by Whyte, Jack
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 firs
t 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.
