Camulod Chronicles Book 5 - The Sorcer part 1: The Fort at River's Bend

by Whyte, Jack

  As soon as I set eyes on ho-, without pause for thought or any kind of consideration, I spun on my heel and walked hurriedly away, afraid that she might turn and see me there. Even as I did so I was cursing myself for my cowardice, instantly angered at myself for thus cravenly fleeing the sight of a harmless young woman. It would not be accurate simply to say I was surprised and dismayed to find her there in my quarters, although I was—I was actually appalled, and I found the strength of my reaction startling enough to make me question it. When I did, I found conflicting things, strangely hidden deep inside myself, that did not please me greatly. There was no denying that some part of me had hoped to find her there; another part of me, however, a disconcertingly reproving part, had disdained the idea; and yet another large and unsuspecting part of me* the outward-facing part, appeared to me, upon examination, to have been completely unaware of any thought of her.

  That latter "truth" was an outright lie, of course, and the fact that it was a lie to myself made it the more annoying. Tressa and her alluring charms, her dimpled smile, her high, proud breasts, lithe waist and swelling thighs, had seldom been out of my thoughts since the night of the storm, when I had watched her so studiously during dinner. Confronting and accepting that, at least, enabled me now to look more closely at the second part of how I felt: the disapproving censure of some other, more carefully concealed part of me. Whence had that sprung, and why so virulently?

  Thinking these thoughts, I realized that I was striding along the main street of the fort like a man with a mission, and I forced myself to slow my pace until I was ambling, almost dawdling. Several people passed me, nodding silently in greeting, before I came to the rear gate and walked through to pause on the brink of the chasm where I had hovered a short time before, my arms spread like an eagle on the wind. I found a flat-topped stone outcrop, cushioned with moss, and seated myself where I could look down into the valley beneath and let my thoughts take me where they would.

  This ability of mine to take myself to task and thus identify the motives that had prompted me towards a certain course of action was one that I had cultivated over long years of assiduous self-examination. I had begun questioning myself and all my motives in response to a withering criticism from my cousin Uther, who had accused me of being far too smug and all too often self-righteous, judgmental and priggish. Determined, with the arrogance of youth, to change my behaviour from that time forward, I had taught myself to question and examine myself mercilessly, coming eventually to know myself too well ever to gull myself for any length of time.

  Now I brought this ability to bear upon the matter of this woman, Tressa, and upon my own very real reaction to her. I stripped myself ruthlessly of false denials and pretenses, and the last scales fell from my eyes so that I accepted what I saw, incontrovertibly, to be true: I found the woman unequivocally attractive, and was resolved to yield to the inevitable and act upon the attraction. I was left, however, with an inner conflict on the matter of celibacy, over which I had spent so many agonizing hours in die past few years. Something deep within me, some niggling voice of conscience, was displeased over that abandonment of what had seemed a glowing ideal. Now, treating the discomfort like some inedible remnant from an otherwise delicious stew, I sat there atop the cliff, beneath the high, stone walls of Mediobogdum, and chewed on it, biting and grinding at the gristly elements of my concern until nothing remained but indigestible fragments that I spat out, one by one.

  My desire for celibacy—utterly genuine and heartfelt—had sprung from several sources, each of them entirely comprehensible, if not exactly laudable or logical. My lust for Shelagh was a burden I had carried for years, never satisfied and never justifiable, since it involved perfidy and betrayal to my closest friend. My commitment to chastity on that account had been flawless; celibacy, I hoped, would eventually extend that physical chastity to my unconscious thoughts. My guilt and conflict over my memories—and my two-year loss of memory—of my dead wife, while inexplicable, were nonetheless very real, and some deep- hidden part of me had sought a resolution there in celibacy, too, although I found myself incapable of defining or even delineating why I should be feeling any guilt. And then, apart from Shelagh, the only other woman to whom I had felt an attraction, the lovely Ludmilla, had loved and wed my brother Ambrose. I had no guilt there, and no lustful longings, for which I was intensely grateful. Ludmilla was my sister now, and I thought of her as such, with a fraternal love. And yet, I knew, she, too, had played a role in my attraction to the celibate state: I had dared to begin loving her and had lost her before my feelings had a chance to grow. Celibacy would have removed such a threat forever from my future;

  Then had come my terrifying brush with the spectre of leprosy and the foulness of contagion. There was a binding and convincing reason for being celibate! But that had passed, with the arrival and relief of Luke's lost parchment and the shrinking size of what I had assumed to be a leper's lesion.

  Amidst all these elements, there had been growing and ■ emerging the love and pride I took in young Arthur Pendragon, and the responsibility I felt for giving him all that lay within my mind and my abilities to give. I had believed that celibacy would empty my mind of all that was profane and leave me free to learn and to teach the boy. And then had come this lovely and attractive young woman Tressa.

  My reactions to the merest sight of Tressa had confounded me for a time, but then I had begun to lose my fears of her, recognizing them for what they were: simple fears of rejection and of having grown too old, at forty, to be attractive to a young woman.

  Beyond that, I had an illogical fear that the mere admission of being physically attracted to a woman could somehow endow that woman with power over me, and that fear persisted despite the fact that the logical part of me knew it to be untrue—Shelagh was proof of that. I also knew that being attracted by this Tressa woman was a far cry from allowing myself to be besotted by her; I knew my intellect would arm me with the means to keep myself protected from her wiles and knew, besides, that she could be no match for me in such matters. Her speech was slow and simple, her demeanour humble and submissive and her manner deferential and respectful. Her presence, therefore, might be pleasantly distracting, but it could be in no wise threatening, now that I had defined the terms within which I might deal with it.

  Having settled my mind to a great degree, I turned again and walked slowly back to my quarters, where I found Tressa working still, setting the place in order against my return. I greeted her calmly, noting the pleasure with which she greeted me, and then attempted to ignore her for the time being, an effort doomed to fail because I was acutely aware of the brightness of the yellow smock she wore, and of her physical proximity.

  Once I had assured her that her presence would not disturb me, I seated myself at a small table by one of the windows and busied myself with reading one of Uncle Varrus's large books, while she continued to bustle about, fulfilling the tasks set out for her by Shelagh. In so doing, however, she passed quite close to me on several occasions, and I became acutely aware of how the smell of her filled up the air between us and suffused my breathing. She had a pleasant smell, warm and clean and faintly musky with the suggestion of fresh sweat. I tried to shut it from my consciousness, but the mere awareness of it had awakened in me the realization that I sat there naked, having come from the bathhouse unclothed save for my tunic, and I found myself becoming uncomfortably engorged with lust and blank-minded with helplessness.

  Tressa, of course, had no suspicion of the effect her nearness was having on me, and it was that innocence that finally enabled me to overcome my condition and once more achieve a semblance of calm. Once she saw that I was not upset or disgruntled by her presence, she began talking as she worked, prattling on in her soft Cumbrian dialect about innocuous things, and I began to find it subtly pleasant and relaxing to sit there and listen to her voice. As I had suspected from her reaction to my appearance, she had not expected my return so soon. She had been there for o
nly a short time when I arrived, she told me at one point, shouting the words from my sleeping chamber where she was engaged in spreading fresh bedclothes on my cot, but she had almost finished now and would soon be gone, leaving me alone to recover from my journey.

  As I half turned to hear her words, which came to me muffled and distorted by the doorway between us, my eyes took in the other table in the room, the main table, and now I noticed that a pile of assorted clothing, all of it mine, lay there beside a covered basket. Curious, I crossed to look more closely at the basket. Its lid opened to reveal a pincushion containing at least a score of various-sized needles and a profusion of small balls of yarn, thread and twine, all mingled with an assortment of bright-hued bits and pieces of cloth. I heard her come back into the room and move towards me, and I turned guiltily, as though she had caught me prying. She seemed unaware of my awkwardness, however, merely glancing at the pile behind me before telling me that when she had finished her first tasks, she had intended mending some of my more ill-used clothing, but that she would now wait until a more convenient time, when I was elsewhere in the fort. She moved towards the table and it suddenly seemed to me that she came looming towards me. Caught flatfooted by this unexpected approach, and incapable of speech, I moved away from her, quickly, stiffly and awkwardly, as though I feared she might attack me, and in doing so I succeeded somehow in overturning her basket, scattering brightly coloured balls of yarn all over the table and onto the floor.

  Quick as a kingfisher, without a word of reproach, she bent and began scooping them up, making a lap of her skirts and dropping the balls into it as she reached and stretched to gather them, moving in a scuttling crouch that I found more erotic than erratic, revealing as it did far more of her shape than I was prepared to see. My throat swelled up with excitement and I stood transfixed, aware of a bared ankle and the swell and thrust of legs and buttocks beneath tight-stretched cloth, but incapable of removing my eyes from the sight of the hanging scoop of the bodice of her smock and the full, vibrant breasts exposed there by her posture and activity. Full knowledge of my unconfined condition came flooding back to me as I felt my loins stir and then harden rapidly, and then she caught a foot, somehow, in the fabric of her skirts and wavered, almost overbalancing and lurching close to where my phallus jutted very visibly against my tunic. I spun away from her again and strode into my sleeping chamber, swinging the door safely shut behind me and leaning back against it, hearing the thumping of my heart loud in my ears and wondering if she had seen my blatant and unambiguous arousal.

  Months, now, it seemed, I had awaited this moment, only to be undone by the unforeseen clash between my own readiness and unreadiness. The fear of losing the opportunity, of frightening her off by being too importunate, loomed over me like some avenging demon. And then, still overwhelmed by panic moments later, listening with my ear against the door while my heart thudded palpably at my ribs, I heard her leave, pulling the outer door closed behind her. I leaned there, against the door, for a long time, willing my heart to slow down and attempting vainly to empty my mind of the riotous thoughts that swarmed there. When I moved out again, into the main chamber, I knew both pleasure and regret, for although I had succeeded in not alarming Tressa and damaging my own chances, I had yet lost an opportunity that might not be repeated, for Tressa was gone again, safely out of my life for the time being.

  Sometime after that, when I had regained my equanimity and my sense of humour and proportion, Shelagh knocked loudly at my door and leaned inside, looking at me strangely.

  "Are you well?"

  "Come in," I said, squinting at her, outlined as she was against the brightness of the afternoon behind her. "What do you mean, am I well? Luke was the one who looked unwell, remember? How is he?"

  She stepped inside, leaving the door ajar, and moved to lean beside the window. By now I had shed my old tunic and was dressed completely in fresh clothes. Shelagh, however, was still wearing the travelling clothes she had worn on the journey to and from Ravenglass, a suit of riding leathers fashioned of a long tunic, split to the waist on both sides and worn over soft breeches. It was modelled on my own suit of leathers, which was, in turn, modelled on the clothing worn by Publius Varrus and fashioned for him originally, prior to their wedding, by his wife, Luceiia. At first, upon seeing Shelagh riding like a man, in leather breeches, some people had been scandalized, but she had ignored their outrage, and so inured had everyone become in the interim to seeing her dressed thus that they had now lost all awareness of her sex in this particular respect.

  She looked me up and down now with narrowed eyes, her head tilted to one side.

  "Lucanus is well. I think he was merely tired from the journey. He's no longer young and, as you know, he never was a horseman. Riding—merely staying in the saddle— is an effort for him and it tires him quickly. As soon as he climbed down from his horse, his colour improved and he became himself again. I tried to coax him to lie down, but he would have none of it. I saw him a short time ago, sitting in the sun talking to Joseph, and he seemed perfectly at ease. How are you feeling?"

  "Me? How should I be feeling? I'm no different than I was when we rode up here—in prime condition."

  "Hmm. Tressa said you seemed unwell, upset."

  The moment she spoke the other woman's name, I experienced a flash of revelation. Tressa, on leaving here, had gone directly to Shelagh! Of course she had, I realized now, understanding. Tressa was acting at Shelagh's behest. The knowledge made me thrill, but I was careful to conceal any sign of it from Shelagh. My thoughts and emotions were in a turmoil, but only for a few moments, after which I was in control of myself once more, and, for the first time in my memory, of Shelagh, too. I found myself smiling broadly at my lovely friend, and side-stepping.

  "Ah! Tressa," I said. "Well, Tressa was in error. I am not unwell, nor am I upset. But now that you bring her name up, we two should talk of Tressa."

  Shelagh shifted slightly, placing herself now directly in front of the window so that she was silhouetted against the brightness of the afternoon. She stood there for long moments looking at me, her head held high and the light behind her preventing me from seeing the look in her eyes. I waited, counting silently to ten before she responded, in a very gentle voice, "Very well then, let us talk of Tressa. What should we discuss?"

  What, indeed, should we discuss? More quickly than comprehension could permit, I found myself off-balance. The simplicity and the immediacy of Shelagh's question caught me unprepared, and I realized that I could say nothing in direct response without either betraying, perhaps offensively, my sudden knowledge of what she was about, or sounding both foolish and ungrateful, or, for that matter, without sounding harshly and undeservedly critical of Tressa. I coughed, clearing my throat in an attempt to win myself some time for thought, and then I decided to take refuge in the truth.

  'Tressa," I said, suddenly finding it easy to smile. "You set a trap for me, baited with Tressa."

  For a fleeting instant, I saw her stiffen, as though in surprise, and then she tossed her head, although her voice, when she resumed, sounded unchanged. "A trap? You make me sound unfriendly, Caius. How would I do that, and why?"

  'To lead me astray, perhaps?" I kept my tone light and friendly, part of me afraid she might take offence where none was intended.

  "From what?"

  · "Why, from my resolve to remain sexually unencumbered, what else?"

  Again, that fleeting stillness, and then a laugh—high, clear and amused—and all I could see was the black shape of her, all detail lost against the flaring brightness of the sky. at her back.

  "Unencumbered? You would see a lovely young woman like Tressa as an encumbrance?"

  I waited, but she had nothing more to add, and when I was sure of that, I shrugged. "Most men who consider celibacy worthwhile would, Shelagh."

  "Ah yes, of course, your celibacy."

  "What? What do you mean, 'your celibacy'?"

  "Just what I said, and with
a heavy hint of scorn. Celibacy, in any man, is an admission of failure to live as the gods intended—but in you, my dearest friend, it is ludicrous." She straightened up, abruptly, and moved away from the window, so that I could see her face again, and I felt a surge of relief. Now she laughed aloud and moved directly to sit at the table where I had sat earlier that day.

  "Why are you laughing at me?"

  "I'm not." But even as she denied it, her laughter-continued, although I knew it as the laughter of a friend, containing nothing demeaning. "Come, come here and sit with me." I moved to sit across from her on the other chair and she sat still for a space of heartbeats, smiling now and shaking her head fondly. "You have the gift we share to thank for this, dear Cay, for I admit I brought Tressa to you deliberately. I saw her, in a dream one night, and saw you with her, smiling." She held up her hand- "Now, don't ask me, for I cannot say whether the dream was prophesy or no, but it was clear, and unmistakable, and wholesome. So I acted upon it."

  "Whether I would or not?"

  "No, for I knew you would. You need to." She shook her head, briefly and impatiently, and puffed an errant wing of hair out of her eyes. "Caius, this talk of celibacy is absurd, coming from you, and I care not for your careful, self-serving reasons. You are no celibate!" She made the word sound like catamite. "Aye, you'd have me believe you would be celibate! At least, your responsible mind would be, with its love of logic, and that I believe. But what of your other parts—even the other part of your mind, that which purges itself in dreams of women who may or may not be faceless? That purging, that effusion of your seed, is evidence that there is life in you, Caius, demanding to be lived. To deny it, in die face of your god, or mine, or those of anyone else, must be a sin, man! Look at me, now, don't turn your face away"

  I looked back to her but said nothing and her eyes narrowed.

  "Is it the girl? You find her displeasing?"