The Sorcer part 2: Metamorphosis

We spoke for a while about the situation in Cambria, and decided that we would send spies out into Cornwall throughout the coming winter, to learn all we could about Ironhair and his plans for the future. Connor contributed little to the conversation now, and I asked him how long he would be staying. He stood up and stretched, balancing himself precariously upon his one foot and his wooden peg, and said he would leave the following morning.

'And what about your brother?"

"Brander? What about him?"

"He's been waiting to talk to me and, according to Ambrose here, what he has to say will not take long. Then he'll be leaving, too. He has affairs of his own to be about. You two might be able to travel together to the coast, if I can conclude our business tonight."

"Aye," Connor agreed. "Then if we can, we will. Now I'm going to go and sleep for a while. I think I'm growing old. If I do not appear by dinner time, send someone to wake me, will you?"

I sat with Brander and his wife at dinner that night, and as it transpired, we had no need to meet further than that. As Ambrose had said, Brander's sole concern was to arrange for Liam Twistback to renew his tenancy of Huw Strongarm's southern lands, for a minimum of three more years and a maximum of five. They had quickly discovered that the very young bloodstock they were attempting to breed needed better pasturage and did not take kindly to the harshness of the northern winters. Huw's assent to Liam's return was scarcely in doubt, since the relationship they had formerly shared had been a mutually advantageous one and Liam had ingratiated himself with the southern Pendragon, who could be less than cordial when they chose to be. And now I was able to reassure Brander that Huw had survived the war in Cambria, and that the arrangement could be secure. The new king nodded benignly, finally convinced that he could return home and begin gathering his stock together with confidence in their future safety.

The brothers agreed that they would leave together on the day following the one ahead. As I listened to them, I began to think about how this second parting might affect Arthur , and I glanced about me, looking for him in the body of the refectory. He was sitting among his friends Bedwyr, Gwin and Ghilly, all of them listening closely to Dedalus. Ded was regaling the whole table with some tale either of war and great events, or of nonsense and dark, ironic humour, the latter being much more likely. Sure enough, no sooner had I thought the thought than the entire table exploded into raucous laughter, the boys laughing just as loud and hard as the veteran troopers whose board they shared. Leaning forward then, I peered along the table to my right, where Morag sat beside her mother, her lovely face turned towards the noisy group. That Arthur would be made unhappy by her departure was beyond dispute. His new adventure into Cambria was, I decided, the best thing I could wish for. With the resilient energy and curiosity of youth, he might be able him to bury his grief in the challenges ahead. I resolved, then and there, to pack him off quickly.

Tressa's right elbow dug into my ribs as she laid her left hand over mine. "You are staring at another woman, Caius Merlyn. Should I be jealous?"

I started and turned towards her, reaching up to touch her cheek. "Forgive me, love, I didn't think you'd notice." Then I smiled and shook my head briefly. "I was wondering about Arthur, how he'll behave when Morag leaves again."

She glanced towards Arthur. "It will be different this time," she said quietly. "That first time, they had barely met, only to lose each other immediately. This time, they have had weeks together. Although they've been inseparable, they have known from the first that they had but little time, and that your return would see them parted again. They will have made their plans to meet again. You'll see, my love. There will be no anger at this parting. Sorrow, perhaps, but no anger."

She was very close to me, and I could smell the fragrant scents of her clean hair and the aromatic herbs she carried in a tiny, sweet smelling bag upon her breast. Filled with warmth and love for her, I dropped my hand to her thigh, beneath the table, but withdrew it hastily after a single squeeze of the soft, pliant fullness. This evening was not yet over, and if I were to come through it successfully, I needs must keep my mind distracted from the pleasures so tantalizingly close at hand. She noticed the withdrawal and smiled at me.

"Be patient, love. How much more talk must you indulge in after dinner?"

I exhaled noisily. "Little, I hope. I may speak with Bishop Enos for a while, but the Northumbrian envoys I will meet tomorrow. So, Bishop Enos first, for a short time—and then I have affairs to bring to your attention. Grave matters of a compelling urgency, with which I hope you will help me to deal smoothly and quickly."

Her smile grew wider. "Quickly? Well, perhaps at first. Smoothly? That I can promise you. But you had best reserve some large amount of time for all, Commander Merlyn. I promise you, I intend to detain you at my pleasure... and at yours."

She picked up my nerveless hand and gently kissed the back of it, pressing it against her pouted lips to let me feel and know their fullness. I cleared my throat loudly and pushed back my chair, stooping to bring my mouth against her ear as I did so, my whole awareness filled with the warm, sweet smell of her.

"This is intolerable," I whispered. "More than flesh can bear. If you will give me leave, I'll speak to Bishop Enos now, in the hope that what he has to say to me might be brief enough to let me turn immediately to... this."

She inclined her head, smiling gently, and I made my way immediately to where the venerable bishop sat among his peers.

Enos saw me approaching and began to rise, but I waved him back to his seat. I came up behind him mid laid my hand on his shoulder, conscious of the curiosity in the eyes of all the other bishops, who took stock of me before turning away to make pretence, at least, of leaving us alone to speak in private.

The old man bent his body to the side and sat gazing up at me, his face at repose in a gentle, welcoming smile as he waited for me to speak.

"Forgive me, Bishop Enos, if it seemed I was neglecting you. I know you have information for me—"

He cut me short, raising one hand to stem my words as his smile widened. "It is I, it would appear, who should be asking your forgiveness, Caius Merlyn. My tidings are for you alone, that is true, but there is no looming urgency that you should leave your table and come seeking me like this. I regret that you should have been given any impression otherwise. You are fresh home, to fresh responsibilities, and your time is precious. Believe me when I say there is no need for haste between you and me. You have kings and men of high position here, waiting upon your pleasure, and you must fit your timing to their needs. You are but one solitary man, and their requirements must be more than mine. I merely bring you greetings, but I promised him from whom they come that I would deliver them into your ears and your hands." I made to speak again, but he denied me with a single, gracious motion of his head. "I tell you nothing more than simple truth, Caius. I bring you greetings, and no more—no urgencies, catastrophes or pains."

"You have word from Germanus?"

"I do, from Gaul. We have just returned from there, charged with a new duty he has laid upon us. He looks upon you as one of the few fast friends he has in Britain. You will be happy to know that he is well, although careworn and overworked. I have a letter for you from him."

"I am delighted, but also curious. What duty could the Bishop of Auxerre have allocated to bishops in Britain? Surely what happens here is beyond his jurisdiction?"

Enos nodded. "That would be true, were we but dealing with the world of men, but when the matter at hand deals with men's immortal souls and their relationship to God, then earthly jurisdictions lose significance. Our friend is yet charged with responsibility for combating the teachings of the heresiarch Pelagius."

That startled me, and in my desire to learn more I asked the bishop on Enos's left to move along the bench a bit, so that I might sit. There was a whispered colloquy around the table and everyone squeezed closer to his neighbour to make room. I muttered thanks to all of them before turning back to focus my attention upon the old man.

"Pelagius? Again? I thought all that was settled?"

"So did we, when last we dealt with it. The debate was lengthy, as you might recall. Not all of the findings were resolved to everyone's satisfaction, but the conclusions reached were clear and the final dispositions were absolute; Pelagius was declared heretical and his teachings anathema. No spiritual cost or punishment would be applied to those who accepted the error of their ways and sought to correct their lives thereafter. Schools were established where the word was to be taught in clarity, according to the rules established by the Fathers of the Church. Bishops who defied the rule aid continued in the way of Pelagius were, ipso facto, excommunicate, banished from the communion of the Church and from receiving or dispensing its Sacraments. "

I made no attempt to conceal my perplexity. "I remember all of that; it was all clearly established and agreed to by the bishops in convocation. They might not have been happy with the outcome, but they all agreed, and so they bound themselves to act in accordance with the tenets of the Fathers. I was there. I may not have understood all that was going on, but I clearly recall the outcome of it all, since Germanus himself explained it to me. It was final. Whence, then, and what, this new difficulty?"

Enos looked down to the wooden platter that lay before him on the table and I followed his glance. The platter was clean and bare, save for a few small bones from the wing of some fowl and a scattering of breadcrumbs. He had eaten lightly. Now he reached out and pressed one finger on a few crumbs, transferring them into his mouth. It was a slow, contemplative gesture. Finally he sighed and looked at me again.

"Do you remember Agricola—the bishop, not the soldier?"

I frowned, searching my memory and thrusting aside all thoughts of Julius Agricola of antiquity. "Bishop Agricola? Aye, I met him, I believe, in Verulamium, in Vortigern's encampment, if my memory is not playing tricks. The two were friends, although not close. Is that the man you mean?'

"It is. He was—and remains—foremost among the teachers of the Pelagian belief. Vortigern, who sympathized with the teachings although he never openly espoused the creed or became a Pelagian himself, permitted Agricola to live and teach within his lands He had a close confidant and colleague, Fastidius. Did you meet him?"

"No, I don't believe so. Why?"

"Both Agricola and Fastidius were students of Pelagius in their youth. Aged men now, both of them, they still cling to those beliefs they absorbed from him as youths and teach his tenets in defiance of all else. "

"But that is infamous. They are men of God and they swore, publicly, to accept the decree of the convocation in Verulamium. Revoking that acceptance would open diem to charges of perfidiousness and hypocrisy. They would certainly suffer excommunication. "

I was aware now that the other bishops about me were listening openly to what we were saying, and Enos looked across the table to one of them and sighed, shaking his head. As he did so, a fresh noise broke out towards the front of the hall, where a group of Connor's musicians had entered and were tuning their instruments, preparing to present an entertainment. Enos stretched out his hand and took my wrist, an expression upon his face that I could read only as resignation. He nodded once again and indicated the musicians.

"You have brought me thus far, Caius Merlyn, so now I must accompany you for the remainder of the way. Will you walk outside with me? In a few more moments it will be impossible to talk in here. "

I rose and followed him out into the yard, winking and smiling to Tress as I passed by and indicating with a wave of my hand that I was leaving but that she should wait for me.

Once we had left the noisy hall and entered the cool silence of the empty courtyard, Enos led me over to a long, low bench against the northern wall, where he seated himself and spread his robes, wrapping his outer cloak across his shoulders to ward off the slight chill of the autumn evening.

"Now, " he said, settling himself. "Where were we? You were speaking of the absurdity of a so called man of God defying his beliefs and disregarding the threat of excommunication"

"Yes. It seems ridiculous."

"And so it is." He looked at me speculatively, his head cocked slightly to one side. "I hope you will forgive me if I seem to speak in ignorance, Caius Merlyn, but we do not know each other well, we two. I was your aunt Luceiia's confessor and confidant before her death, but you and I had little to do with each other. I know you met my saintly brother Germanus on the way to Verulamium, where you helped him win his impressive victory over the pagan forces who opposed him, but I suspect you know little of Pelagius or his teachings. Am I correct?"

"About Pelagius, you are. I know little of him. But I know even less about this impressive victory you describe. What are you talking about? When we first met, Germanus and his people had been trapped by raiders in an abandoned farmyard. We drove them off, fortunately without great loss to ourselves. But that was a skirmish, not a victory of any kind. After that we had no trouble anywhere, other than a minor confrontation with some would be bandits in Verulamium itself. So what is this victory you speak of?"

'The Alleluia Victory, men call it."

'The what?'

Enos held up one hand. "Allow me to explain, if I may. According to Bishop Germanus, who told me the tale in protest at what had been made of it, he and his party, perceiving themselves to be in a countryside that lacked danger, had allowed themselves to become careless. The soldiers riding with them were merely an honour guard, a relic of the Roman garrison in Gaul, who rode with Germanus and his brethren by their own choice. Germanus, as a former soldier, rode in soldier's garb, fully armed, in order to be able to protect his brethren should some dire need materialize. Nevertheless, and naturally enough, they were behaving like; clerics, not soldiers. They slept one night at an abandoned farm, and awoke to find themselves surrounded by a roving; war band of Picts and Saxons. The bishops thought they were about to die when out of the morning sky came a hail of deadly arrows, fired from a distant cliff above the farm. The missiles, which were accurate and lethal, wrought havoc among the enemy and forced them to abandon their attack and to charge uphill towards the new aggressors. That withdrawal, in turn, enabled Germanus to lead his men safely out of the entrapment of the farm's stone walls. Then, once his fellow bishops were safe, he led his few riders to attack the rear of his former assailants.

"You, I know, were one of the bowmen on that distant cliff, and with two others you distracted the enemy. In the meantime, you had also sent your cavalry around to enter the valley to the north and then charge back southward to give succour to the farm's defenders. The raiding force was demoralized completely, and they broke up into small groups, easily disposed of. " He stopped, and gazed at me, smiling. "Is that as accurate as your recollection of what happened that day?"

"Precisely, save that I saw it from the vantage point on the cliff top and missed the origins of the conflict, the initial surprise. " I stopped then, and shrugged. "I suppose it was a victory, of sorts. But it was not impressive. We chanced to be in the right place at the right time, with the right force, and the enemy was a rabble. All else was inevitable. " I hesitated. "So how did it come to be called the Alleluia Victory?"

Now Enos laughed, a slight, almost frail sound. "Bishops, men of God, are nonetheless men in every other sense. You saw nothing impressive in the affair—a mere skirmish with a raiding enemy, as you have said, effectively concluded with few losses. But the bishops, Caius Merlyn, the bishops! What they saw was altogether different. Imagine it—the identical scene—from their viewpoint.

"They had travelled far, much farther and for a much longer period of time than most of them were used to. They made camp in a pleasant valley, sheltered among some ruined walls, and after praying long into the night, they took their rest, only to awake to find a savage death threatening them, with painted savages and bull horned Saxons screaming for their lives. Their leader and their spiritual guide, Germanus, was unable to protect them. He could lead no counterattack in safety, since there was but one exit to the place and it was held by the attackers. So the men of God fell to their knees and prayed, in terror of their lives. And as they prayed, a rain of arrows fell from Heaven and began to destroy the enemy, who turned and withdrew. Mere moments later their champion and fellow bishop, Germanus, led them to safety beyond the walls that had so quickly become their prison. He left them with an escort, to protect them arid led his own contingent of warriors to attack the rear of their fleeing attackers. The last word that he cried aloud before leading his men to the charge was Alleluia—Praise be to God.

"No sooner had the badly frightened bishops fallen to their knees to give thanks than they heard the sound of yet another charge approaching. As this new contingent of rescuers miraculously appeared and swept by them, the bishops raised the self same cry of Alleluia, which was taken up by the galloping riders who then advanced into the fray with the praises of God upon their lips... " His voice faded away and he continued to gaze at me for some time before concluding.

"So you see, my son, both parties witnessed precisely the same events, but they experienced them from widely divergent viewpoints. To the clerical brethren huddled there by that abandoned farm, their salvation was miraculous, a divine intervention in their lives. Their faith in that was, and is, implicit. You say you merely happened to be there at the right time, with the right force to aid you. They believe you were Heaven sent, to be precisely where you were at their time of greatest need. Had it not been so, Bishop Germanus would have perished there and the debate at Verulamium would never have taken place. Which version of the tale is truer? As a Christian, can you doubt theirs and believe that God was unaware of your nearness that day?"

"But... the scope of it, Enos! It was a minor squabble!"

"Ah!" His utterance was terse and dismissive. "And was the outcome minor? The debate in Verulamium? Your intervention that morning saved the bishop's life and saved the Great Debate. It served the very fabric of God's Church and brought about the undoing of a creed of heresy. Those elements transform your minor squabble into a major victory in these old eyes and in the eyes of many others, Caius Merlyn, so may we leave it at that? If modesty forbids you to acknowledge what occurred in truth, then so be it! I suppose, then, that you will be pleased to hear the tale's aftermath. " His smile broadened, provoking an answering smile upon my lips.

"And what is that, this aftermath?"

"Why, it had nothing in the least to do with you. Your name has never been mentioned, in any version of the tale. " Now he was positively grinning, ear to ear. "The Alleluia Victory belongs to the saintly Bishop Germanus alone! That is why he is so greatly vexed. He thinks that is egregiously insulting to you and outrageously flattering to him. Shall I tell him, then, that you prefer it thus?"

"Hah!" I threw back my head and laughed aloud, exulting in the old man's pleasure. "Indeed, Bishop,, do so, fen: nothing could please me more than knowing that such an impressive victory had nothing to do with me or Camulod." He joined in my laughter. Then he leaned forward and slapped his fingers lightly on my knee.

"But we have digressed. We were speaking of other bishops and how they can seem to vacillate. I was about to comment on your knowledge of the doctrines taught by Pelagius. I said you seem to know little of them, and you agreed, did you not?" I nodded, watching him closely now, and he continued. "Do you know anything of what he taught? He had six arguments that formed the basis of his theology— are you familiar with them?"

"No, not at all. I heard them spoken of at the Debate, but understood little of it. I have been sympathetic to his teachings although unfamiliar with the meat of them, simply because an old friend of my father's, Bishop Alaric, subscribed to them, and Alaric was all that is best and finest in true men of God."

"I knew him, when I was very young, and I agree. Very well. Six points Pelagius made, and I shall keep them brief. Each of diem bore on one, or both, of two central tenets of the Christian Church: the original sin of Adam, and the divine gift of grace. Bear in mind, though, we speak of heresy here, so do not be seduced." As he began to speak, he enumerated the points he made with his fingers, starting with the little finger of his right hand.

"One, and first above all: Pelagius averred that life is inseparable from death/He taught that even if Adam had not sinned, he would have died. Two, and even more seditious: he maintained that Adam's sin was personal. It harmed only Adam himself, and not the entire human race. In case number three, which is based upon number two, he claimed that newborn children are in a state of innocence, as was Adam before his fall. Four, perhaps the most unacceptable of all his claims, he asserts that the whole human race neither dies through Adam's sin or death, nor rises again through the resurrection of our Blessed Christus. Five." He paused before stating this point, and I waited, holding my breath. "Pelagius would have us all believe that the ancient Hebrew writings, the Old Testament containing the Laws of Moses, are as sure a guide to heaven as are the Gospels..."

I waited for him to continue, but he seemed lost in thought, apparently upon the latter point, which, of all the five, had meant the least to me. Finally I cleared my throat. "And six?"

"What?"

"You said there were six points. You gave me only live."

"Oh, forgive me. Let me see... Six: Pelagius swore that even before the advent of the Christ, there were men who were without sin."

I sat back quickly, resting my shoulders against the cold wall and breathing deeply. That last point had hit home unpleasantly to me. I had heard it spoken, although differently phrased, by my father. He had been taught by Bishop Alaric that, even before the Christ and his Redemption, good and noble men had known the difference between right and wrong, between good and evil. There was much difference between the two. versions of that thought, I realized, and for the first time since my journey to Verulamium so many years earlier, I found myself unwilling to peer into the metaphysical abyss that suddenly yawned in front of me. Men, and particularly clerics, I recalled again, had infinite capacity for splitting hairs of meaning. Enos, however, had noticed nothing of my reaction and continued speaking as though we had never left the point he now pursued.

"Agricola and Fastidius were the champions of Pelagius in Verulamium, as Germanus himself and Lupus of Troyes, who accompanied him, were the champions of the Church. Both men agreed to abide by the decrees established at the Great Debate, and both indeed did so, overtly at least, for several years. In recent years, however, both have recanted and returned to their heretical ways.

"Your question was couched in disbelief that they could be so wilfully intransigent, and in conscience I must inform you that, in their own minds at least, they are guilty of no sin in their reversion. Arrogance may be reprehensible, but it is not a sin, save when it is viewed as pride. They choose to disbelieve in Adam's original sin, and in the divine grace that is the Church's vehicle to Heaven and salvation. They adhere, arrogantly, be it said, to the ancient wisdom of the Stoics of Greece, which avers that the moral strength of man's will, when reinforced by asceticism, is sufficient force to generate salvation. Hence the simplification of their creed: men have always had the will to chose between goodness and evil; those who choose goodness, so be it they deny their baser natures, eschew sinfulness, and aspire to God, may gain salvation on their own merits. It is a very seductive and sweet seeming path that beckons to the unwary. "

"Aye, " I said, speaking for the first time in what seemed like hours. "And particularly here in Britain, where men have always felt that moral rectitude and personal probity are admirable. "

"Quite so, indeed. " Enos glanced at me sharply, however, as he agreed with me, and I wondered whether he had thought to detect some irony in my last words. "But that has nothing to do with the recognition that the Fathers of the Church have spent long years and written many volumes concerning their analyses of all Pelagius taught, and have decided in their wisdom that, doctrinally, Pelagius is unacceptable. He is declared heretical, anathema, and all his works condemned. Agricola and Fastidius have made their choice, and stand condemned, but the danger they pose to others cannot be ignored, and so Germanus will return to Britain in the coming year.

"Forgive me, I may have spoiled your delight in my friend's letter. I had not wished to tell you anything of that before you read the tidings in his letter, but Germanus himself decided I should inform of you of his intent, since that would remove the need for him to spend long hours explaining it to you in his letter."

I sat stunned, so that all I could do was question what I had already been clearly told. "Germanus is returning? To where?"

'To Verulamium."

"That is impossible, Enos! Verulamium is in Saxon hands today. The entire east is overrun with Danes, Saxons, Anglians and others. These people are utterly savage and pagan, with no concept of love or tolerance or any other thing the sweet Christ teaches. They'll devour any Christian bishop fool enough to show his face there."

I saw him shake his head and tried to discern the expression in his eyes, but it seemed to me like pity. "Caius Merlyn," he said, quietly, "what is it that you think we do, we bishops? What tasks do we perform? Do you know?"

"I—" His question left me blinking, and I began again. "You minister to others, teaching them the way of God, and the way of the Church."

"That is correct, but who are these 'others' of whom you speak?"

"Why, your Christian flock."

"And whence came this flock?" He took pity upon me then, indeed. "I work among the Anglians of the eastern shores, the Saxon Shore, as you call it. So do my brethren here, all ten of them. We minister to the souls of those poor folk whom you scorn as 'invaders.' Not all of them, of course, for some are still... well, 'arriving' is a kinder word, I find, and the one that I prefer to use in speaking of diem. Many of the newcomers are fierce and warlike, there is no disputing that. But their belligerence is rooted deep in fear, for they are newcomers and have to win the land on which they will support and rear their families. When they are settled, secure and more content, their bellicose and hostile ways will settle into calm, and they will lend themselves to the teachings of the gentle Christus.

"Germanus will go into Verulamium in peace, and the Christian people there, Anglians all, will see to his protection. I have no fear for Germanus, nor does he. Our flocks in that region have held their land for years, some of them for generations. They are no longer pagan, and they are no longer dangerous to God's servants."

"But there are some who are." I could not bring myself to countenance what he was saying.

"Some, that is true. But in the fullness of God's time that, too, will change. God's Will will prevail over men's forever. The emperors of Rome, when Rome was at its peak, could not stifle His word, nor His love. Think you these unlettered Saxons will be stronger than imperial Rome?"

"So, are you saying that when you leave here you will go over to the Saxon Shore, to preach to these... pagan peoples?"

"I am, but I will also make shift to spread the word of Bishop Germanus's return next year, so that when he arrives, his coming will be awaited and his congregation gathered."

"And what about these heretics, Agricola and Fastidius? Do you expect them to attend, when all will know them as apostate?"

"I hope they will be there, but that will make little difference. Their persons are not in danger from the Church. It is their souls that should concern them more, and the matter of their teaching heresy to simple souls who take them at their word. That, above all, must be redressed. The last great meeting in Verulamium was a debate. The next one will be greatly different It will be an exposition of doctrine, a declaration of canon law, and a condemnation of this heresy and all who cleave to it."

The doors of the refectory swung open behind us and the sounds of laughter and noisy people spilled out into the chilly evening air. The old man stood up.

'I have detained you far longer than I wished, my friend. I trust you will apologize for me to all who have suffered for my laxity in that. The dinner is ended, and people are returning to their homes. I will have one of my bishops bring you the letter from Germanus."

I assured him that would be unnecessary—I would send a soldier to collect it for me later, within the hour. Then I led him back into the hall and delivered him to his brethren, who were preparing to leave.

As soon as I left Enos, I went to Rufio, who was Officer of the Guard that night, and asked him to send a trooper to escort the bishops to their quarters and then to collect the letter from Enos and bring it back to me. I walked back towards where Tressa sat between Connor and Brander. Arthur stood on the dais by her side, talking intently into her ear. She noticed me approaching and said something to the boy, and he straightened up to watch me coming. Even before I reached them, I knew something was amiss, but as I arrived, Brander stood up and clapped me on the shoulder, bidding me a good night and promising to see me in the morning before he and Connor left. As he began to usher his wife and the others in his party towards the door, I turned to face Arthur, whose eyes were wide, fixed upon mine.

"What's wrong?" I asked him.

"Am I to go to Cambria with Llewellyn One-Eye?"

I glanced, surprised at Tressa, but she shrugged her shoulders eloquently, indicating that the knowledge had not come from her.

"Who told you that?"

"Is it true?"

"Yes, it is. Are you displeased?"

"You promised I would ride out with you when you returned. Now I am to go to Cambria with a man I do not know. A man who wears a mask. "

Llewellyn had worn a leather mask since reaching Camulod, ostensibly to spare our women the sight of his ravaged face. Nevertheless, something in the tone of the boy's voice, conveying a wordless slur upon a man whom I had come to think of as a friend, angered me.

"Have you asked yourself why he might choose to wear a mask, Arthur?" The boy stared at me, startled by the sudden acerbity in my tone. "Perhaps to set himself apart, so that people unknown to him might find scope for their cruelty in belittling him? Or could it be that perhaps he finds the insults he endures wearing that mask more acceptable than those he might have to face without it? They call him Llewellyn One-Eye for good reason. His is not a pretty face. It was ruined by molten metal when he was a lad younger than you, and the sight of him can frighten children. You're no such child, are you?"

Arthur was gazing at me now in consternation, and I realized he had not meant to be as cruel as I had taken him to be. I was instantly contrite, although I did not allow my face to show that. Instead, I moderated my tone to one much softer.

"Llewellyn One-Eye is a fine man, Arthur, and I have quickly become proud to call him friend, as will you, once you know him. We'll discuss this further, tomorrow, but for the moment I will tell you this. You are the son of Uther Pendragon, the rightful king of all southern Cambria and the lower Pendragon lands against which we now live, and yet you know nothing of your folk, nor they of you. Llewellyn will rectify that. He is an ironsmith and a great warrior, a bowman respected among his own, who, as you know, are the greatest bowmen in Britain, and probably beyond.

"I have decided that you will live with him for one full year, to learn his ways and the ways of Pendragon. I can be no help to you in that. Being seen with me, you would be recognized for who you are, and before you are ready to take your place, that recognition could mean your death. Llewellyn knows the truth of it, and so does Huw Strongarm, and Huw Strongarm is now War Chief of Pendragon and sworn to serve you and your house. Between the two of them, these men will introduce you to their folk, their ways and customs, and their life. A better understanding of your own can only be of service to you." I could see that he still looked less than comfortable with my tidings, so I gave him the chance to speak. "One year, that's all, I promise you. What say you?"

He looked away from me, his gaze sliding slowly from my face to some distant point beyond my shoulder while he appeared to gnaw at the inside of his cheek. Then he drew a quick, deep breath and straightened up. "You are convinced this is something I should do." It was a statement, not a question.

"I am, completely. As for the matter of your riding out with me, I did not suspect you set any great store upon such a thing, so if I have disappointed you then I regret that. It is remediable. You'll go to Cambria for one short year. And despite the fact that a year seems endless at your age, it is a short time, and each new one grows shorter as you grow older. So, one year. After that, you'll return to Camulod, then we'll ride out together, if you wish. By that time, you'll be of age and will have your own command. Ambrose tells me you have surpassed all his expectations to this point, and that pleases me more than I can say. Now what I want you to do is arrange matters so that Llewellyn One-Eye will say the same of you, when next I see him." Behind his back, I saw Morag leaving with her mother and the other ladies, hanging back to glance our way in the hope of catching Arthur's eye.

I looked back at Arthur. 'Tomorrow, I will introduce you to my friend Llewellyn, and I promise you, you will enjoy him, the real man beneath the mask. Now I believe there's a young woman trying to attract your attention." He turned to see what I had seen, and in mere moments he was gone, striding towards his love. I turned around, finally, to Tressa, who was sitting, smiling up at me.

"I thought you were going to be too hard on him, at first. He was upset, but mainly about losing the opportunity to be with you."

"I know. My first reaction was unjust and hasty, but thank God I saw my error in time to avoid any grievous damage."

I glanced over her head to Connor, whose sleepy eyes were already half closed. "Well, Admiral, are we feeding you well enough?"

He grinned, slowly. "Aye, passing well, but I'd gladly trade some of your endless beef for a bowl of good oat porridge."

"Ach!" I shuddered. "Are you growing oats again, then, up in your heavenly isles?"

His smile grew broader, though his eyes remained half closed. "We will always grow oats. They sustain us and give us our enormous strength."

"You should have told me! We, too, grow them, but we feed them to our horses, which, I suppose, is why they have their enormous strength. Our stable storehouses are filled with them. That reminds me, I have to procure another horse. Did you know I lost Germanicus?"

Connor jerked up straight. "Your big black horse? No, I didn't know that. How, and when?"

I told him briefly, and then laid my hand on Tressa's shoulder. "Connor, my friend and companion-in-arms, might I induce you to retire? I have another companion here, as you have noticed, so if you will permit us to withdraw and leave you here alone, you will earn the gratitude of both of us."

Connor grinned and stretched and then yawned hugely, ignoring Tressa's little cry of outrage at my lack of discretion. He pulled himself to his feet and stood there wavering, gaining his balance. "Too much mead," he said. "I hope the same cannot be said of you, comrade-in-arms. I'll bid you a good night, then, since you clearly have no wish for me to stay with you. Sleep well, if you have time."

He turned majestically, pivoting on his wooden limb, and aimed himself towards the double doors at the end of the hall, negotiating the step down from the dais with ease before clumping unsteadily away. As he approached the doorway, I saw a trooper entering, carrying my letter from Germanus. Apart from Tress and me, there were no more than half a score of people left now in the hall, and I needed to speak with none of diem. The trooper snapped to attention before me with a smart salute and handed me my letter. I thanked him and pushed the scroll inside my tunic, then extended .my hand to Tressa, who took it, swinging lithely to her feet.

"What now? Must you read that? Or have you finished with talking, so that there's time for me, at last?"

"Something akin to that." I laid one hand gently on the back of her neck and we walked together to the vestibule where we had hung our cloaks on entering. Rufio had ordered a light, two wheeled, canopied wagon to be waiting at the doors for us. The driver, another trooper, helped us to climb up into it, then covered us with warm, fleecy coverings. Tressa snuggled against me and I reached for her thighs again, this time allowing my hands to explore as they would.

I nodded to the guards who saluted us at the gates and then turned back to Tress, and mere moments later, it seemed, we entered the main portico of the Villa Britannicus. There we found Plato, the majordomo, waiting to welcome us and show us to our sleeping quarters on the second floor. The large room he led us to was brightly lit with fine, wax candles, some of them flickering in the gentle breeze that stirred the delicate hangings by the window, where the louvered shutters had been left slightly open.

I remember closing the door behind Plato as he left, and then I remember turning to look at Tress, drinking in the beauty of her, subdued yet enhanced as it was by the light from the flickering candles. I remember crossing to her and taking her in my arms, feeling the full richness of her body and the sweetness of her mouth as we kissed each other thoroughly for the first in time in long, lingering months. I remember the soaring urgency that took possession of me then, but I have no recollection of the time that passed between that moment and the moment when we both stood naked, skin against skin, by the bed. I remember the weight of her in my arms as she fell backwards beneath me, pulling me down to her. It seemed to me she looked harder, or firmer—different, somehow, but I took little note of that at the time, distracted by greater urgencies.

I have no concrete memories of what transpired between us then, but something deep within my soul recalls the delight of feeling her move beneath me, her thighs parting to welcome me, making room for me to enter her; I have a blinding, fleeting memory of outrush, from my lips and loins, as she drew the very life from me and sent me crashing into ecstasy, and after that I recall nothing.

TWELVE

I awoke the following morning to find myself alone in bed, with no sign of Tressa other than the rumpled bedclothes that covered the spot where she had slept. I raised myself up on my elbow immediately, calling her name, but she was not in the room and I fell back down into the bed, stretching luxuriously in the warmth of it and smelling the scent of her among the bedding.

I must have fallen back to sleep again, because the next time I opened my eyes she was sitting on the bed above me, bent over and whispering my name. I came awake at once, reaching up for her and pulling her down to where I could kiss her, and my hand sought her body beneath the voluminous garment she wore. She quickly glided away from me, however, and my fingers slid down the warm slope of her thigh to land on the bedclothes as she bounded to her feet and went to fling wide the shutters, allowing bright daylight to pour into the room.

"By the Christ, Tress, what time of day is it? Why didn't you wake me before now? It must be almost noon!"

"No, it is not yet midmorning, but your body needed sleep, and so I allowed you to sleep on when I arose." She grinned, a quick grin, filled with mischief. "I thought it necessary."

"How? What do you mean?"

"What should I mean? Once you are rested sufficiently, you'll become strong enough again to use me as I wish to be used, without falling asleep."

"Without—? Did I do that?" I knew, of course, that I had. Kissing her own hand gently, she came back to the bed and reached out to caress my cheek with it. I felt myself growing hard again and tried to catch her by the wrist, but she was too quick for me. "Come back to bed, then," I rasped.

'Tonight I will, but not now, my love. Ambrose, Arthur, Dedalus and that man with the strange mask are all downstairs, waiting for you, so you must be quick, and I must be even quicker. I don't want them thinking that we might be doing what is clearly foremost in your mind. Plato is bringing up hot water and will be here directly. Wash your face quickly and come down. I've set out a new suit of leathers for you, over there, and a new tunic that I sewed myself. Be quick."

She spoke the last words as she went out the door and I groaned and heaved myself around to sit on the side of the bed, looking at the clothes she had mentioned. Rubbing the remnants of sleep from my eyes, I went to examine them more closely and found myself whistling admiringly at the magnificent workmanship that had gone into their creation.

Plato knocked and entered, bidding me good day. Two troopers followed, one bearing a collapsible washstand with a suspended leather bucket and a large pitcher of water, the other carrying a larger, steaming pitcher. As they set up the device under Plato's watchful eyes, I turned my attention again to the strange looking garment in my hands. It was a single undergarment of some kind, made of a very fine , light, brushed wool. I soon identified the holes for my arms and the shape of the collar, but it took me some time longer to identify the purpose of the lower appendages. Then I realized how the garment worked. The bottom end of it contained two sleeve like openings for my thighs. Between those hung a flap that I reasoned must come up between my legs like an ordinary breech cloth and attach, somehow, in front. Satisfied that I had some understanding of the thing, I dropped it and went to the steaming washbasin. Plato and his assistants had departed by then, and I made short work of my ablutions, drying myself with a clean towel before beginning to dress.

The undergarment went on smoothly, once I had discovered that I must insert my legs into the requisite openings before pulling the body up around my waist and attempting to shrug into the upper part. The legs were short, perhaps a handbreadth long, and clung comfortably to my upper thighs, but their very snugness emphasized the looseness of my dangling genitalia. I ignored that, for the moment, and concentrated on the upper part The armholes were sleeveless and I shrugged into them without difficulty, then laced up the deep V at my chest experimenting with the tension of the lacing and finally leaving it loosely tied. I bent forward then, and pulled the hanging rear flap up between my legs, cinching ft so that it was both tight and comfortable. I fed the two narrow tapes I found attached to the outside corners through two loops sewn to the shirt's body and then tied them in a bow across my middle, smiling now at the clever simplicity of the design. I would be able to reach up beneath my tunic and release the flap with a single tug, then hold it aside while I answered nature's call.

Feeling light hearted now, I pulled on the leather trousers and fastened them securely about my waist before slipping my new, white tunic over my head, feeling the softness of the stuff with which it was lined. Even on the quilted breast and short sleeves and almost knee length skirts of this garment, which would seldom if ever be seen by anyone, Tressa had worked designs of flowers and plants in silken threads, her needlework so delicate and fine that the depictions seemed to be an integral part of the tunic's fabric.

Finally, I picked up the leather top piece and looked at it closely before putting it on. It hung open in front, and from its middle depended two lengths of leather belt, one three times the length of the other and each of them made from braided strips of differently coloured leather, yellow and blue. I pulled on this coat and flexed my shoulders, arching my back and trying to find tightness anywhere, but the soft, buttery leather hung perfectly, shaped to my size and width without constricting my shoulder blades. The garment hung open and loose in front of me and the longer of the two belts hung from the right side. I fed that end through a vertical hole, edged with fine stitching, in the central seam of the left side and pulled it tight, flattening the front right flap across my belly. Then I brought the belt around my back, pulling the left flap into place and tying the two ends in place at my right side, allowing the ends to hang free. I could not see the finished effect, but I knew it must be fine.

The lower part of the coat, beneath my waist, was cut into wide fringes, much like armoured flaps, a thumb's length wide. The flaps themselves were decorated handsomely, stamped in relief with a simple, Celtic scroll pattern and outlined in blue stitch work. Similarly, the shoulders of the coat were of multiple layers, stiff as armour, and from them smaller leather flaps hung down to frame my upper arms in wide fringes of blue and gold. A pair of fleece lined boots in the same soft, supple leather completed the array. I laced them up quickly, enjoying the solid feel of their heavy, nail studded soles and knowing that I would have to be careful to walk upon carpets here in the upper chambers, where the floors woe made of highly polished, decorative wood.

Tressa was waiting for me at the top of the broad stairs that led down to the main part of the house, and from the smile on her face I knew she was happy with the results of all her work. As we descended the stairway together, Dedalus gave an appreciative, drawn out whistle that was sheer lechery, although it was intended sarcastically for me, not for Tressa. I decided to ignore his ill manners, but I could not resist pausing at the foot of the stairs and preening, showing off the craftsmanship that had gone into my new garments. All four of them then, Ambrose, Arthur, Ded and Llewellyn, acknowledged my sartorial splendour and complimented Tressa sincerely. She nodded her head graciously, well pleased, and left us alone.

Ambrose cut immediately to the heart of the matters we had to discuss that day. Connor and Brander's party had already left Camulod, shortly after daybreak, and had been adamant that I not be disturbed from my rest, since we had made our farewells the previous night. Now Ambrose wanted me to go with him to meet his Northumbrian guests.

In my confusion over the lateness of the hour and my delight over my new clothing, I had completely forgotten that this was the day Connor and Brander were to leave, . but the reminder offered an immediate explanation for Arthur's mood, which was somewhat subdued and faintly melancholy. Morag was gone from him again, and I knew the best thing I could do was turn the boy's attention towards what lay ahead of him.

"Your Northumbrians, are they assembled yet?"

"No, but they are waiting for our summons. "

"That is good, because I have not eaten yet and we have another matter to discuss before we come to them. Let's see if we can beg some scraps from Plato's pantry. "

A short time later, the five of us sat around a table in one of the storerooms flanking the Villa's enormous kitchens, helping ourselves from the heaps of food Plato had piled before us. There was bread, newly baked and still warm from the oven, tiny, fresh apples, plums and pears from the gardens in the central yard and a wide variety of cold cuts of whole meat and spiced sausages. There was also a choice of fresh milk from the barns or well watered vinum. Once satisfied that starvation was not to be my lot that day, I turned to Llewellyn.

"Someone told Arthur last night that he is to return to Cambria with you, and he was taken unawares, since he knew nothing about it and did not—does not—know you. It occurred to me then that you know equally little of him, and yet you'll be responsible for him while he is in your care, so I decided to tell you something about him while he is present to hear it. He is an adequate bowman, perhaps slightly below average at this stage. It is my hope that you will refine his shooting skills while he is in your care. He has the makings of an excellent swordsman, according to his teachers, Rufio and Dedalus, though I know he'll have little use for swordsman's skills among your folk. He's also bred to horseback and that, too, will have to change in your homeland—under your tutorial influence, he will learn to use his legs and increase his wind and stamina... You should also be aware that he can read and write Latin with perfect fluency, and has read widely in his great grandfather's books. " I glanced at Arthur to see his expression before continuing. The lad was narrow eyed, listening closely.

"I've told you, I believe, that his great grandfather, Publius Varrus, was a master ironsmith and a maker of superb weapons. He even taught me something of his craft in my boyhood, albeit very little. But little as it was, I still remember much of it, and it taught me a great respect for swords and for the iron from which they are made. " Now I turned directly to Arthur. "Llewellyn, here, is also a master smith, and it is my hope that he'll consent to teach you something of his craft. It could teach you much about why the weapon you prefer, the sword, contains the greatness that it does. It should also teach you to respect the properties of the materials—all materials—with which you must work, be they metals or men.

"You commented last night on the fact that my friend here wears a mask, and I responded harshly and, I fear, wrongly. " I paused, and Arthur looked mortified. "As you grow older you will learn, as all of us have learned, that all men wear masks of one kind or another, some of them as seemingly harmless as a smile, although that smile may be the most deceitful mask of all. All of us seek, at some time, to conceal what lies beneath our faces. Many do so because they fear their treachery will shine through their skin. Some, a compassionate and unfortunate few, wear masks to spare the people who surround them from pain, or fear, or embarrassment. " I turned back to Llewellyn. "Will you remove your mask, my friend?"

He must have sensed what I was about, because he straightened slightly and then simply pulled the narrow headband that secured it up over his skull. The silence that greeted the sight of his ruined face was profound, and he grinned, the good side of his face smiling while the left side grimaced hideously, baring his eyetooth through the hole in his cheek.

'This is the true mask, " he said, speaking directly to Arthur. Then he held up the leather flap with its stark eyeholes. "This one is merely a curtain. Don't feel badly about how you feel, I've had a lifetime to grow hardened to that. Mine is a face to frighten children, I know, but I never see it. I spent years hating myself and everyone around me, for I did not always look like this, and I remembered how it was before I was disfigured. But in recent years I have learned that some people, friends, can see beyond the scars and horror. I have a wife who loves me and respects me. I have children who have seen no other face on me, and therefore accept me as I am, for who I am. I've learned to live with it."

Arthur's face settled into an expression of concern and sympathy, showing no trace of the initial horror that had flared in him when the mask first came off. Now he leaned slightly towards Llewellyn. "How did it happen?"

"Molten metal, carelessly handled. It should have killed me, but I was young and strong, so I survived. I was apprenticed to a smith who liked strong drink. One day he drank too much, and stumbled, and the liquid metal splashed. Not much, but it landed on me."

Arthur shuddered, and so, I noticed, did the others. "And you are still a smith?"

"Not still. I wasn't then. I was a beginning prentice, twelve years old. I became a smith later, once I discovered that I had more in common with iron than I did with people. So, will you come with me to Cambria, lad, to meet your father's people and to learn about his land?"

Arthur looked at me, and his eyes filled up with tears. Although I had no notion of what was going through his mind, I found a great relief welling up inside of me and felt a thickening in my own throat and an unaccountable prickling behind my eyes. "Aye," he whispered, nodding emphatically as though to convince some inner part of himself that doubted still. "I win. "

"There's on you, boy! We'll have a time, I promise you, and Huw Strongarm will teach you even more than I, once we come by him. We'll leave as soon as may be, for I'll tell you, I find myself uncomfortable here, cooped up by walls I cannot climb. Mountains are higher, and much wilder, but a man can pass freely among them and find sustenance in any part of them. Here, you have only kitchens, filled with folk all hungrier than you, and you must live with what they leave. No freedom here, boy—no fish to catch, nor fowl to shoot nor rabbits to snare, no eggs among the heather and no deer grazing in the stone courtyards. Tomorrow and today we'll spend preparing, and the morning after that we'll be away, free with the winds and rain. You're going to love your Cambria, my lad. I'll work you hard and drive you mad, but you will thrive on it. And wait you till you see the flashing eyes and other parts on Cambrian lasses! There's a treat in store for you! None bonnier there are in all the world, you'll see. Do you sing?".

Arthur looked at me again, mystified, but I merely smiled. "Do I sing? No, I don't, not much. But I can sing. "

"Aye, if you're your father's son you can. You'll sing among the mountains, won't be able to stop yourself, for there the gods dwell, boy, and they all sing. "

I stood up, grinning, and spoke to Ambrose, who had uttered not a single word in all of this. "Time now to go and meet your guests. Shall we?"

The meeting with Vortigern's representatives was straightforward and uneventful and contained only one startling piece of information. One of the Northumbrians, the senior man among them, spoke of Vortigern's hopes for a peaceful settlement of the problem that had been simmering for so long between him and Horsa's young, land hungry warriors. According to his report, some form of accommodation had been reached between Vortigern, or Horsa himself, and a small, well established settlement of Danes in the far south east, in that region known as the Weald but which the Danes were now calling Kent, or some such Outlandish name. This corner of Britain, the original Saxon Shore, had recently begun to attract massive incursions of Germanic tribes seeking a foothold in Britain. Although the local residents, so recently arrived themselves, had so far been able to repulse : these attacks, the numbers of marauders had continued to grow consistently and frighteningly, so that defeat seemed inevitable to the land holding defenders.

This situation, ironic though it seemed to me when I considered invaders fighting invasion, had led the leaders of the south-eastern Danes to approach Vortigern in the far northeast, knowing that he had long since sheltered and protected the Danes in his domain, and to ask for his assistance in defending their own lands. The result had been a lessening of the pressures on Vortigern, thanks to the eagerness with : which Horsa's young warriors had greeted this opportunity, apparently sent to them by the Fates: a war to fight, new lands to claim, and unknown women of their own race to meet their needs in amity and commonality. Hundreds of Horsa's warriors had left already, it appeared, sailing swiftly southward, and were not expected to return to Northumbria.; Horsa had gone with them, although none could say with certainty that he expected to remain long in the south.

This discussion reminded me that I had not yet read my letter from Germanus. I forced myself to listen politely, impatient now to return to my own quarters and find it. This information from Northumbria weakened Enos's arguments about Germanus's safety should he attempt to ride through south-eastern Britain. Horsa was no Christian warrior, and his army was a pagan horde, a very genuine threat to Germanus's plans for another meeting in Verulamium if the bishop thought to travel from Gaul to Verulamium via the Weald.

Engrossed in these thoughts, I missed the transition from the discussion of Horsa's Danes to the wonders these dour chieftains had found in Camulod. I snapped back to attention when one of them asked me something directly, and fortunately, I was able to answer his question without betraying my distraction. They praised the Colony's war readiness, and I emphasized that we stood prepared to face threat or attack from any direction, and at any time. I reassured them that I would indeed lead another expedition into Vortigern's lands within the coming year, to demonstrate our status as his willing allies. Shortly thereafter, I began searching for an acceptable reason for returning to my duties, until Ambrose himself came to my rescue, standing up and thanking me for taking the time to come and meet with his guests.

I rose and thanked all of them for coming to Camulod, and requested them to pass my greetings along to King Vortigern with my promise to meet with him in person the following summer. Then I bade them a cordial farewell and made my way back to the Villa, where Plato told me that Tressa had ridden up to the fort with the lady Shelagh, and would return late in the afternoon. I thanked him and went upstairs, where I found the leather cylinder containing Germanus's letter lying on the table by the window in our sleeping chamber. I took it back downstairs with me again, flicking my thumb idly against the wax that sealed it, and made myself comfortable in the sunshine that lit the atrium.

Caius Merlyn Britannicus

From Germanus Pontifex Auxerre, Gaul.

My Dear Friend:

Even as I write these words, / know that months will have elapsed and you will already have spoken to my old friend Bishop Enos by the time you have read them. Enos has been with me now for nigh on three months and will shortly be returning to his duties in the town once known as Venta Belgarum, in those territories of Britain which you deem lost to invaders.

By now, Enos will have told you that I intend—I am directed by my superiors—to return to Britain and conclude this affair of heretical mutiny among the bishops of your unhappy land. I fear there is enough danger therefore men's bodies and souls as matters stand, without the added perils being poured upon them by misguided teachers. Accordingly, I shall arrive in Britain in midspringtime of the coming year, crossing the Narrow Sea directly to the old Roman harbour of Dubris and making my way northward from there to Verulamium.

Believe me, my friend, I clearly envision the alarm with which you will receive these tidings, since, to your eyes, that particular region of your country is swarming with Godless pagans. Such is not the truth, however; Enos and his brethren have brought many hundreds into the light of Christ in recent years, particularly among the Anglians of the southeast, and it is to these good people that I will entrust my safety, secure in the benevolence of He whom I serve.

As you know, nonetheless, that part of me which was once a soldier refuses to allow me peace of mind when travelling through strange countrysides, and reminds me that I shall not always be in the domain of our Anglian Christian brethren. In addition to that natural and ingrained caution, there is a commonplace saying that the Lord, our God, helps those who help themselves, or words to that effect.

May I impose upon you to assist me in God's work? Your presence in my train, with a contingent such as the one you brought to Verulamium before, when first we met, would be a manifold blessing, both on the road and at the meeting place itself. I fear the gathering to which we ride on this occasion will be less cordial than that we last attended. I ask this of you with no knowledge or consideration of your own affairs, or plans, or your condition, in full cognizance of the selfishness of what I do. Should you be unable to accede to my request, I shall be disappointed but not offended On the other hand, should you decide to join us, I shall be happy indeed to renew our acquaintance and to thank God for His beneficence.

Enos will arrange to bring your answer back to me, and you and yours are remembered always in my prayers.

Your friend and brother in Christ

Germanus Pontifex

I was pacing my quarters by the time I finished reading, my thoughts leaping erratically like dried peas dropped on a drumhead. Since talking with Enos the night before, I had already accepted that he and his fellow bishops had been successful in converting at least some of the south-eastern Anglians to Christianity, but the thought of Germanus entrusting himself to such people nevertheless appalled me, for despite all of Enos's optimism and goodwill, to my own mind these people were, and would always remain, pagan savages, aliens and invaders whom a thin overlay of Christianity would never pacify or change. The knowledge that Horsa's horde of Danes would be present in that region when my friend arrived further underlined and emphasized my fears for his safety.

On the other hand, this invitation to accompany Germanus on his errand was less inconvenient than my old Mend might have thought, and I could see it held certain incontestable advantages, were I to examine it purely from a political viewpoint. Horsa's removal of his armies to the southeast offered an immediate and obvious benefit to Vortigern in the far northeast; he would no longer be under such great pressure to find a solution to the problem their presence represented in his own territories. The greater the number of Danish warriors who poured south-eastward, the less imperative would be the demands placed upon Vortigern's people to provide additional land for these mercenaries in their own territories, land they did not possess. Ergo, I reasoned Vortigern's pressing need for our visible support in the northeast would be proportionally lessened by the Danish exodus. I suspected he would be more than pleased were we to demonstrate our presence in the southeast, prior to riding north to join him as we had promised. That tied in well with my own desire to explore that region of the country, something that might be achieved only through the presence of Germanus and the acquiescence of his Christian Anglian converts. Certainly, as escort and honour guard to the bishop and his party, leading them northwards from the coast, my own troops would be able to move more freely through the area than they could possibly have done under any other circumstances.

Despite the strategic attractiveness of the invitation, however, the whole affair was vastly convoluted and fraught with political risk. Conflicting thoughts and notions flitted through my mind more quickly than I can define them now, all of them influenced by my own reservations over the manner in which Enos had defined Vortigern's sympathetic stance towards the heretics. It occurred to me that Vortigern might not be over pleased with my commitment to Germanus and his orthodox views on Pelagius, despite and notwithstanding the consideration that my commitment, if indeed I made one, would be born out of loyalty to my old Mend and not out of any active dedication to the premise he espoused.

In fact, the teachings of Pelagius, as I had been taught to understand them long ago, made eminent good sense to me. I accepted the basic belief that mankind was made in the image of God, born in possession of the divine spark enabling him to choose between goodness and evil. I could find no moral fault in the premise that each man and woman was therefore capable of communing directly with God and achieving his or her own salvation. The Fathers, of the Church, however, had decided in their wisdom that this belief was a form of pride, one of the greatest of the Seven Deadly Sins, and that mankind was incapable of achieving anything without the intervention of divine grace, administered through God's deputies, themselves. The theological hair splitting in the controversy that was bringing Germanus back into Britain was beyond my grasp, but I was fundamentally unswayed by the theologians' disputations. I had been taught the Pelagian way by the living example of my own dearest relatives and Mends, and I could find no fault in any of them. The result was that I lived my life according to the dictates of my conscience and I sought to sway no other person to my own beliefs.

Vortigern, however, I suspected of being more politically concerned in this dispute. He called himself a Christian king, though he admitted he was no theologian and therefore unconcerned with fine theological distinctions. He had never openly taken sides at the debate on Pelagianism in Verulamium. Yet it was true, nonetheless, that the two most outspoken champions of the Pelagian way, the bishops Agricola and Fastidius, were from Vortigern's domain, and he had allowed them thus far to function as they would, spreading their teachings throughout his extensive lands, north to Hadrian's Wall and all the way westward into northern Cambria, far north of the Pendragon lands. From that viewpoint, I thought, Vortigern would surely be inclined to look upon my services to Germanus with displeasure—a displeasure much allayed by the advantages to him in having; Camulodian cavalry present in Horsa's new territories.

By the time I stopped pacing and sat down to read the letter a second time, I had arrived at a number of decisions. I sat thinking for a while longer, and then took up a pen and a pot of ink and wrote down my list, simply to see how it looked. I found myself smiling as I did so, aware that my own habit of writing things down, now ingrained by years of practice, had led me to distrust, instinctively, the essential shape, outline and content of any idea that was not written down.

I read my list when it was done and felt some satisfaction. I would, as I had promised, lead a thousand cavalry into Vortigern's territories in the coming year. Before that, however, I would dispatch messengers to inform Vortigern that I would be delayed until midsummer, since I first must ride southward to. meet and greet our old friend Bishop Germanus and bring him safely to Verulamium again. Should; Vortigern come south to Verulamium for the occasion, I would lead my people back to Northumbria with him. In the meantime, I would have had a space of months in which to assess what dangers threatened Camulod from the Weald and the regions that surrounded it, and to impress the resident invaders there with the strength and power of our cavalry and our willingness and readiness to go to war against anyone who thought to abuse our peace. By the time I arrived back in Camulod from Vortigern's domain, it would be autumn again and Arthur's Cambrian sojourn would be at an end. He would then be of age to take up a full command as a captain and commander of the Forces of Camulod.

I had attempted, in drawing up my list of decisions, to define the impediments to success I could identify, but there were none of any importance. Ironhair had suffered a resounding defeat, on land and sea, and Cambria was now safely in the hands of Huw Strongarm. Huw's presence, aided by Connor's vastly increased naval strength with his two captured biremes, would, I believed, prove strong enough to deter Ironhair, and with him Carthac, from any quickly renewed attempt at conquest of the Pendragon. Similarly, Horsa's newly launched colonization of the Weald would remove the threat of war from Northumbria and the north in general.

Only in the far southwest, in Ironhair's Cornwall, could I see any threat of unrest, and there was nothing I could do about that, outside of sending my own spies into Ironhair's lands to discover what was happening there. I resolved to do that as soon as possible, after consulting with my brother and our senior strategists. In the meantime, I would write to Germanus, in care of Enos, and also to Vortigern.

Thus resolved, I set out to look for my brother, to share my thoughts with him.

THIRTEEN

I arose earlier my second day home, but dawn was already bright in the sky and Tress was absent from my bed again. I made my way downstairs, my head still full of sleep, and found my way to the bathhouse, but judging by the evidence of water splashed about, she had already been there and gone. Some time later, fully dressed and hungry, I entered the Villa's kitchen to break my fast and learned from Plato that my lady had made her way up to the fort to join Shelagh, as she had the previous day. Curious now as to what these two might be about so early in the day, I asked Plato to have my horse brought to the main entrance, and when I had eaten I went directly up to the fort to find them.

I had another mission that morning as well. I needed to go to the stables and talk to one of our masters of horse about selecting a new mount to replace my faithful Germanicus. My requirements were simple: the horse merely needed to be physically large enough to bear my weight. I would have preferred it to be a black, but I was prepared to accept anything I could find, for the time being. The loss of Germanicus was yet too fresh for me to relish the thought of having to replace him with another mount of which I might become fond.

Although the morning sun was now high in the sky, it had not yet penetrated the open doors; the stables were still dark and cool, illuminated by flickering lamps set into mortared sconces over wide bowls that would catch any falling sparks before they could ignite the straw that lay piled on the floors. I rode directly in through the large double doors, to be surrounded immediately by the thick, living smell of the place. Nothing else in the world smells like a horse barn. I breathed deeply and looked about me before dismounting, searching for the groom who ought to be on duty, since the stables were never to be left untended. On this occasion, however, I was alone in the huge building, save for the animals, more than three score of them, in their stalls.

I tied my reins around a post, intending to return and unsaddle the animal and brush him down once I had looked at the horses at the far end of the barn, where single stalls housed the aristocrats of our equine population. The stables had been swept very recently, the streaks of broom sweeps still clearly visible on the hard packed floor, and a fresh pile of straw had been brought in but not yet spread. Clean as the floor was, I picked my way carefully as I walked, attempting to keep my fine new boots dry. There were twelve single stalls, but I went no farther than the first of them, where I found a high and noble head craning high above mine, looking down at me. My first impression was of tremendous height, and then of jet black ears twitching and pointing downwards, the space between them filled with a stiff, high standing mane. And then I saw the eyes.

Hardly daring to believe that such a horse could be here, in these stalls, I moved forward and opened the gate. He backed up nervously, tossing his head and whuffling through his great nostrils as I approached. When I was face to face with him I stopped, looking up, and then stretched out my hand. He hesitated there for a count of three heartbeats, then gently dipped his head and stretched his neck to investigate my hand with his soft muzzle. I felt immediate regret that I had brought no gift for him, but I contented myself with stroking his muzzle silently and simply looking at him, or at as much of him as I could see. He seemed coal black, but so was the interior of the stall. He made no effort to withdraw from me, and finally I hooked my fingers into the plain rope halter that he wore and led him, first out into the central aisle of the barn and then out into the full light of the morning, where I could examine him properly.

He was magnificent, taller at the shoulder and more heavily muscled than even Germanicus had been, and a lump swelled in my throat as I looked at him, at the way the light made his glossy coat shimmer like black water. His mane and tail were long and clean, and great feathery leggings grew down over his fetlocks, almost concealing his hoofs ; completely. His back was straight and broad and the muscles of his chest rippled as he moved, backing up, away from me. There was not a blemish on his entire coat; he was black from the tips of his ears to the polished black horn of his hooves.

"His name is Bucephalus." I swung about at the unexpected sound of the voice so close behind me. Shelagh and Tress were watching me from the doorway of the stables, and so astonished was I to see them there that it did notoccur to me to ask them how they came to be there. Instead, I turned back immediately to the horse.

"Whose is he?"

I heard Tress laugh. "He's yours, of course." By the time I had whipped my head around to look at her, all trace of ' laughter had faded from her face and voice. "We did not expect Germanicus to die, any more than you did, but Ambrose had this colt set aside for you four years ago, before he was even a year old, and had him raised in secrecy. Germanicus was beginning to grow old, and Ambrose foresaw the day when he would no longer be strong enough to carry you... "

Shelagh took up where she had left off. "Donuil told me about Germanicus as soon as he arrived, and so we had Bucephalus here brought in yesterday from the farm where he was raised. "

I smiled at Shelagh, thanking her wordlessly, and then turned back to the horse. "He's been well broken, I can see that. There's no fear in him, no skittishness. Who trained him, do you know?"

"I did. " Shelagh's statement, and the casual way she said it, brought me around on my heel to gape at her, but she ignored my surprise completely. "And there's coltishness in him to spare. He's a wild one, but he has a sweet disposition once he has given his trust. " She smiled at me, no more than a trace of mockery in her eyes. "Much like you, in fact. "

I was still gaping. "You broke him by yourself?"'

"No, not by myself, not all alone. I worked with the master of horse. But I was first up on his back and I was first to ride him. He taught me all his tricks; I taught him mine. "

"I see. " I could tell from the colour in her cheeks that Shelagh was proud of her achievement in this, and justifiably so. I glanced at Tress. "And did you name him, too? Bucephalus?"

"Not I! Yon's a foreign name from foreign parts. I had nothing to do with it. "

"I believe you, Shelagh, " I told her, grinning widely. "But d'you know who Bucephalus was, the first Bucephalus?"

"Aye, the horse of some Outland king. "

"Emperor, Shelagh, he was more than a mere king. He was the greatest warrior of all the ancient world, before the time of Rome. Alexander of Macedon. Men called him Alexander the Great, and his horse was Bucephalus."

"Aye, I've heard. And it threw him over a cliff, did it not, and killed him? Bad omen for a king who would ride this one. It was your brother Ambrose who named him."

"Ah, Ambrose again. Then I had best thank him soon, for he has made me a fine gift, here. The name is wrong, nevertheless, and we'll change it now. Bucephalus was white, as I recall. This fellow's name is Germanicus. The' ninth Germanicus to serve Britannicus."

Tress had moved forward to stand beside me, and as I placed my arm over her shoulders I became aware for the first time of how strangely she was dressed. I had grown used to seeing Shelagh in men's riding clothes over the years, but now I realized that beneath her long, concealing cloak, Tressa was also wearing some form of armour. I brought her around in front of me and pulled apart the edges of her cloak, staring in amazement at the toughened leather cuirass she was wearing over a short, military kilt of armoured straps. Her long legs were breech clad like a trooper's, albeit in far finer leather and far more richly worked, very much like my own. By the time I raised my eyes from her legs to her face, she had blushed crimson. I looked from her to Shelagh.

Tress could see the confusion in my eyes, and it was then that she and Shelagh told me how they had passed their time while I was away at war. Shelagh had taught Tress to ride, and had taught her well, training her strictly and with little gentleness, ignoring the fact that Tress was female just as single mindedly as she denied her own femininity in the performance of men's activities. For months, they told me, Tress had been up at dawn and out to the stables with Shelagh, learning first the use and care of her saddlery before graduating to groom and saddle her own horse. And then, once she had mastered the art of staying in the saddle, she had learned to ride as a man rides, sometimes spending entire days in the saddle, accustoming her muscles to the disciplines of riding and controlling horseflesh, and inuring herself to the pain of saddle sores and cramping, aching leg, thigh, back and belly muscles.

Listening to Tressa's enthusiasm, and admiring the high colour in her cheeks and the way her eyes danced with delight as she described what she had learned, I realized that here was the explanation of the fleeting thought that had occurred to me when I had bedded her, my first night home. She was harder, her muscles firm and full and clearly visible, her entire shape slightly less voluptuously rounded, although no less womanly or desirable.

Not only had Tress learned to ride, she had learned how to use a shortsword, our new, light cavalry spear and a bow. The latter, with a full quiver of arrows, now hung from her saddle horn, she told me, and the sword hung from her right side. She was no cavalry trooper, but Shelagh assured me Tress knew how to use both weapons and could defend herself in any situation. They now passed their free time together every day, riding the length and breadth of Camulod's holdings.

I listened in silence to all they had to tell me, and when they were finished, I reached out my hands to Tress. She had been eyeing me nervously, wondering how I would respond, and I set her mind at ease immediately by asking her to show me how she rode. Both women immediately re-entered the stables and I followed them in to find them leading their mounts, already saddled, from the stalls in which they had hidden themselves from me.

Shelagh's mount was her favourite of years, a large, well made, dun coloured gelding of no great physical beauty but of great stamina and willingness. Tressa's mount was chestnut coloured, and larger, too, than I would have expected. She held him confidently by the strap of his bridle as she brought him out, and then she caught the saddle horn in her right hand, raised her foot into the stirrup, hopped twice and swung herself up into the saddle effortlessly, finding the other stirrup with her right foot and standing on straight legs to arrange her cloak comfortably behind her. I laughed in delight and brought my arm across my chest in a punctilious salute to such prowess before asking them, out of mere curiosity, where they were bound that morning. They had no idea, Shelagh said. They would head out northwards, at first, towards the old Villa Varo, our closest neighbour, but then they might cut eastward towards the Colony's main horse farm, which lay along the route towards the Mendip Hills, where Publius Varrus had found his skystone.

My immediate reaction was one of concern, occasioned more than anything else by simple fear for two women riding alone. These were not two mere women, however; Shelagh was a warrior, and her word regarding Tressa's own prowess was sufficient warranty for me that Tress could look after herself should the need arise. Nevertheless, I wanted to tell them to be careful, but I mentally bit my tongue rather than offer what might be construed as a patronizing comment.

"You always ride armoured?" I asked, instead.

"Of course," Shelagh said, somewhat scornfully. "What else would you expect? It's the law. And we have helmets on our saddles. To unknown eyes out there we appear as men. I'm sure you would not tolerate our riding out otherwise."

I had to meet with Ambrose, I told them, but afterwards , were Ambrose so inclined, he and Donuil and I might ride after them, purely for pleasure, mine being the pleasure of acquainting myself with my new mount. They agreed, and left me standing there with my new horse, fighting the temptation to saddle him immediately and follow them and leave Ambrose to wonder what had befallen me. But good sense won out over wishfulness, and I led him back into his stall before unsaddling the horse that had brought me up here to find him.

That one unexpected encounter marked the beginning of a brief and idyllic period of months during which I came to see Tressa through new eyes, and the love we shared grew stronger and deeper in the warmth of the true friendship we discovered as we rode together every day. I marvelled daily, too, at the unexpected skills she possessed. She rode like a centaur, fully as well as Shelagh, whose riding skills were legendary among our troopers, and she handled the long, light spear of our Camulodian troopers as though it were an extension of her own arm, effortlessly picking up targets from the ground with her spear point at full gallop, to the mock despair of our own troopers, few of whom could match her skill. She was even more impressive with her light bow, seldom failing to place five out of six arrows in the central target ring from fifty and eighty paces. Only beyond a hundred paces did her accuracy falter, and that was due more to the fault of her light weapon than to any lack of skill in her marksmanship. Even from horseback, sitting m the saddle and turned sideways, Tress could hit the mark four times in six. I was more than impressed.

It was only with the shortsword that she showed womanly weakness. Her arm muscles lacked the hewing strength required for real sword work. I told myself that she would never need to use a sword, but nonetheless I replaced her old gladium with a shorter, double-edged dagger that would be easier to handle, and even more effective than her clumsy sword should she ever need to perform such deadly, close work.

Arthur left for Cambria with Llewellyn within the first week following our arrival, but before he did, he stood as witness, with Ambrose, to our marriage, presided over and sanctified by Bishop Enos before his own departure. It was a very quiet ceremony, private and dignified but filled, nonetheless, with delight and the love and admiration of our friends. Our nuptial celebrations lasted but one day, and then our guests departed and our life as man and wife began, stretching out ahead of us as life had never done before. We settled into a new dimension of happiness, aided by the fact that everything was progressing smoothly in our holdings, without grief or trauma.

With no urgent concerns pressing us into action, we fell into a habit that was pleasant and beneficial for us and for all our associates. A party of us, consisting usually of myself and Tress and Donuil and Shelagh, with various others providing the pleasure of their company from time to time, took to riding out on patrols to visit each of the ancillary garrison communities that were springing up like mushrooms outside the formal boundaries of Camulod and lining the roads to the north, south and east. The idea of this resurrection had spread like spring fires in dead grass, and each of the communities we visited was caught in the grip of an ever widening excitement. Their people laboured daily to construct enough new holdings to meet the demands of the newcomers who were now flocking towards them from all around the countryside. Organized bands of brigands and would be looters who descended on several of the new communities found themselves repulsed, savagely and with implacably ruthless determination, by a new phenomenon: a populace that had suddenly found itself blessed with the power of self defence, the confidence of righteousness and the certain knowledge of support from outside forces. No lawless rabble could survive in the face of such determined unity; those who attempted to invade the new communities were killed in the attempt, or hanged after its failure, their bodies left to swing in the wind outside the towns and camps.

Long disused fields were being rebroken to the plough everywhere we looked, and new land was being cleared, the trees cut down and sawn into logs to be used as building materials and the stumps uprooted to provide new crop land. Houses, most of them of raw logs, were springing up, too, and we saw potters, weavers, tanners, cobblers, smiths and coopers establishing new enterprises far and wide, their equipment temporarily housed beneath hastily raised roofs, frequently left open to the weather because there was no time to waste on building walls. No matter where we went, during those months, the smell of new cut wood and sawdust hung in the air, like the tang of distant smoke. And in every community, there was military activity all day long, as new arrivals of lighting age trained eagerly beneath the stern gaze of veteran troopers from Camulod, temporarily residing there for that purpose.

After long decades of anarchy and fear, the people everywhere around us were coming together again, determined to protect themselves for ever more against the ravages they had experienced since the departure of the legions. There was a new and vibrant spirit of hope and resurgence everywhere. It was impossible not to be aware of it as the warm autumn days turned the entire countryside into a tapestry of reds and golds, ripening the crops to perfection and permitting a bountiful harvest even from fields that had been but recently planted. For the first time in longer than I could remember, musicians, mummers and tumblers emerged among the populace and long, golden afternoons were frequently, and always surprisingly, enlivened by the sounds of music carrying from long distances through the calm, clear air. When the word went out that there would be an entertainment, the gathering was always attended by more people than anyone could have imagined, the women and children in their brightest, most festive clothes and the men laughing boisterously as they clustered around the drinking booths, exchanging small talk and growing ever more expansive as they enjoyed the almost forgotten sensations of ease and safety.

It was true, as Ambrose once remarked to me, that there seemed to be soldiers everywhere, but we rejoiced in the knowledge that these were of the finest kind: local men, family men whose soldierly demeanour was born of determination and resolve to see their families flourish and grow in peace and prosperity. Such men were seldom, if ever, undisciplined or unruly. They were prepared to fight for what they cherished, but they were equally prepared to enjoy the benefits of their regimented presence and their vigilance.

Winter announced itself that year with a sprinkling of snow late in December, then relented and withdrew again as it had the previous year, so that the greying skies did no more than scatter gentle rains from time to time. We had no winter storms that year, no gales, no howling winds at all. The bare branches of the trees were mostly still, and the grass remained green underfoot, so that we were able to continue our visits to our outlying friends without interruption.

The traffic of commerce flowed smoothly all winter up and down the length of the great Roman northsouth road, from Camulod north to Nero Appius's new colony of Appia close by Corinium, and south towards the new garrisons at Ilchester and the smaller outposts south of that, on the road to Isca. This road had become known as the Appian Way, after the greatest road in Italia, which led, as all roads did, to Rome. Because of the trust fostered in times past between the benevolent Appians and the leaders among the farmers around Corinium itself, the people of that area had begun to refurbish the original walls of the ancient Corinium camp, tentatively at the outset, but with growing confidence as the work progressed. With the ready assistance of the Appians, a rudimentary garrison soon moved in to occupy the newly reclaimed space. Once established, and with a council of elders appointed to maintain the common law, the population grew almost overnight, like a mushroom, and Corinium became a scheduled checkpoint on our regular patrols.

And then one morning Tress came to where I sat writing in a patch of sunlight and laid a little cup, filled with tiny white and blue and yellow flowers, on the table by my elbow. Spring had arrived; these blossoms were its first bright smile. And yet I sighed to look at them, for their mere presence marked the end of our lovely idyll. Spring, and the new year, meant I had to ride away again, this time eastwards to meet with Germanus, and I truly had no wish to go. Tressa asked me what was wrong, thinking that she might somehow have offended me, and so I told her what was in my mind. She was greatly surprised to hear that I had even considered leaving her behind in Camulod, and was so astounded at the very thought of it that she failed utterly to see my own astonishment that she might even have considered any possibility of accompanying me.

Our differing reactions created one of those dangerous moments when monstrous conflict can spring from the most innocent beginnings, and fortunately I was astute enough, for once, to recognize that. Instead of blurting out the rejection that had sprung to my lips, I bit down hard and waited, allowing Tress to speak without interruption, and forcing myself to really listen to what she had to say.

Unaware of the enormity of what she was suggesting, she informed me that she and Shelagh had decided their place was with us, no matter where we went, short only of riding into battle. Battle was for warriors, she conceded, and women had neither the training nor the strength for confronting male enemies in all out, hand-to-hand warfare. This journey, however, could not be considered a war campaign. She was prepared to concede that we were riding out as a military force and would comport ourselves accordingly for the duration of the expedition, but she saw that, and Shelagh agreed with her, as being no impediment to their accompanying us. They dressed as men and rode as men and behaved as cavalrymen behave; they were skilled in the use of weapons and in the care of their mounts, and they expected no man to do for them what they could not do for themselves. They could contribute to the expedition in a number of ways, including hunting, foraging, standing guard and, if need be, treating minor wounds and injuries.

As she prattled on, presenting what seemed an unending succession of arguments against being barred from coming with us, I found I had to suppress a reluctant grin of admiration. All my objections melted away like snow in a warm wind, so that I had made a momentous decision even before she had finished speaking and long before I had said a single word to countervail her logic. Tress and Shelagh would come with us. Donuil, I knew, would find no fault in that.

And I had no fear that others might disapprove. Shelagh and Tress were the only two female riders in the Colony whom our troopers would accept, since they did not ride as other women ride, daintily and aware at all times of their appearance.

When Tress had finished speaking and stood staring at me, wide eyed and patently unsure of how I would react, I nodded and made a humming sound in my throat, then advised her to be packed and ready to go within the week. She gazed at me disbelievingly, then gasped aloud and kissed me hurriedly and fiercely before rushing off to share her tidings with Shelagh. As I watched her go, I wondered how she would have reacted had she but known the true reason for my accession to her wishes. The last time I had ridden off to Verulamium, and incidentally to meet Germanus of Auxerre, I had left a wife behind me, in the protective safety of my home, only to return and find her brutally murdered. This time my woman would be by my side day and night, and anyone who wished to threaten her or harm her would have to pass through me to do it Germanus arrived at the appointed meeting place around midmorning on a glorious day in late spring. The three craft that bore his party made their way westward along the coast, with lookouts straining to see the signal we had agreed upon to direct them safely to where we waited. Behind me, ranged in disciplined, concentric ranks upon the sides of a small, natural amphitheatre among the rolling, shallow hills, my thousand men sat watching his advent. In truth, there were more than twelve hundred in our party, for a thousand troopers at large require much service and supply in the way of commissary wagons, quartermasters' stores, medical services and extra horses.

I cast my eyes over my assembled force one last time, then nodded to Dedalus to take command and made my way down towards the shore, where a crowd had already assembled to welcome the bishop's party. Behind me came Donuil, Philip, Falvo, Benedict and a dozen other troop commanders and, of course, Tress and Shelagh. I rode at the head, holding my own reins in my right hand and those of a riderless, pure white gelding in my left. I did not know if Germanus still rode or not, but I hoped he would and had selected this mount especially for him.

Enos and his people had made their preparations thoroughly, for we had found that, all along the route east, following the Roman roads from Camulod to Sorviodunum and thence to Venta Belgarum, our arrival had been expected by the local people. From Venta, proceeding directly south-eastwards across country towards the coast some sixty miles away, our experience was quite remarkably similar. We were accompanied by an escort of brown clad clerics, carrying staves and crosses, who were at pains to impress upon us that, despite our impressions to the contrary, we were moving now among God's own Christian flock, who bore us no ill will. And to our vast surprise, in apparent confirmation of that, we encountered no panic and no fear, either of our numbers or our presence, in the lands we crossed, despite the fact that most of the people we encountered were alien to us. This was the Saxon Shore we were traversing, and all its folk were Saxons.

Of course, we did encounter some hostility upon occasion as we progressed southward, but none of it was directed towards us. One particular event made a lasting impression upon me, and it was Dedalus who brought it home to me. He had been riding with the advance guard, and they had happened upon a raid in progress on a solitary farm far from any other signs of habitation. They had driven the raiders off in short order and without casualties among our men, and Ded had come straight to report to me on his return, finding me in my usual position at the head of our advance, in conversation with Benedict. Blunt as ever, Ded interrupted us.

"Here, " he grunted, holding some form of weapon out to me. "What d'you make o' that?"

I examined it perfunctorily. "Looks like the poor cousin to mine, " I said, hoisting the thing in my left hand and reaching with my right to lift the iron flail made by Uther Pendragon from its hook on the front of my saddle. Uther's flail, now mine, was an iron ball on a short, heavy chain, attached to a thick wooden handle. The weapon I now held in my left hand was similar, but differently made. Instead of an iron ball, its head was a heavy, almost spherical stone, wrapped in a network of hempen rope, each strand of it as thick as my little finger. The longitudinal strands, four of them, were plaited together then from the head of the thing to where they joined the handle, and the handle itself was completely encased in the plaiting, which had been cleverly and painstakingly wound back upon itself and interlaced, the ends of each strand bidden, with no sign of a knot anywhere. The entire weapon had then been steeped in some kind of hardening liquid or wax, to stiffen it and protect the fibre of the ropes. It was a deadly thing, flexible and lethal.

"That thing's no poor cousin to anything. " Ded's response to my comment was scornful. "That's a work of art. "

I looked at it again and could not find it in me to disagree with him. "I suppose it is, but it's a weapon of stone and rope, Ded, whereas mine is good, solid iron. "

"Precisely, " he said. That's why I brought it back. You remember the time we talked about how things had changed since the Romans left? You were bemoaning the fact that swords had become hard to find, because when the armies left, they took their armourers with them."

"Yes, I remember that."

"Well, then, here's the proof of it. Look at the work that's gone into that thing, simply to house a stone. That's a flail, Merlyn, made by someone who had seen the real thing, the iron flail, but couldn't find the means to make one for himself. That thing would smash your skull as thoroughly and quickly as an iron one would. Now look at this."

He reached into his saddlebag and produced another weapon, this one far more crude. It was, or had been, a makeshift spear, a rusty dagger lashed with hardened rawhide to the end of a wooden pole. It had been broken off half an arm's length below the lashed dagger hilt. Once I had seen it, Ded tossed it contemptuously aside, where it disappeared among the long grass through which we were riding. "That's the kind of weaponry those whoresons had." Seeing my raised eyebrow, he hurried on. "We found a band of savages attacking a farm, about three miles ahead of where we are now. They might have been Saxons, but I doubt it. Plain bandits, is my guess. Thieves and killers. Killed four of them, drove the others off, about ten of them. But not one of them had a decent sword. Most only had knives and wooden clubs. That thing you're holding there was the best weapon in the bunch."

"Hmm. So what's your point?"

"My point? My point is that we may be the only force around today with any real weapons."

I grinned at him then, and Benedict joined in. "You could be right, Ded," I said. "But we won't throw all our swords away for a while, for fear you might, might be mistaken."

That scene recurred to me as I sat watching the crowd of more than a hundred waiting on the beach. They were mostly Saxons, too, though sprinkled here and there with the brown robes of clerics, and I could scarcely see a weapon of any size among them. They were Christians, of course, and recently converted, most of them, but that should not have robbed them of the will or of the capacity to defend themselves away from the safety of their homes. They had looked askance at us when we arrived the previous afternoon, but mildly, with more curiosity than hostility.

Now I looked more closely and confirmed my initial impression: I could see no weapons. I pulled my mount to a halt on the grass strip above the pebbly expanse that stretched down to the water's edge, smiling in wonder at the way these people craned their necks and strained to see, hoping to catch a glimpse of three small ships approaching, when simply by coming up to where we sat they could have seen everything with ease and then walked down to meet the incoming travellers when they stepped ashore.

There was not a single Celt among the assembly, and I noticed that simply because of their dress, which appeared drab and colourless to my eyes after years of living among the weltering colours of my volatile Celtic countrymen. All of the people there beneath me wore rough, homespun, monochrome garments, dull browns and lustreless greys. Nowhere was there a hint or a dash of colour, not even solid black or white, and I could see no pattern woven into their plain clothing.

Now, watching Germanus's little craft draw closer, I was glad I had been so insistent upon changing the place of his landing. He had planned to land at the old fort of Dubris, some fifty miles along the coast, where the high white cliffs of Britain's southern shore came closest to the mainland of Gaul across the Narrow Sea. I had demurred at that, claiming that too much danger lay in such a landfall, both for his party and for my own. He would be landing on an alien shore, trusting himself to strangers who professed to be Christian; I would be riding through an alien land to meet him, entrusting the safety of my men similarly to other men's assurances of goodwill. Furthermore, Dubris lay on the southern edge of the Weald, and any journeying to or from there must now entail crossing through Horsa's territories.

We agreed that his ship should veer westwards at Dubris, hugging the coastline until it reached the ruined fort at Anderita, the most westerly of the ancient forts of the Saxon Shore. He would then round the headland that thrust southward beyond Anderita and continue to cling to the coastline, this time heading north-westerly until the shoreline; again pointed due west. Directly south of Londinium, and of Verulamium, which lay some eighty miles inland, we would be awaiting his arrival and would signal him to safety with the smoke from three large fires, two on the westerly side of his landing point and the third to the east of it. \

The small fleet approached as close as it could to the" shingled beach which, at low tide, appeared to stretch full half the way to Gaul. Then came a period of intense activity as tiny boats were lowered and men scrambled aboard them to be rowed ashore. Watching, it occurred to me to be grateful that the sea was calm, for the process that took half an hour might well have been impossible to attempt at all had the water been rougher. I watched the first three laden! boats approach the strand and saw the people waiting there surge forward to greet the newcomers, and I held up my hand in a needless warning to my companions to wait where" we were. We had travelled far to be here on this day, but we had ridden. The people there below us had all walked.

Had we moved forward then, our advent would inevitably and unjustly have commandeered all attention and deprived those waiting afoot of any opportunity to greet the man they had come to welcome.

My eyes picked out Germanus immediately, but my heart surged into my throat when I saw the changes in him since we two had last met. Then, I had seen the former legate of Rome's armies, a stalwart, clean shaven man in his fifties, strong and agile, thick in arm and leg, with cleanly muscled, vise like thighs that could clutch a horse's wide back without effort. That Germanus of Auxerre had been a general who had chosen to become a man of God. The man I beheld now, albeit from a distance, was a man of God who bore no resemblance to a soldier. And he was an old man, with a flowing, snow white beard. He saw me and raised a hand in greeting. I waved back, but made no move to approach, content to allow him to conclude his greetings to his friends and followers, every one of whom genuflected and kissed the hand he extended to them. Some few embraced him after that, when they had straightened up again, but most simply moved aside to make way for someone else.

Behind me, a horse whinnied and stamped noisily, apparently stung by some insect, for there was a scuffling surge of movement as several people reined their horses aside and fought to bring them back under control. I kept my eyes on Germanus, my mind racing back over the years. It had been the summer of 429 when we last met, the year Cassandra was killed. Two years later, in 431, Arthur had been born, and he was now sixteen, so eighteen years had passed. Germanus must now be close to seventy, and ruefully, I reflected that I myself, who had been under thirty then, was now forty-six.

"Will you go down to him?" Tress had moved forward; to flank me on my right.

"Soon, now. He knows we're here. He'll let us know: when he is ready. "

As I spoke, the activity centred around Germanus died away as others in his party now bore the brunt of greetings, and for several moments the bishop stood alone. Some other cleric approached him then, wishing to speak, but Germanus waved him away and looked up to us on the crest above. His face broke into a smile as he raised a hand to wave us forward. I eased Germanicus forward down the sloping beach, but he was skittish on the pebbly surface, so I quickly dismounted and left him there, ground tethered, alongside the white gelding, as I strode down towards my old friend. I dropped to one knee, extending my hand to take and kiss his in the offering of Christian peace. He allowed me to do so, but then he pulled me to my feet and embraced me as a dear and long unseen friend, surprising me with his strength. Briefly then I introduced him to my companions, and then to the other officers, introducing each by his rank. Germanus greeted them with gentle pleasure, finding a different word or two for each and thanking all of us for the trouble we had undertaken on his behalf.

Behind us, farther down towards the water, the orgy of greetings and salutations had died down and the entire crowd had quieted to form a silent, semicircular audience, watching what was transpiring between us and their leader. Germanus turned to face them, raising his voice and his arms at the same time to capture their attention before he; realized that everyone was already staring at him, waiting for his words. He lowered his arms immediately.

"Dear friends, it heartens me to know that by these signs and portents, God is indicating His pleasure in the lightness of the sacred cause that brings us here to Britain. He has sent perfect weather to accompany us on our journey across the sea and to ensure that we arrived on the appointed day to find all of you waiting here to greet us. Most of all, however, He has seen fit to reunite me with my friend here, Caius Britannicus, who saved our lives when first we came to Britain almost two decades ago, escorting us to Verulamium, and has now returned to escort us once again, although this time in vastly greater strength and at our invitation.

"You will meet him and his friends, all of you, in the time ahead, for the road to Verulamium is long and might well have been beset with perils, had our friends from Camulod not come to see us there in safety. For the time being, our escort sits above, full armoured, in the sun, awaiting our passage. It would be uncharitable to cause them to remain there in discomfort longer than they must. So please, let us move onward for a space. " He paused and glanced at me. "How far? Where will we camp tonight?'

"Close by. Less than a mile from here. It seemed to me good sense that you would wish to rest at least one day after your crossing, so we have made arrangements to set out tomorrow, and by the time we reach the encampment, our commissary should have a welcoming meal prepared for you. For everyone, including those who came to meet you. Think of it as a reward for coming so promptly. My men think of it that way, for they never receive a hot meat meal in the middle of the day, except upon the most effulgent of occasions!"

"Wonderful. " He passed on this information to his people and then beckoned with his arms, inviting them all to move forward. As he did so, I looked more closely at what he was wearing and saw that his long robe was split vertically from the waist, and that beneath it he wore leather breeches and serviceable, highly polished leather boots. As he turned back to me I grinned at him and took hold of his left elbow, prompting him to walk with me.

"I'm glad to see you still garbed as a rider, Bishop. You wrote to me once that you had not ridden a horse in years. "

"I did, and promptly realized that I had shown ingratitude to God, committing the sin of pride by presenting myself as too busy with His affairs to take time for His pleasures. I set out to rectify that immediately and had reconditioned myself to the saddle before you ever read that letter. I have been riding ever since. Have you a horse for me?" He was leaning into the slope of the beach as we moved! upward.

I laughed. "Aye, Legate Bishop, I have. But it is saddled, ! with stirrups. Can you ride thus?"

He stopped walking for a moment and laughed back at me, very slightly short of breath from the effort of walking!; on the pebbles. "Need you ask? Bear in mind, if you will,, that the first stirrups that you ever saw crossed from Gaul into Britain. You adapted them then, and once having seen your stirrups and the power they bestow, how could any Gallic rider fail to copy them? One of my brethren made drawings of your saddles before we left Verulamium, anfrom those the remaining details, the making of them was simple to achieve. So yes, I ride the way you do. "

"Alleluia, " I responded, and he looked at me sharply, his head tilting to one side. "Ah, so you've heard of that, have you? Does it vex you?"' 'The Alleluia Victory? How could it vex me, Bishop? I was there, don't you recall?" I was smiling as I spoke, and he brightened visibly. I nodded towards the white gelding. "Will that suit your purposes?" His eyebrows shot up as he looked at the magnificent!

beast. "How could it fail to? But I am a bishop, Merlyn, and this is a horse fit to bear a king. Could you not find a lesser animal for me?"

"I could indeed, but aren't you being proud again? This one came straight to meet me when I went looking for a mount for you. “I hesitated for a moment, and then went on impulsively. "He even matches you in colour, mane to beard. Here, let me help you up. "

Germanus laughed again, heartily, then leaned a hand on my shoulder and placed his left foot in my cupped hands. I straightened my knees and raised his foot to the level of the stirrups, where he swung his right leg across the horse's back.

"His name's Pegasus, " I said. "No wings, I fear, but the correct colour, and he's swift, but gentle. " I went to Germanicus and swung myself up onto his back, seeing that Tress was already mounted and moving ahead of us to where our troopers sat. When I turned to Germanus, he was sitting erect, gazing at the lines in admiration.

"Magnificent, Merlyn, quite magnificent. Rome never saw the equal of these. " He paused, his very seat indicating that the military man was reincarnate in him now. "May I inspect them?"

"That would be an honour, Bishop, but one they have earned. Yes, that would please them, and me, greatly. "

"So be it. Ride with me. "

Thus, for the next half of an hour, the troopers of Camulod stood to be reviewed and inspected by a legate of Rome.

When it was over, and the troops had been dismissed to return to the encampment, I rode knee to knee with my visitor, explaining to him that we had brought comfortable wagons with us, fitted with padded benches so that he and his bishops could ride to Verulamium in comfort, rather than walking as they had on the previous occasion. We spoke of many things on that short ride, but we were close , beset with people all around and I knew that I would have to wait some time before I might have an opportunity to discuss with him the things that were most prominent in my mind. So it was with great relief that I heard him say, just as we rode into camp, that he was looking forward to, spending time alone with me, away from the duties of his bishopric and his current mission, and that he would set; aside some time to speak with me the following day, once we had completed the first leg of our journey to the north.

Our camp was laid out, as it always was, in the fashion of the traditional Roman military encampments. For this; occasion, however, with the feeding of close to fifteen hundred personnel, I had ordered the quartermaster cooks to set up a feeding area beyond the camp itself, and the smells of spit roasted sheep and venison were carried on the gentle breeze to every corner of the camp. I led the way through the centre of the camp to my own quarters and those of my senior commanders. I had ordered three additional tents set up beside my own, for Germanus's use; the two tents flanking his own were commodious enough to house as many of his personal staff as he might choose to place there. I led him directly to his own tent and we dismounted, handing our reins to the troopers who were waiting there to take our mounts. As I turned to leave him, however, Germanus caught me by the wrist and held me there until the troopers had gone; then he cocked his head to look at me.

"Your officers, those whom you introduced to me. I can't recall their names, but they were tribunes, centurions and: decurions. I found that strange.".

"How so? Why should it be strange?"

"Those are Roman rankings. "

"So? That is unimportant, Bishop. They are military titles. "

"Call me Germanus when we are alone. Why Roman? You are not Roman, are you?"

"No, we're not, we're British, but our roots are Roman nonetheless. "

"Hmm. What do you call your officers?"

I blinked at him. "Forgive me, but what do you mean, what do I call them? They're my officers, I call diem by their names. "

Germanus shook his head, smiling now. "No, you should forgive me for being so unclear. But the historian in me knows that no Roman tribune was a cavalry officer by birth and training. The same applies to the centuriate. They were infantry to a man. Decurions were cavalry, but all your officers are cavalry. "

I was still confused. "So? What are you saying?"

Now he shrugged. "I suppose I am saying that, if you are determined to adhere to Romanness, then you should adhere strictly to that bent. The founding fathers gave their name to the Patrician order in Rome, and all others were Plebeians. Later, another order emerged, between Patricians and Plebeians, and to mark their rank, the state awarded them horses, fed from the public purse. Thus they became Equestrians, known to the world today as Knights. All of your men are equestrian, therefore your officers deserve the title of Equestrians. You should call them Knights, my friend, and find some way of distinguishing them in the eyes of other men, not merely your soldiers. "

"Knights? You mean—" My mind was racing now, seeing a host of possibilities. "You mean we should found a new order of nobility? Within Camulod?"

"Why not? Perhaps not an order of nobility, per se— nobility is such an abstract word and all too frequently misleading—but certainly a new order of military excellence. From the appearance of your troops today, I would say Camulod has come of age sufficiently to honour its own in some such signal way. It was merely a thought, but it might be worth considering. It could provide incentive for your aspiring warriors. "

"Aye, it could indeed. But how would we mark such an honour? We all have horses already, and the Colony looks after them. "

"Who knows?" Germanus shrugged his shoulders. "No doubt something will come to you. As I say, it was a mere thought. Think on it further, my friend. God will guide you, of that I am sure. Ah, and on that thought He now guides me. Here comes Ludovic, my secretary and my personal cross to bear throughout this life. Pardon me, for I must speak with him before we take the time to eat. "

I left him to the attentions of the corpulent, pink faced cleric who came bustling over to claim him and went looking for Tress, my mind in a turmoil with the idea he had stirred up in me so quickly. I had to share it with someone, and she was first and foremost in my mind.

We talked about it while we ate, and Tress grew nearly as excited as I was, her nimble mind perceiving almost from the first the exciting possibilities that founding such an order might present, were we to approach it properly. By the end of that afternoon, when Germanus was deeply involved with his British bishops in a session that would last long into the night, I had mentioned the idea to all my closest associates. None of them, however—and I was saddened to note this— appeared to see in it the potential that had screamed itself into my mind and Tressa's. Even Shelagh merely blinked her lovely, long lashed eyes and said little. I covered my disappointment and lowered the intensity of my enthusiasm, fearing to embarrass any of them, but the idea would not lose its resonance.

That night I awoke long before dawn with a vision in my mind, a vision that might well have been a dream. I saw Arthur, years older than he was, holding Excalibur in front of him as he stood within a ring of shining young men, all of them helmed and uniformly armoured and gazing at him in love and admiration. I sat up in bed in the darkness and concentrated upon what I had seen, drinking in the brightness and the light that surrounded this assembly until it faded from my memory, and then I lay back down and vainly tried to go back to sleep.

FOURTEEN

I was up and abroad well before dawn the next morning, but by the time I emerged from my tent the business of breaking camp was already well in hand. Indeed, it had been the noises from the horse picket lines and the sounds of wagons being loaded that had driven me from my cot. I washed quickly in cold water at the communal ablutions area and foraged a cold breakfast for myself in the camp kitchens, then spent the next few hours touring the encampment, supervising the preparations for departure.

A strong, warm breeze sprang up out of the west soon after daylight and grew warmer as the sun climbed higher in the sky, so that by the time we set out, the small banners on our squadron leaders' spears were fluttering almost horizontally and our standard bearers were having difficulty with the great, square banners that proclaimed our identity: my own great silver bear, picked out on thick, black cloth, and the rampant dragon of Camulod, white on a field of red.

Our exodus seemed chaotic at first, since most of the throng who had gathered to welcome Germanus waited until we were ready to set forth, then fully half of them scattered to the winds to make their own ways homeward. By the time we had travelled half a mile, however, most of these travellers had disappeared from view and we were left alone, an arrow straight, strong column moving northward at the pace of our slowest wagons, the heavy, wide wheeled, mule drawn vehicles that housed our commissary. Here, far from any road and travelling through a countryside of gently rolling, treeless hills, these wagons were our greatest strength, since they held our supplies, and also our greatest weakness, since they were vulnerable to every hillock and declivity they encountered. The ground was firm, however, and there were few boulders on the chalky, grass covered terrain, so although the progress of the wagons was slow, they moved forward without difficulty, their wide, iron tyres leaving sharp edged impressions in the shallow soil.

We carried our travelling rations in our saddlebags and ate in our saddles at noon without pausing to rest, since our leisurely rate of travel posed no threat to our horses' stamina. Some time after that, perhaps an hour later, I smelled an elusive hint of smoke. Philip, who was riding at my side, detected it on the same gust of wind and identified it as grass smoke. I nodded, and we rode on, but the hint we had detected strengthened to an ever present, growing stink, and soon the distances ahead of us were obscured in a drifting haze through which I saw Dedalus and Benedict cantering back towards us from their advance position with our foremost scouts.

The. hills ahead, to the north and west of us, were all ablaze and burning fiercely, they reported, a blaze fanned and fed by the steady, constant western wind. They had approached the fire's leading edges, hoping to find them narrow and quickly passable, but the chalky subsoil yielded there to a deep layer of peaty roots and the fire was smouldering far beneath the surface, knee deep in places, precluding any hope of dashing across the flames to safety.

Access to the north was blocked, Dedalus said lugubriously, and we would have to swing right, towards the east, to circumvent the fires.

There was no point in complaining, and even less in growing angry. A single glance at Ded's condition—grimy, red eyed and soot stained—bore out the truth of his report. I issued orders to Philip to change the direction of our march and sent Ded and Benedict to pull our scouting parties back and away from the fires, matching our change of heading. Our train swung right immediately, heading directly east, ? and that pleased me not at all, although I kept my dissatisfaction to myself at the time. Directly ahead of us on this new course lay the Weald and Horsa's newly landed horde ' of Danes, and I had no wish to stir up that nest of wasps. '

Our change of direction produced an immediate reaction among Germanus's retinue, and within a very short time the bishop himself came riding to join me at the head of our procession. We were expected to the north, he pointed out with some anxiety, and arrangements had been made for us to pass unmolested through the lands we would traverse, but no such measures had been put in place to the eastward. How far did I intend to deviate from our planned itinerary?

I explained that we would ride east until the wind; changed and the fires to the north of us died out, and then' we would skirt the edges of the burn until we could swing west again and regain our original route. He nodded hit head in acceptance, but his frustration matched my own. Even were the fires to die immediately, direct access to the north would be denied us, since the blackened ground precluded any grazing for our horses. Our route lay now within the hands of God, in whom we must place our trust.

For the next four days we rode in a great, looping arc, headed generally east but tending to the north as much as possible. Armed scouting parties scoured the lands ahead of us in double strength, and every man in our main column was on the alert for trouble at all times. The winds died down during the night of the second day, and regular reports arrived from Ded and Benedict about conditions north and west of where we were, so that by the morning of the fourth day we had descended from the uplands and were headed north west again, through a landscape of saplings and dense brush. This route took us past surprisingly prosperous farms, carved from the bushy wilderness that formed the outer edge of a huge, forested area to the east of us. There were still no roads in this region, which had been of no use to the Romans, but there were signs of human habitation everywhere and wandering paths abounded, meandering from farm to tiny farm between the larger, impenetrable thickets.

All of the people hereabouts, Germanus informed me, were Anglians, many of whom had landed in these? parts decades and even generations earlier and were now settled peacefully, working the land and providing for their numerous progeny. I sniffed and kept my wits about me, implicitly distrusting and disliking anyone who was neither Celt nor Roman bred. I saw no signs of hostility among these folk, however, and I took note of the genuine warmth that seemed to exist between them and the bishops. I was relieved, too, when I realized that the sheer population density of these Anglians, the way they swarmed upon the land, was a form of protection for us in itself. Horsa's Danes would find no foothold here, for all the space was taken up.

On the afternoon of that fourth day, we finally intersected our original route and headed directly north again, and as the afternoon was growing late, the shadows lengthening from the setting sun, we reached a group of people who had evidently been awaiting us. As we approached them, a man and woman came forward to meet Germanus. Despite the fact that they were obviously Anglians, I was struck by the dignity and self possessed authority that marked them. The man's name, Germanus told me, was Cuthric. I could see for myself, merely from his posture, his height and the way he comported himself, that he was some kind of leader among his people. He was a tall, upright man who held himself as though on permanent display, and he moved with an easy grace and a natural sense of dignity that set him apart from everyone around him. He was richly dressed, his clothes made of a heavy, dark-green fabric that seemed luxurious beside the plain, homespun garments of his fellow Anglians. Full bearded, he seemed to flaunt a mane of thick, golden hair that hung down to broad shoulders that! suggested their owner could hold his own against any challenge to his strength. The woman was clearly his wife, almost as tall as her consort, with the same thick, lustrous, ? golden tresses, and a single, draped robe of white, edged ,; with the same dark green. She bore herself with such unconscious regality that there could be no question regarding to whom she belonged. Together, they presented a portrait of self possession and close knit probity.

Germanus's face was creased in an enormous, welcoming smile. "Pardon me, Merlyn," he murmured, then> addressed the newcomers in their own tongue, rattling the incomprehensible gibberish off as though it were Latin. I gaped, never having heard him speak this language or suspected that he might be able to. Finally the bishop turned to me again, laying his hand on my forearm.

"Their names are Cuthric and Cayena," he began, and I took note of the woman's strange but lovely name. I bowed my head towards the two and smiled at diem, murmuring something pleasant and meaningless, which Germanus translated into what sounded like an ode. He must have been eloquent indeed, because man and wife both looked at me and inclined their heads, as though in gratitude or deference.

"Cuthric has great power among the Anglian people," Germanus told me then. "He is not what we would call a king, because the Anglians themselves do not deal in kingships, but he is undoubtedly the paramount leader in these parts, revered for his wisdom and his gift of dispensing justice even handedly. His correct title is jarl, but to call him a chief might be a better way of describing him, but he is also something of a..." He paused, searching for a word. "I was about to say a holy man, but that is inaccurate, in the context within which I was speaking. Holy man he may be, but he is a devout and exemplary Christian. The Latin term magus is closer to the mark."

I blinked, looking at Cuthric and then at Germanus. "A magus? You mean a magician? A sorcerer?"

"Of course not. Have I not said he is a devout Christian? He is a sage, a wise and learned man, steeped in the ancient traditions of his people, and as such they honour him greatly. Now he will accompany us northward and his presence—even more than your thousand—will ensure that we are not molested." His smile took any hint of insult from his last remark.

"Good, then, that pleases me. We need every helping hand stretched out to us until we are well clear of Horsa's threat. I'll leave you now, to tend to your new guests. I have matters enough to keep me occupied until you are ready to leave again."

I saluted Cuthric and the stately Cayena with a crisply military clenched fist raised to my left breast, and then swung my horse around and headed back towards my troops, who were looped in a long, loose formation about the farm. I stood them down and sat on the ground next to Tress, Shelagh and Donuil for the next half hour, exchanging pleasantries while Germanus conducted his affairs. When he reappeared, with the Anglian couple in tow, we found room for them in one of the passenger wagons, and shortly thereafter we were on our way again.

In the days that followed, I found myself in Cuthric's company frequently, for he was always close to Germanus, the two of them prattling away in whatever tongue it was they spoke together, although I must admit, injustice, that they never failed to abandon whatever they were discussing when I appeared, after which Germanus and I would speak in Latin while he translated for Cuthric's benefit.

I had two of the most important conversations of my life within the week that followed Cuthric's arrival, one of them carefully planned and much thought over in advance, the other purely spontaneous, and it has galled me for years that the second of them did not occur until that week was almost over. Had it occurred sooner, on the other hand, the first conversation, undoubtedly the more important of the; two, would never have taken place at all.

I had expected to be able to spend some time alone with Germanus within the first few days of meeting him, but that; was not to be. There was an endless traffic of clerics along our route, finding us as if by magic, no matter which way ; our path might wend. Those messengers, each of whom; brought tidings of great or lesser gravity to the bishop's; attention, demanded all of his time for the first period of days, the meetings sometimes lasting well into the night. Germanus told me that as he grew older he found less and less need for sleep, and after hearing the talk among our troopers, who often passed the time with him on the predawn watch, I believed him. Yet he was never out of scats or sleepy looking when the new day dawned. Instead he was up and about, bright eyed and cheerful, feeding himself and climbing into the stirrups like a much younger man.

A few days after we had settled back onto our northward route, on a late evening after the watch fires had burned past their first height, he called to me as I was passing by his tent on my way to my own, after a cursory patrol of our perimeter. I stuck my head in through the flaps and found him sitting at the folding table, talking with two of his bishops. He looked up with a smile.

"Do you think you could conjure a flask of mead tonight, my friend? We have almost finished here, and I am aware that I have spent no time with you since dragging you out here to meet with me. I know we both have much to discuss with each other. "