "Wonderful! So be it. We will discuss the terms of your service later, when there is more time for such things. Right now there is a sorcerer to attend to." I started to look around me. "Where was Memnon when you killed him?"

Donuil pointed to my right. "Over there, by the wall, he stood just behind your aunt."

"What happened to the thorns?"

The big Celt shrugged. "I don't know, I didn't see any thorns, but I wasn't looking for anything. I thought he was going to use his hands to hurt her. If he was holding anything, he probably dropped it right there."

I bent over and looked at the floor and there was a small strip of cloth, folded over on itself. I picked it up carefully and opened it to see that it contained a row of black thorns, each about an inch long, stitched through the cloth about a quarter of an inch apart. I counted twenty-five of the deadly slivers and looked up to find Donuil staring at the thing in my hand.

"That's a lot of death," I said.

"A lot of danger," was his low-voiced response. "Those things ought not to be left lying around. Someone could stand on them."

I folded the cloth up and tucked it carefully into my scrip. "I will look after these," I said. "Don't worry, Donuil, no one else will be exposed to them."

We walked out into die courtyard together to find Caspar on his knees, his arms tied around a spear thrust across his back and in front of his elbows. Four soldiers guarded him. I stopped in front of him and looked directly into his face. There was no sneer on it now.

"You will be tried, publicly, by military tribunal, in front of the Council Hall at noon today," I told him. "Expect no mercy. You will be executed. I myself will execute you." I spoke to the guard commander. "Take him away and hold him well. Let no one approach him. I want four men with spears around him at all times. And keep him in the courtyard, tied to a stake. If he gives trouble, knock him down, but do not kill him before noon."

Five hours later, at noon, I nodded to the trumpeters and silence fell on the packed courtyard as the brazen tones of the military horns rang out. I stood above the man and detailed the catalogue of his crimes in utter silence. He took it well. His face betrayed no expression. When I had finished reading, I turned to the officers who stood behind me, and then faced the crowd again and raised my voice so that they could all hear me.

"In the matter of execution, our law is simple. Once judgment has been passed there will be no delay and death will be brought about by the means decreed, as soon as possible. Some crimes must merit death by hanging, some by decapitation, and some by crucifixion, although that method has not been used in Britain for more than a hundred years." I paused in my delivery to look again at the prisoner, then continued. "This man's crimes are not dealt with by our laws, however, for he has committed a crime more heinous than our lawmakers could foresee." I turned and held out my hand to a centurion nearby, who handed me an arrow. I held the arrow high above my head.

"This is a poisoned arrow. One scratch from it will bring an agonizing death within minutes. But some men can last for thirty minutes before they die...Very strong men. Some of our own soldiers lasted thirty minutes against the venom. Some were luckier and died more quickly. This man, this.. .sorcerer, is the poisoner. The secrets of the ingredients of the poison are contained within his mind. My judgment is that they should be cauterized and sealed therein forever." I turned and leaned forward quickly, before anyone could divine my intention, and scored the arrowhead twice across Caspar's brow, forward and back, cutting two lines that gaped and then began to bleed. His eyes went wide with horror and he screamed. I broke the arrow across my knee and handed it back to the man who had given it to me. "Burn this. Immediately." He saluted and spun on his heel to carry out my order, disappearing in the direction of the furnace that fed the bath house.

The rest of us stood there in the bright noon sun and watched Caspar die—all of us, appalled and sickened by his screaming agony.

Finally, when his legs had ceased their frenetic dance and the corpse lay still, I looked up at his guards. "Bury him in the mass grave on the plain, with the rest of Lot's filth." His death had not been quick.

I turned and left the courtyard, looking at no one, and made my way directly to the Armoury, hoping no one would try to follow me. No one did, and as I entered I locked the big, bronzed doors behind me before checking; very belatedly, the safety of Excalibur.

After I had retrieved the wondrous sword from its hiding-place beneath the floor, I sat alone in the shadows of the great room for hours, struggling against my emotions and feeling very unsure of my own strength, , all the while polishing the sword with the silken shawl in which it was wrapped and wondering where I could hide it again to be absolutely sure of its safety. There were four great treasures in my life, and it seemed to me I had done well by none of them. The greatest of these, my beloved Cassandra, was safe, I could only hope, in Avalon, blissfully unaware of the chaos that reigned outside her tiny world. I dared not allow myself to imagine otherwise. The second greatest, this sword Excalibur that was my sacred trust, was safe and undamaged, but through no grace of mine. Had the building been fired, the sword could have been lost, damaged, or even found and stolen. My stewardship had been badly lacking in that area. The third was my father, Picus Britannicus, murdered in his sleep while I was absent. And the fourth, Aunt Luceiia, had almost been killed while I was present!

My mind in a chaos, and trying vainly not to panic over my fears for Cassandra, telling myself frantically that there was nothing I could have done differently and that she would be well until I reached her, I went over and over in my mind everything that had happened in the previous few days up to the death of my father, and once I had faced that incontrovertible truth—the fact of his death—I stood vigil for him, there in Uncle Varrus's treasure room, for more than two hours, standing erect and at attention, holding Excalibur and paying my own, personal, private tribute to the man who had sired me. I would probably have remained there throughout the day and well into the following night had I not been forced unwillingly into activity by the sheer volume of work that I knew remained to be done.

The effort and concentration demanded by my long immobility forced me to think more and more clearly of my responsibilities, and I became increasingly aware, although with great reluctance, that I had little time to indulge myself. Finally, my mind aswarm with chores that demanded my attention, I replaced Excalibur in its case and returned it carefully to its hiding place beneath the floor boards. Kneeling there on the floor, I thought of Cassandra in her valley just a few miles away and prayed that she had been in less danger than the sword. And I swore to myself that, come what may, I would hold her before this day was over.