Jack Whyte - The Saxon Shore

"Since when, and why? The normal complement here is half of that, is it not?"

"Aye, Commander, it was, until a few weeks ago. Commander Ambrose changed the duty roster for all outposts."

"I see. Thank you, Decius. You may return to your duties. We pause here only for water and a rest, and then we strike on to the fort. Is Commander Ambrose in Camulod?"

He shook his head. "I have no idea, Commander. We have been here for ten days; four more to go."

"Very well, Centurion Decius, you may go." He saluted me, bringing his clenched fist to his left breast, and spun away.

We had lost no time on the road, but the news of our arrival far outran us, and an entire cavalcade, headed by Ambrose himself and his entire staff, came riding out to meet us as we approached the outer edge of the great campus, or drilling ground, that stretched out at the foot of the hill of Camulod itself. It was a joyous reunion, and as soon as Liam, Shelagh, Turga and her charge had been introduced, they were made as welcome as the rest of us. We would feast that evening, Ambrose told us; the stewards and the commissariat had already received their instructions and the quartermasters had been ordered to open their precious stores of luxury goods to welcome home the escort to the great-grandson of Publius Varrus. The Legates Titus and Flavius were stirring their aged stumps supervising the arrangements and the following day had been declared a holiday. Even though the guest of honour himself was much too young to recognize the honour done him on his first visit, his great-grandmother would welcome all comers to the feast in his name.

His great-grandmother was my primary concern, now that we were safely home, and she was the object of my first question once the civilities were done and I could ride alone with Ambrose on the way up to the fort. He told me that she had been ill, failing visibly ever since I left, but the news of our return, outrunning us magically hours before, as such news always seems to travel, had brought her from her rooms for the first time in weeks and the change in her, according to my brother, had been truly remarkable. That she intended to preside over the evening's festivities had completely astounded him. I looked at him when he said that.

"Is she capable of doing so?"

He grinned at me. "You know, Cay, I find it hard to credit that I have known her only for a few months, but if I have had time to learn anything about Luceiia Britannicus Varrus, it is that neither she nor I has ever found anything she is incapable of doing. She will be there, and she will play the hostess to all of us. Her pride in her great-grandson will bear her up. She may not last the entire course, but she'll be there for most of it."

"With all her women. Which reminds me. How is the Lady Ludmilla?"

He grinned at me, all eyes and flashing teeth. "Magnificent! I am in love . . . we are in love."

"Do you tell me so?" Returning his grin, I made no effort to hide my irony, but I sobered quickly. "I am glad of it, Ambrose. Will you be wed?"

"Aye, we will, come spring."

"Good. I look forward to your nuptials. For the moment, however, there are other matters that must concern us. The question, for example, of why you have doubled the strength of all the guard posts. Are you expecting trouble?"

His grin changed, becoming more rueful. "No, Cay, no trouble." He turned in his saddle, glancing around at the group that followed us closely, almost surrounding us, giving himself, I thought, time to phrase a response.

"It is an experiment," he said finally. "Ever since arriving here, I've been aware that we have a need to combine our tactics, allowing us to gain the best advantage from both our forces, infantry and cavalry." He paused, looking a question at me. "Were you—Are you aware we have a serious rivalry between the two, Cay?"

I shrugged. "We have always had rivalry, ever since the day Britannicus and Varrus decided to mount our men on horses. Rivalry is good; it keeps people mettlesome."

"Aye, but it can be damaging, too. I said we had a serious rivalry, not mere competition."

"How so? What d'you mean?"

"I mean it's bad, Brother. I began watching closely as soon as you had left for Eire, and I did not like what I saw. Your cavalry are elite troops; none better anywhere that I have seen, but that undoubted excellence has bred a sullenness among the other troops. Remember, I am an infantry commander by training. I know what I am talking about. Anyway, I began asking questions, and I would not accept any expedient or placatory answers. I spoke to the senior officers in both divisions, and to the rank and file as well, and what I found convinced me that we must make some effort, expeditiously, to heal the rift that has sprung into being over the past few years since Lot first marched against Camulod. And so I have been working closely with our infantry commanders, developing strategies that will enable us to draw full measure of the potential of our infantry in fighting with our cavalry in future. The doubling of strength in the guard posts is the first step towards that. Not because I want more strength there. I want more men there, living together in harmony, getting to know each other, and working together on developing the plans I've put in place."

"Hmm. And is it working?"

"Too soon to tell, but it seems to be."

"Tell me about this rivalry. You say it's only recent, since the start of the war against Lot? If that's so, then I would not have been aware of it. I've spent too much time being someone else since then."

Ambrose began his account, but we were too close by then to Camulod's gates and the waiting throng of welcomers that choked them. We agreed to talk again, later that night, and he abandoned me to the well-wishers. It took me more than an hour to win free of them and then to remove my armour, wash quickly and change into fresh clothing before going to collect the child from Turga. That done, I made my way directly to Aunt Luceiia's rooms, for I knew she was waiting there, curbing her impatience, to welcome me and her great-grandson. And as though he knew that this was a momentous occasion, the six-month-old child who was Arthur Pendragon rode easily in the bend of my elbow, wide-eyed, alert and staring at his new home with great, golden eyes.

I had been preparing myself for some time, ever since hearing from Ambrose that my great-aunt had been confined to bed by illness, to be appalled by the changes in her. She was a very old woman, having long outlived all of her own contemporaries, and genuinely merited the word "ancient" in the eyes of everyone else around her, and her advanced age had brought her to that stage of life where the smallest irregularity of health could wreak startling changes on her appearance. She stood up quickly as I entered the room bearing my small ward and moved immediately towards us, her eyes fixed upon my burden to the exclusion of all else so that I was able to scrutinize her as she approached. I could see no sign of illness. Her skin, as pale and delicate as fine papyrus, seemed to shine with health, although it may have been the simple radiance of her anticipation, and her great blue eyes, faded but still remarkable, sparkled in the late afternoon light from the unshuttered window she had ordered added only recently to the long rear wall in the family room, admitting welcome light from the small atrium beyond. She had a brief smile of welcome for me, open and heartfelt but nonetheless distracted in the urgency of greeting her great-grandson.

"Careful, Auntie, he's heavy," I said as she reached for him. She ignored me and plucked the boy from my arms as though he were a feather, carrying him directly into the light from her new window, where she held him aloft, peering into his tiny face. The child returned her scrutiny with complete equanimity, his eyes wide and calm, so that she gave a surprisingly girlish little crow of delight and pressed him quickly and lovingly to her bosom before holding him away from her again to continue her examination.