Jack Whyte - The Sorcer part 2 - Metamorphosis

Long disused fields were being rebroken to the plough everywhere we looked, and new land was being cleared, the trees cut down and sawn into logs to be used as building materials and the stumps uprooted to provide new crop land. Houses, most of them of raw logs, were springing up, too, and we saw potters, weavers, tanners, cobblers, smiths and coopers establishing new enterprises far and wide, their equipment temporarily housed beneath hastily raised roofs, frequently left open to the weather because there was no time to waste on building walls. No matter where we went, during those months, the smell of new cut wood and sawdust hung in the air, like the tang of distant smoke. And in every community, there was military activity all day long, as new arrivals of lighting age trained eagerly beneath the stern gaze of veteran troopers from Camulod, temporarily residing there for that purpose.

After long decades of anarchy and fear, the people everywhere around us were coming together again, determined to protect themselves for ever more against the ravages they had experienced since the departure of the legions. There was a new and vibrant spirit of hope and resurgence everywhere. It was impossible not to be aware of it as the warm autumn days turned the entire countryside into a tapestry of reds and golds, ripening the crops to perfection and permitting a bountiful harvest even from fields that had been but recently planted. For the first time in longer than I could remember, musicians, mummers and tumblers emerged among the populace and long, golden afternoons were frequently, and always surprisingly, enlivened by the sounds of music carrying from long distances through the calm, clear air. When the word went out that there would be an entertainment, the gathering was always attended by more people than anyone could have imagined, the women and children in their brightest, most festive clothes and the men laughing boisterously as they clustered around the drinking booths, exchanging small talk and growing ever more expansive as they enjoyed the almost forgotten sensations of ease and safety.

It was true, as Ambrose once remarked to me, that there seemed to be soldiers everywhere, but we rejoiced in the knowledge that these were of the finest kind: local men, family men whose soldierly demeanour was born of determination and resolve to see their families flourish and grow in peace and prosperity. Such men were seldom, if ever, undisciplined or unruly. They were prepared to fight for what they cherished, but they were equally prepared to enjoy the benefits of their regimented presence and their vigilance.

Winter announced itself that year with a sprinkling of snow late in December, then relented and withdrew again as it had the previous year, so that the greying skies did no more than scatter gentle rains from time to time. We had no winter storms that year, no gales, no howling winds at all. The bare branches of the trees were mostly still, and the grass remained green underfoot, so that we were able to continue our visits to our outlying friends without interruption.

The traffic of commerce flowed smoothly all winter up and down the length of the great Roman northsouth road, from Camulod north to Nero Appius's new colony of Appia close by Corinium, and south towards the new garrisons at Ilchester and the smaller outposts south of that, on the road to Isca. This road had become known as the Appian Way, after the greatest road in Italia, which led, as all roads did, to Rome. Because of the trust fostered in times past between the benevolent Appians and the leaders among the farmers around Corinium itself, the people of that area had begun to refurbish the original walls of the ancient Corinium camp, tentatively at the outset, but with growing confidence as the work progressed. With the ready assistance of the Appians, a rudimentary garrison soon moved in to occupy the newly reclaimed space. Once established, and with a council of elders appointed to maintain the common law, the population grew almost overnight, like a mushroom, and Corinium became a scheduled checkpoint on our regular patrols.

And then one morning Tress came to where I sat writing in a patch of sunlight and laid a little cup, filled with tiny white and blue and yellow flowers, on the table by my elbow. Spring had arrived; these blossoms were its first bright smile. And yet I sighed to look at them, for their mere presence marked the end of our lovely idyll. Spring, and the new year, meant I had to ride away again, this time eastwards to meet with Germanus, and I truly had no wish to go. Tressa asked me what was wrong, thinking that she might somehow have offended me, and so I told her what was in my mind. She was greatly surprised to hear that I had even considered leaving her behind in Camulod, and was so astounded at the very thought of it that she failed utterly to see my own astonishment that she might even have considered any possibility of accompanying me.

Our differing reactions created one of those dangerous moments when monstrous conflict can spring from the most innocent beginnings, and fortunately I was astute enough, for once, to recognize that. Instead of blurting out the rejection that had sprung to my lips, I bit down hard and waited, allowing Tress to speak without interruption, and forcing myself to really listen to what she had to say.

Unaware of the enormity of what she was suggesting, she informed me that she and Shelagh had decided their place was with us, no matter where we went, short only of riding into battle. Battle was for warriors, she conceded, and women had neither the training nor the strength for confronting male enemies in all out, hand-to-hand warfare. This journey, however, could not be considered a war campaign. She was prepared to concede that we were riding out as a military force and would comport ourselves accordingly for the duration of the expedition, but she saw that, and Shelagh agreed with her, as being no impediment to their accompanying us. They dressed as men and rode as men and behaved as cavalrymen behave; they were skilled in the use of weapons and in the care of their mounts, and they expected no man to do for them what they could not do for themselves. They could contribute to the expedition in a number of ways, including hunting, foraging, standing guard and, if need be, treating minor wounds and injuries.

As she prattled on, presenting what seemed an unending succession of arguments against being barred from coming with us, I found I had to suppress a reluctant grin of admiration. All my objections melted away like snow in a warm wind, so that I had made a momentous decision even before she had finished speaking and long before I had said a single word to countervail her logic. Tress and Shelagh would come with us. Donuil, I knew, would find no fault in that.

And I had no fear that others might disapprove. Shelagh and Tress were the only two female riders in the Colony whom our troopers would accept, since they did not ride as other women ride, daintily and aware at all times of their appearance.

When Tress had finished speaking and stood staring at me, wide eyed and patently unsure of how I would react, I nodded and made a humming sound in my throat, then advised her to be packed and ready to go within the week. She gazed at me disbelievingly, then gasped aloud and kissed me hurriedly and fiercely before rushing off to share her tidings with Shelagh. As I watched her go, I wondered how she would have reacted had she but known the true reason for my accession to her wishes. The last time I had ridden off to Verulamium, and incidentally to meet Germanus of Auxerre, I had left a wife behind me, in the protective safety of my home, only to return and find her brutally murdered. This time my woman would be by my side day and night, and anyone who wished to threaten her or harm her would have to pass through me to do it Germanus arrived at the appointed meeting place around midmorning on a glorious day in late spring. The three craft that bore his party made their way westward along the coast, with lookouts straining to see the signal we had agreed upon to direct them safely to where we waited. Behind me, ranged in disciplined, concentric ranks upon the sides of a small, natural amphitheatre among the rolling, shallow hills, my thousand men sat watching his advent. In truth, there were more than twelve hundred in our party, for a thousand troopers at large require much service and supply in the way of commissary wagons, quartermasters' stores, medical services and extra horses.