Jack Whyte: The Saxon Shore

I listened, greatly moved by my brother's eloquence and the evident conviction radiating from his face, and my throat grew tight with emotion as I thought of the men and women who had made possible all that he spoke of, among them his and my own forebears Caius Britannicus, Publius and Luceiia Varrus, Ullic and Uric and Enid Pendragon and Picus Britannicus.

Ambrose was still speaking. "We have come to agree, generally, all voices except yours concurring, that the constant guarding of young Arthur is not a viable option, under the current circumstances. It might have been so, had we been able to guarantee that only outside forces would conspire against him, but we cannot do that. Camulod itself has been infiltrated and defiled by Ironhair's adherents. Apart from that, however, the lad could not develop normally, living under constant guard and scrutiny, and we have all agreed that if he is to grow to be the man this Colony and this land will need tomorrow, then he must be permitted to grow naturally, continuing exactly as he has begun already. So . . ." I waited.

"The remaining option facing us is to remove him to some other place where he will be safe and may grow into manhood properly, living a life of freedom and continuing to receive the same instruction and tuition he has known until this time."

I nodded in agreement, accepting what he said completely. All the people gathered here were Arthur's teachers, and they ratified the truth of what Ambrose was saying.

"I agree," I said, speaking for the first time. "But where can we send him?"

Ambrose grunted. "Well, as you have heard, we have identified the places where he can't go. He can't stay here, or anywhere close to our domain. Too many people know him and us.

"He can't go east, either, for along the Saxon Shore, by our own reports, the invaders spread farther inland every year, and the whole land is war-torn. Nor can he go to Vortigern's kingdom, up in Northumbria. The problem with the Danes there is too perilous. South and southeast of us, the situation is the same as on the Saxon Shore, heavily invested with aliens. Southwest and west are Cornwall and Cambria, Ironhair's domain, and in the north, below the Wall, the Picts swarm everywhere." He paused, looking around, and then continued in the same tone.

"That leaves two, or three, alternatives. We could send him to Gaul, to live with your friend Bishop Germanus in Auxerre, or we could send him to his mother's people in Eire, or even to their new holdings among the isles off Caledonia. All of those possibilities, however, safe as they may be, remove the boy from Britain, and that seems wrong. We all believe that if he is to be of any use to Britain as a man, he should remain in Britain as a boy." He stopped. "Your turn, Brother. What must we do?"

I sat for long moments, looking at no one as I sought to digest all I had heard, and then I spoke my mind, saying the words that had been forming there since the first man had spoken.

"Deadlock," I said. "There's nothing to be done. Your analysis is accurate and nothing can be gained by sending Arthur out of Britain. We will have to keep him here, in Camulod, and make the best of it. There's no alternative."

"Ah, but there is, one other, and we have agreed to adopt it." I looked at Ambrose now in surprise.

"I've missed it then. What is it?"

"We've been discussing regions, Merlyn; north, south, east and west. We don't require a region for this undertaking, simply a place to live, an isolated area; a place that's far enough from here to be secure, yet close enough to give us ease of access."

"That is a contradiction in terms."

Ambrose shook his head. "No, it is not; not if you have Connor's galleys at your command, and if the place you choose lies close to his waters and under his protection."

My mind gave a great leap, and fragmentary images of a fleet of galleys flashed behind my eyes.

"We believe you must take the boy, Merlyn, and go with him, under Connor's protection. Arthur is your ward, and you have jurisdiction over his upbringing. Go then, and raise him in peace and safety. Wait!" He held up a hand to stop me from interrupting him. "No one suggests you should do this alone. Some of us will go with you. Donuil and Shelagh and their boys, who are young Arthur's friends. Ded and Rufio will go, and Turga. I shall stay here and govern Camulod, for someone must, but I shall visit with you every year."

They were all staring at me. I blinked and shook my head. My tongue was dry. I swallowed thickly.

"I cannot do that, but someone must. Send someone else."

I had not heard the door open behind me, but now Lucanus spoke over my head.

"You can do it, Merlyn, and you must, for no one else is suited to the task as you are."

I swung in my seat to face him, but he was already passing me, followed by Connor, who grinned at me and nodded before taking a stool from its place against the wall and placing it beside the chair in which Lucanus now sat. I gazed from one to the other of them, my heart hammering, and suddenly identified the tension I had felt since entering the room. They knew! All of them knew.

"You told them."

Lucanus merely shrugged and raised a hand. "I told them you are troubled, yes. I told them of your skin condition and your groundless fears, and I assured them that the best thing you could do is leave here for a while until you are satisfied that you are well again. I told them also that I would go with you as your friend, since I am not really needed here at present. Camulod, I am pleased to say, has no lack of medical skills or personnel. Besides, by being with you, as your physician, I could ensure that, with the proper care and attention, we can clear up this condition of yours. It interests me. Skin ailments always have."

I listened in disbelief, hearing no mention of the dreaded name of my "condition" as he continued.

"So, it seemed reasonable to us all that since we two are the boy's principal instructors, we should take him with us, thus solving several problems at one time. Connor here offered us his galley for our journey, and then Donuil and Shelagh volunteered to come with us, and others followed their lead. We were here all night discussing the matter."

I licked my lips, moistening them before I spoke. "Come with us to where, and for how long?"

Lucanus smiled at me with open candour. "To Cumbria, not Cambria. It is far in the northwest, below Hadrian's Wall and sheltered by mountains. The Roman influence was strong up there, I recall, and the region was garrisoned until the final days of the withdrawals. There is a port there, Connor tells me, where he sometimes stops to buy fresh meat. It is called Glan, something. . ." His eyes crinkled as he sought the name.

"Ravenglass," I said and saw his eyes go wide in surprise. "The Romans called it Glannaventa, but to the local Celts it has always been Ravenglass, Yr-afon-glas, The Green Harbour."

I was conscious of a great and solemn stillness, somewhere deep inside my breast, and my dream of the previous night came flooding back. Arthur had been there in that dream, standing upon a headland with his back to me as he gazed out upon a sea dotted with Connor's galleys. The wind had stirred his cloak and he had turned to me, laughing a strong man's laugh, and I had seen his adult face before I saw the crimson dragon blazoned on his chest and was amazed to see he wore his father's armour. I had reached out to touch it, feeling the coldness of the metal plate beneath my outspread fingers.

"Arthur," I had asked him. "Where did you find this armour?"

He had laughed again, the same loud, rolling laugh, and I had looked up into the enigmatic, shrewd, but not unfriendly eyes of the man who had slain Uther: Derek, who called himself the King of Ravenglass.