Jack Whyte - The Sorcer part 1 - The Fort at River's Bend

I am convinced that the boy would benefit from anything you could recommend to us to aid in this instruction—text, letter, treatise or philosophical dissertation. If you could send such material to his attention, I would gladly undertake to study it · myself, with the intention of providing him with a sympathetic and partially understanding ear into which he can pour his reflections. I see such a focus as crucial to his development.

Soon I must return with him into the world. When that time comes, he must be sufficiently well informed to recognize that world for what it is. He must be able to discern, as a Christian warrior, that goodness, strength and order exist to counteract evil, weaknesses and chaos even in our small world of Britain.

I appreciate whatever consideration you can give this matter. I also trust this finds you in good health and that the duties of your calling leave you leisure, from time to time, to ride abroad. I await your response with pleasure and anticipation.

Merlyn Britannicus

ELEVEN

On the day before Ambrose and Ludmilla were to leave, the dawn brought a chilling onslaught of fiercely malevolent sleet, with more snow than rain in the mixture, and high, erratic, gusting winds of such ferocity that the worst of them brought trees and limbs crashing down throughout the morning, endangering the men working in the forest. Hector called a halt to all work, concerned that someone might be injured by a falling branch, and thereafter everyone spent the entire afternoon and evening indoors, attending to all the neglected little chores that could be disposed of without going outside.

Of all places in the fort, the bathhouse was the warmest and most welcoming, and most of us made our way there eventually that day, so that by mid-afternoon it was crowded, resounding with the high, excited voices of the children, who were not normally permitted to share the place with adults, but on this occasion were accorded the rare privilege of playing in the tepid pool, the largest of all the pools.

By the time I made my way into the sudarium, bypassing the most crowded area of the baths, I found that almost every man in the fort had had the same thought as me and had contrived to arrive before me, so that I had to wait until they made sufficient room for me to squeeze myself into a narrow space that verged on being Uncomfortably close to the main steam vent from the hypocausts. I looked around me in the gloom and recognized most of my companions as their faces drifted into view and away again, obscured by the banks of swirling, steamy vapour.

Lucanus I had seen immediately on entering, and I guessed that he had been there longest. He sat with his eyes closed and his head tilted back against the wall, the sweat pouring from him, streaming down his face and body, and his now-sparse hair was plastered to his skull. He was flanked to the right by Hector, who smiled and nodded to me, and to the left by Dedalus, who sat hunched forward, dripping sweat onto the floor from his chin and the point of his nose. Elsewhere I saw Rufio, Mark and Ambrose, and then someone broke wind richly in the far corner and earned himself a torrent of abuse from those around him. Those closest to him moved away, setting up enough eddies in the steam to obscure all hope of recognizing anyone. Revelling in the heat, and feeling my skin begin to prickle comfortably with the beginnings of a sweat, I slumped backward between the men on either side of me, the brothers Lars and Joseph, feeling the tiled coolness of the wall against my shoulders and allowing myself to relax as I sucked the hot, moist air deep into my lungs.

Gradually, as men drifted out one after the other, surfeited, the space around me grew less crowded, and eventually I was able to stretch out supine on the stone bench, pillowing my head on a towel. I knew that I ought not to spend much longer in the humid, superheated air, yet I was unable to resist the temptation to relax completely.

I must have dozed, because when I awoke again, spluttering in shock and outrage, gasping in vain for my voice,

I had no idea where I was. And then I saw my brother's handsome face laughing down at me in heathen glee. He had crept up and emptied a bucket of icy water onto my defenceless, sweat-soaked belly, and the empty bucket still swung from his outstretched hand. With a massive roar of rage I leaped to my feet and made a lunge for him, intent upon ripping off his head, but he was gone by the time my feet hit the floor, and the cold air from the open door set the billows of steam swirling in chaos.

Bellowing in full roar, I charged after him, throwing the door wide again and sweeping out through the deserted changing room into the open bathhouse, to find myself confronting an entire crowd of people, men and women and even some children, all of them turning to see what the commotion was about and seeing, instead, me in my full nakedness. I skidded to a halt, almost falling in my haste, and then I turned and walked back into the steam room again, holding myself stiffly erect, fighting for dignity but carrying with me the image of Ambrose, fully dressed and still holding the wooden bucket, laughing at my discomfiture from across the tepid pool with the young woman Tressa standing beside him, gazing at my nakedness wide-eyed.

I re-entered the steam room, furious and shivering, and I lowered myself to sit on the bench where I had previously been lying. When I had stopped shaking and my breathing was normal again, I found my mind seething with fantastical images of vengeance on my brother, all of which involved my approaching him while he slept and repeating the outrage on him in a variety of ways. At that point I realized that I was alone in the steam room and that no one had been there since my dousing, and I began to smile, imagining Ambrose gliding quietly in while I slept and shepherding the others out of there in silence, his finger to his lips lest they waken me. Only then, I knew, when everyone else was safe from the wrath he knew would follow his jape, had he come back in with his brimming bucket to perpetrate his crime against my dignity. I had heard reports of my brother's love of practical jokes. Never before, however, had he tried anything of the kind on me. And now a state of war existed between us, with me the loser in the opening stage.

The steam billowed again, announcing the opening of the outer door, and the shape of my tormentor loomed through the mist. He stood looking down at me, his eyes dancing with mirth.

"How are you? Have you cooled down?"

"I'll live," I said, keeping my face expressionless.

"Good, I'm delighted to hear that. But weren't you aware that most men normally put on their clothes before venturing out into the public area, among the women? And the children. Cay ... the remembered sight of you in all your hairy horror may keep some of them awake at night. You really should be more considerate of others."

I allowed my face to relax into a smile. "Ambrose, you are going to suffer for that little fit of self-indulgence. It will come back to haunt you when you least expect it. This outrageous behaviour of yours today will not go unpunished."

He grinned. "Oh, I think it will. I leave tomorrow, don't forget, and tonight I shall be sleeping in the arms of my wife. Not even you would be cruel enough to punish an innocent woman for my little idiosyncrasy."

"An idiosyncrasy? The shock could have killed me! Bear in mind from now on that, at some time over the coming months, or even years, you will have to sleep, or relax away from your wife. Whenever you do, you had best be careful, because I swear to you, I will have vengeance, brother mine, one way or another. You'll suffer for it, I warrant you."

Ambrose laughed aloud. "Attack? I woke you up, that's all I did. What healthy, virile man lies sleeping in mid- afternoon? We have work to do, you and I, so I wanted you to be alert for it."