The Eagles' Brood

XXXIV

The experience of being in Verulamium disturbed me deeply. I had the same feeling of alien wonder and dread I experienced much later in my life, at my first Celtic funeral gathering in Hibernia, surrounded by masses of people making merry, eating and drinking and celebrating the humanity of the deceased, while the corpse lay stark and grim-faced among them. In a gruesome parody of life in death, Verulamium was a town whose passing was being celebrated—largely unconsciously, I was quite sure, by the majority of the celebrants. It was a ghostly, moribund place, dilapidated and run-down, experiencing one last glimpse of bustling, urban life, thanks to the crowds that had descended upon it and around it, attracted by Germanus and his visiting bishops and the importance of the occasion.

The first incongruity I noticed lay in the buildings. Some were inhabited, but most were no more than shells, looking fine enough on the outside, but empty, gutted and ravaged within, offering no spark of warmth or comfort. I had thought I knew this town well from my readings, and I had visualized it all my life as the home of Bishop Alaric. In my mind, I had always seen Verulamium as a lovely, stately place, wealthy, yet bucolic and well tended, with a healthy, prosperous populace. In reality, it was a ruined wasteland, and I met very few who lived there. Only within the original Roman walls, a tiny enclave the size of a fortified encampment—which it had originally been—were there any signs of permanent, ongoing habitation.

The throngs of people who jammed the streets by day camped by night, for the most part, in the fields surrounding the town. The public basilica and baths had been hastily renovated to accommodate the influx of delegates to the debate, but they were woefully inadequate to serve the multitude that materialized, drawn by the promise of momentous developments, and the empty buildings quickly became public latrines, the stench of which did not take long to permeate the air in all directions.

The Great Debate itself was to be held in the large amphitheatre outside the town, which, as I knew from Uncle Varrus's tales, could house upward of seven thousand seated people, but by the time our party arrived, three days in advance of the opening of the proceedings, there were already more than twice that number of people in and around the town. There were clerics in abundance, of course. Every bishop in Britain who could attend was there in person, and more than a few of them had brought staff with them. At first it amused me—later it upset me—to see how widely the various groups and sub-groups of clerics varied in their appearance. Some were dressed plainly and with dignity, as befitted their calling, but many more—far more—deported themselves as men of wealth and substance, wearing rich robes arid bearing jewelled crosses and gold vessels.

And then there were the crowds. Many were sober, decent folk, the people of Britain come, as had we, to hear and see their destiny debated and decided. Others, however, and there seemed more of these than any other kind, were the type that are always attracted to large gatherings, looking to fatten themselves off the gullibility of fools. There were hawkers and peddlars and thieves and cutpurses, harlots and harpies and whores, musicians and tellers of tales, actors and singers and tellers of fortune. There were sellers of wines and beer and mead and food of all descriptions.

Nowhere were there any keepers of order. And the result was chaos.

I had hardly spoken ten words to Bishop Germanus since the day of our first meeting. For the duration of our journey northward together, he had kept to himself, a bishop again, spending his time in prayer and contemplation, preparing his mind for the debate that lay ahead. We had parted company on the outskirts of the town on the morning we arrived, he and his companions heading inward to meet with the rest of his retinue while my party swung eastward in search of a space large enough to allow us to encamp and still be within easy reach of the town and the amphitheatre.

That evening, however, a short time after sunset, as our encampment was settling down after the evening meal and I was enjoying a flask of mead by my own fireside with Lucanus, Germanus came to visit us, in his capacity as bishop, complete with long robe and pastoral shepherd's staff, accompanied by another.

Greatly surprised, for I had not really expected to meet with him again, let alone speak with him, I made him and his companion welcome and called for Donuil to serve them some mead. Lucanus made to excuse himself immediately, but Germanus invited him to remain, apologizing for the interruption. He turned then to me, indicating the man he had brought with him.

"Caius Merlyn, you have not met Bishop Patricius of Verulamium, although he knows your aunt, the Lady Luceiia."

I remembered immediately. This was the bishop who had first brought the mad priest Remus to Camulod, although he could hardly be held to blame for Remus's madness. I shook his hand and told him I had heard my aunt speak of him, though I refrained from telling him she thought him not half the man his predecessor had been. He was a big, old man, self-satisfied and well-fed in appearance, but gentle-voiced and inoffensive of manner. I introduced them to Lucanus, who had met Germanus before but had never spoken with him, and asked them to be seated on the two extra folding stools Donuil had placed between ours. When they were comfortable by the fire and we had shared a friendly toast to the forthcoming event, I asked the purpose of their visit.

I had been aware since their arrival that Germanus looked ill at ease, but I had no means of divining the reason. Now he frowned and sucked in his lips as though clearing his mouth of an unpleasant taste, and when he spoke, his words were unequivocal.

"Our purpose here, Caius Merlyn," he said, "is both presumptuous and indefensible."

I flicked a glance at Lucanus who was already looking at me, an expression of quizzical surprise in his eyes. I looked back to Germanus.

"Well, Bishop, that assures you, at least, of my complete attention."

"Hmm! Have you been in the town?"

I shook my head. "No, not yet. We've been setting up camp since we arrived."

"Any of your men there?"

"No, not until tomorrow. Why? What's wrong?"

He jerked his head, a gesture of disgust. "The place is in a state of anarchy...chaos... Thousands of people, of all descriptions, many of them lawless, and no means of maintaining order, no means at all."

I stared at him in surprise. "Is there that much need of it?"

He blinked at me in incredulity. "Need of it? Of order? How can you even ask such a question? There are thousands more people here than anyone had dreamed might come, and they lack both accommodation and latrines. Latrines, Merlyn, the bane of all commanders in the field. The filth has already started to pile up everywhere, and filth breeds pestilence, as you well know. Far worse than that, however, for the moment, is the lack of food. There have been no arrangements made by anyone to feed these thousands of people, who have been arriving here in multitudes for days. Some have been here for weeks. Most brought some provisions with them, but those have already been consumed, since most people also thought to buy food here, and there is none, or very little. What little there is has been appropriated by a group of brigands—"

"Appropriated? How so? Did no one try to prevent them?" Even as I asked, I knew how silly was my question. Germanus's expression and his next words proved it.

"Merlyn, they are well organized, and therefore dangerous and powerful. Verulamium, on the other hand, is home today to four hundred souls. One man, an honest fellow called Michelus, functions as an aedile, or mayor. He has four others, townspeople, who help him keep the peace in normal times. Now that abnormal times have come to Verulamium, he and his four, even augmented by my own escort, are rendered useless. I said these thieves are organized, and they are apparently disciplined, to some degree at least. From what I can gather, they are a loose-knit band of ruffians, numbering more than fifty, probably mercenaries or worse, who were attracted here by news of our gathering. They arrived some days ago, assessed the situation, saw their opportunity and took control of the available food supply using force and intimidation.

"There is trouble brewing as we speak. Not all the people who are gathered here are sheep. A corps of resistance has emerged, although belatedly, and a violent confrontation seems inevitable. The entire town could be in flames before dawn. People will die there tonight, Merlyn, and as time goes on and the numbers grow, things will deteriorate further and more quickly." He paused and cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed. "I came to ask if you would use your men to assert control in the town. As I've said, I have my own escort, but they are not enough. I will put them at your disposal."

I could hardly believe what I had heard, although I did not doubt one word of it. Nor did I doubt that my own men were crucial to the well-being of everyone in Verulamium. The doubt that crashed down upon me immediately concerned my right to plunge my men into a confrontation that was, in reality, none of their affair—a confrontation that would almost certainly be violent and bloodily brutal if it took place, as it undoubtedly would, in the streets of the town...particularly if those same streets were filled with civilian rioters. I looked to Lucanus for support, but he had his head down, staring into the fire. My gaze moved to Bishop Patricius. He sat gazing stolidly at me, his face betraying nothing but concern, whether for my plight or the town's, I could not guess. Germanus stared levelly into my eyes.

"Damnation, Bishop," I said, fighting my feelings of rising panic, "I can't order my men into the town. I have no right, no authority for that. They are here with me on an embassy, no more; to demonstrate a presence on behalf of our Colony. I have no right to endanger their lives in a situation such as this."

"You endangered them to help us."

"That was different. You were being attacked by Saxon raiders, Outlanders. The people in that town are Britons." I shook my head, hating myself. "No, I cannot order my people to do this."

He nodded. "I understand your reluctance." A long pause, then: "You could ask them, however."

I looked at him. "What d'you mean, ask them? To volunteer?"

"Yes."

"And what if they refuse, as they ought to?"

"Then they refuse."

I sat in silence for several long moments, staring sightlessly into the flames of the fireplace, my mind spinning with possibilities. By the time I looked up again, my eyes dazzled by the firelight, I had decided. I called for Donuil and sent him to assemble my officers here at my tent. I said nothing further to the others and we waited together in silence for the time it took for the men I had summoned to arrive and stand in a knot just beyond the firelight. When all thirteen of them were there I called them forward, introduced Germanus, whom they knew, and Patricius, whom they did not, and then told them what had transpired. They listened in silence, and when I had finished speaking, they, too, considered in silence what I had said. I had made no effort to hide my own misgivings over Germanus's request, and I had gone out of my way to emphasize that I held them under no obligation. When I thought they had had sufficient time to think it over, I asked them for their opinions on what we should do. Pellus, my Chief of Scouts, spoke up immediately.

"No need for discussion, Commander. We should go in. Not tonight, if we can avoid it...not without taking a good look around...but there's a job to be done, and we can't just sit back and let this kind of thing go on. Let these whoresons get away with this here, and they'll be somewhere else next week, or next month." He turned to look at Cyrus Appius, the leader of the First Squadron. "What do you say, Cyrus?"

Appius nodded. "Absolutely correct, sir," he agreed, his eyes on mine. "It's not something we expected, but we can't ignore it. We really have no choice but to go in there and put things to rights. We should organize some food foraging parties, too:"

I looked at the others. "Does anyone disagree? Anyone want to bring anything else up for discussion?" No one moved or spoke.

"Very well, then," I continued. "But the criteria that I applied to you must also apply to your men. There can be no coercion. This is an affair for volunteers only. Summon your people. I'll speak to them as soon as they're assembled in the commissary area."

As the officers dispersed I turned back to Germanus. "Well, you have it, it seems. With their officers in favour, I expect half of the men will go along."

He shook his head and smiled. "No, Merlyn, all of them will, and I am grateful...We are grateful." Bishop Patricius nodded in agreement.

My mind was already grappling with logistics. "I can have your twelve Romans?''

"Of course."

"Good, then here's what we'll do. Pellus, my Chief Scout, is going to want to go into town now to look around and gauge the temper of things. I shall go with him, but not in uniform. That would be incendiary, I think. As has also been made clear, we don't want to send our people in there tonight if it can be avoided. We'll put them on alert at once, just in case, but we'll have them ready to move in at dawn, when most people will be asleep. That way, we'll be in situ before anyone can object, and after that it will be easier. In the meantime, please arrange for your Roman escort, who have already been seen by everyone, to be prepared to come inside tonight and extract us in the event of trouble. Can you arrange that?" He nodded. "I shall also need to meet with this aedile, Michelus, and his people. Have them meet with us at the tenth hour by the main entrance to the basilica. And the others you spoke of, the ones organizing the resistance to these thieves, can you bring me to them?" He nodded again, betraying no sign of rancour at my assumption of the role of Legate. I was thinking quickly, trying to remember anything else that might be important. Finally I shook my head. "That's all I can think of, for the moment. The troops should be assembled soon." They were gathering as I spoke. "As soon as they are ready, I'll speak to them and ask for volunteers. As soon as that's done, they will have to start preparing for whatever comes. At that point, there will be nothing to keep you here, Bishop Germanus. You may then go and look after the things I have requested, and we'll meet your people inside, by the basilica, at the time arranged. By then I will have had time to walk around the town and assess it for myself."

When our troopers volunteered to a man, Germanus squeezed my arm, thanked me again and left our camp.

That turned out to be a long night. After making my way into town at the time arranged, accompanied by a well-armed but discreet escort, I met with Germanus and his contingent of local leaders in the darkened courtyard of the town basilica. The bishop had been correct. Violent death was already loose in the streets of Verulamium: we had found several corpses casually strewn in the streets and alleys we traversed. There was an almost palpable air of tension surrounding the furtive group that awaited me in the light of the guttering flames of six matched pairs of cressets, and looking at their shadowed faces I had not the slightest doubt that what had already occurred would be as nothing once the spark ignited among the volatile tinder evident in the bearing of these men.

Introductions were brief and the meeting began with bad news. The thieves, aware of the danger they now faced from the organizers of the resistance, had immured themselves in a strong house against the town walls. One of them had been captured earlier, however, and had volunteered the information, before carelessly falling to his death from a rooftop, that a messenger had already been sent out the previous day to summon reinforcement from the renegades' base camp some thirty miles away. At least another hundred of these wastrels were on their way to Verulamium, panting in the expectation of riches, and were expected to arrive before daybreak.

That news, unwelcome though it was, when coupled with the surprising numbers of the men commanded by Germanus's small group of leaders, relieved me of the dilemma that had been plaguing me. My cavalry would have been useless in a street fight, but they could smash these oncoming reinforcements in the darkness within sound of the town walls. That would take much of the fighting spirit out of the band waiting to be strengthened here in Verulamium, particularly if they could be prevented from making any kind of sortie to join the newcomers.

Linus, the most formidable of the men Germanus had brought to meet me, assured me that he had close to three hundred men, locals and visitors, willing to fight with him to regain the food stores held by the outsiders. He assured me that his people could contain the brigands while we rode out, simply by turning their fortified house into a prison by sealing the exits. I went with him to satisfy myself that he had the necessary numbers and that they could, in fact, do as he promised they would. That done, I made my way back to camp and immediately began making my own arrangements and instructing my troop commanders.

Six short hours after the meeting at the basilica, dawn was starting to make itself apparent in the eastern sky and there was still no sign of the expected reinforcements for the thieves. My stomach was churning with unease since, with the dawn, I would have to take my men into the town, leaving the enemy at my back. Knowing well the dangers of delay and the growing need for incisiveness, my officers had assembled around me, awaiting my decision. They sat their horses in silence.

We were less than a mile from Verulamium, on the northeast approach, where the road dipped down into a valley at the end of the final straight stretch to the east gates. My men were spread out on both sides of the road, facing north-east. In the darkness, in unknown territory, our choice of terrain had been severely limited, but this was to have been a night action and the enemy would have been massed on the road. Now, with a cloudless sky, my soldiers would be blinded when the sun came up. I heard hoofbeats on grass, approaching fast, and young Yerka, one of my decurions, came at a gallop, pulling his horse to a rearing halt beside me.

"They're coming, Commander, but they're still a long way off, more than two miles up the road and all afoot. Pellus sent word as soon as his men made contact."

I grunted, my mind made up for me by the news. There was no point in our remaining here on the hilltop facing an open valley. The newcomers would turn and disperse the moment they saw us in the gathering light. I turned to my commanders.

"We've nothing to gain by remaining here. The valley there is almost a mile wide. We'll go down into it and move across it, at the walk. By the time we reach the other side, it, should be full light, and the enemy should be within a quarter mile of us. We'll charge up the hill and over, half our force on each side of the road, and our surprise should be complete. They won't outrun us from there, and we'll have them. We'll spread out and overtake them on both sides, ride around them, then turn and take them from the rear, with the sun at our backs. Then we'll chase them down here into the valley and make sure that none of them gets out again. As soon as it's over, we will regroup and return to Verulamium. Move out now."

I rode down into the small valley—which looked for all the world like the dried-up bed of a river far more massive; than the tiny stream that flowed there now—keeping to the road, between our two groups, and gave the signal to halt when we were less than two hundred paces from the northern rim of the valley. I checked right and left, making sure my lines were ready, then signalled the advance. The sound' of our horses' hooves swelled like thunder as we built up * speed, and then we were surging up the side of the valley and breasting the swell of the slope.

My estimate had been correct. The forces opposing us! were less than a quarter of a mile from the rim of the valley ] when we rose into their astonished view, and the far sides of my formations had already extended into their enveloping sweep before I fully became aware of what was happening ahead of us.

In the first place, I had expected to see a rabble of about a hundred ruffians who could be relied upon to halt immediately and then scatter in panic. What I saw in fact, was a force almost equal to my own, but of infantry. And instead of panicking; they were already beginning to deploy into two tight, diamond-shaped defensive formations bristling with long, wicked-looking spears. Everything developed very quickly, almost too quickly, and I barely had time to shout to my trumpeter before it was too late. I saw his astonished face as he heard my order and raised his trumpet to his lips, dragging his horse to a halt. I reined in my own mount, signalling to all who could see me to do likewise, and as the brazen call rang out, loud and clear, I watched my men's fine, dashing charge falter and die.

Less than fifty paces remained between me and the forces now drawn up against us. I held my mount still, watching and waiting as my troopers reorganized themselves, pulling their horses in and around and then converging silently around the enemy force until my own position became merely one point in a circle. There were horsemen among the enemy formations, four that I could see. For a long time, no one moved at all, and an unnatural silence stretched throughout and around the circle. Finally I kicked my horse and moved forward, aware of Donuil and someone else, probably the centurion Rufio, moving behind me. I walked my horse forward until half the distance separated me from the other ranks, and there I stopped and waited. The defensive ranks eddied, then parted, and the four mounted men came forward to meet me. As they came, I studied them, picking out their leader immediately. He was a well-made, handsome man with a great, drooping moustache in the Celtic fashion. I guessed him to be about ten years older than me, in his late thirties. He wore a conical metal helmet with no face guard and leather armour studded with bronze plates, and he rode straight-backed, his head held high to expose the thick, gold chieftain's tore that circled his neck. The other three rode slightly behind him, one of them an enormous man, fully as big as me. He wore a helmet in the Roman fashion, with a tall, horsetail crest and bronze side-flaps that obscured most of his face, but I could see that he was younger than his companions, blue-eyed and clean-shaven. The other two wore full beards.

The leader stopped a horse's length in front of me, and his eyes swept over the men ranged on either side of me. He had evidently appraised my appearance as I had his. When he spoke, in Latin, his voice was deep and pleasant.

"Who are you? Romans?"

I shook my head. "No, We are Britons, from the west."

One eyebrow rose. "Where in the west?"

"A place called Camulod."

He shook his head, slowly. "I have not heard of it."

I nodded, accepting the truth of that. "You will."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Britannicus. Caius Merlyn Britannicus. Who are you, and whence come you?"

He smiled. "I am Vortigern, King of Northumbria. In the north-east." As he spoke, one of his three companions advanced to sit beside him. I ignored this one, keeping my eyes on Vortigern. This was the man of whom my father had spoken disparagingly. The king from the north-east who had made a suicidal pact of some kind with the Outlanders.

I kept my voice pleasant. "And why does the King of Northumbria ride through South Britain with an army?"

He gave a great, barking laugh, and I felt a liking for him, in spite of my misgivings over this meeting. "Army?" he scoffed, "This is not an army. It is an escort, and not even mine. I have it by the good grace of my friend, here, Jacob of Lindum." He indicated the grizzled man who sat beside him. I looked at Jacob of Lindum and nodded. He returned the gesture soberly.

"That answers only half my question, Sir King," I continued. "You have not said what brings you to South Britain."

"No, I have not. Nor have you told me why you attacked me, or almost did."

I shrugged. "The attack was planned, but not against you. We were expecting.. .a different force."

"What kind of force?"

"A rabble, come to swell the ranks of a band of thieves who have fortified themselves in the town behind us."

He turned on his horse's back and looked at the men behind him, and some kind of signal passed among them. I felt myself grow tense, but he turned back and put my mind at ease. "I believe then we have saved you the trouble. We met them yesterday, late in the afternoon. They attempted to take advantage of our advance party, not realizing we were close behind. We chastised them and sent away those that remained to lick their wounds."

I felt a great sense of relief, and it showed in my next words. "Then we are well met here. Where are you bound?"

"To Verulamium, to hear the bishops debate."

Now I laughed aloud. "Then welcome, King Vortigern, and all your friends, to Verulamium. Now, if you will stand your men down, I will arrange for mine to escort yours, and we will enter Verulamium together, where I will introduce you to Bishop Germanus, sent from Rome, who is awaiting our return with some anxiety, I have no doubt."

Between there and the town, I explained to Vortigern and Jacob of Lindum what had been happening, and from the moment our combined forces arrived within sight of the town, the unrest was over. Faced with the menace of our combined forces, and outnumbered more than six to one, the brigands surrendered immediately to Bishop Germanus—they would speak with no one else—claiming sanctuary and bargaining for their lives with the promise of returning the stolen supplies unspoiled. The alternative they offered, and I for one had no difficulty believing them, desperate as they were, was that they would set fire to everything and die fighting. In spite of the discontent voiced by Linus's auxiliaries, frustrated now through losing their chance to spill blood, their terms were accepted and they were banished under fear of death. The stolen food supplies were then restored to their rightful owners, and regular hunting and foraging parties were dispatched to search for and procure sufficient food for all comers.

It was not until much later that day that we all came together again, the crises resolved, and this time there was ample opportunity for talk and relaxation. Vortigern's men, or rather Jacob of Lindum's, were encamped close by my own, and at Vortigern's request, I had gone with my officers into his camp, where he regaled us with fine food and wine.

At one point in the early evening, I found myself alone with Bishop Patricius, and took the opportunity to question him about the priest called Remus. Patricius remembered the man clearly enough, but did not know him well. They had merely travelled together, he said, as far as Camulod, which was the furthest west Patricius had ever been. He had met the priest while on his own way north after a visit to a brother bishop in the now almost derelict town of Isca Dumnoniorum in the south-west, having decided to visit Camulod solely to meet my aunt, since he had heard so much about her from his peers, who knew of her from Bishop Alaric's time. Remus had accompanied him after a chance meeting along the way. He then went on to tell me, however, that only weeks before our present meeting he had learned, in a letter from his friend in Isca, that a priest called Remus had been killed in that town after being caught beating a young woman to death. Still visibly upset over such behaviour and such a death for a priest, he wondered to me whether or not it might be the same man. For my part, stunned by the import of his story, I told him the entire tale of Cassandra's ordeal, and he promised to pray for both of diem.

I left him after that and walked away to be alone, feeling my heart bounding within my breast. Remus had repeated his crime, it seemed, and died for it, which meant that Uther was innocent, absolved, and I was freed from doubts and agonizing. Given, of course, that this dead priest was the same Remus! I resolved to inquire of the bishop in Isca as soon as I got home. There surely could not be two priests called Remus who walked with the aid of a stick!