Jack Whyte - Uther

Later, looking back on that time, Uther would be both proud of and grateful for the restraint he had exercised during their first few weeks in Camulod, but he would also acknowledge, forever afterwards, the support and assistance provided to him by the example set by his stoic friend and mentor. Without Garreth Whistler's patience, fortitude and good sense, Uther knew, he would never have been able to control the rage that flared in him daily in the face of the disdain and derision he and his people had to suffer in the condescending sneers of the Camulodian troopers. It had been Garreth who reminded Uther constantly of the objectives he had set himself and who kept him pointed in the right direction.

Much of the baiting the new recruits endured was good-natured, but they had to suffer a good deal of abuse that was malicious and deliberate. Nevertheless, they bore it all stoically in silence and absorbed everything that was thrown at them. Within a month, the abuse began to taper off, and the tenor of the baiting became less punitive as the newcomers continued to drill doggedly and to learn quickly, and began thereby to win a modicum of acceptance and respect.

And then, when their basic training had been completed, they were finally issued the uniform armour and saddlery of regular Camulodian troopers.

They passed their final inspection flawlessly at a dawn parade the following day, resplendent in their new uniforms, and were granted a day-long furlough to celebrate their success. Uther remained with them that morning until they were dismissed, and then, thinking it might be the right thing to do, he left them to their celebrations and went to join Cay and his Uncle Picus Britannicus, where he sat in on the discussions of how the new troop was to be split up among the veteran squadrons for the next stage of their training. Later in the day, however, Garreth came looking for him and took Uther back to where the celebration was being held, and the young man was touched and delighted by the welcome the Cambrians gave him. He stayed with them then long into the night, enjoying himself thoroughly but drinking only sparingly as he watched the free-flowing ale take hold of the young celebrants.

When Garreth eventually called curfew and supervised the bedding down of the new troopers, most of whom were by then too drunk to protest, Uther went to his own bed, where he lay awake for a long time, thinking about the celebration and the strange, moving and contradictory thoughts that had occurred to him while he watched his companions.

The following morning, immediately after the dawn parade, in which the haggard looks and woebegone expressions of the Cambrian troopers had gone conspicuously unmentioned, Uther presented himself at the garrison headquarters and asked to speak with the Legate Picus Britannicus. He was shown directly into the Legate's day room, where Picus sat gazing at him quizzically, one eyebrow raised high as Uther saluted him formally. Picus nodded casually, acknowledging the punctilious greeting.

"How are you feeling?"

Uther, still standing at attention, blinked at his uncle, surprised by the question, and then realized that Picus thought he might have drunk too much the previous day. He shook his head. "I feel fine, Uncle, perfectly normal."

"Good. What may I do for you?"

"Ahh . . ." Faced with the need to speak, Uther found that he did not know where to begin, but while he was searching for the words, Picus forestalled him by taking a sheet of papyrus from a small pile by his right hand and pushing it across to where Uther could reach it. Even upside down, Uther could see that it was a list of some kind.

"Sit down, Nephew, there's no need to be formal when there's just the two of us. You can save me some time here if you would not mind taking that to your man Garreth when you leave."

Uther nodded and sat in the chair in front of the Legate's work table before picking the paper up and turning it towards him. "Of course, Uncle. What is it?" Noting the fact that it had not been rolled up or folded, he had no hesitation in showing his curiosity.

"It's the new roster, the one we discussed yesterday. The allocation of your Cambrians to the regular squadrons they'll be working with from now on."

"Ah, yes." Uther cleared his throat nervously, suddenly uncomfortable and wishing he had not sat down. "Yes, well . . . that's what I've come to speak to you about. Uncle."

Picus sat waiting for a few moments until he realized that his nephew was at a loss for words.

"And . . . ? What is it that you want to say?"

"Well. . ."Another long, painful pause, and then, "It's about the roster. Is there . . . Is it. . . Is there any other way to do this?"

Picus wrinkled his brow, not understanding. Uther interpreted the look as a frown, and his nervousness increased.

"I don't understand," Picus said, his voice mild. "Any other way to do what?"

"This . . . to avoid splitting up my men."

"Your men ?" The Legate's lips twisted in a tiny smile. "You mean the Cambrian troopers? Perhaps we should clarify their status, you and I. As long as they are billeted here, training under my command, they are most emphatically my men, Camulod's men. Your father understands that, I believe. Do you disagree?"

"Well, no, sir, they are, sir, but . . ."

"But? But what, Uther?" His question went unanswered as a flush stained Uther's cheeks, and Picus continued. "Where has this sudden 'but' sprung from? You sat here yesterday while we discussed this, and you gave me no indication that you had doubts about any of it."

Uther nodded, his expression miserable. "I know, sir. And I didn't. It was only last night that—" He cut his own words off before they could be uttered, and before Picus could make any response they were interrupted by the arrival of one of his clerks. Picus had obviously expected him, for he stood up and passed another pile of papers on his desk to the man, who nodded, clicked his heels and left immediately.

Picus glanced back at Uther's still red-face, and then he rose and went to the door, where he leaned out and told the other clerk outside that he did not wish to be disturbed. He closed the door and came back to his table, where he perched casually on one corner and gazed down at his nephew.

"I think," he said, "that you have something weighty on your mind, and I know you would not come here simply to waste my lime, so I'm prepared to listen. Now take your lime and get your thoughts in order, and then try to explain to me why you suddenly believe I should keep your troopers together as a body, instead of splitting them up among our veterans, as we traditionally do, for the next, highly important stage of their training."

Uther nodded and thought for a few moments.

"It was last night, sir. I couldn't sleep, and I didn't know why. But my thoughts were full of what happened yesterday . . . the muster in the morning and the men's graduation to full troopers. They were full of it, and very proud of themselves, and I was surprised and . . . I don't know if I can describe what I mean."

Picus hitched himself further onto the top of the table, bracing himself with his straight arms as both feet left the floor. "Well, you've made a start, anyway. You were surprised, you say, and . . . what?"

"I was surprised and perhaps, I think . . . excited. About what I was seeing . . . what they were showing me. I'd never seen it before, and I suddenly knew it was important that I . . . that we keep it. Very important."

"Important enough to break with a tradition that we have built up here in Camulod since our beginnings for reasons of sound, tested common sense? That must be monumentally important." He held up a hand towards his nephew. "Wait you, I am not belittling you or casting slurs on your judgment. I am merely making a point." He thrust himself forward off the table and moved back to his own chair, settling himself comfortably.