Jack Whyte - The Saxon Shore

The conference ended and Ludmilla moved to gather up the papers they had spread upon the table, and I watched her as she did so. Lucanus was frowning as he scanned a written sheet of papyrus before handing it to her to take with the others. Her load complete, Ludmilla turned and nodded kindly to me with a smile before leaving. Even after the door had safely closed behind her, the knowledge of her nearness kept my heart thudding audibly in my chest. Finally I forced myself to address Lucanus calmly. He was sitting watching me, a slight smile creasing his features.

"Well," I began. "Finally we can talk without distraction. I'm sorry I couldn't leave with you earlier."

His smile grew wider. "You are the Legate Commander. You have duties. When do you leave?"

"Day after tomorrow. Everything's in hand. What's up?"

"Nothing's 'up,' as you put it. A cup of wine?"

"Good idea. Thank you."

He poured for both of us and then resumed his seat, holding his cup at chin level and staring into it for a while before speaking. "I received a letter several days ago. Daffyd brought it."

He had a peculiar expression on his face and I wondered what was coming. Very few men now either read or wrote, since Rome had taken away her clerks along with her armies.

"A letter? That's a great event these days. From whom?"

"From an old acquaintance with whom I had lost touch for many years. It turns out he's close by and learned of my presence here by accident."

"Wonderful, Luke! You must be excited. When is he coming?"

"He is not. . . cannot. Like me, he's a physician and a surgeon, army trained, so he can't simply up and leave his charges. I, however, would like to go to him."

In the previous few weeks our wounded veterans had improved immeasurably and many had already been released to resume their duties. The others, those still confined to bed, now filled less than two of the temporary hospitals set up for them, and none of them now remained in any danger. Those who would die had died already. Lucanus was at liberty to do whatever pleased him. I could have no possible objection to his leaving, nor would I have entertained one, but I wondered why he was telling me this. There was more to come, I felt. Lucanus was not a man to seek another out—even myself, his only close friend—to make mere small talk.

"Then why don't you go immediately? I think that's an excellent idea. You've nothing to detain you here; the work's all done. Your staff can take care of any minor emergencies that might spring up. Are you worried about that? Or is there something else? I have the feeling, for no good reason, that you require something of me. Is that it? For God's sake, Luke, what could you possibly require from me you couldn't simply take as freely granted?"

He made a sound that was both a sniff and a sigh, pulling his shoulders high. "I don't want to go to see him empty-handed, Cay."

"Why should you? Take whatever you want."

"That's rather large. I want to take a wagonload of fresh supplies—food, clothing and medicines."

"A wagonload? Fine, then. See the quartermaster. I'll see him myself and advise him you're coming. But what ails your friend that he should need so much? Not that I begrudge you your gift, you understand—you could have that and ten times more as your due. I'm merely curious. Where is he located?"

"North of here. And thank you, Caius Merlyn."

"Nonsense, not another word. North, you say. By Aquae Sulis?"

"No, more to the west, by Glevum, close to the coast."

"Hmm. We're going that way, to Glevum, to take ship."

"I know you are. That's why I decided to speak. May I ride with you?"

"You have another option that you might prefer?"

He smiled again. "No, not at all."

"Then that's settled. The day after tomorrow. Does that give you enough time?" He nodded, and I went on, my curiosity fully aroused. "May I ask two questions?" He waited, his smile still in place. "What would you have done had I said no to either request?"

"Nothing. I would have stayed here. I could not make the journey on my own, especially with a loaded wagon. What's your second question?"

"Your friend the surgeon. How does it come about that he is in such dire need of basic supplies? Are there none to be had in Glevum?"

Lucanus shook his head slowly. "There may be, my friend, but not for him. His charges are all lepers." "What?"

"Lepers. I said his charges are all lepers. A large group of them."

"Lepers?" I repeated, still off balance. Lucanus took pity on me.

"Yes, my friend, that's what I said." He watched my face and then said, "Oh dear, there's that look. The look that encompasseth all misunderstandings."

I was listening now, understanding, Luke was going to a leper colony, walking into contagion. I had known there were lepers in Britain, of course, but they were creatures of whispered terrors and nightmares and I had never encountered any. My flesh crawled with horror at the mere thought of them, my mind filled with the grim stories I had heard about them and their disgusting scourge.

Lucanus's sympathetic tone cut through the unreasoning terror of my reaction. "Caius, I beg you, stop looking like that. These sorry people are no threat, and you have no need to fear the very mention of them. Speaking of them won't contaminate us. Their fear of people like us, whole human people, is far greater than our ill-founded terror of them, let me assure you. We see them as the living dead, terrifying in their implications, but they see us, and with far more reason, I fear, as the incarnation of walking death, since we would kill them all out of hand, and with no remorse, merely to rid ourselves of the sight of them." He paused to look at me more closely, and when his voice resumed it was more solemn. "It occurs to me, seeing you react, that I should have given more thought to this. You may find it in your heart, and it lies well within your power, to forbid my visit now, fearing contagion, but I would like your permission to visit them, Commander Merlyn." I stared at him, hearing his formality, until he continued, almost in a whisper, "Theirs is an awful life of suffering and dread, Caius. There might be something I can do to help them. May I go?"

I nodded, suddenly unaccountably unwilling to look him in the eye and unable to speak. I sensed him watching me closely, however, and forced myself to meet his gaze. He was smiling, a small, sad smile. "I promise you, Caius, there is nothing to fear. The foulness and contagion of leprosy are very real, but its reputed speed of contamination is grossly exaggerated. I worked among many lepers during my early years with the legions. My finest teacher, Philus of whom you've heard me speak, was a student of leprosy who had worked for more than three decades among those afflicted with the scourge. He himself had remained uncontaminated and was convinced that the disease is almost incommunicable by ordinary, commonplace means—by casual touch, in other words—although he handled all of them with care for his own safety, and always washed himself thoroughly with astringents afterward. I came to agree with him, eventually, learning from personal experience that he was most probably correct. . ." His voice died away for a moment, then resumed, "I also learned that lepers are ordinary people, just like us, Caius, but afflicted with a dreadful, bleak, incurable disease that brings death in life and banishment from all human warmth, except among their own kind—but there I have found that human, loving warmth burns brighter than anywhere else in this world."

I watched him as he spoke, then I swallowed hard and nodded again. "The supplies you spoke of—what will you require? Is there anything in particular that you need to take with you?"

He smiled again. "No, almost anything would be welcome. They will have nothing."