Jack Whyte - The Sorcer part 2 - Metamorphosis

"I don't believe it. Who told you that?"

He shrugged. "Two people. Two separate reports, two separate incidents. "

"How close were the shots? Did you speak to either bowman?"

"No, I merely heard the reports. "

"Rumours, then. Soldiers' stories. Those bows are accurate from a quarter mile away. A close shot from a Pendragon longbow will pierce any armour ever made, if it hits clean. Someone ought to have killed him by now with one of those things. I'll grant he may be formidable, fighting hand to hand—from all reports he's big enough to be indomitable—but he's not immortal. And you say there's no word at all of Vortigern?"

"Not a breath. Utter silence out of the northeast. "

"But Hengist is dead, you are sure of that?" He nodded. "Well, you and I agreed years ago that when Hengist died, Vortigern would have trouble with Horsa. For all we know , Vortigern might be at war right now, or he might be dead, long since. If he's at war, he might appreciate some token of support, to keep Horsa off balance. If he is dead, on the other hand, then Horsa is at large, and in power. I think we ought to try and find out what the situation is up there, don't you agree?"

Ambrose thought about that as he leaned forward to stir the fire with an iron rod that lay before the brazier. "Aye, I do," he murmured eventually. "But how? It's a long way from here to there, and logic dictates that we would only be inviting grief by going looking for trouble that might otherwise pass us by."

"Horse turds, Ambrose! You don't believe that any more than I do. Logic dictates that whatever can go wrong will go wrong if you choose to leave your fate in any way in the hands of a mad young bull like Horsa. You once told me Vortigern thought of himself as High King of all Britain, remember'? Well, he has never ruled down here, so his fancies were no more than that. But what if he discussed those fancies with others? All it would take for Horsa would be the suggestion that there might be more settled areas of Britain ripe for conquest, and he'd be here, at the head of his hordes. I don't think we can afford to wait for that to happen, and I don't think we can afford to take the risk that it won't. I think we have to go and see what's going on, up there in Northumbria, and I believe we should go up along the Saxon Shore, now, immediately."

"What? You mean an expedition in force? But that would mean—"

"Aye, I know it would. It would mean splitting our forces when we have a war to deal with here already. I know it's not feasible to do the thing now as it ought to be done, but I still think it's foolish not to slip up there and take a look, at least. The thought of an army of Horsa's Danes falling about our necks while we're involved with Ironhair is not a pleasant notion. "

"No, I've known that for months, but I've been hesitant to commit any kind of force to the task while you were away in the north. I've had enough trouble with the thought of leaving this place in other hands while I ride off to Cambria. " He pulled himself out of his chair and went to stand over the fire, rubbing his hands together in the heat rising from the coals. "That sounded different from what I had been thinking, when I said it aloud, so I don't want you to misunderstand me. We have good men here. Any one of our senior people is more than capable of looking after things in my absence, commanding the garrison and tending to daily affairs. Tactically speaking, they're all superb. But in terms of strategic ability, I don't know, Cay. There's not a single man I can think of whom I'd care—perhaps even dare—to trust with the responsibility of reacting instantaneously and decisively should the drastic need arise. " He held up a hand to forestall my objections, but I had none because I knew exactly what was in his mind. Seeing that, he continued.

"I know I should be able to delegate absolute authority in my absence. That's not my concern. My problem is, quite simply, that none of our second level commanders has ever had that kind of requirement thrust upon him. Any one of diem would accept my dictates, and assume the command and the responsibility, I've no doubt of that. But could any one of them act decisively, should the need arise? Would he commit every resource he had at his disposal to all out war on a new front—here, at home—on his own authority, or would he hesitate and wait for some kind of endorsement from me? I simply don't know, Cay, and I haven't dared risk the uncertainty. Lip service and willingness are not enough, not with so much at stake, and until I've seen with my own eyes that whoever I choose is capable of taking absolute control—and that's impossible, since I would have to be here when he needed to and that would negate the need—Ach! I can't even make sense to me!"

I cleared my throat and sat forward in my seat. "I know you expected me to interrupt you, but you are right. The problem is real and worrisome, and it has occurred to me long before now. I suppose it means, in the absolute, that armies require wars—not merely defensive disciplines—to evoke their true strength, and that's a sobering thought."

"You've thought of this before? How? When?"

"Oh, a few years ago, before I left for Ravenglass. I meant to talk with you about it at the time, but the opportunity never arose. It came to me one night, when I was thinking about ambition and what that entails. It began with Peter Ironhair. I realized that none of our senior officers seem to possess his ruthless ambition, the kind that's necessary to achieve true greatness as commanders. They're good and able men, one and all, but they're all followers. And so I began to wonder why that should be so."

"And? Did you discover any reasons?"

"Of course I did, the best of reasons: there's nowhere for them to go."

"I don't follow you."

"You will, if you think about it. We have the only army of its kind in Britain, as far as I'm aware. No?" He nodded slowly, looking bemused. "Well then, what can they aspire to, in terms of supreme command? You're here, and so am I, and we're both young enough yet to have decades ahead of us, barring sickness and accident. We have no wars—or we had none at that time—so the risk of either One of us meeting death in battle has been negligible. So the only route to supremacy for any of diem must lie in fomenting mutiny here in Camulod—and who would follow them, were they to try? Where would any malcontent find cause for general mutiny? When did we last execute a soldier? Our greatest penalty is banishment, and the fear of that alone is sufficient to maintain order in CHITranks, because banishment from Camulod means perdition: where is a banished man to go? Will he wait around our borders, living on what he can hunt and trap, in the hope of being joined by others, then raiding us? I think not "And so our soldiers recognize the benefits they enjoy here, and so do our senior officers. The highest rank they can attain, they hold already, and they seem content with that. We alone; Brother, you and I, must face and live with the disadvantages in such a system, which arise only at times like this. When a man—any man—has reached the limits of his progress, he tends to accept those limits and grow comfortable. There is your dilemma. "

"Hmm... " Ambrose had been pacing as he listened, and now he sat down across from me again. "You're absolutely right. And now that we are faced with war again, those expectations will all change. The dilemma will resolve itself as individual field commanders rise to the challenges they meet. "

"Aye, or fail to rise, in which case they will be replaced. Either way, we'll soon have no lack of qualified field commanders. But let's get back to the original point, which was the threat from the northeast, Horsa's Danes. Your hands have been tied in that by your not knowing whom to leave in charge, given the risk of attack from that direction. Now they're untied. I'm here, and so is Dedalus, and Ded, next to you and me, is the best man we have, in terms of possessing the will and the flair for absolute command. You were going to leave two legions here, taking the First with you to Cambria. Why? Why wouldn't you take two into Cambria?"