by Whyte, Jack
"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 fo
rtunately, 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.
