Jack Whyte - The Saxon Shore

"You thought he was Uther."

"Aye."

"So the two of you did not even fight?"

"That's what I said."

"No, you said you had not killed him. You might have fought him and shown clemency."

"Aye, you're right, I might. But we did not even fight. The clemency I showed was to myself."

Lucanus eyed me in silence for a time, mulling over what I had said, and then shifted to a more comfortable spot on his mossy bed. "I believe you," he murmured, "and it was merited . . . I have great hopes for you, Caius Merlyn Britannicus. But tell me, what was it that convinced you Derek of Ravenglass spoke the truth—that in fact he had no idea of Uther's identity?"

I glanced at him sharply. "Why would you ask me that?"

"Why would I not? Uther Pendragon was your dearest friend, apart from being close kin, your first cousin. Was he not?" The barest hesitation had prefaced that final question and I knew it related to the friendship rather than the blood kinship. I also knew it portended an awakening suspicion in Luke's questing mind about my reasons for seeking out my cousin, but I chose to ignore it as he went on. "It seems to me you would demand proof of Derek of Ravenglass that this killing was, in fact, a simple battle casualty, rather than the premeditated killing of a notorious enemy leader."

I looked away again. "I needed no such proof. It was there in his face and in his words. I recognized the truth as he spoke it."

"Hmm. How?"

"Damnation, Luke, what do you mean, how? He told me what had happened that morning and I believed him."

"How so? Don't be angry with me, Cay. I'm not trying to vex you. I have no doubt of the truth of what you're telling me, but I must confess I am extremely curious. The Caius Britannicus I've known in the past would have killed his cousin's killer out of hand, merely for wearing Other's armour, before the fellow had a chance to say a word. Is that not so?"

"Hmmph."

"So? Something must have given you pause. Something stopped you. What was it?"

"Could you bring yourself to believe it might have been the blood through which I had been wading for days? I told you I had seen enough of death and killing by then."

He ignored my sarcasm. "Yes, I could, Cay, had the victim of his killing been anyone else in the world. But not Uther Pendragon."

I tore my gaze away from the fierce centre of the fire and stood up to face the woman across the fire, waiting in silence until my eves had adjusted to the change in light and I could see her clearly. Finally, the dots in front of my eyes subsided and I gazed into her eyes, clearing my throat uncomfortably. She returned my gaze openly and forthrightly, her face a portrait of dignity and calm serenity.

"Lady Ludmilla, I have no wish to insult you. Lucanus is my closest friend, normally far more astute at sensing the discomfort of others than he has shown himself tonight. But he is being obdurate and inquisitive and so I must be forthright. I simply may not speak of this matter in your presence, or in the presence of any other, and for that I ask your forgiveness. The words I have to say are for his ears alone, to be delivered at another time and in another place. That has nothing to do with you, but solely with me and my need to keep my own counsel on this matter." I knew I sounded pompous and I hated the awareness, but I could think of no other words. I turned back to Lucanus who sat gaping at me in astonishment. "Now, my inquisitive, curiosity-driven persecutor, may we change the topic?"

He jumped as though stung. "Oh, of course, by all means." His eyes went immediately to Ludmilla. "My dear," he said, "I can't begin to say how—"

Ludmilla, however, forestalled him, rising to her feet and leaning forward to look into the leather pot that still bubbled merrily over the fire. "Master Lucanus," she said, "you have done nothing to regret. I understand perfectly what Commander Merlyn means, and I am not offended. But this stew is ready. Now, how do we remove it from the bag into our bowls?"

A simple problem, easily solved: we used the smallest of the four metal bowls as a dipper to fill the others.

We ate thereafter in a suddenly easy, companionable silence, broken only by light exchanges as we replenished our bowls until the boiling bag would yield NT more. Ludmilla ate as much as we did, and I watched her closely from time to time, seeing the way her strong, white teeth stripped the hare meat from its bones, and admiring the lines of her neck as she tipped her head back to drain the last delicious broth from her bowl. In all the time it took us to consume the stew, I did not see Lucanus cast as much as a glance in her direction, other than when she replenished his bowl, but my own eyes returned to her constantly. I knew I had never seen her before, yet her name sounded strangely familiar to me, suggesting that I should indeed know who she was. Ludmilla was a common enough name. I had heard it many times. But hard as I tried, I could not remember ever having actually met anyone called Ludmilla.

Finally I could suffer my curiosity no longer. We had finished eating, and Lucanus had stretched out comfortably by the fire. Each of us had scrubbed out our bowls with earth and then gone individually to rinse the vessels clean in the stream. Ludmilla, the last to do so, came back to the fireside and bade us a good night, but I stopped her as she began to turn away towards her shelter beneath the fir bough.

"Ludmilla, before you go, tell me, please, who you are and where you came from. Lucanus treats you with an air of long acquaintance, yet I cannot remember having seen you before today, and I am sure I could not have forgotten you had our paths crossed."

She stopped, looking at me with the beginnings of a smile on her face. "Oh, we have met, Commander Merlyn, many times."

"We have? Where?"

Now her smile broadened and she nodded her head. "In Camulod, in your aunt's house."

"In my . . ." and then my memory stirred. "You are my aunt's Ludmilla?"

"Of course, if by that you mean I am part of your aunt's household. She has been very kind to me, considering we are only distantly related."

"Related? How? What do you mean? Are you telling me that we two are kin?"

"No, not you and I. I am second cousin to Uther." Her face darkened for a moment and then cleared again, as though a shadow had passed over it. "I mean I was. . . but you and I are not related."

I had risen to my feet. "But. . . how can that be? How could I not know you? You have been in Camulod, in my aunt's household, for years. I've heard her speak of you many times. But you are too . . . Your youth surprises me. I had thought Ludmilla to be older, much older. Are there two of you?"

"No." Her smile was sweet, mocking, I chose to think. "I am the only one, but otherwise you are correct. I have been with your aunt for more than five years now."

"But how could we never have met, and how would I have been unaware of your relationship to Uther?"

Now she laughed aloud, a sound of tinkling, yet resonant silver bells. "Commander, most of that time you did not even know Uther! You were not yourself."

I glanced at Lucanus, hoping for some assistance there, but he lay silent, hands clasped behind his head, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the fire. I waved my arm feebly towards the stump on which she had been seated earlier.

"Please, sit again for a moment and help me to understand this. I feel extremely foolish."

"Without reason." She moved back and sat across from me and for the space of heartbeats I stood gazing down at her, perplexed, until she continued. "Will you not sit, too, Commander Merlyn? You are too tall for me to gaze up at without straining my neck." There was still laughter in her voice, I thought, mockery in her eyes. I looked around me for my seat, feeling awkward. When I was seated, she spoke again, no trace of raillery in her voice.