Jack Whyte - The Lance Thrower

“By the time the fight was over that night, he was one of us. Things began to change between him and me. I had been impressed by the way he had fought above me, straddling me while I was down—it’s difficult not to like someone who will fight and fall for you—and so I began paying more attention to him.

“He was six years younger than I was, seventeen to my twenty-three, a man in years and yet not fully grown, but big and strong, with every sign of becoming formidable. And as I watched him, I recognized him as a natural leader. The men assigned to him behaved well for him, always, and he was never at a loss in the training exercises we set for him. According to all the reports I had heard, read, and evaluated, Childebertus was resourceful, intelligent, adaptable, and above all flexible in his thinking. Without exception, all his supervisors had the same thing to say about him, although their words may have varied: “The more difficult the problem we set him, whether in logistics, tactics, or strategy, the more easily he seems to solve it.”

Somewhere beyond the heavy shutters a cock crowed and the sound startled both of us, bringing the King’s head up sharply. He crossed quickly to the window, where he opened both sets of shutters and peered out and upward, into the darkness, waiting for the sound to be repeated. Sometime later, when he was satisfied that it would not be, he secured the shutters again and came back to the fire.

“Sky’s clear. Clear enough to confuse that stupid bird into thinking it was dawn. For a moment there I thought we had lost the entire night and we still have much to talk about. Are you tired?”

“No! No, Father, not at all. I’m wide-awake.”

He squinted sideways at me, pursing his lips, and then evidently decided I was being truthful. “Good. You can sleep late tomorrow. I’ll tell Chulderic.” He busied himself replenishing the fire, then set the poker among the embers to heat again. I could tell from the way he kept his eyes on his task that he was thinking deeply about what he would say next, but I dared to interrupt him anyway.

“Father?”

“What?”

“Will you tell me about how my father died?”

He was bent over the brazier, keeping his eyes on the fire, and he twisted the iron poker in its bed before straightening up. “No, because Chulderic can do that much better than I could, so you should hear that tale from him. He was there at the time, and he had been your father’s loyal man for years. I’ll tell him you need to know what happened, and he’ll tell it to you as he saw it.” He read the expression on my face accurately. “Don’t fret yourself, I’ll make sure he wastes no time before telling you. But in the meantime, you and I have something else to talk about.”

I gazed at him, wondering what he meant.

“Germanus,” he said, as though that should have been obvious to me. “We need to talk about Germanus, you and I. He will be here within the month. I told you that. What I did not tell you is why that is important, for you.” He cleared his throat loudly and spat into the brazier, then wiped his lips with the sleeve of his tunic before he continued. “He is to be your teacher.”

I heard the words, but they went winging over my head like passing geese, observed but insignificant, their meaning lacking any import to me. And then I heard them again, this time in my mind. He is to be your teacher . I was aware of the King’s watching me closely, and I shifted nervously in my chair, wriggling in discomfort as though I could avoid the awareness that was growing in me. He is to be your teacher.

“Wha—What do you mean, Father?”

“Simply what I said. Germanus will be your teacher from now on. When he returns to his home in Auxerre, you will go with him.”

“But … but this is where I live.”

“Aye, for now, and perhaps some time again in the future, but for the next few years you will be living and studying with Germanus. The years between ten and sixteen are the most important of your life, and Germanus is the finest teacher you could have in living them.”

“But he’s a bishop … a holy man … .”

“Aye, he is, but he is also a famed and powerful lawyer and a victorious and unconquered battle commander—a soldier’s soldier. He has always been a teacher, too, no matter what his calling was at any time, and that has not changed. In fact it is more true than ever. Since he became a bishop, Germanus has established a school for boys in Auxerre, and he tells me he plans to create many others. You will be one of the first students in that school, and it will be the making of you.”

“I don’t want to go.”

My stepfather shrugged his broad shoulders. “That is unfortunate, Clothar, but you will change your mind once you are there and settled, for you are going, whether you wish it or not. This is not a passing whim of mine. It has always been intended, decided upon many years ago, soon after the death of your parents, when Germanus and I met to talk about your future. We decided then that since I was married and Germanus had no wife to care for you, you would spend your childhood here under my protection, living a normal boy’s life among children your own age. Later, when you were grown enough to be aware of who and what you are, your education would pass into the care of Germanus, who would be responsible for teaching you all the things you would need to know—the things I could never teach you, since they are unknown to me: logic and debate; Latin and other languages; history, both civil and military; theology and the study of religion, and a whole host of other things I could not even begin to guess at. But you’ll also continue your existing studies there, your riding and military training, weapons craft and warfare, strategy and tactics. Bear in mind, Germanus was a legate; you could have no finer teacher in such things.

“When you came here to my quarters yesterday, in the afternoon, I was reading a letter. Do you remember that?” I nodded. “Well, that letter was from Germanus and it concerned this very matter. That is the real reason for his visit.”

I knew, listening to the finality in his tone, that there was no hope of a reprieve from this decree, and my initial reaction was one of sadness at the thought of leaving this place that had been my home for most of my life—for all of it that I could remember. But I found, to my surprise, that I was not nearly as dejected as I might have expected to be as recently as the previous day, because I had learned this night from King Ban that I was the son of a heroic warrior called Childebertus, who had been befriended by a king and by an imperial legate, and that the same legate would now become my teacher, merely because I was the orphan son of his friend. There was a promise of adventure there, and of fulfillment. Besides, I had always known that at some point I would have to leave home to continue my military training, earning my manhood in the service of some other leader. All of my older brothers had already done so and were now scattered among the territories of King Ban’s allies. Gunthar had only recently returned home, a fully grown man and warrior, after four years spent in the service of Merovech, another Frankish king far to the northwest.

I suddenly became aware that King Ban was staring at me, obviously waiting for me to say something, and I realized that he must have asked me a question that I had not heard. I felt my face grow red.

“Forgive me, Sire, I didn’t hear what you asked me. I was dreaming.”

“I asked you if there was anything else you wanted to ask me, about all of this.”

I thought about that for a few moments, then shook my head. “No, Sire. I can’t think of anything.”

“Excellent!” He rose to his feet, stretching up onto tiptoe and raising his arms high above his head. “Perhaps now we can get some sleep before the dawn breaks. Come, bed for both of us, for an hour at least.”