Jack Whyte - The Lance Thrower

“Aye, right.” He inclined his head, acknowledging my praise. “But where does that leave us?”

I glanced at Ursus. “It leaves us with a bridge down that ought to be up. Let’s change that, for a start.”

Clodio began shouting orders to the men he had ordered down from the battlements above, and while he was instructing them, Ursus turned to me, nodding toward the bridge. “That is excellent,” he said, “and all very well. Raise the bridge and keep the wicked ones out. Excellent precaution. But it has flaws. What about Beddoc?”

“What about him?”

“He’ll be here soon, probably within the hour.” He saw from my expression that I had no notion of what he was suggesting, and so he continued. “You want to keep him outside the gates and away from Gunthar? That’s understandable, except that Gunthar is out there as well, on the far side of the bridge.”

I stared at him, hearing his words and understanding what he was saying, but completely incapable of responding. He spoke on, ignoring my open-mouthed silence. “So, will you keep Beddoc outside the gates to wait for Gunthar’s arrival, or let him inside, knowing that he is Gunthar’s man and therefore your enemy?”

“And knowing, too, that once he is inside we have no one here to withstand him or to influence his behavior,” I added, finally finding my voice.

“Exactly.” Ursus looked at me, one eyebrow raised, and almost, but not quite smiling. “You catch up quickly, no matter how far you lag behind at the outset. I think you’ve grasped the gist of the problem.”

I nodded, slowly. “Aye, but not the solution.”

“There may not be one.” He turned around in a wide arc, gazing at the layout of the castle’s defenses. “Certes, if you raise the bridge no one comes in, but we shut out our friends as well as our enemies. We’ll hold Gunthar and his ambitions at bay, safe outside the walls, but Queen Vivienne will be out there with him, as will your two other brothers and the men who ride with them. And then will come the arrival of Samson and Chulderic. An entire carnival, with good and evil ranged on opposing sides, and all on the lands outside your gates. Do you enjoy the thought of that?”

“No, Ursus, I do not—most particularly since these are not my gates. They are the Queen’s gates, now, for she is Ban’s legal regent until Samson can assume the kingship.”

“Think not on that, lad. As long as you control the bridge the gates are yours. All we can do is hope to have the time and opportunity to open them to the Queen and her men.”

“Aye, but there are too many unknown factors here and I do not enjoy having that responsibility, Ursus.”

“No more do I, but there must be an answer for us somewhere, even though I cannot see it yet … . Was your uncle Ban a drinking man?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did he drink beer, or wine? Would he keep any of such things available for his use?”

“Aye,” I concurred, remembering. “He always had beer to hand.”

“Good, then let’s raise this whoreson bridge and find some of his beer. In the drinking of fine beer, many weighty problems are easily solved and frequently come to naught.”

Half an hour later, secure behind a raised drawbridge, Ursus and I sat with Clodio, holding foaming tankards and discussing our situation. Clodio said nothing, content to leave, at least outwardly, the thinking to Ursus and myself.

For my part, I disliked the taste of the beer but I was willing to think, to make the effort of thinking. Unfortunately, I lacked both the capacity and the experience to be aware of what I should be thinking about at such a time, and so I, too, said nothing.

Ursus sat silently and sipped his beer with grave deliberation, gazing with tranquil, uncreased brow into the middle distance.

“So,” I asked him when I could bear his apparent equanimity no longer, “what think you, Ursus?”

He turned to gaze at me and raised his upper lip to bare his teeth, not in a snarl but in the approximation of a smile. “About where we sit?” he asked. “What would you like to know first?”

“Anything,” was my immediate response. “Anything you care to share.”

It turned out to be the correct answer, for he began speaking immediately and I listened to him closely, finding no need, and no desire, to interrupt the flow of his thoughts.

“We’re on a pronged twig, over a fire,” he began, “skewered two ways and secured among the flames. We’ll be thoroughly cooked, at best. At worst, the skewer we’re hoisted on will burn right through and drop us into the fire’s heart.” He looked at me, one eyebrow cocked, and grinned ruefully.

“If we let Beddoc and his crew come inside when they arrive, we might as well surrender to Gunthar right away, no matter what he does or what he might be guilty of, because we have no forces, nothing, no strength with which to withstand Beddoc’s strength, and no means of denying him anything he wishes—including access to the drawbridge controls.

“So. What can we do? Nothing, is the correct answer to that question, because there are other things happening out there beyond these walls, on the far side of that bridge, that are beyond our control, although their outcome is crucial to us and to our well-being. The Lady Vivienne is out there, at the mercy of whatever might develop from all this, and as well as Samson you have three cousins —brothers— out there, too, Gunthar, Theuderic, and Brach.” Ursus was unaware that Clodio knew who I really was, and so he kept on talking through his momentary slip, hoping that Clodio might not have noticed it. Clodio, for his part, gave no sign of having heard anything amiss as Ursus continued.

“Among them, they have some two hundred men, but the problems we are facing here all stem from the basic fact that we don’t know what’s happening among the three of them. They might, for all our fretting, have all joined forces and be on their way back here in perfect amity. We simply have no way of knowing. But if that’s so, why are they not already here? It’s but five miles, you said, from Ingomer’s castle to here.” He turned to look directly at me, his narrowed eyes leaving me in no doubt that I was being called upon for a contribution to this discussion, and perhaps for a solution or a decision. “So, Lord Clothar, what are we to do?”

“Get out of here.” The words came unbidden to my tongue and were out before I knew I would say them.

Ursus raised his eyebrows high, wrinkling his brows. “Now that is an answer I had not expected. Abandon the castle, you mean?”

“Yes, and no. At this very moment I am not sure what I mean, not exactly. I know it’s illogical, but that feels like the right thing to do, here inside me.” I tapped my breast.

“You propose to leave the fortress to the enemy?”

“What enemy, Ursus? We don’t know yet if there is an enemy … . Isn’t that what you have just been saying? We are yet talking about family matters, and to this point no demonstrable treachery has been offered or committed, and no one has been harmed.”

“As far as we know.”

“Yes, that’s the right of it: as far as we know. But there’s too much we don’t know. You said it yourself, we’ll serve no useful purpose penned up in here with no supporting strength while all the other people with a part to play in this are free to move about outside.” I glanced again at Clodio, who sat watching and listening, as mute as an old stag. “Clodio, you have not said a word since we came in here. What think you of all this?”

He made a wry face. “Not my place to think about it, is it? I’m only an old soldier.”

“Oh, please, Clodio! Don’t hand me that ‘old soldier’ claptrap. I won’t wear it because it never has fitted. You’re one of Ban of Benwick’s lifelong friends. And besides, if you’re qualified to be left in trust of the entire fortress, you’re qualified to express an opinion. So speak up and spit out whatever might be in your craw.”