by Jack Whyte
I found myself laughing in mild embarrassment. He sounded almost like a jilted lover. "I'm sorry. I intended to, but we had an emergency to deal with, and your request slipped my mind. I forgot."
"What kind of emergency makes a man like you forget a promise? Had it to do with Lot's men?"
I shrugged. "It could have had, I suppose, but not—" I broke off, realizing what he had asked me. "How did you know they were Lot's men?"
"Because I know them. That's what I had to talk to you about. And that's why I'm staying here in my room. I don't want them to know I'm here."
"Why? Are you afraid of them?"
His eyes flashed at me from the shadows. "I am, and I have reason to be. So do you. They are men to fear, those two."
"How so? Why should I be afraid of them? They are here on a peaceful embassy."
"Disabuse yourself of that thought, Commander. Those two are incapable of anything to do with peace. They are assassins. The best that King Lot has, or the worst, depending on the point of view."
I crossed to the single chair in the room and put my foot up on the seat. "How do you know this, Donuil? Have you met them?"
"Aye. Once, in my father's hall. It was the one with the different eyes that I heard call you Caius the Coward."
"Oh? That's interesting. Tell me more about them, and about why the sight of them can keep you hiding here."
"They're magicians. Warlocks."
"Oh come, Donuil! There's no such thing as magic."
He looked at me, unimpressed by my scoffing. "You tell that to your soldiers, Commander. Don't waste your breath on me or any of my people. These men are evil. They are in league with Darkness. And they are never what they seem to be. Death walks at their side and lays his hand on everyone they deal with."
I grunted in disgust and sat down. "Very well, I'll believe you. They are magicians. Now tell me something about them I can deal with. They are men, too, I presume?"
He ignored my sarcasm. "Aye, they are men, after a fashion, but they have none of the needs or the desires of ordinary men. They live only to serve their master, Lot. It is as though they are mindless, otherwise. I hid from them, not wanting them to know I am here, for if they know that, they'll be warned."
"Warned about what?"
"About whatever it is they are here for. If they see me here, free, they'll know I'll tell you what I know of them, if they don't kill me first."
"Come now, Donuil, you're being ridiculous."
"Aye. So you say. I've seen them kill a man who was in a locked and guarded room, just for the sport of it. Just to prove they could do it."
"Prove it to whom?"
"To my father, and to the rest of us. They told us to pick a man at random, which we did, and to lock him up, under guard, anywhere we pleased. We chose one of their men, and the poor fellow went white with the terror that was in him. We took him to a strong hut, all of us. There must have been twenty men there, and the tall one, the one they call Caspar, ordered us to tie the man hand and foot and put a stifle in his mouth. When that was done, he had us all gather round and watch as he sat staring at the man for a long time. The fellow grew deathly still and lost consciousness, although Caspar never touched him. Finally, the big fellow got up and told us to cut the man loose. We cut him loose, removed the binding from his mouth," and he came back to life and started screaming. Caspar and the other one just laughed at him and walked away.
"We locked the fellow up and put guards all around the hut and we all went back into my father's hall, where Memnon, the creature with the funny eyes, began to entertain us in a way of which I've never seen the like. He could make things disappear and reappear somewhere else. We were all amazed and more than a bit afraid, until Caspar interrupts and says, 'The man is dead.' I was sent to look, with two of my brothers. Our own men were still on guard, Nobody had come near the place, they swore. The fellow inside had stopped his howling. My brother opened the door and we went in. The man was dead. Not a mark on him. Not a cut or a bruise or a stain. He was just dead, his face twisted up in terror and his mouth open wide in a scream."
"Donuil, that's just not possible."
"I know, Commander, and if I hadn't been the one to find him, I'd never have believed it myself."
"How old were you at the time?"
"As old as I am now! It was not three months ago." His voice was emotionless and I was impressed in spite of myself.
"So. Why do you think Lot would have sent these two here?"
"To cause death. Why else? It's what they do. It's all they do. I talked with some of their own men about the two of them. Do you know, even their own soldiers hate them and are deathly afraid of them? One fellow told me that they learned their heathen crafts in foreign lands far to the east, beyond the Saxon wildernesses. They know the secrets—all the secrets—of murder. They have poisons, they say, that can kill in a hundred different ways. They can burn a man to death without fire, just by cutting his skin!"
That one brought me erect. "Say that again?"
"I said, they can burn a man to death without fire, just by cutting his skin."
"What does that mean?" He heard the strain in my voice.
"I don't know, Commander. That's just what I've been told." I felt a grim determination settle over me as I thought about what Donuil had told me, but I kept silent as he continued. "I don't know what reason they've given you for being here, either, but it's a lie, whatever they told you. Lot keeps these two only to spread terror. Be sure of that, Commander. They are here to kill, and to spread fear." My mind was filled with imagined screams, and I saw Uther's soldiers writhing in agony. The faces of the two men grew vivid in my mind's eye as the voice in my head put names to each of them: Caspar and Memnon. I was barely aware of Donuil's next words. "They're not from Britain, you know, Commander? They're from some place called Egypt, beyond the seas."
Memnon and Caspar! My decision was there in my head almost before I was aware of it. I rose quickly to my feet. "Where are they quartered? Do you know?"
He shook his head.
"Stay here. I'll come back for you later." I went directly in search of Uther. One of the guards in the courtyard told me that he had seen Uther pass just a short time before, headed for the refectory with his two "guests." I made my way directly to the guardhouse just inside the main gates. Curio, the sergeant of die guard, saluted me as I approached.
"Centurion, I need a squad of twelve. Assemble them here immediately in full kit. Jump to it. I'll be back shortly." I spent that time looking for my father, but wherever he was, I couldn't find him. Curio had the men assembled when I returned, and the sound of our marching feet turned many heads as we approached the refectory.
Uther looked at me quizzically as I approached their table. Every eye in the room was watching.
"Cay? Something wrong?"
"Yes, Commander. Very wrong. Your company."
Both of them stared insolently at me, neither making a move to rise.
"What about my company, Commander?"
"I'm placing them under close arrest."
"On whose authority?" For a moment, I had the feeling he was going to dispute me. *
"My own."
He smiled and turned to his companions. "Gentlemen, my cousin here, Commander Caius Britannicus, has the responsibility for maintaining discipline and order within these walls. I'm afraid I have to yield you to his care."
They were both frowning now. Caspar looked at my troopers with disdain, and then at me. "You take a lot upon yourself, Commander. Since when has it become usual to treat ambassadors with such hostility?" I could hear the foreign tenor in his voice—not strongly, but it was there.
"Since I discovered who and what you are! Centurion! Search these two carefully. Strip them naked. Make sure that they have nothing left to them that could become a weapon. Keep their clothing, and issue them tunics to keep them warm. Then lock them up and hold them under guard." I looked each of them in the eye. "You can go now, on foot, with
these men, or you can be carried. The choice is yours. Take them away."
They left, closely surrounded by their twelve guards. Uther had remained seated through the whole thing. When they were gone, he whistled softly to himself.
"All right, tell me. What was all that about?"
I seated myself across from him, feeling the tension ebbing slowly. "I've just been told, by a stranger who knew nothing of your story, that those two whoresons are Egyptian magicians, masters of poison, who can burn a man to death without fire, simply by cutting his skin. Does that remind you of anything?"
"By the Christ! Those poisoned arrows!"
"That's what I thought you'd say."
"Who told you this?"
"Donuil, my young Hibernian hostage. He saw these two in action, when they came to his father's hall, less than three months ago. He recognized them yesterday and hid from them, afraid that they would see him and kill him. He has a very healthy respect for their killing power. Did you find out their names?"
"Yes. They're called—"
I cut him off. "Caspar and Memnon?"
"Caspar and Memnon, that's right."
"Then that proves it. Those names are Egyptian, but more than that, they're the names Donuil gave me."
"How do you know?"
"I told you. He knows them."
"No, not that. I mean how do you know they're Egyptian names?"
"I read a lot, remember?"
Uther made a wry face and jerked his head to indicate he would never understand me. "Now what? Does Uncle Picus know about this?"
"Not yet. I couldn't find him. Once I knew who those fellows really were, I didn't want them running loose in the fort."
"Yes, I could see that." His smile was back in place. "Where's this Hibernian of yours?"
"In his quarters. Come on, I'll introduce you to him. You can hear for yourself what he told me."
"Lead on, Commander. I'm in a fever of impatience."
"There's one more thing to do. Their servants have to be arrested, too. Where are they?"
"In the barracks with the common herd. I'll have them picked up."
"Pick up their baggage, too, and have it sent to my father's quarters. It will be interesting to see what's inside it."
Uther summoned a trooper from another table and issued his orders, and as he was doing so it occurred to me that there was no longer any need to keep our preparations secret. As Uther turned back to me, I told him so. "This changes matters, Cousin. We can start moving the extra supplies into the fort openly now. I'd better get the word out."
"What if Lot has spies out on the hills watching us? Won't that warn him that we've guessed what he's up to?"
"I no longer care. We'll start moving the stuff in first thing tomorrow morning. Our column started moving out this morning. They'll be far to the north-east tomorrow. All that will be left for Lot's people to see will be the recall of our infantry and the gathering of our people and supplies. Even if he guesses we are ready for him, he'll never guess that we've already spirited an army out from under his nose."
He threw his arm over my shoulder. "Cay, my honoured Cousin, your shrewdness and your intelligence never fail to impress me. We'd better let Uncle Picus and the others know you've changed all their plans. They're going to be very pleased with you!"
In spite of my cousin's friendly sarcasm, my father and the others were pleased, after they had time to assimilate the changes and the reasons behind them. It took an hour to assemble my father, Titus, Flavius, Uther, myself and Donuil in the Armoury. Uther and I had thoroughly searched the baggage of the "ambassadors" before the others arrived, but it yielded nothing sinister or exotic. When everyone was assembled, I had Donuil repeat his story, prompting him myself on the points I wanted made clear. Uther supplied the translation into Latin for the others. When he had finished, my father and Titus directed a few questions at him, and then we let him go back to his own quarters. He stopped at the door, however, and looked at me.
"Commander Merlyn? Could I speak to you for a moment? Alone?"
I excused myself and followed him outside, where he stopped and turned to face me, his face troubled.
"What's wrong?" I asked him, in his own tongue.
"Their baggage. It should have contained more than it evidently did."
"What d'you mean?"
"I don't really know, Commander." He shrugged in frustration. "But there should have been more to find. These men go nowhere without the tools of their trade, for their traffic in death."
"What tools, Donuil? What are you driving at?"
"Their baggage should have contained things that were strange to your people, things that would cause comment. Did they search the iron-bound boxes?"
"I don't know." It was my turn to admit ignorance. "What iron-bound boxes are you talking about?"
"The two they never let out of their sight. One of them is slightly bigger than the other, and both are heavy."
I sniffed. "I'll check. But I think you are concerned about nothing."
"I hope I am, Commander." He did not sound convinced.
"Anyway—" I clapped him on the shoulder—"I'll look for myself and let you know what I find. Now get to bed."
I went back into my father's room. There was no discussion of the initiatives I had taken after hearing Donuil's story the first time. Everyone agreed that I had acted correctly. My orders were in place and would be carried out the next day, .beginning at daybreak. In the meantime, we had little to do but wait. The logistical details of storage, supplies, allocation of space and food rationing were in the hands of Titus and his quartermasters. Uther and I would get a good night's sleep and leave for the north-east before dawn, travelling alone and unobtrusively to the rendezvous with our cavalry.
My next stop after leaving the Armoury was back at Donuil's quarters. He was still there, stretched out on his bed.
"Hey!" I said from the doorway. "Are you going to lie there for the next five years?" He sat up and blinked at me.
"What was the name of the soldier you found who speaks your heathen language?"
"Rufio."
"Big, burly man with a bright red beard?"
"Yes, Commander."
"I know him. Good! Let's go and find him." I had a centurion find him for me and order him to my quarters, where Donuil and I were waiting for him. He turned up a short time later, looking apprehensive and doubtless worrying over which of his misdemeanours I could have discovered. When he saw Donuil standing beside me, his apprehension deepened.
"You sent for me, Commander?"
"Yes, Trooper Rufio. I understand you speak our guest's language?"
He swallowed. "Yes, Commander."
"Good thing, since he doesn't speak ours. I'm putting you under special orders from this time on. Who's your centurion?"
"Phideas, Commander. 'C' Squadron."
"Phideas. That's right. He had you up in front of me on charges not too long ago. Brawling, wasn't it?"
"Yes, Commander."
"And insubordination, if my memory still works."
Again the swallow. "Yes, Commander."
"You and your friend—what was his name? Strato?—the two of you took on almost the whole of 'A' Squadron over some woman or other, and one of you was unwise enough to knock a decurion unconscious when he tried to stop the slaughter."
"Yes, Commander. I didn't see who he was until I hit him."
"Mmm! Well, any insubordination from now on will be to me, personally, since I am claiming your body for my own purposes. I'll instruct Centurion Phideas to that effect. In the meantime, I'm making you personally responsible for the welfare of our young friend here. You understand? He needs an interpreter, and he needs someone who knows his way around both this fort and a cavalry camp, who can show him the ropes. I'm making him one of my junior officers, one of my Optiones. I want you to make that clear to everyone concerned.
"You will treat him well, look after his butt, and teach him as much of our language
as you can. Shouldn't be difficult. He's a bright lad and he's eager to learn. Most importantly, however, I want you to make a cavalryman out of him. Teach him about horses: how to care for them, how to groom and feed them, how to equip them, and how to ride. He's a complete tyro, so I'm making you a nursemaid. But you'd better teach him well, because he's going to be my personal attendant. That means he'll also have to learn the use, care and maintenance of weapons, armour and personal gear, all of my campaign equipment. Can you handle all of that, d'you think?"
He had been staring at me wide-eyed, his face a mask as he absorbed everything I was throwing at him. When I asked him this last question he blinked once and cleared his throat.
"Yes, Commander. Er...how much time do I have, sir?"
"How much do you think you'll need?" He glanced side-
ways at his new charge who was watching us, not understanding a word.
"Er, for the basics? Everything? A month?"
"A month you have. From tomorrow. Thirty days to turn a heathen prince into a Camulodian trooper. Don't worry about his officer's duties. That's my post. Just keep him out of trouble with your mates until he learns to handle himself. I'm assigning both of you to my personal squadron. You will hold the rank of acting centurion, with privileges. Hold it carefully. If you do this job properly, the rank will be permanent. Let me down and you'll be a bare-arsed trooper in Phideas's squadron again so fast, the speed of it will make you dizzy. Understood?"
His face broke into a wide smile. "Yes, Commander!"
"You will both need new uniforms. My troop wear black and silver, with the bear emblem. See Popilius. He'll set you up with whoever you need to deal with. Oh, and you'll need this." I sat down and stamped my seal onto a wax tablet, and over it I inscribed, "Centurion Rufio acts for me in the matter of the junior tribune, Donuil.—C. Merlyn."
"Take care of this, and use it only if you have to. I'm leaving tomorrow for a few days, so I won't be able to supervise your transfer. With that, you can handle it yourself. Talk to the Legate Titus.
"Now you'd better go and release yourself from 'C' Squadron. I'm sure Phideas will be heartbroken to see you leave, and as a centurion, too! I'll explain matters to the new junior tribune here and you can start him on his training tomorrow."
