Jack Whyte - The Saxon Shore

"What do you mean? To what end?"

"He will fulfill the Dream, Auntie."

She frowned again, perplexed. "What dream?"

"The Dream of Caius Britannicus and of Publius Varrus. The unification of two peoples, Roman and Celt, beneath one leader."

"Nonsense!" Her voice was sharp with asperity. "My brother and Publius Varrus dreamed of survival, and they dreamed well, but their dream was of this Colony of ours, not of two entire peoples. Those two could never be that grandiose. You forget I knew both of them far better than you and for more years than you have yet lived."

"One people, Auntie. The Britons." I had arrived at a decision, without forethought and purely on the spur of the moment. "Among the last things Uncle Varrus told me on his deathbed was that I would be true to my trust and would recognize the one I awaited the moment I saw him. For a time, I thought it might be my brother Ambrose, but now I know I was wrong. It was the child. I knew from the instant I set eyes on him."

She sat staring at me as though I were a stranger, and when she spoke again, her tone was wondering. "Caius," she said, "my beloved nephew, I have no idea what you are talking about, and I find that rather frightening."

I rose to my feet, holding out my hand to her, and she pulled herself up wordlessly and followed where I led.

Moments later, I leaned my back against the closed, bronze-covered doors of the Armoury, watching her as she stood gazing around the walls of the room her husband had built and furnished with such love.

"I seldom come here now," she said. "It hurts to be here. I am reminded too strongly of the man I loved and have lost. And yet it is a wonderful place. It seems filled with the very essence of my husband."

"Par more than you know, Auntie," I said softly.

I seated her in Uncle Varrus's favourite chair, beside his writing table, and she watched silently as I took down the wooden hammer-keys from the wall and used them to unlock the secret hiding-place beneath the boards of the floor. Silent too, I stooped and drew out the long, polished wooden case that lay concealed there, wiping the dust from its surface with my sleeve before carrying it to the table and placing it gently and reverently before her. Wordless still, she stretched out her hand and traced with her fingertips the outlines of the falling star inlaid in gold and silver in the lustrous wood of the case's surface. The case seemed solid, one single block of wood unmarked by seams or joints.

"It's beautiful. What is it, Cay?"

"This case, Auntie, contains the very essence, as you said, of Publius Varrus; the apotheosis of his craft and his love of his work and art. Permit me." I moved behind the table and leaned forward to press with my fingers on the concealed joins and the case swung open, its lid rising easily towards me as I watched her eyes. They sprang wide and her breath caught in her throat and again she reached out in wonder, but this time it was I who was amazed. Her hand, which had been hidden momentarily from my view by the raised lid, came back into view clutching the brightly coloured square of silk that had covered the case's contents since before I was born. Aunt Luceiia had no eyes for what had lain beneath it. As I stared in wonder at her, she raised the bright square slowly to her cheek, pressing its softness gently against her face with both hands, and two great tears trickled down to wet its folds, spreading in dark patches where they touched the material.

"This was mine, Cay, a gift from Publius, given and lost again many, many years ago. I grieved at losing it, but never mentioned it to Publius. He must have taken it—" She broke off suddenly, her words forgotten as her eyes became aware at last of what the silken scarf had covered. The brightly coloured cloth escaped from her suddenly nerveless fingers and slipped unheeded into her lap. I stepped around the table again to stand beside her and for long moments we stared together in awe at the sight before us. It was she who broke the reverent stillness, her voice little more than a whisper. "My husband . . . Publius made this?"

"Aye, who else? Who else could conceive of such beauty, let alone create it, other than Publius Varrus? See, his mark is stamped into the metal, just below the hilt there."

My aunt leaned forward, peering at the tiny "v." " 'Varrus.' Just like the skystone dagger his grandfather made." She jerked her head towards me. "Is this . . .?"

"Aye, Auntie, it is a skystone sword, made from the metal statue of Coventina, the lady of the Lake, as Uncle Varrus called her. It's called Excalibur."

"Excalibur. . . Excalibur." Her voice was still a whisper. "Take it out. I want to touch it, to hold it."

I removed the sword from its case, resisting the temptation to swing it and enjoy its superb balance. Instead, I grounded its point between her feet, holding it upright and steady in front of her eyes with the tip of one index finger on the end of the golden cockleshell that formed its pommel. She stared at it for some time before reaching out to touch it, but then I relinquished my fingertip hold and watched as she ran her fingers over the intricate scrollwork of its huge cross-guard and the abrasive texture of its sharkskin-covered hilt bound in its filigreed network of gold and silver wire.

For long moments she said nothing at all, devouring the perfection of the sword with her eyes, but then she glanced up at me. "Caius? Would you mind leaving me alone here for a little while? My thoughts are . . . I want to . . . absorb this, privately."

"Of course, Auntie. I'll be right outside the doors. Call me when you're ready, and I'll put it away again. Take your time; there's no hurry." I stooped and kissed the top of her head and left her alone with her thoughts.

Moments later, Lucanus found me leaning against the wall in the passageway by the side of the great, bronze-covered doors, my arms crossed on my chest. He had come striding from the rear of the house and stopped short, his face reflecting his surprise at seeing me there, apparently lounging aimlessly. I straightened up, standing away from the wall, and he approached me slowly, returning my greeting.

"You look as though you're standing guard."

"Well, I am, in a way," I said, smiling.

"Against what?" His eyes flickered to the closed doors beside me. "You expect someone to try to steal the bronze sheeting?"

"No, I'm waiting for Aunt Luceiia. She's inside." His curiosity was plainly written on his face. "Remembering her husband Publius Varrus."

"Ah, I see." He plainly saw nothing remarkable in that, because he changed the subject immediately. "The Council meeting will be starting soon. You will be coming, won't you?"

"Of course. How much time do I have?"

"An hour or so." He paused. "Have you discussed the Council with your aunt?"

"No. Should I have?"

He nodded, pursing his lips. "I think so, Cay. I didn't want to say anything while Ludmilla was with us, but there are changes occurring within the Council, changes I don't like and I know you won't like them, either."

"What kind of changes?"

" The worst kind, political. Emerging factions, or the threat of them. A threat yet young enough to be stamped out, thank Cod, now that you are back and well again. Young blood and new faces with an eye to their own position and advancement, rather than to the common good. You'll see, and it won't take you long. But ask Luceiia. She'll tell you more quickly and more accurately than I could. For a very old lady, there's not much that escapes her."

"Tell me more."

"I can't, Cay, I'm late already. Besides, it's better you hear it from your aunt. I should be in the Infirmary now, preparing for the arrival of the main train of wounded from Cornwall. They were sighted this morning entering Vegetius Sulla's old lands, so they should be arriving here any moment now. Talk to your aunt. I'll see you later."