Jack Whyte - The Saxon Shore

At that moment the boy emerged from the empty stall, covered in ends of straw and clotted horse manure and clutching his prize triumphantly, holding it gently but firmly with both hands around its abdomen. Its hind legs, extended now, seemed longer than his arms. "Fwog!" he announced, holding the hapless creature high.

"Frog," I repeated, looking from him to the grinning stableman. "Let's take it home and show it to your aunt Shelagh." I waited until he changed his grip, frowning with concentration until he held the frog securely in one hand, and then I took his other hand in my own and led him out of the stable.

When his Uncle Connor arrived the following day, he had to meet Fwog formally and gain his acceptance before he was allowed to hug Fwog's patron . . .

I had met with Connor briefly on my return from Cambria the previous year, when he had brought the breeding cattle to Liam and delivered his brother Donuil to his wife as part of the endeavour. He had been prepared to leave to return to Eire the day we arrived, but had waited an extra day to spend some time with me and tell the true, unembellished tale of "Donuil's War," Connor's own name for the rebellion his young brother had forestalled. He had had little choice in thus remaining, Connor had explained to me that evening, since one of two alternatives was certain to occur and he had no way of knowing which: either his brother would be overcome with unwonted modesty and would play down his own heroics, thereby shaming his wife, or he would take the other route and grasp all of the credit to himself, thereby shaming his wife. Better that Connor should remain an extra day then, he reasoned with a wink at me, and see the median path of honesty and the dignity of Donuil's wife both well served.

fie had proceeded to relate the story of how Donuil, who had left home a mere boy in a man's frame, returned from the sea alone and stood as a man against treacherous brethren. Ignoring Mungo Rohan completely, since Donuil himself had executed the fat man the night he arrived home, Rohan's guilt in the death of their brother Kerry established by the dried blood-stains on the clothing he had not yet contrived to burn, Connor told me that Fingael had not been the only one of Athol's kin who had stooped to treachery, allying themselves with enemies in hopes of snatching up their king's fallen coronet of gold. Another brother, Kewn, whom I had heard of but not met, had treated with the MacNyalls of the west, and two of Athol's own brothers had been close with the enemy, one of them liaising with the depraved clan who called themselves the Children of Gam, the other dealing closely with the northeastern federation who called themselves the Sons of Condran and were commanded by Condran's sons, Brian on land and Liam at sea.

Donuil, sharing the leadership of the land armies with his father Athol, had led his forces to three great victories, while his brothers Connor and Brander, using their fleets in consort, had destroyed the shipping of the alliance, interdicting their supplies and inflicting a second, crushing defeat at sea on Liam, the younger son of Condran and the old king's admiral.

Much mead had flowed during the retelling of this tale, which lost nothing in the rivalry of the two brothers in the reporting of it, and the night had long grown dark before we went to sleep. Before we did, however, I invited Connor to visit Camulod next time he came to Britain, since he had said he would be returning regularly thenceforth, checking on the welfare and the needs of Liam and his stock, now that permission to be there had been clearly granted them by the Pendragon. He had mulled upon that in silence for some time, and then admitted he would think on it. I had said no more, other than to remind him of it the next morning before he left.

Now here he was, in Camulod itself, attempting to disguise the awe our fortress stirred in him. He had arrived in comfort, in a wagon, with an escort of three score of his "kerns," as these fierce Ersemen called themselves, marching behind and around him. And their coming had stirred chaos. Fortunately Donuil, aware that Connor might arrive one day, had discussed such an' unheralded arrival with me and Ambrose, and standing orders had been issued to our outposts to expect such a visit, and to supply an honour guard to bring our guests to Camulod itself. We had also left word with Liam Twistback that Connor, should he come, would be welcomed if he approached our outposts openly and named himself.

And so it had happened. Connor and his men had come to our outpost at Acorn Lake and announced themselves, and the officer in charge there, young Jacob Cato, had led them directly to the fortress, sending word on ahead that they were coming.

I was acutely aware, from the first, of Connor's gratification at the high esteem enjoyed in our Colony by his younger brother, since it echoed my own satisfaction with Donuil's progress among us.

From the first day of Donuil's return to duty, I had marked a change in him. He had asked me that day if I would object were he to find himself armour like mine. Delighted that he should wish to do so, I gave him leave to find whatever he could unearth to cover his huge frame, and within two weeks he appeared one morning dressed from head to toe in a completely uniform set of burnished-bronze armour made especially for him and worn over a new, white woollen tunic bordered with my own favourite Greek key pattern. Upon my asking how he had achieved all this so quickly, he merely smiled and quietly reminded me that, early in our relationship when I held doubts about his capabilities, I had told him that the single most distinguishing characteristic of a good adjutant was the ability to get things done, without fanfare, without upheaval, without apparent effort and without crowing about his methods. Chastened, and subtly rebuked, I resisted the temptation to question him further.

From that day forward, Donuil had been at my side constantly, immaculately turned out in Roman splendour and capable, it seemed, of anticipating every need not only of mine, but of Ambrose, too, with whom he had developed a deep friendship. And when he was not with me, on duty, he went riding with his wife, as long as she was able, learning from her the equestrian skills he and I both had sworn would be beyond his reach forever.

Relieved of his concerns over his brother's function here among Outlanders, Connor relaxed and the remaining six days of his visit sped by, enlivened by long evenings when he and I, in company with Donuil, Shelagh, Ambrose and Ludmilla and assorted others, enjoyed each other's company increasingly, so that there was no longer any need to issue invitations to return. Return became a simple matter of arrangements.

When he and his kerns marched off northwest again, they marched accompanied by sixty of our troopers who went north to relieve half of Ded's contingent, which was still involved in Cambria after more than a year. Twice in the year elapsed we had made such changes, and still the war in Cambria dragged on, although the cost to us and ours was nil. Our forces in the low Pendragon lands had met with no resistance or, at least, had remained unchallenged. Dergyll had managed to maintain his campaign as he wished, high in the upper reaches of their hills. Only twice in all the time spent there had Dedalus led his men forward into action, and on both occasions, after the merest skirmish, he had led them back whence they came, unblooded and unbloodied.

The effect of the alliance in Camulod, however, had been salutary. We had had, at the outset, a total of one hundred and thirty-eight longbows, and two hundred bowmen, including the men Huw and his people had begun to train. Now, after a year, we had close on two hundred bows, a full thirty of them made by our own bowyers from the few yew trees we had been able to find locally. The source of the remaining score and more remained a mystery to me, although Huw Strongarm and his Celts seldom returned from visiting their homes without at least one extra bow among them. Thanks to our adoption of the laws laid down by Ullic Pendragon regarding bows—no man could own one, but each must serve as guardian and custodian of one for an entire year, responsible for its care and maintenance—we had no lack of caretakers for the new weapons, and indeed we had a glut of would-be bowmen, never less than four trainees for every bow available. An entire area on one side of the great drilling ground at the base of the fortress hill had been set apart for practise, and permanent targets—"butts" the men called them— had been set up at either end. Nowadays, too, there was no longer anything noteworthy in the sight of ranks of bowmen, densely packed, lofting their arrows over and ahead of ranks of charging horsemen, changing their stance and aim so that each volley flew farther, landing ever ahead of the advancing cavalry. Surprisingly few of these arrows were destroyed by the advancing horses, but those that were were reckoned a small price to pay for the advantage gained. To this point, however, accuracy notwithstanding, all such arrows flew with weighted but unpointed heads.