Jack Whyte - The Lance Thrower

I was staring at the back of his head, marveling at his fluent ease with words, but his reference to penance took me by surprise.

“Why would you do an act of penance?”

He did not even bother to turn around. “Because I am a sinner. Sinners are required to do penance.”

“You sound like a bishop.”

“Aye, well I’m not, but I am a priest, and my bishop’s name is Erigon. He is my teacher.”

“Erigon? My teacher’s name is Germanus. He is a bishop, too.”

That stopped him dead in his tracks, and he turned slowly to face me, his eyes wide. “Germanus? Of Auxerre?”

“Aye, that’s him.”

His eyes grew even wider. “You know the blessed Germanus?”

“I know Bishop Germanus of Auxerre.” I was careful to keep my voice neutral. I had heard others speak of Germanus as “the Blessed” but I had never known any of the school’s staff or residents speak of him that way, and I had certainly never seen or heard the bishop himself make any reference to such a thing, so the sentiment, as much as the tone of voice in which it was uttered, made me feel slightly ill at ease. “He is my mentor. I meet with him regularly, at least once every week or two. He knew my parents when he was young, before he became a bishop, and he is still a close friend of King Ban and Queen Vivienne. I have attended his school in Auxerre for almost six years now.”

“Have you, now? You are a very fortunate young man.” Elmo shook his head in apparent wonder and turned again to resume walking. By the time we reached the other shore he had told me everything he knew and admired about Germanus, and listening to him this time I did not feel the slightest discomfort.

Soon we were at the edge of the water with solid ground ahead of us, and I could see people moving among the trees in the distance. Towering rock walls swept up on either side of us here, and gazing up at them, I was awestruck to realize that they had been invisible from the big meadow on the other side of the water, completely concealed by the topography and the cloaking effect of distance and the density of trees on the hillsides. I turned to say something about that to one of the others but as I did so I heard a shout of welcome, and suddenly we were surrounded by the men who now occupied what I had already begun to think of as the secret valley.

VI

BRACH AND SAMSON

WHEN WE ARRIVED in the tiny encampment within the cleft in the rocks, we made our way directly to find my aunt Vivienne, but there were two guards posted outside the tent she and her women occupied, and they waved us away as we approached, their demeanor indicating unmistakably that they took their responsibility for their Queen’s peace and safety very seriously. One of the two told us the Queen was asleep and that her physician had ordered that she was not to be disturbed.

I was relieved to be able to accept the decree without demur, because I was deeply reluctant to awaken her with tidings she did not need to hear immediately, and so I sought out my cousin Brach, knowing we needed to discuss the situation now in force.

No one seemed to know where he was, but the place was very small and eventually I found him beyond the campsite, bathing in the water of one of three deep, spring-fed pools in the middle of the small valley. The mere sight of him astonished me. The youngest of Ban’s four sons by Vivienne, Brach was the one who had changed most to my eyes in the years that had elapsed since last we saw each other.

When I left for Auxerre as a ten-year-old, Brach had been fifteen and, everyone agreed, a big lad for his age. As I gazed at him now as he strode naked from the water and began to towel himself dry, it was more than plain to see that in the years since then he had not stopped growing. Always thickly padded with muscle and heavily set on long, strong, clean-lined legs, he had expanded enormously until now, at the age of one and twenty, he was gigantic, composed of layer upon layer of corded muscle with nary a trace of fat to be seen on any part of him. His arms and thighs were immense, and his chest was so sculpted, his pectoral and abdominal muscles so distinctly pronounced and perfectly shaped, that it looked as if he wore an officer’s dress-uniform cuirass of richly worked leather, ornately carved and tanned to resemble human skin.

I saw him frown when he first noticed me walking toward him. He would have no doubt that I was a friend, since only friends could find their way into this place, but I knew he was trying to place me, wondering who I was and where I had come from. I wondered how long it would take him to know me, or if I would have to tell him who I was. But as I drew within ten paces of him I saw recognition dawn in his eyes and his entire face broke into a great smile of welcome as he threw open his arms and leaped toward me, forgetting the fact that he was completely naked. He hugged me to his bare chest with the strength of a bear and practically crushed my ribs before letting me go. When I stepped back from him, he nodded his head, still smiling, and I realized he had not said a single word, and only then did I remember that that single attribute, his taciturnity, was the thing I had admired most about him when I was a child. I reached out, still grinning, and poked the massive biceps of his left arm with one fingertip.

“You’ve grown big, Brach. How did you do that?”

His laughter was immense, a deep, booming roll of pleasure, but still he said nothing. Instead, he picked up the towel he had dropped and began to dry himself thoroughly. Then, when he felt comfortable again, he wrapped himself in the folds of the towel and dragged his fingers through the tangles of his long, brown hair.

“I’m happy to see you well, Cousin Clothar,” he said. “And big. You grew, too. Why are you here and not in school?”

The last time he and I had spoken, Brach had addressed me as Brother. Now, six years later, everything had changed. I shrugged. “School is over, Cousin, and Bishop Germanus sent me home with letters for the King.”

His face darkened. “You’ve heard?”

“Aye, more than you.”

“What does that mean, more than me?” He glanced about him. “Come, walk with me back to my tent and tell me.”

“No.” I held up a hand to stop him. “Better I should tell you now, with no one close by to hear. The King is dead, Brach.” I saw the sudden pain that flared in his eyes and again I raised my hand to him as though to silence him, although I knew he would not speak. He kept his eyes square on mine then, remaining motionless as I went on to tell him how Ursus and I had been brought to Ban’s encampment, and how Ban had made his pronouncement in favor of Samson.

Brach stood in silence until he had absorbed what I had said, then he nodded his head and walked three paces to the nearest tree, where he seated himself on the grass and leaned back against the trunk before wiggling his fingers to indicate that I should keep talking. He listened intently until I finished the story of how we had set off in pursuit of Beddoc and ended up here in this hidden valley, and when I had finally done and had nothing more to say he remained thoughtful. At length, however, he sucked air noisily between his teeth—a trait he shared with at least one of his elder brothers—and swayed effortlessly to his feet.

“Gunthar should have been killed long ere now,” he said. “I had thoughts about doing it myself, several times, but then I told myself he was my brother and my thoughts were unworthy. I was a fool to listen to myself. He’s a mad dog and I knew it a long time ago. I was right to think of killing him.”